not doing an investigation, Irene,” he said tiredly.
There was a long pause, then she asked, “So how long are you planning to stay down there?”
“I don’t know. It all depends.”
“On what?”
His beautiful pregnant neighbor, Jack thought.
Out loud he said, “My mood, Irene.”
“Hmm. Well, I hope you’re in a better one the next time you call.”
“So do I,” he rumbled, then hung up the phone before she could say more.
Rising from the couch, he walked out onto the porch and gazed at the Gulf of Mexico. A brisk south wind was white-capping the water and pushing the waves onto the beach. The stretch of empty sand was no more than seventy-five to a hundred yards away and ran parallel to the front of the house. At the moment egrets and gulls screeched and swooped over the rolling salt water, some strutting boldly upon the white sand in search of a scrap to eat.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in Biloxi. He thought it might have been seven years ago. Vaguely, he recalled a case he’d been handling at the time. A casino had been suing a building contractor for some reason that escaped him now.
Since then, several more casinos had sprouted up along the beaches of the coastal resort town. But surprisingly, the added traffic and noise was far removed from this place, which, being some three miles away from town, had somehow managed to stay quietly sheltered. Other than the house next to him, there were no other residences around.
Jack couldn’t imagine Trent staying in such a quiet, isolated place. He always remembered the boy liking bright lights and excitement. Jack figured a plush room in one of the casinos would have been more to his liking. But then, he had to admit Grace Holliday would be an attraction in her own right for any young man. Perhaps between her and the gaming tables, his nephew had kept himself entertained and content with the place.
Damn it, what was he doing? He was already making the supposition that Grace Holliday was carrying Trent’s child. And that could be the furthermost thing from the truth.
If Jack were being completely honest with himself, the simple fact that Grace was carrying a child, no matter who had fathered it, bothered him. Though he didn’t understand why. Nowadays unwed mothers were the norm rather the exception. Besides, she was a total stranger to him. How she chose to live her life was none of his business.
Yet last night, when she’d offered him her hand, he’d sensed something different about her. It was almost as though she were a Southern-bred lady with pride and morals and family values. Not some woman who would sleep with a man, then try to extort money from him.
Hellfire, Jack, he silently cursed himself. You’ve been in the courtroom too long. You can’t see a gold digger when one is standing right in front of you.
Hours later, a squeaking noise grew louder, intruding on the fringes of Jack’s slumber. Damn birds, why didn’t they go back to the beach where they belonged? he wondered drowsily.
Another screeching squawk pierced his ears and popped his eyes wide open. Above his head, he saw a network of pine boughs swishing in the gentle breeze. Where the hell was he?
Scraping his fingers through his hair, he sat up on the chaise longue and through squinted eyes glanced around the small backyard. Everything came back to him with sudden clarity. The doctor’s grim edict. The long drive from Houston to Biloxi yesterday. The weariness he’d felt last night before Grace Holliday had made her uninvited appearance in the bungalow.
The memory of his pretty neighbor had him quickly glancing at the place next door. She could be home now. He hadn’t been watching; he’d spent most of the afternoon working on brief for a major upcoming trial. He’d come outside for a break and the last thing he remembered was sitting on the longue, listening to the lulling sound of the restless ocean and drinking in the scent of pine and salt water.
He must have been more tired than he’d thought to have fallen asleep like that. His lips twisted ruefully at the thought. Another clue that he was getting old and burned out.
Rising from the longue, he started for the house, then stopped dead in his tracks as Grace’s voice floated over to him.
“Joshua, don’t let your instrument sag. What have I been telling you for the past three weeks? You must keep it up and level at all times. Now, hold it there and start again. And this time don’t disappoint me.”
Jack’s eyes opened wider. The woman wasn’t in any condition for kinky, afternoon sex, was she?
Not less than fifteen feet away, a chain-link fence, along with several head-high azalea bushes, separated the two backyards.
Not knowing what to expect, he walked to the fence and peered through the bushes. About ten feet away, on a brick patio, Grace was standing with her back to him. Her hair was once more piled atop her head in a mass of loose curls. She was still wearing the yellow blouse and long skirt he’d seen her in early this morning.
As for the reprimanded Joshua, there was no sight of him. Then suddenly the squeaking noise that had awoken Jack moments earlier began again. Grace stepped to one side, giving him a bird’s-eye view of the culprit.
He appeared to be about eight years old. A shock of brown bangs threatened to jab his eyes and his tongue stuck from one corner of his mouth as he concentrated for all he was worth on the small violin tucked beneath his chin.
A music student! God help him, he’d come here for peace and quiet. This was the most torturous noise he’d ever heard in his life! And Grace Holliday couldn’t be a music teacher. She was too young. Too pregnant! Women like her didn’t do things like this, he silently argued.
“That’s much better, Joshua.” She spoke again. “But you’re letting your bow slide. Remember you must keep it straight with the bridge. And level.”
“Yes, I remember, Miss Holliday. But when I’m thinking about the notes my fingers have to make, I forget about the bow,” the youngster complained.
Jack watched her give the boy an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “I know you do, Joshua. But soon it will all come together for you and you’ll be playing Strauss in no time. I promise.”
Strauss! Hell’s bells, this kid couldn’t even play the scales. Was she loony?
Jack didn’t wait around to hear more. The screeching sounds of horse hair pulling and pushing against metal strings filled the backyard again, drowning out the breeze and the call of the seagulls.
He escaped into the bungalow, glad he had the windows shut and the air conditioner running. It was time for dinner, anyway, he thought. He’d fix himself something to eat, then maybe later, after “poor little Joshua” was gone, he’d find some way to talk to Grace again.
This time he intended to get some answers.
Chapter Two
Two hours later, the screeching and sawing was still going on. At the moment the offender was a redhead she called Albert. He’d come in after a towheaded boy who couldn’t have been more than six years old had pulverized Jack’s eardrums
