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Her Private Eye
By Shannon Hollis Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
Copyright © 2003 Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
All right reserved. ISBN: 0373691319
Chapter One
"Elaine, I'm not going to sleep with somebody just to make you and Mom happy." Mallory Baines cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear and selected a paintbrush. She dipped it in the can of paint and carefully applied Spanish Cream to the trim on the kitchen doorway. "Got that?"
"I never said you had to sleep with someone," her older sister protested. "Just go out on a date. Schedule a meeting. Something. I read an article in Jane about how to tell if someone has post-relationship depression, and you got a 'yes' on six of the twelve points. I'm looking out for you, here."
"Six out of twelve?" This was getting worse and worse. "I forbid you to analyze me with a list in Jane. Who is Jane, anyway?"
"Someone who gets more sex than you do, I'll bet."
"Ha-ha. I've been busy." Mallory inspected her free hand. Oops. She'd chipped another nail. "And breaking up with Jon was the best thing I ever did."
"It's been six months. For the last four you've been doing this 'I am woman, hear me drill' thing. You need to come out of that dump and behave like a civilized person."
"My house is not a dump," Mallory said, stung.
"It's being renovated."
"With the three million from that stock, you could have a brand-new house in San Francisco and a ski chalet in Tahoe. But what do you do? You buy a Victorian nobody wants and spend twenty hours a day breaking your nails." Elaine paused ominously. "Fess up. You've got one of those leather tool belts, haven't you?"
Mallory decided to overlook that. "I don't want the kind of house everybody else has. I want to bring life back to this one. And do something completely on my own, for once." She dipped the brush again and smiled.
"I don't understand you. What do you call inventing that software and then putting your company on the New York Stock Exchange?"
"I did that with Jon. I think SpendSafe was the only reason we were together. Emotional independence is different, and you know it. And it doesn't include dates with whoever Mom's got up her sleeve for me this week."
"Have you told her about the guy across the street?"
Mallory rolled her eyes. "I don't tell Mom any more than she needs to know. She doesn't need to know about him."
"Single, responsible, home-owning ... I've seen how he looks at you. And he helps you out, doesn't he?"
"Painting the dining room isn't a declaration of undying love."
"It is for some guys. And speaking of undying love, tell me what really happened between you and Jon - instead of the G-rated version."
Jon, the man who would not leave. Mallory owed her ex-fiancé no loyalty, but it was still hard to admit she could look so successful in public and be such a marshmallow inside. She'd spent too many years allowing people she loved to push her into molds that didn't fit her. Now she was a marshmallow in the process of renovating herself as well as this house.
"All right. I'll tell you. That last morning we had a meeting with the SEC, and we fought over whether the black Jimmy Choos went with my suit, or the navy Ferragamos. I could put up with him telling me which direction the plates were supposed to go in the dishwasher. I could even give in on black towels in the bathroom. But a woman's right to choose her shoes is sacred. I canceled the caterer that same morning."
"I always wondered what happened. It seemed so sudden."
"Now you know. Back to you."
"Okay, so maybe Mom and Jane together made me overreact. I have to admit, I do like your house. Or I will when it has floors. By the way, Mom told me over lunch that, in her opinion, you're substituting the house for the family you'll never have."
"Oh, please." Mallory almost leaned on the door-jamb, jerked upright and craned to look behind her. Not that another streak on her shorts would make much difference. "Know what she did last weekend?"
"I don't think I want to." Elaine paused, as if to brace herself. "What now?"
"She invited me over for dinner - and conveniently forgot to tell me she'd invited Jon."
"You may be over him, but I don't think she is. What did you do?"
"Walking out worked pretty well the last time, so I did it again. I think you're right. I think she's half in love with him herself. If I leave them alone often enough, maybe he'll propose."
Elaine laughed, but it ended in a sigh. "You're so brave. I could never have stood up to her like that."
"Yes, you could. If the two people who wanted to run your life the most ganged up on you over the artichoke hearts, you wouldn't just walk. You'd run."
"Come on, Mal. Mom just wants you to be secure and happy."
"I have all the security I'll ever need invested very nicely, thank you." The doorbell rang. "I've got to go. Someone's at the door."
"Call me later. I could use some pointers on how to just say no."
The bell rang again. She peered out of the beveled-glass window just as the guy on the porch raised his hand to the button again. "Can I help you?" she said through the glass.
"I'm looking for the person who owns this house," he told the door in a voice people usually reserved for the very old and deaf.
"Why?"
He reached into the left back pocket of his jeans as if to retrieve some identification, frowned, then slapped a hand on the front pockets. He checked the right back pocket. Relief filled his face as he pulled out a slim black leather wallet.
She squinted to read it, gave up and flipped the dead bolt to open the door. "If you're trying to list it, it's not for sale."
He looked at her blankly, then glanced down as if to check that he had the right card behind the plastic cover. In doing so, he fumbled it and it fell facedown on the mat. He bent to retrieve it.
Oh, my.
Stop that, Baines, you shameless hussy.
"I'm not a Realtor." He straightened, dusted off the wallet and handed it to her. "I'm a private investigator. Duncan Moore." He smiled, a little-boy smile so appealing she caught herself smiling back. "And you are ...?"
"Mallory Baines," she said absently as she read. The card confirmed what he'd said, so she memorized the phone number to check later, and returned it to him.
Then what he'd said actually registered. "Did I do something wrong?" She couldn't have. She hadn't been out of the house except to buy building supplies and food.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Her Private Eye by Shannon Hollis Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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