Wife for Hire - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,19

had done, but she didn’t feel it was her place to judge. Aunt Kitty had lived to be ninety-three years old, and Maggie had known her as an old woman. She’d been kind, intelligent, and in love with life. Her diary had been filled with wonderful trivia, pressed flowers, romantic images, and from time to time the confessions of self-doubt and regret of a woman who’d spent the prime of her life in disrepute.

The bulk of the diary consisted of the day-to-day business of running a bordello, and this is what Maggie found most fascinating: The number of linens purchased, the salary of the piano player, the garters ordered from a specialty shop in New Orleans, the bills from the iceman, coal company, green grocer. Mixed in with all of this were descriptions of customers, hilarious anecdotes, and trade secrets that were for the most part unpublishable.

Two hours later Hank stood in the open door to Maggie’s study and watched her work. She looked completely absorbed in her project. She was typing rapidly, occasionally referring to the pad at her elbow, occasionally stopping to read from the screen. She muttered something and gestured with her hand. She shook her head and began typing again.

Desire slid through him. If he hadn’t been holding her lunch in his hand, he might have locked the door behind him and taken his chances. As it was, he watched her for a moment more, trying to understand her determination.

He found it hard to take this writing business seriously. Maybe if she’d wanted to write science fiction, or a book for kids…but a book about a madam? It seemed more like a hobby or a whim to him. Like looking up your genealogy. And it seemed presumptuous to simply sit down to write a book. He imagined there were skills to be learned, a style to be developed. It probably wasn’t much different from growing apple trees, he thought. First you had to acquire a lot of knowledge, and then you had to make a lot of mistakes.

In the meantime she was going to be the scandal of Skogen, and she was going to ruin his last chance to get a loan. He should be furious. But he wasn’t. He understood about crazy ideas and substituting enthusiasm for expertise. And he was head over heels in love with her.

He rapped on the doorjamb to get her attention. “I brought you some lunch,” he said.

She put her hand to her heart. “You startled me!”

“Mmmm. You look pretty wrapped up in this. How’s it going?”

“Great! I’ve researched and planned this book for two years, and it’s practically writing itself. I’ve had it all in my head, you see—” She bit into the egg salad sandwich. “Probably when I get farther into the book it’ll slow down, but it’s so satisfying to finally see it on the screen.”

“Do I get to read it?”

“When I’m farther along.” She wolfed down her sandwich, drank her iced tea, and wiped her mouth. “That was good. Thanks. I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”

Hank took the plate and the empty glass. “Elsie’s going into town. She wants to know if you need anything.”

“Nope. I’m fine.”

He hated to leave her. He wanted to stay and talk and learn about all the horrible things she did as a kid. He wanted to know if she was ever afraid or lonely or discouraged. He wanted to know about the men in her life and how she felt about babies. He searched for an excuse to prolong lunch.

“Would you like dessert? Elsie made chocolate chip cookies this morning.”

“I’m absolutely stuffed. Maybe later.”

“Okay, ’bye.”

It was six o’clock and Elsie was bustling around the kitchen. “We got chicken soup for supper tonight,” she said, slapping plates and bowls onto the kitchen table. “There’s corn bread in the oven and chocolate pudding in the refrigerator for dessert.”

Hank looked at the two place settings. “Aren’t you eating with us? Is there something good on television again?”

“I got a date. I met this nice young man in town today. He don’t look a day over sixty-five. We’re going to get a burger, and then he said there’s a bingo game in Mount Davie.”

Hank mentally reviewed all the old men in town. “Is this Ed Garber?”

“Yup. That’s him. Said he was the postmaster until he retired, and that his wife had died three years ago.”

“Better watch out,” Hank said. “I hear he only has one thing on his mind.”

“Lord bless him, and he