Second Chance Girl. Susan MalleryЧитать онлайн книгу.
to suck it up. She’s a sweet little girl and you are more than capable of taking care of her.”
“Thanks for your undying emotional support,” he said drily. “I’m calling because my future sister-in-law wants me to help plan her wedding. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I would be a disaster and I need you to help me.”
“Shouldn’t you call Violet? She’s the one with the style sense.”
“I don’t want Violet.”
He spoke without thinking and then was stuck with the truth hanging out there—flapping in the breeze. He wanted Carol, he had for a long time. Things being what they were, he wasn’t going to do anything about the wanting, but helping him with the wedding wasn’t that. It was...
He realized he’d called Carol without a second thought, without considering who would be better. Why was that? Maybe because of the dreams, or maybe because...
“My sister will be heartbroken.” Carol sounded more cheerful than upset, then she laughed. “Well, crap. I just realized you’re asking me because I’m a woman. Just to be clear, being female doesn’t mean we’re all born with an innate ability to plan a wedding.”
“Sure you are. It comes with having breasts.”
“You’re the most annoying man on the planet.”
“So that’s a yes?”
She sighed. “Yes, Mathias, I will help you plan the wedding. I assume it’s in town?”
“At Weddings Out of the Box.”
“Perfect! Pallas will make sure we don’t mess up.”
“I’ll let you know when we have our first meeting. And thanks, Carol.”
“You’re welcome.”
She hung up. He did the same and left his phone on the desk before walking back to the glass piece he’d been working on. The small giraffe was maybe eight inches tall. The features were all there, but the little statue was static. He wanted movement and didn’t know how to make that happen.
Nick walked into the studio. “Hey. Didn’t you have a call with Maya?”
“She wants me to help with her wedding.”
Nick grinned. “Better you than me.”
“Apparently. Obviously I’m the one she trusts.”
“Or she figures you’re the soft touch.”
“Either way, I’m the good brother.”
Mathias studied the giraffe before tossing it into the recycling bin where it shattered into dozens of pieces.
“You gotta stop doing that,” Nick told him. “It was good.”
“Not good enough. If it’s not perfect, it can’t live.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Nick asked.
Mathias ignored the question.
“What about those?” His brother pointed to the shelves filled with imperfect pieces. Plates that weren’t exactly round or vases that sloped on one side. “They’re still alive.”
“Not alive, just not worth destroying.” They were pedestrian and didn’t matter. The everyday stuff was simply how he made his living. It wasn’t art.
Natalie came into the studio with Sophie on her leash. “I have to go run some errands,” she said, crossing to him. “You’re going to have to deal with your dog.”
“She’s not my dog,” Mathias muttered, only to have Sophie shoot him a wounded look. As if she’d understood what he was saying.
He took the leash. Sophie turned her back to him. He sighed. Why was this happening to him? First the dog and now a wedding. It wasn’t fair.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry. You’re a good girl.”
Sophie still kept her back to him.
Giving in to the inevitable, Mathias opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a bag of dog treats. Sophie spun to face him, her ears forward, her tail going about eighty miles an hour.
“Apparently you’re forgiven,” Nick pointed out. “It’s good to see you finally in a relationship.”
THE SWEET DREAMS INN off of Eternal Drive was the stuff of nightmares—at least for Ulrich. His plan had been to leave Happily Inc after he concluded his business with Violet Lund—thief and swindler—return to Los Angeles and catch a flight back to England. Only nothing had gone according to plan.
His meeting with the surprisingly attractive and very animated woman had left him feeling both awkward and confused. She had been able to produce a bill of sale for the buttons his grandmother had sent, and buttons were not what had been stolen from the house. Was she not the thief and if not her, then who?
Ulrich had driven to LA only to reschedule his flight and return to Happily Inc. The Sweet Dreams Inn had been the first hotel he’d seen, so he’d pulled in. Too late he’d discovered it was a themed hotel with each of the rooms representing something ridiculous. For reasons not completely clear to him, he’d agreed to a couple of nights in the Drive-In Room, which was how he found himself with a mattress fit into a red, 1959 Cadillac convertible, a television the size of a movie screen and a sitting room decorated like a concession stand. Even he had to admit the car was beautiful—with big fins and white-walled tires. Still, it wasn’t where one expected to sleep. Regardless of the strange surroundings, the Wi-Fi was excellent and the kitchen delivered meals to his room.
Ulrich had spent nearly a day researching Violet Lund and antique buttons only to come to the conclusion that it was more than possible that she had been telling the truth. There was money to be made in the world of buttons. Even more troubling, it seemed Miss Violet Lund was nothing more than a very honest shopkeeper.
She had no criminal record, no trouble with the IRS, not even a ticket. He’d used several online sites to investigate her and she’d come back annoyingly normal and law-abiding. How could he have been so wrong?
He was never wrong—he made it a point to be sure of things. He’d only been seriously fooled once in his life and that had been by his ex-wife, Penelope. In that case, the deception had been deliberate—at least on her part. Thinking about that didn’t help him at all, and he mentally turned his back on his former wife. The bigger question was what to do about Violet. He’d slept on the information, then had woken up in the morning with no clear idea of what to do next.
After showering, he ordered breakfast and knew he had to come up with a plan—only he had no idea what it would be. He opened another file on his computer and reviewed the list of missing items provided to him by his housekeeper and his own investigation.
The trouble had started three months ago when Ulrich had ordered a complete inventory of the house, including the attics. The project had taken over a month and they’d discovered some truly wonderful pieces. But many things had also been missing.
The public rooms were closely monitored and protected, and the guests who stayed in the hotel wing didn’t have access to the private residence without an escort. The previous inventory had been conducted by his father, nearly five years before. Ulrich had no way of knowing what had been taken when. Or so he’d thought.
His grandmother’s new secretary had offered a possible explanation when she’d told him about the packages being sent to one Violet Lund in Happily Inc, California. He’d kept watch and had seen the last one mailed himself. He’d guessed on the delivery date and when it had aligned with his trip to Los Angeles, he’d decided to make a slight detour to confront the thief. All for naught.
His cell phone