She glanced back. “I was kind of counting on it, Charlie.” She smiled prettily and left. He stood up and watched her glide gracefully down the hallway. Then he closed the door to his study and sat down at his desk puffing thoughtfully on his stogie.
Riggs had put on a pair of chino pants, and the collar of his button-down shirt peeked out from under his patterned sweater. He had driven over in a Jeep Cherokee he had borrowed while his pickup truck was in the shop having its bumper repaired. The Jeep seemed more fitting to the affluent surroundings than his battered truck anyway. He smoothed down his freshly washed hair before climbing out of the Cherokee and walking up the steps of the mansion. These days he didn’t usually dress up, except for the occasional social event he attended in town. He had finally decided a jacket and dress slacks was too pretentious. It was only lunch after all. And who knew? The lady of the house might ask him to do some on-site work.
The door was answered by the maid who escorted Riggs to the library. Riggs wondered if he had been watched as he had pulled up in the circle. Maybe there were video cameras trained on that area as well, with Catherine Savage and her sidekick Charlie sitting in some observation room crammed floor to ceiling with TV monitors.
He looked around the spacious area and noted with due respect the numerous volumes lining the walls. He wondered if they were for show only. He had been in places where that was the case. Somehow he didn’t think that was true here. His attention fell upon the photos lining the fireplace mantel. There were ones there of Charlie and a little girl who strongly resembled Catherine Savage, but none of Catherine Savage. That seemed odd, but the woman was odd, so there was some semblance of consistency there.
He turned when the double doors to the library opened. His first real encounter with the woman, in his reconfigured hayloft, had not prepared him for his second.
The golden hair tumbled down the stylishly flared shoulders of a black one-piece dress that ended at her bare calves and didn’t miss any contour of her long, curvy body along the way. It struck him that on her the garment would have seemed equally appropriate at a state fair or a White House dinner. She wore matching black low heel shoes. The image of a sleek, muscular panther gliding toward him held fast in his mind. After giving it some thought, Riggs had decided that the woman’s beauty was undeniable, but wasn’t perfect. After all, whose was? And another remarkable detail now emerged: While there were fine lines beginning to carve themselves around her eyes, Riggs noticed the almost complete absence of lines around her mouth, as though she had never smiled.
Curiously, the small scar on her jaw considerably heightened her attraction, he felt. Perhaps by silently forging a layer of danger, of adventure into her past?
“I’m glad you could make it,” she said, moving briskly forward and extending a hand, which Riggs shook. He was again amazed at the strength he felt in that grip; her long fingers seemed to swallow his big, callused hand. “I know contractors have numerous emergencies during the day. Your time is never your own.”
Riggs eyed the walls and ceilings of the library. “I heard about some of the renovations you had done here. I don’t care how good the G.C. is, something this complex, things get out of whack every now and then.”
“Charlie handled all of that. But I think things went fairly smoothly. I’m certainly pleased with the end product.”
“I could see that.”
“Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Sally is setting it up in the rear verandah. The dining room seats about fifty and I thought it might be a little overwhelming for three. Would you like something to drink beforehand?”
“I’m okay.” He pointed at the photos. “Is that your daughter? Or younger sister?”
She blushed and then followed his gesture, but settled herself on the couch before answering. “My daughter, Lisa. She’s ten years old. I can’t believe that, the years go by so quickly.”
Riggs looked her over in an unassuming manner. “You must have had her very young then.”
“Younger than I probably should have, but I wouldn’t give her back for anything in the world. Do you have children?”
Riggs shook his head quickly and looked down at his hands. “Never been that lucky.”
LuAnn had noted the absence of a wedding ring, although some men never wore them. She assumed a man who worked with his hands all day might not wear it simply for safety reasons.
“Your wife—”
“I’m divorced,” he interjected. “Almost four years now.” He put his hands in his pockets and again ran his eyes around the room. He could sense her following the path of his observations. “You?” he asked, settling his eyes back upon her.
“Widowed.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It was a long time ago,” she said simply. There was a ring in her voice that told Riggs the years had not managed to diminish the impact of the loss.
“Ms. Savage—”
“Please, call me Catherine.” She smiled impishly. “All my close friends do.”
He smiled back and sat down next to her. “So where’s Charlie?”
“He’s out running some errands. He’ll be joining us for lunch though.”
“So he’s your uncle?”
LuAnn nodded. “His wife passed on years ago. Both my parents are dead. We’re really all the family left.”
“I take it your late husband did very well for himself. Or maybe you did. I don’t want to sound politically incorrect.” Riggs grinned suddenly. “Either that, or one of you won the lottery.”
LuAnn’s hand tightened perceptibly on the edge of the couch. “My husband was a brilliant businessman who obviously left me very well-off.” She managed to say this with a casual air.
“He sure did,” Riggs agreed.
“And you? Have you lived here all your life?”
“Gee, after my visit here yesterday I thought you would have checked out my background thoroughly.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have quite the level of sources you obviously do. I didn’t think builders had such an information network.” Her eyes remained fixed on his.
“I moved here about five years ago. Apprenticed with a local builder who taught me the trade. He died about three years ago and that’s when I set up my own shop.”
“Five years. So your wife lived here with you for a year.”
Riggs shook his head. “The divorce was final four years ago, but we had been separated for about fourteen months. She’s still up in D.C. Probably always will be.”
“Is she in politics?”
“Attorney. Big partner, at a big firm. She has some politically connected clients. She’s very successful.”
“She must be good then. That’s still very much a man’s world. Like a lot of other ones.”
Riggs shrugged. “She’s smart, a great business-getter. I think that’s why we broke up. The marriage thing got in the way.”
“I see.”
“Not what you’d call an original story, but it’s the only one I have. I moved down here and never looked back.”
“I take it you like what you do.”
“It can be a hassle sometimes, just like any job. But I like putting things together. It’s therapeutic. And peaceful. I’ve been lucky, got some good word of mouth and the business has been steady. As you probably know, there’s a lot of money in this area. Even before you came.”
“So I understand. I’m glad your career change has worked out.”
He sat back while he digested her words, his lips pursed, his hands balled up into fists, but not in a threatening way.
He chuckled. “Let me guess, you heard that I was either a CIA operative or an international assassin who abruptly decided to chuck all that and take up hammering and sawing in more placid surroundings.”