The very idea was ludicrous, and she very nearly told them so. But even all these years later, she still held a grudge against Paul. She was sure that his antipathy had been a factor in the decisions Todd had made when he’d won the money. The first and only person Todd told about his winnings before he told Torie had been Paul.
Given that, she could see why the detectives would see Paul in a skewed light, but the idea that Paul was gay nearly made her laugh out loud. His bearing and demeanor was all male—all red-blooded male. He was very determinedly heterosexual. She knew that intimately. Of course that knowledge was connected with a lot of bad memories.
Then and now, the intensity of his sensuality, the way he sometimes looked at her made her terribly uncomfortable. Between that and his repeated, public declarations that she was all wrong for Todd, Torie disliked him intensely. When she and Todd moved in together before the wedding, she’d asked Todd not to invite him to parties or dinners at their house. Nor did she ever want to be left alone with him.
She didn’t hate him. He made her feel and remember things that she wasn’t prepared to deal with.
Just one more reason Paul hated her.
As if he’d read her thoughts, Sorrels spoke. “So do you know why Mister Jameson doesn’t like you or why he would try to break up your relationship?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m sure you have some idea.” Sorrels shot her a knowing look. “Most women have an inkling about that sort of thing.”
“I don’t know for sure. He thought Todd would stray. Wouldn’t be able to be faithful. Or so he said. I never thought that at all. Todd kept his word, so I thought Paul was being, I don’t know, overprotective.”
“Of you?”
Torie frowned. That angle hadn’t occurred to her. “No, like I said, he doesn’t like me. I guess he was protecting Todd from the possibility of an expensive divorce later. He is a lawyer.”
“Did you and Mister Peterson have a prenuptial agreement?”
“A what? No, that wasn’t Todd’s style. Or mine. Besides, it doesn’t matter now, does it? It was five years ago.”
“Maybe it matters to Mister Jameson.”
Paul Jameson’s face leaped into her mind. Lean and tan, as it had been in their college days. Everybody’s pal. Everyone except her. He’d been so attractive, so ready to go out or make out with anyone. Just not her. Until after that one night.
Steering away from that thought, she shifted to wondering about her cousin. Ironically, Dev was a similar type. Very masculine, very much the easygoing friendly playboy sort. But he didn’t set her teeth on edge.
Dev.
Oh, Lord.
“Do you need anything more from me? I need to find out about my cousin, go see him if I can.”
“I don’t think so. We’ll keep you up to date on our findings, Ms. Hagen. Please let us know if you think of anything else. However, before you go anywhere, there’s another officer who wants to speak to you about your cousin’s incident.”
Incident? Nope. It was an attack. How could she expect these men to understand the curse? But she hadn’t dated Dev. Why had he been a victim? GoodMama was going to be so upset. Not only had Torie not heeded the warning about the fire—although honestly she hadn’t had any time to do so—but Dev had gotten hurt as well. GoodMama would be frantic, and further upset and outraged that Torie had embroiled her favorite great-grandson in her own personal curse, sending him to the hospital.
Oh, man she was in so much trouble. She’d be lucky if GoodMama didn’t put her own curse on her troublesome great-granddaughter.
She was so caught up in her thoughts as the investigators left that she barely registered when her best friend Pam slipped into the room.
“Girl, you look like a thundercloud.”
“Jeez!” Torie yipped in surprise. “You scared the crap out of me.”
Pam set the bakery box of doughnuts on the table, dropped her fat purse in the chair, and stretched over the bed to give Torie a firm, best-friend hug. “Don’t know why, it’s like Grand Central in here, all the comings and goings. Who were the two stuffed shirts? They looked like insurance salesmen or cops.”
“Ding, ding, ding. Give the lady a prize,” Torie joked as she returned the pressure. Having Pam there to support her brought her to tears. Pam was so strong, such a great friend. With everything that had happened to her over the past five years, and even before when they were in college, Pam had been and still was her anchor to sanity.
Torie wiped her eyes as Pam plopped into the chair. “So, tell me everything,” she demanded, digging a can of Diet Pepsi from her purse. After unwrapping a straw, she took a long drink, and grabbed a doughnut. “Well?”
“They’re the fire inspectors assigned to my case. My house was torched, no accident.”
“You need a lucky clover or rabbit’s foot, girlfriend. No, scratch that, everyone around you, the males at least, need a clover. Better yet, I need to rub your shoulder for luck. You manage to end up okay when everyone around you is getting knocked for a loop.”
“Yeah, well, I got the loop knocked out of me this time,” Torie pointed to her bandaged head. “And Dev. Oh, Pam, Dev’s been hurt.” Torie reached for her hand. “You have to find out how he is. They said he was here in this hospital, on the third floor.”
“Oh, man, really? Dev?” Pam sat forward, drink forgotten. “The sexy-cousin-from-New-Orleans-Dev? Don’t tell me he’s one of the men fatales.” Men fatales was the moniker Pam had hung on the men who had dated Torie, and suffered for the privilege.
“I don’t know. I think so, but we never actually dated.”
“You didn’t date Jorge either. He fixed your plumbing and your roof, was at your house for a few meals, and viola, he’s left with a broken leg from a hit-and-run.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, item one on the agenda is to see about Devastating Cousin Devereaux.” Pam made a check mark in the air. “Item two, we need to talk about how to deal with the cleanup of you-know-what.”
“They can’t find out about that.”
“Who?”
“The investigators. I told them you and I went out for a drink after work, then I came straight home after getting some groceries.”
“We did have a drink.” Pam shot her a wicked grin. “And a chaser.”
Torie groaned, but smiled. “Yeah, we chased, and got chased, but nobody knows it was us, right? We have to keep it that way.”
“No worries. I have the mangy dog stashed at Carlos’s house.” Pam had a legion of friends, mostly male, who would do anything for her, up to and probably including murder. She attracted men like bees to honey, and even when she didn’t date them, or even acknowledge them, they still hung around, doing her favors at the slightest whiff of a whim.
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, Carlos knows what to do, and how to handle him.”
“Thank goodness for Carlos. Will he keep it quiet?”
“For me? Of course. I promised to bake him my special German chocolate cake.”
When Torie dated a man he ended up in mortal peril; with Pam, they got cake. And probably coffee, too.
“So I’ll go see about Devereaux. By the way, what’s his last name?”
“Chance. Like take-a-chance.”
“I’d love to,” Pam quipped, picking up her bag.
“Har, har. Would you mind getting me something to read too? Like a magazine or something?”
“Your wish is my command.” Pam dug around in her capacious purse and pulled out a People magazine, along with an InStyle and the Moore Manor spring issue.
“The Moore Manor’s the most interesting, of course. Wait till you hear who they picked for Fall. Enjoy. I’ll be back in a jiff.”