Something About Eve Page 2

Although Matt had yet to meet Ren’s wife, Sara, he thought she was the most determined person he’d ever run up against. He pulled out one of his uncle’s Z-shaped chrome bar stools and sat down. As was his habit, he picked up a pen and started doodling on the back of an envelope. “I thought Eve’s parents were in Australia.”

  “They are. But Mrs. Masterson’s ready to hop the next flight home and start tracking Eve down herself. She said she’s called Eve’s number a dozen times and has left messages at the station where Eve’s supposed to be working, but nobody will tell her anything. One receptionist said Eve was out on medical leave. Naturally, that upset her mother even more.”

  Matt’s doodles took on a fanciful nature. A large-breasted woman reclining in a small box topped with a pair of rabbit ears. “Eve Masterson is a television personality,” he said for what surely must be the twentieth time. Lowering his voice, he added, “Doesn’t this disappearance sound like something a television personality would do for publicity?”

  Bo sighed. “If you remember, I was the one who suggested that a couple of weeks ago, but now I’m not so sure. I mean, think about it. Eve dumps her network job in New York for something in Atlanta. We don’t even know what since she hasn’t been seen on the air in Atlanta—and she doesn’t bother to contact her friends or family in over a month. That really doesn’t sound like the Eve I used to know.”

  Matt added floating question marks to his picture. The Eve Masterson in his memory was a sexy, exotic, poised news anchor who’d made a big splash in television when she was interviewing the outgoing president and he made a pass at her, unaware her microphone was live. Her beauty had garnered a huge following, which had included Matt. He’d drooled over her while eating his cereal.

  “Sara called me yesterday,” Matt said conversationally. He’d been on his way out the door to pick up Ashley, so he’d tossed out a few lame promises to get away. He still felt guilty about it. “She’s quite persistent, isn’t she?”

  Bo chuckled. “You could say that. I told you what she and Ren did, right? They bought a round-trip vacation to Niagara Falls and put it up for auction knowing I’d bid like hell to get it for Claudie. Our dream honeymoon.”

  Matt grinned. He’d heard the story of Bo’s extravagant gesture several times from several sources. The romantic story seemed destined to become an urban legend. “Have you set the date yet?”

  “The first weekend in June.”

  “Will your dad be well by then?”

  “He promised Claudie he’d walk her down the aisle if she wanted him to,” Bo said.

  “I talked to your mother this morning,” Matt said. “She was at Mom’s when Ashley called to get some genealogy information for a school project. Aunt Ruth says Uncle Robert is dazzling his speech therapist, but his motor skills are returning a lot slower.”

  Bo’s chuckle sounded wry. “And why should that surprise anyone? You never could shut him up for long.” After a pause, he added, “But, back to Eve. Bottom line—can you fly down and check things out next week? I know it’s a lousy time of year to travel and you’re still settling in, but I kinda promised Sara you’d do it. An early Christmas gift, you know?”

  Matt glanced at his calendar—December, the last month of a difficult year. He’d be glad to have it behind him. The only notation was Dec. 25: Ashley with me. What that really meant was Matt would pick her up around noon and drive to his parents’ home where they’d have delayed their celebration to include him and Ashley. He hated the holidays.

  “Fine. I’ll go, but I have to be back by Christmas Eve.”

  “Cool. It shouldn’t take you more than a couple of hours, actually. Fly in. Find her place. See what the hell’s up. Kick her butt if needed, then fly home.”

  Matt rolled his eyes. For some reason he doubted it would be that easy. For one thing, he didn’t know where Eve lived or the name of her new employer. His computer program was designed for cases just like this, but his PC had been giving him fits since the move. “I could shoot for Wednesday or Thursday,” Matt said, frowning at the calendar. “The computer tech is coming Monday. Without a modem, I can’t run a complete background check.”

  “So?”

  “I like to know what kind of skeletons I’m gonna bump into when I start opening closet doors.”

  Bo snorted. “I guarantee you she’s neither deranged nor dangerous. All we want is a visual confirmation that she’s alive.”

  While Bo reviewed his original notes on the case for Matt’s benefit, Matt studied his doodles. The curvy body in the television set didn’t look anything like the Eve Masterson he’d seen on billboards all over town, but the question marks that surrounded her were apropos. Why had she left? Where was she now?

  As Matt hung up, he heard Ashley ask, “Are you going out of town, Dad?”

  Matt looked up. Ashley trotted down the steps, dressed in a navy pea jacket, baggy tan cords and several layers of soft cotton sweaters and shirts. “Bo didn’t give you fashion lessons while he was here, did he?”

  She gave him a droll look and ignored his question. “Did I hear you say you’re going somewhere?”

  “You shouldn’t eavesdrop. But the answer is yes. I have to go to Atlanta on business.”

  Hopping down the final three steps with a loud clank, she asked, “Are you really looking for Eve Masterson?”

  “When I put you on the payroll, I’ll be free to discuss my jobs. Until then, you’re on a need-to-know basis.”

  She pouted prettily. “I need to know, Daddy. My friends would be totally impressed if I told them you were going to meet Eve Masterson. She’s like the coolest person on television. I nearly died when she told the president she’d rather have sex with a lizard.”

  Matt laughed. “That’s not what she said.”

  “She might just as well have. She put him down.”

  “Well, yes, but with a bit more class.”

  She rolled her eyes. “A put-down is a put-down, and as far as I’m concerned she shot him clean out of the water. No survivors.” She grinned. “I plan on using the same technique on Billy Lebreonski…if he ever gets the gonads to ask me out.”

  Matt blanched. “Ashley, don’t ever use that term in the same sentence with a boy’s name again. Please. That can be my Christmas gift. I’m just not ready for it.”

  She dropped her backpack and dashed to him, hugging him but laughing. “Sorry, Daddy. I forgot how sensitive you are.”

  Sensitive? Me? Try telling that to your mother.

  ASHLEY WAITED at the top of the stairs for the explosion to take place. Ten seconds or ten minutes, it was hard to predict, but sooner or later her parents would start yelling at each other. They’d tried couples therapy when she was little but could never agree on a counselor. As far as she could tell, they never agreed on anything.

  “It’s my job, Sonya,” her father said, his voice a low murmur Ashley had to strain to hear. He always started out calm and cool, but her mother knew just what buttons to push to make him raise his voice. Ashley had been terrified of loud noises—she didn’t even like the movie Star Wars because it was so noisy, so her dad always talked softly in a low, gentle tone that made her feel safe and cherished. Even now, he rarely raised his voice around her, and Ashley knew that if she were downstairs, the argument would fizzle out before it could peak. But she wasn’t in the mood to be an arbitrator for her parents. She was tired of being their referee; it didn’t do a damn bit of good in the long run.

  “Some job,” her mother said snidely. Her mother was the queen of snide. “You gave up a perfectly fine desk job with the city—with dental, no less—to go play detective. Admit it, Matthew, a desk job could never live up to the excitement standards you require.”

  Ashley rolled her eyes. Her mother had hated everything about the police force—the hours, the pay, the risks, the other policemen’s wives. Everything. But after the accident, when it looked as if Ashley’s dad might never get to be a policeman again, Sonya had suddenly become all rah-rah p
olice force. Grandma Irene said it was because Daddy was a hero, but Ashley doubted it. Knowing her mother, it was more a case of “I told you so.” Sonya had long predicted her father would get hurt on the job, so when it finally happened, she’d been proven right. Her mother loved to be right.

  “Listen, I know Hanukkah begins on Friday and you have plans,” her father said. “Fine. I’ll be out of town anyway, so you can have Ashley all weekend. I just want to be clear about Christmas Day.”

  “Hanukkah lasts eight days, Matt. We’re planning—”

  Her father interrupted. “Spare me the details, Sonya. It’s not my fault Hanukkah overlaps Christmas.”

  Ashley grimaced, anticipating her mother’s response. “Faith means nothing to you, does it, Matthew?”

  Ashley could picture her father’s frustrated expression. He never talked badly about her mother, but Ashley knew Sonya’s conversion to Judaism confounded him immensely since she’d shown only the mildest interest in religion during their marriage. They’d eloped to avoid the whole church issue, and Ashley had attended an interdenominational Sunday school as a child.

  “My relationship with God isn’t your problem, Sonya. I’m only concerned about making sure the holidays are special for our daughter.”

  Ashley could picture her mother’s skeptical look.

  Her father went on, “I should be back by the weekend, but if something unexpected comes up, I’ll have Mom pick Ashley up at noon on Christmas Day.”

  “No. If you’re not back, then Ashley will stay here. The agreement was she’d spend holidays with her immediate family—that’s you and me, not your mother and father and your sister and her kids. Besides, you know Alan and I are trying to rebuild our Jewish faith and downplay the secular.”

  Her dad made a hooting sound. “And that ten-foot pine tree in the living room is some tenet of Jewish faith?” Her dad could be pretty snide when he wanted to be, too. “Sonya, we’ve always spent Christmas with my folks. Ashley loves seeing her cousins. You’d deny her that just to spite me?” His voice rose in volume.

  Ashley sighed and shook her head. She turned away and trudged to her room. The door was open—it hadn’t been when she’d left, but that didn’t surprise her. Her mother ruled this household. She went wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Privacy was not an issue—that’s why all of Ashley’s personal papers, her journal and notes from friends, were in her locker at the horse barn. She knew she could keep things at her dad’s without worrying, but she never knew for sure when she’d be there—her mother changed the schedule almost daily.

  She closed the door on the battering voices one floor below her and flicked on the stereo. Britney Spears. Pretty. Blond. Perfect. I bet she doesn’t have to listen to her parents fight. What the hell good was a divorce if they still can’t get along?

  Ashley dropped her backpack on the floor then flopped facedown on her bed. She pulled the pillow out from beneath the tasteful peach lace comforter and placed it over her head. Muffled music was all she could hear. If she closed her eyes, she could picture herself atop Jester, her fourteen-year-old Thoroughbred gelding. Riding was her escape. Circling the arena astride the beautiful sixteen-hands roan made her forget everything else.

  Her mother wasn’t a horse fan, but for some reason she’d championed Ashley’s request to take up riding. Ashley once overheard her father tell Grandma Irene the only reason Sonya liked horseback riding was because she thought it was classy. Ashley had to admit once her mother married Dr. Al—Ashley’s name for Alan Greensburg, her mother’s new husband—appearances became an issue. Clothes, home, car. Everything that hadn’t mattered much when they lived with Ashley’s dad, suddenly became a priority.

  A knock on the door made her bolt upright. A deep voice said softly, “Ashley, honey, it’s Dad. I’m leaving. Can I get a kiss?”

  Ashley feathered out her hair and dashed to the door. He always respected her privacy. Maybe deep down she might have wished he asked deeper questions, probed harder about her inner feelings, but in a way it was nice to know he loved her no matter what was going on in her head.

  She opened the door and stepped back to let him enter. She studied his face—so handsome. All the girls thought so. Lauren Willoughby said she had a wet dream about him one night. Ashley thought that was too gross for words, but her friends were right—he was a hunk, especially for a father.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, noticing the lines of tension across his forehead that hadn’t been there on the drive home.

  He smiled. Not his truly happy smile, but a fairly okay one. “Sure. You know how it is. We agree to disagree. The story of our marriage.” He reached out and pulled her into a quick hug. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent—leather from his jacket and a spicy smell from his deodorant. Her dad was too cool to wear cologne.

  “So, kiddo, have a good day on the horse tomorrow. Tell the knucklehead I said hello and he’d better behave or I’ll kick his big ugly butt.”

  Ashley smiled. She knew her dad wasn’t thrilled about her riding; he said Jester scared the crap out him because anything that big and unpredictable shouldn’t be allowed within ten feet of his daughter.

  “Don’t worry about Jester, Daddy. We understand each other.”

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and stepped back. “Just be careful, okay? And wear that helmet I bought you.” He glanced around the room, his gaze stopping at her new Backstreet Boys poster. “I guess I should be glad you like horses more than boys. Forget I said anything.”

  Ashley’s heart felt pinched between her lungs. She smiled but didn’t dare try to talk. She’d been on this stupid weepy kick for almost a week. Bridgett thought maybe Ashley was ready to start her period, but Ashley’s mom said girls who were involved in sports sometimes started a lot later than other girls. Ashley hoped so. She didn’t need hormones screwing with her head; she had enough problems already.

  “Hey, kiddo, you heard me tell Bo I’d do that little job for him in Atlanta, right? I plan to be back before Christmas, but if something comes up and I don’t get back, you can decide where you want to spend Christmas Day—here or at Grandma’s. It’s up to you. And don’t worry, your presents will find you no matter what you decide.”

  “Call me?” she said, her voice kinda squeaky.

  “You bet. And you have my new cell number, too. Call anytime.” He looked at her a long time, as if trying to decide what else to say, but in the end he just leaned down and kissed her cheek. “See you later, sweetness. I love you.”

  Ashley walked him to the top of the stairs. Leaning on the railing, she watched each carefully placed step.

  “I love you, Daddy,” she called out impulsively, even though she knew her mother was probably lurking somewhere nearby.

  When he reached the carpeted floor, he turned around. His grin made her feel so warm and happy inside she could have cried, but she managed to smile back. “Have fun tomorrow,” he said with a wave. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “THIS PRIMA-DONNA THING isn’t working for me, Eve,” Barry LaPointer said, pacing from one end of the living room to the other, negotiating his way past unopened packing boxes and furnishings that had yet to be put away.

  Eve, who hadn’t quite recovered from her battle with some kind of intestinal disorder she’d picked up on assignment in Panama, had come down with a bout of flu the same morning the movers arrived at her New York apartment. Rather than postpone, Barry had cajoled her into letting him handle things. As a result, Eve knew where nothing was, and she was still too ill to care.

  “I’m sick, Barry. Sick. Look at my tongue. Does this look like the tongue of a healthy person?” Eve rolled into a sitting position on the couch and leaned forward to stick out her tongue. Her vision swam and a tinsel taste made her gulp. Light-headedness was a recent addition to her list of symptoms.

  Eve knew if she didn’t feel better soon, she was going to have to find a doctor. No easy chore when you’re in a new town and your name
is Eve Masterson.

  Barry stopped pacing and looked at her. “All I see is a woman who signed a very lucrative contract and—so far—hasn’t earned a dime of it.” He stuck his hands on his hips like a coach giving a pep talk to a losing team. “You’ve got the gold ring, Eve. The corner office, big bucks and people dying to do your bidding. If you’d get off your butt, we could go pick out that car you insisted on.”

  Eve slowly lifted her chin. The man standing before was as handsome as a movie star. Six-three or four, slim but fit, a crown of thick, wavy hair with golden-blond highlights too perfect to be real. He’d swept in to New York in late August all southern charm and sweet-talking promises. He’d offered Eve her dream job on a silver platter. Instead of being an on-air personality following after the news, she could produce the kind of news show that informed people about issues that were vital to their lives.

  Communitex, Inc., the company Barry represented, felt it was on the cutting edge of technology with its twenty-four-hour, global, interactive Internet format. They’d lined up big name media personalities to anchor these Internet news shows around the world. Eve had agreed to host the East Coast segments for six months then she would move to behind-the-scenes production.

  I should have known this deal sounded too good to be true, but who knew the devil would show up wearing Ralph Lauren?

  “Barry, the car was your idea. I didn’t own a car in New York and I got along fine.”Of course, I was never there. In the six months she’d worked for the network, she’d handled assignments in New Zealand, Africa, England and South America. She’d spent more nights away from her apartment than in it.

  Barry pivoted on one heel and marched toward the dining alcove. “This place is a hovel, Eve. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? My God! You look like a bag lady.”

  I met a really nice bag lady once when I was doing a story in… A wave of dizziness hit and Eve started to sway. She knew from experience that if she could just get caught up in her sleep everything would be fine.

  Even as a child Eve took longer to recuperate than other kids. Her mother blamed it on Eve’s “delicate constitution.” But when Eve was eleven she overheard her mother and father talking about genetic conditions. It was at that moment Eve understood what it meant to be adopted—she carried someone else’s past with her.