Читать книгу: «Monkey Wrench»

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Dear Reader

Title Page

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“THAT’S A WRAP!” the director called. “Have a merry Christmas, everybody!”

Susannah Atkins blew a sigh of relief and stepped out of the spotlight that brilliantly illuminated the kitchen set of “Oh, Susannah!,” the daytime household-hints program that was her claim to fame. Untying the strings of her apron, she draped it around the neck of her favorite cameraman, Rafael, and playfully tugged him close.

“Thanks for rescuing me when I missed my cue. And happy holidays, Rafe.”

“Same to you, superstar.”

Susannah laughed and gave the young man a kiss on his bearded cheek. Around them, the rest of the crew and production staff of “Oh, Susannah!” were calling cheery farewells and “see you next years” to each other. It was a pleasant sight. After six exciting years of working together, the team had become a close-knit family, not one of those squabbling gangs Susannah heard horror stories about when she visited other stations. Everyone connected with “Oh, Susannah!” was genuinely fond of the others, and Susannah felt a swell of pride at the thought. A relaxed and professional attitude of the star sometimes made all the difference.

The show’s burly director, Pete Willard, made a detour around a camera to say goodbye to Susannah personally. “That was a good show, Suz,” he said, pushing his glasses onto the top of his slightly balding head—a sure sign he was finished working for the day. He pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate his chronic headache. “You headed someplace exciting for the holidays?” It was almost two weeks before Christmas. Somehow the taping schedule had worked out so that Susannah had nearly three full weeks of glorious free time before she had to be back at work.

Susannah grinned and began to rub the director’s tense shoulders—the best way she knew to ease Pete’s stress. “The Caribbean. I can hardly wait. We’ve got a condo right on the ocean.”

The director groaned as she rubbed. “Sounds wonderful. I’d give my right arm to get out of Wisconsin this winter, but the kids...well, they think it’s not Christmas without snow.”

“I hear Santa visits beach houses, too.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to my two-year-old! You don’t know how lucky you are not having any kids, Susannah.”

She kept her smile in place and released his neck. “I’ll think of you on Christmas Eve when I’m dancing to steel drums—”

“And I’ll be putting together that damned dollhouse I bought for my Jennifer. Ah, that feels great. You’re the best masseuse I know, Susannah. Must be that Swedish ancestry of yours.” Pete looked far from dismayed at the prospect of spending his holiday piecing together a toy for his child. He patted Susannah’s arm and said, “Have a great time. Just don’t get sunburned! We’ll need that pretty face of yours back in front of the camera on January second!”

“I’ll be here,” Susannah called over her shoulder, half wishing she could be worrying about something other than her face this Christmas.

But she banished the thought quickly and waded into the studio audience—her faithful fans.

The audience always waited patiently for their favorite local star after the show taping. And Susannah had been careful from the beginning not to play the prima donna. Even in a city the size of Milwaukee, it never hurt to hang on to those small-town values that her public seemed to appreciate most. Susannah signed autographs and allowed her picture to be taken a dozen times.

“Miss? Susannah?” An elderly man tugged at her sleeve. “I really got a kick out of your pumpkin pie recipe. Who else but you would have thought of adding summer squash and pecans? You ought to write a book!”

“Oh, it’s just an old family recipe of mine. I enjoyed the chance to share it.”

“Would you mind signing my program?” he asked flirtatiously. “I want to prove to the guys at the bowling alley that I really talked to you.”

“For a pumpkin pie lover, anything! How shall I write the inscription?”

“To Hank,” coached the old man, leaning close. “What a hunk. With love, Susannah.”

Susannah cheerfully obeyed. She liked the relaxed and genuine affection of her fans. It made up for a lot of things—things Susannah tried not to think about. After half an hour, she finally tore herself away and headed for her office, a small, unpretentious cubicle tucked at the end of a narrow corridor near the studio.

In the office, which was jammed with so many books and gadgets it looked like the lair of a mad wizard, stood Susannah’s young secretary, Josie. Nearly six feet tall in her flat shoes and always dressed to the nines, glamorous Josie looked more like an up-and-coming television star than Susannah, who left her clothing choices to the studio wardrobe department and wore jeans in her off hours. Josie always looked elegant despite her youth. Susannah, on the other hand, looked elegant only when somebody else dressed her. Otherwise, she preferred to use her energy on more creative endeavors.

Despite their differences in personal style, Josie and Susannah were a perfect team. With a schedule as hectic as Susannah’s was, she needed a good secretary more than she needed anything else. And Josie was worth her weight in gold. Her limitless energy had often saved Susannah when her own resources got low. With the telephone receiver pinned to her ear as Susannah pushed through the door, Josie was saying sweetly, “I’m sorry, sir, Miss Atkins is still taping a show in the studio. I can’t interrupt.”

Susannah mouthed, “Who is it?”

Josie shrugged elaborately and said into the phone, “I’m sorry, sir, but unless it’s an emergency, I can’t...yes, yes. All right, I’ll double-check. I’ll put you on hold for a minute, all right?”

Susannah was also thankful that Josie was unbelievably organized—a quality Susannah herself lacked almost entirely. And Josie took inordinate pride in her ability to fend off the hundreds of hopeful male viewers who called the station every week on the chance of getting in touch with “Oh, Susannah!” herself. The young black woman had turned the gentle letdown into an art form.

“Who is it this time?” Susannah asked, sliding into the comfortable swivel chair behind her antique desk. “Another senator who wants to meet me for lunch, like yesterday? Or someone trying to sell his mother’s recipe for goulash?”

“Neither,” Josie said, lighting a cigarette one-handed, obviously in no rush to get back to the caller waiting on the other end of the line. “He’s a nobody. But he’s got a voice that makes my blood tingle.” She blew smoke and waggled her dark eyebrows lasciviously. “You know, the low and rumbly kind, a cross between Darth Vader and...oh, somebody sexy. Kevin Kline, maybe. Trouble is, the ones with great voices always turn out to be four feet tall with overbearing mothers.”

“Josie!” Susannah laughed and kicked off her shoes. She put her stocking feet on the desk, noting lackadaisically that she had a run in her panty hose already, and leaned back in her chair to relax. “Do you mean to say you actually meet some of the men who call for me?”

Josie sniffed aloofly. “In the interest of science, that’s all. Somebody ought to do a study on guys who call television stations. It might as well be me. One of the perks of my job is getting your castoffs. It’s in my contract.”

“Yeah, right. I think my contract says I can’t date men who call here.”

“You don’t date anybody, honey,” Josie remarked. “’Cept old Roger, and he hardly counts.”

“What’s wrong with Roger?”

Josie shrugged. “Too nice.”

“Too nice?”

With a grin, Josie tapped cigarette ash into a seashell sitting on the desk. “You deserve more excitement. Want me to line up an appointment with this guy?” She wiggled the receiver. “Maybe his face matches his voice.”

“I doubt it. Better get rid of him.”

“Chicken. But you’re the boss.” Josie punched the hold button with one of her long, enameled fingernails. “Hello? Still there, sir? Good. Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to locate Miss Atkins at the moment. I could...yes, I can take your name.”

Susannah closed her eyes and listened with only half an ear while Josie reached for a pad and pencil from her desk and began scribbling. “Will you spell that for me, please? S-A-N-T-O-R-I. Yes, I got it. Now, can I ask what this is in reference to, Mr. Santori? Who? From Tyler?”

Susannah sat up straight. “Tyler?”

Josie’s gaze met Susannah’s, communicating a new message altogether, and she said into the telephone, “Yes, I know Tyler is Miss Atkins’s hometown. Who? Oh, you mean Miss Atkins’s grandmother? Is something wrong?”

Susannah didn’t waste another instant. She reached for the receiver and took it from Josie’s hand. “Hello?” she said briskly as soon as she clamped it to her ear. “This is Susannah Atkins. Is my grandmother all right?”

A wonderfully melodic male voice said, “I thought you couldn’t come to the phone.”

“I’m here now. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said soothingly. “I’m butting in, that’s all. I think you ought to come home for Christmas.”

“Home? Why? Is my grandmother ill? Or—”

“Take it easy. She’s not sick. At least, not yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Susannah found she could hardly breathe. Her grandmother was the most important person in her life, and the thought of Rose sick or in trouble was horrifying. Susannah’s hand clutched the receiver with a clammy grip. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Look, I don’t want you to get all upset, Miss Atkins, okay? Your grandmother’s not sick—at least she claims she isn’t. But...well, in my opinion, she hasn’t been up to snuff lately.”

“Oh, dear heaven.”

“It’s not bad,” the man assured her. “But she’s disappointed that you’re not coming home for the holidays, and I...well, I don’t believe she’s feeling as good as she pretends. I got to thinking—if it was me, I’d want somebody to call before I went away on a trip. And I’d want to check for myself. You’re going to a beach, I hear.”

Susannah frowned and tried to control her emotions. “My plane leaves tomorrow. I was going to see her when I got back, but—”

“Do you have time to drive out here this afternoon? You could take a look at her yourself before you go.”

“Let me check my book.”

“Your book?”

Most people did not understand Susannah’s total reliance on the small, leather-bound datebook she kept within reach at every waking moment. With her many appointments and her busy work schedule, Susannah’s life was very complicated. She had many obligations and responsibilities. What made things worse was her mental weakness concerning dates and times. Though talented in a hundred different ways, she absolutely could not keep her life on track without writing down every detail. Fortunately, Josie kept a duplicate book so that, between the two of them, Susannah ran on schedule.

But the man said peevishly, “You can’t squeeze in a couple of hours for your own grandmother?”

“Of course I can,” she retorted. But there were things to juggle, no doubt—like a public appearance at a department store that Susannah had promised to make that very afternoon. As she flipped open her datebook, her eye fell on the appointment at once.

Josie was checking her version of Susannah’s schedule, too. In an undertone, she said, “I’ll cancel the department store, if you want.”

“They’ll understand a family emergency.”

“But listen,” Josie said. “The store’s on your way to Tyler. Why not drop in, make the appearance a short one and buy yourself that bathing suit you need for your trip?”

“I’m not sure,” Susannah murmured uneasily.

“You could be in and out of the store in twenty minutes. I’ll go along and make sure it goes smoothly.”

“I really must get a bathing suit.”

“May I suggest a bikini?” said the dry male voice in her ear. “In pink, maybe.”

Susannah had forgotten that her voice was audible to her caller, but he probably hadn’t heard Josie’s side of the conversation. “Oh, sorry—”

“You look good in pink,” he continued sarcastically. “A pink bikini sounds like the perfect choice. It’ll make you forget all about your grandmother, I’m sure. Sorry to have bothered you, Miss—”

“Wait! That’s not it at all. I’m just checking my schedule. Of course I’ll come. I just have to make a quick stop along the way, that’s all.”

“For the bikini. All right, go ahead.” Tartly, he added, “The right bathing suit might do you a world of good, in fact.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A lady as straitlaced as you seem on television—a lady who has to check her book before she goes home for a visit—well, that’s a lady who needs loosening up, I’d say. Get a hotpink bikini, Miss Atkins.”

He was probably right, Susannah thought. Maybe her life was pretty strict, and she had allowed herself to forget the things that were truly important—like grandmothers and bathing suits. She found herself nodding in agreement.

Besides, it was hard not to be seduced by that marvelous voice. Glad he couldn’t see her smile, Susannah said, “I’m hardly the bikini type.”

“Who says so?”

“I say so.”

“That’s too bad.” There was a slight pause, during which he must have decided he’d flown off the handle. His voice dropped another half octave and on that new note he said, “Maybe you ought to try something out of character for once.”

“I like my character the way it is.”

“An occasional change can be healthy. Buy a bikini and see what happens.”

Susannah couldn’t hold back her laugh. “Are you always so free with your advice?”

He laughed, too, and the tension eased. “When it’s needed. And I think it’s definitely needed in this case. I’ll tell your grandmother that you’re coming today, all right?”

“Fine.” Susannah hesitated, then impulsively asked, “Who are you, anyway? A friend of my grandmother?”

“Yep,” said the voice. “I’m Joe Santori.”

“Well, I’m warning you, Joe Santori. My grandmother is going to be mad at you. She doesn’t like people interfering.”

“I can take it,” he replied with a laugh.

He hung up without another word, leaving Susannah to stare, smiling, at the humming receiver. For a friend of her grandmother, he sounded very young indeed. Maybe he was one of those little old fellows who hung around Tyler’s retirement home. She frowned again, trying to place his name. Was Joe Santori one of the old coots who played gin rummy every day at the hardware store? Or one of the gentlemen who sang in the church choir?

He didn’t sound like an old man. Far from it. With that low, sexy voice, he could be—

“Well?” asked Josie, interrupting Susannah’s runaway thoughts. “Who was he?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Susannah replied, cradling the phone. “But I’m going to find out.”

* * *

THE DEPARTMENT STORE was mobbed with Christmas shoppers, but Susannah and Josie managed to slip into the resort-wear section for a swimsuit before making Susannah’s quick appearance in the kitchen appliances, where she had promised to demonstrate a new brand of food processor. She apologized to the store manager for cutting her stay short, but the woman was completely understanding.

“I look after my grandparents, too,” she said sympathetically. “Sometimes I have to drop everything to take them to the doctor’s office or to the grocery store. It’s exasperating, but I wouldn’t trade them for any promotion in the world.”

“Thanks,” Susannah said, relieved that she’d found a human being to deal with. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

The manager smiled. “I’ll hold you to that! Our customers love ‘Oh, Susannah!”’

Josie took the manager aside to schedule another appearance, and Susannah began her presentation. It was fun and lighthearted, and she even managed to sell a few food processors to people who had gathered around the demonstration table to watch her chop, grind and puree.

Then Josie stepped in and broke up the event, making apologies on Susannah’s behalf and hurrying her out of the store.

“You know how to get home to Tyler, right?” Josie asked, bundling her into her car in the parking lot. “You want me to follow you as far as the interstate?”

“I may be an organizational cripple,” Susannah shot back cheerfully, “but I can find my way home.”

“Okay. Then you’ll come back early tomorrow, right? You need time to finish packing for your trip. I’ll phone Roger to tell him what’s happening.”

“Thanks. What would I do without you, Josie?”

“You’d be a dismal failure, I’m sure,” Josie said with a grin, kissing Susannah’s cheek as they hugged. “Either that, or you’d be a network star making millions. Maybe I’m just holding you back.”

“You’re holding me together. Someday it will be your turn, you know.”

“I can’t wait. One more thing. You’ll need this.” Josie handed over the small suitcase she insisted Susannah always keep ready in her office, packed with a few essentials and a change of clothes. “Don’t go off to Tyler unprepared.”

“Oh, Josie, you’re a lifesaver. And I appreciate it more than you can imagine. Give Marlon a smooch for me.”

Marlon was Josie’s temperamental cat. Josie laughed. They parted then, with Josie turning her car back to the city and Susannah heading west.

The drive to Tyler normally took more than an hour, but Susannah lost track of time and was surprised to find the sunlight slanting over the horizon when she finally pulled her station wagon into the town limits of Tyler, Wisconsin.

Tyler looked as pretty as a Christmas card, covered with snow that sparkled in the last flicker of afternoon light. Picturesque trails of smoke wisped from the chimneys of the neatly kept houses on Elm Street. The steeple of the Methodist Church pointed heavenward from a thatch of spruce trees, with snowflakes settling gently on the fluffy green branches.

Susannah’s chest felt tight as she drew up to the curb in front of the tall Victorian house on the corner of Elm and Third streets. No matter how many years had passed since she’d left her hometown for college, she always got a pang of pleasure when she returned.

Pleasure mixed with regret. Susannah often thought of Tyler as the life she’d left behind. The lovely town was quiet, yet full of good people who lived rich, full lives. Tyler had a lot to offer. But, even though she visited occasionally, Susannah had turned her back on it somewhere along the line. She had never meant to abandon her roots so completely. Sometimes a hot career in the big city paled by comparison.

Her grandmother’s house, with its gracefully curving front porch, its scalloped trim and its twin turrets, looked as welcoming as ever. Susannah knew every nook and cranny in the house, having lived with her grandmother after the deaths of her parents. Nothing had changed, as far as Susannah could see. It was comforting to know that life stayed the same in Tyler.

When she opened the car door, she could hear the soft croon of Bing Crosby singing Christmas carols from the loudspeakers in front of Gates Department Store, just a few blocks away. Across the street, Mr. Connelly was stringing colored lights in his shrubbery while his two small children watched, bundled in identical yellow snowsuits with pompoms on their hats. The children looked away from their father long enough to give Susannah happy waves of greeting.

“There’s certainly a feeling of Christmas in the air,” Susannah murmured, reaching into the back seat for her overnight case and a gaily wrapped jar of peach chutney she’d brought along to give to her grandmother. It was an old family custom to bring little gifts when visiting. Then she straightened and inhaled the fragrant scent of wood smoke that hung in the air. “That’s the way life is in Tyler—it’s always like Christmas. Oh, I almost wish I wasn’t going to spend the holidays in the Caribbean!”

“Maybe you can get a refund,” said the same wonderfully masculine voice Susannah had heard on the telephone.

She spun around, fully expecting to come face-to-face with one of her grandmother’s friends—an old man with a cane, perhaps, or loose dentures. A lot of men came to visit Rose Atkins, because she was so lively for her age. Her vigor seemed contagious. But standing in front of Susannah on the snow-encrusted sidewalk was no withered senior citizen with a gleam in his eye. Far from it.

He was tall and lanky, with amazing shoulders, coal-black mischievous eyes full of improper suggestions, plus curly dark hair that tickled his ears and the back of his strong neck. His clothes were rough—a rumpled old parka over jeans, a faded flannel work shirt and heavy boots suitable for hiking the Klondike. The parka was unzipped, revealing a low-slung tool belt worn with the panache of a gunslinger.

“Let me guess,” said Susannah when she could control her vocal cords. “Mr. Busybody Santori?”

His wide mouth quirked into a wry grin. He had a strong Italian face with prominent cheekbones, expressive brows and velvety black eyes that communicated volumes. “Am I going to get a lecture from you, too, Miss Atkins?”

“That would be cruel,” Susannah shot back, smiling. “I bet my grandmother has chewed you up one side and down the other already.”

“I’m still licking my wounds, in fact.”

“She was angry at you for calling me?”

“Furious,” Joe Santori pronounced. “She says I have spoiled your vacation by suggesting you come home, and I’ll never be forgiven.”

“It’s not as bad as that,” Susannah replied, hefting her suitcase out of the car and slamming the door with her other hand. “I’m sure I’ll still be able to catch my plane. I’ll bet she’s mostly angry that you interfered. My grandmother prides herself on her independence.”

“She has a right to be proud.” Joe took her overnight case without asking and slung the strap effortlessly over one shoulder. “But we all need a little help now and then.”

Looking up at him, Susannah doubted that Joe Santori believed his own words. He looked like a man who’d rather die than ask for help for himself. The arrogance that showed plainly in his face was tempered only by his lopsided grin. Obviously, he was perfectly at ease conducting the lives of people around him and felt justified telephoning a complete stranger to come home to check on a sick relative.

But there was something else in Joe Santori’s expression, too—something Susannah felt she could trust. Along with his natural self-confidence, he seemed to radiate honesty. He had a few flecks of gray in his dark hair, and the laugh lines around his eyes also seemed to bespeak a certain amount of tragedy along with amusement. He had an interesting face. A trustworthy face.

“Tell me the truth,” Susannah said, coming directly to the point and knowing she could rely on him. “Is my grandmother really sick?”

Joe shrugged and responded just as bluntly. “I can’t tell. I’ve known her for a couple of years, but only as an acquaintance. I started doing some work on her house earlier this month, and Rose seemed pretty perky then. But now...well, I can’t tell what’s wrong, exactly. Maybe she’s just feeling blue.”

Susannah shook her head, concerned anew. “Not before Christmas. It’s her favorite season. My Granny Rose loves getting ready for parties and...well, everything.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions before you’ve seen her,” Joe cautioned, his voice low and quieting. He put one hand on Susannah’s shoulder to steady her and said with a grin, “Maybe you’ll take one look at your grandmother and decide to belt me for dragging you to Tyler on a wild-goose chase.”

Susannah appreciated his kindness. She didn’t feel like belting him at all.

Joe looked down at Susannah Atkins and couldn’t imagine her belting anyone. She was so small, for starters. On television, she looked average in size, but in person she was quite dainty. Her body was concealed by a flowing, camel-hair coat, belted casually around a slim waist and long enough to show slim ankles encased in trim black boots. But Joe was familiar enough with “Oh, Susannah!,” the popular television show that came on after the noon news every day to know that Miss Susannah Atkins had a body worthy of great admiration.

And while she was pretty on the small screen, Joe hadn’t been prepared for how exquisitely beautiful she was in real life. She had a delicate face with a sharp chin, pointed nose and thickly lashed blue eyes that were deep-set and luminous. Her shoulder-length blond hair was smooth and glossy, pulled back into a raspberry-colored beret that exactly matched the shade of her lipstick. With her quirky little mouth and those expressive blue eyes, she looked darling—just ready for someone to come along and muss her up a little.

With a lilting laugh, she said, “I don’t believe in belting people, Mr. Santori. I leave that to my grandmother. Has she ever told you the story of when she chased off a burglar with a frying pan?”

She was charming, Joe decided. “There are burglars in Tyler?”

“No, it was just a teenage boy trying to sell encyclopedias, but Granny Rose didn’t like the way he seemed to be casing the joint and she decided he was a burglar. Rather than call the police, she chased him for a block, waving a frying pan.” Susannah turned and led the way up the sidewalk to her grandmother’s house, saying, “As it turned out, he was a fraud. Granny Rose investigated the company he worked for and found it was a very shady outfit. Single-handed, she chased them out of the state.”