1022 Evergreen Place - Debbie Macomber [13]
Drawing a deep breath, he picked up the phone. He knew Shirley Bliss’s number by heart. He’d called so often that his fingers hit the numbers automatically.
Shirley, a widowed artist whose work he’d displayed, interested him in a way no woman had since Grace Sherman—Grace Harding now. He’d fallen for Grace and come so close to making her part of his life; the fact that it hadn’t happened still depressed him.
“Hello.” Shirley’s teenage daughter, Tanni, answered his call.
“Hello, Tanni,” Will said cheerfully. “How’s it going?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“You heard from Shaw lately?” he asked. By pulling a few strings he’d been instrumental in getting Tanni’s boyfriend into the San Francisco Art Institute. He wanted Shirley to be in his debt, although so far she’d shown little appreciation.
“Not really.”
The girl’s voice tensed. Clearly this was a delicate subject and one he should avoid.
“Is your mother home?” he asked next. Not having had children, Will felt at a distinct disadvantage while talking to teenagers.
“She’s in the dungeon.”
“The dungeon?”
“The basement,” Tanni said. “Where she works.”
Oh, her studio. “Would you mind letting her know I’m on the phone?”
The girl hesitated. “Mom doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s working.”
Evidently Tanni was prepared to stand guard over the moat leading to the castle—and the dungeon. “Just tell her I’m on the phone, if you would.”
“All right.” She didn’t seem pleased about it.
Will heard Tanni set the phone down and walk away, her shoes tapping against the floor. Then he could hear her shout into the basement. After a few minutes she returned and picked up the receiver. “Mom says if you sold another piece, would you please put the check in the mail.”
“I didn’t. Tell her I have a question for her.”
“Okay.”
Once again Will heard her set the phone down, trot across the room and shout. He didn’t hear anything for another minute or so.
Then… “This is Shirley.”
If he’d recognized the lack of welcome in Tanni’s voice, it came through even more clearly in her mother’s.
“I hope I’m not interrupting you.” Will forced himself to sound his most charming.
“It’s fine.” Some of the irritation left her voice. “I was in the middle of something but I needed a break, anyway.”
He relaxed a bit. “I called to see if you were available this Saturday night. I have tickets for the Playhouse.” He didn’t give her a chance to reject yet another invitation. Instead, he continued in a conversational tone. “Peggy Beldon stopped by earlier in the week. She’s redecorating the master bedroom and bought an original piece—a collage. She mentioned that Bob’s starring in the production of Fiddler on the Roof. That’s a favorite of mine and I like to support our local theater.”
“This Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Will, I’m sorry but I promised Miranda I’d attend the fundraiser at the library this Saturday.”
Okay, he’d half expected this kind of response. “I might be able to trade in the tickets for another night.” He wasn’t giving up that easily.
“Unlikely,” Shirley said, and he heard a hint of regret in her voice—or thought he did. “I read in the Chronicle this morning that the tickets have completely sold out. The theater might add extra shows.”
“Well, maybe we can go to one of those.”
“Maybe,” Shirley said.
“What about Sunday?” he blurted out, not sure what to suggest. A stroll along the waterfront? A movie? Coffee? He’d tried all those before and gotten nowhere.
“That won’t work, either. Miranda and I—”
“Just who is Miranda?” Will asked, gritting his teeth. He’d never heard the other woman’s name before and all of a sudden it was Miranda this and Miranda that. He hadn’t even met the woman and already he had the distinct feeling she was a troublemaker.
“Miranda’s a good friend. We’ve known each other for years. We drifted apart but after my husband died we reconnected. Miranda lost Hugh, her husband, about five years ago. You might’ve heard of him—Hugh Sullivan, a landscape painter. Anyway, she’s been