Read Online What the Lady Wants by Jennifer Crusie - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Crusie
Tags: Contemporary
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down a tree-lined street of old brick German town houses. "He paid the difference between the Miata and this car. I still have to pay off the amount of the Miata loan, which was more than I could afford in the first place. So now I'm paying it on a car I don't even like, thanks to my Uncle Armand, may he rest in peace." Mae pulled up in front of the last town house on the right. "This is it."
"Maybe he did it for you," Mitch suggested. "Maybe it's safer—"
"He did it for him," Mae said flatly. "My Uncle Armand didn't exist without his labels. Anything near him had to be expensive. Anything else caused him real pain. It bothered him that I was driving a car that wasn't high-class enough, so he changed it so he wouldn't be bothered anymore. Then he expected me to be grateful. I wasn't. That, in a nutshell, is the story of our relationship. Any other questions?"
"Can I drive this car on the way back?"
"Pay attention," Mae said. "You're investigating a murder."
"I know that," Mitch said. "I just want to investigate it driving a Mercedes."
Mae gave up and got out of the car, leaving Mitch to follow her.
Harold's key got them in the front door. Mae led Mitch into the cool, narrow hall as she cast a quick glance up the stairway.
"What's up there?" he asked.
"I don't know. I've never been here before." She moved to the end of the hall and through an archway into the living room, and then stopped, overwhelmed by envy.
The room was small but cozy, full of soft amber upholstered furniture and pretty crocheted pillows and flower prints, everything washed with the sunlight that came through the French doors at the end of the room. Mae walked to the doors and leaned against the door-jamb, looking out into the tiny walled garden that still bloomed with the last of the summer flowers. Everything was so pretty, so warm. She bit her lip and wondered what it would be like to live in a light-filled place with somebody who listened to her and laughed with her and put his arms around her and told her that he loved her. It was never going to happen to her, but she did wonder.
For a moment, she felt so sorry for herself, she almost cried.
Mitch moved to stand behind her, looking out over her shoulder, and she felt vaguely comforted by his nearness. "When the will is probated, we're going to move to a place on the river," she said to him. "It's going to have big open windows and clean hardwood floors and white gauze curtains, and when the breeze blows in off the river, it will fill the whole house."
"Sounds nice." Mitch's voice was hesitant, and she knew he didn't have the slightest idea what she was talking about, but at least he sounded sympathetic. And he was listening.
She turned to him. "And we're going to have about twelve dogs."
"So much for the clean hardwood floors."
She met his eyes. "It's what I've always wanted. I hate all that velvet and brocade and money at Armand's. All the furniture is too valuable to sit on, and all the books are too valuable to read, and we can't let the sun in because it will fade all the damn velvet." She stopped, aware that her voice was rising. "All we want is a home, June and Harold and I. And that's what this place makes me think of. A home." She gazed at all the comfort in the sunny little room. "Armand wouldn't know how to make a room this nice. Stormy must have chosen this stuff."
A small voice startled them. "I did."
Mitch turned around, and Mae saw past him to the childlike woman standing just inside the archway to the room.
She'd forgotten just how amazingly beautiful Stormy was. Her red-gold ringlets and huge blue eyes were dazzling, but mostly it was Stormy's skin, opal-like in its translucence, that took people's breath away. At twenty-five, Stormy Klosterman was the closest thing to perfect beauty Mae had ever seen.
Mae shot a glance at Mitch and sighed. He had that stunned look that men usually got when they saw Stormy. It wasn't his fault. Even women tended to stare
"Maybe he did it for you," Mitch suggested. "Maybe it's safer—"
"He did it for him," Mae said flatly. "My Uncle Armand didn't exist without his labels. Anything near him had to be expensive. Anything else caused him real pain. It bothered him that I was driving a car that wasn't high-class enough, so he changed it so he wouldn't be bothered anymore. Then he expected me to be grateful. I wasn't. That, in a nutshell, is the story of our relationship. Any other questions?"
"Can I drive this car on the way back?"
"Pay attention," Mae said. "You're investigating a murder."
"I know that," Mitch said. "I just want to investigate it driving a Mercedes."
Mae gave up and got out of the car, leaving Mitch to follow her.
Harold's key got them in the front door. Mae led Mitch into the cool, narrow hall as she cast a quick glance up the stairway.
"What's up there?" he asked.
"I don't know. I've never been here before." She moved to the end of the hall and through an archway into the living room, and then stopped, overwhelmed by envy.
The room was small but cozy, full of soft amber upholstered furniture and pretty crocheted pillows and flower prints, everything washed with the sunlight that came through the French doors at the end of the room. Mae walked to the doors and leaned against the door-jamb, looking out into the tiny walled garden that still bloomed with the last of the summer flowers. Everything was so pretty, so warm. She bit her lip and wondered what it would be like to live in a light-filled place with somebody who listened to her and laughed with her and put his arms around her and told her that he loved her. It was never going to happen to her, but she did wonder.
For a moment, she felt so sorry for herself, she almost cried.
Mitch moved to stand behind her, looking out over her shoulder, and she felt vaguely comforted by his nearness. "When the will is probated, we're going to move to a place on the river," she said to him. "It's going to have big open windows and clean hardwood floors and white gauze curtains, and when the breeze blows in off the river, it will fill the whole house."
"Sounds nice." Mitch's voice was hesitant, and she knew he didn't have the slightest idea what she was talking about, but at least he sounded sympathetic. And he was listening.
She turned to him. "And we're going to have about twelve dogs."
"So much for the clean hardwood floors."
She met his eyes. "It's what I've always wanted. I hate all that velvet and brocade and money at Armand's. All the furniture is too valuable to sit on, and all the books are too valuable to read, and we can't let the sun in because it will fade all the damn velvet." She stopped, aware that her voice was rising. "All we want is a home, June and Harold and I. And that's what this place makes me think of. A home." She gazed at all the comfort in the sunny little room. "Armand wouldn't know how to make a room this nice. Stormy must have chosen this stuff."
A small voice startled them. "I did."
Mitch turned around, and Mae saw past him to the childlike woman standing just inside the archway to the room.
She'd forgotten just how amazingly beautiful Stormy was. Her red-gold ringlets and huge blue eyes were dazzling, but mostly it was Stormy's skin, opal-like in its translucence, that took people's breath away. At twenty-five, Stormy Klosterman was the closest thing to perfect beauty Mae had ever seen.
Mae shot a glance at Mitch and sighed. He had that stunned look that men usually got when they saw Stormy. It wasn't his fault. Even women tended to stare
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