unclenched her hands. Dylan was coming back.
"I didn't ask you how you wanted your eggs," she began then turned to see him set his tape recorder on the counter. Nerves threatened and were conquered. "You want to work in here?"
"Here's fine. And I'd like the eggs over easy." He found an uncluttered spot at the counter and sat. "Listen, Abby, I don't expect you to cook three meals a day for me."
"The check you sent for expenses was more than adequate." She broke an egg in the pan.
"I thought you'd have a staff."
"A staff of what?" She broke the second egg, then glanced over. Abruptly, nerves gone, she laughed. "A staff? As in maid and cook and so on?" Delighted, she shook her hair back, then gave the eggs her full attention. "Where in the world did you get an idea like that?"
Automatically he turned on the tape recorder. "Rockwell was wealthy, you were his heir. Most women in your position would have a servant or two."
She remained facing the stove so that her face was curtained by her hair. "I don't really care to have people around. I'm here most of the time; it'd be silly to have someone dusting around me."
"Didn't you have a staff before your husband died?"
"Not here. In Chicago." She scooped up his eggs. "That was before and right after Ben was born. We lived in a suite in his mother's house. She had a full staff. Chuck traveled a great deal, and we didn't really have a family yet, so we hadn't decided where to settle."
"His mother. She didn't approve of you."
Abby set the plate in front of him without a tremor. "Where did you hear that?"
"I heard all sorts of bits and pieces. It's part of the job. It couldn't have been easy living in Janice Rockwell's home when she didn't approve of the marriage."
"I don't think it's fair to say she didn't approve." Abby went back for coffee, choosing her words carefully. "She was devoted to Chuck. You probably knew she raised him alone when her husband died. Chuck was only seven then. It isn't easy raising children without a partner."
"You'd know about that."
She sent him an even look. "Yes, I would. In any case, Janice was very protective of Chuck. He was a dynamic, attractive man, the kind who attracted women. On the circuit, there are all manner of groupies hovering around."
"You weren't a fan."
"I never followed racing. We were always traveling around, playing in clubs and so forth. I didn't even know who Chuck was when we first met."
"Hard to believe."
She poured coffee into two cups on the counter. "Janice thought so, too."
"And resented you."
Abby took a calming sip of coffee. "Your job isn't to put words in my mouth, is it?"
She wasn't going to be easy to shake. It seemed to him that she had her answers down pat. Too pat. "No. Go on."
"Janice didn't resent me personally. She would have resented any woman who took Chuck away from her. It's only natural. In any case, I think we got along well enough."
Though he intended to dig a bit deeper there, he let it pass for now. "Why don't you tell me how you met Rockwell?"
That was easy. She could talk about that without hedging. "We were playing—my family and I—in a club in Miami. My parents did this little comedy routine and a couple of songs. Then my sisters and I ran through our bit—show tunes with a sprinkling of popular music. God, the costumes—" She broke off, laughing, then began to set the kitchen to rights as she talked. "Anyway, we did bring some business in. I always thought Chantel was responsible for that. She was stunning, and though she never had Maddy's range, she could sell a song. The race brought the drivers into town, the mechanics, backers, groupies. We always had a pretty good crowd.''
He watched her move around the kitchen with a smile on her face as though she were amused by the memory. "Every night Pop had to ward men off who wanted to ah… see Chantel home. Then one night Chuck walked in with Brad Billinger."
"Billinger's retired now."
"He quit racing after Chuck was killed.
"I didn't ask you how you wanted your eggs," she began then turned to see him set his tape recorder on the counter. Nerves threatened and were conquered. "You want to work in here?"
"Here's fine. And I'd like the eggs over easy." He found an uncluttered spot at the counter and sat. "Listen, Abby, I don't expect you to cook three meals a day for me."
"The check you sent for expenses was more than adequate." She broke an egg in the pan.
"I thought you'd have a staff."
"A staff of what?" She broke the second egg, then glanced over. Abruptly, nerves gone, she laughed. "A staff? As in maid and cook and so on?" Delighted, she shook her hair back, then gave the eggs her full attention. "Where in the world did you get an idea like that?"
Automatically he turned on the tape recorder. "Rockwell was wealthy, you were his heir. Most women in your position would have a servant or two."
She remained facing the stove so that her face was curtained by her hair. "I don't really care to have people around. I'm here most of the time; it'd be silly to have someone dusting around me."
"Didn't you have a staff before your husband died?"
"Not here. In Chicago." She scooped up his eggs. "That was before and right after Ben was born. We lived in a suite in his mother's house. She had a full staff. Chuck traveled a great deal, and we didn't really have a family yet, so we hadn't decided where to settle."
"His mother. She didn't approve of you."
Abby set the plate in front of him without a tremor. "Where did you hear that?"
"I heard all sorts of bits and pieces. It's part of the job. It couldn't have been easy living in Janice Rockwell's home when she didn't approve of the marriage."
"I don't think it's fair to say she didn't approve." Abby went back for coffee, choosing her words carefully. "She was devoted to Chuck. You probably knew she raised him alone when her husband died. Chuck was only seven then. It isn't easy raising children without a partner."
"You'd know about that."
She sent him an even look. "Yes, I would. In any case, Janice was very protective of Chuck. He was a dynamic, attractive man, the kind who attracted women. On the circuit, there are all manner of groupies hovering around."
"You weren't a fan."
"I never followed racing. We were always traveling around, playing in clubs and so forth. I didn't even know who Chuck was when we first met."
"Hard to believe."
She poured coffee into two cups on the counter. "Janice thought so, too."
"And resented you."
Abby took a calming sip of coffee. "Your job isn't to put words in my mouth, is it?"
She wasn't going to be easy to shake. It seemed to him that she had her answers down pat. Too pat. "No. Go on."
"Janice didn't resent me personally. She would have resented any woman who took Chuck away from her. It's only natural. In any case, I think we got along well enough."
Though he intended to dig a bit deeper there, he let it pass for now. "Why don't you tell me how you met Rockwell?"
That was easy. She could talk about that without hedging. "We were playing—my family and I—in a club in Miami. My parents did this little comedy routine and a couple of songs. Then my sisters and I ran through our bit—show tunes with a sprinkling of popular music. God, the costumes—" She broke off, laughing, then began to set the kitchen to rights as she talked. "Anyway, we did bring some business in. I always thought Chantel was responsible for that. She was stunning, and though she never had Maddy's range, she could sell a song. The race brought the drivers into town, the mechanics, backers, groupies. We always had a pretty good crowd.''
He watched her move around the kitchen with a smile on her face as though she were amused by the memory. "Every night Pop had to ward men off who wanted to ah… see Chantel home. Then one night Chuck walked in with Brad Billinger."
"Billinger's retired now."
"He quit racing after Chuck was killed.
Similar Books
