he wanted - to the moon, for that matter. Her interest in his affairs was over. Finished. A closed book.
She had her life to worry about, didn't she? After all, she was beginning a whole new phase. A new career with a new goal to aim for. She had dozens of ideas to improve and expand the shop floating around in her head. Once Margo was back in gear, they would have a meeting. An efficiency meeting. Then there was the fashion show right around the corner. The advertising had to be placed. They needed to discuss other promotions for the holidays.
What they needed was a regular weekly brainstorming and progress meeting. She would set it up, fix it into the schedule. You couldn't run a successful business without regular structured meetings. You couldn't run a life without structure, without specific plans and goals.
Why the hell couldn't he see that she had specific plans and goals? How could he have thrown marriage at her, knocking down all of her carefully placed pins?
You didn't marry someone you'd known barely a full year. There were stages to a relationship, careful, cautious, and sensible stages. Maybe, just maybe, after two years, after you'd worked out the kinks in the relationship, after you fully understood each other's faults and foibles and had learned to accept them or compromise on them, you began to discuss the possibility of marriage.
You had to outline what you wanted out of marriage, assign roles and duties. Who handled the marketing, who paid the bills, who took out the trash, for God's sake. Marriage was a business, a partnership, a full-scale commitment. Sensible people didn't just jump into it without first fine-tuning the details.
And what about children? It was obvious who had the children - if there were going to be children - but what about assignment of responsibilities? Diapers and laundry, feedings and doctors' appointments. If you didn't nail down the details of responsibilities, you had nothing but chaos - and a baby needing to be taken care of by a responsible adult.
A baby. Oh, God, what would it be like to have a baby? She didn't know anything about having a baby. Think of all the books she would have to read, all the mistakes she was bound to make. There were so many... things you had to have for a baby. Strollers and car seats and cribs.
And all those adorable little clothes, she thought dreamily.
"You're drowning those pansies, Ms. Powell."
She jerked back, slopping water on her shoes. She stared blankly at Kusack while her mind whirled. She had just all but named a baby she hadn't conceived with a man she didn't intend to conceive it with.
"Daydreaming?" His lips curved in that now familiar paternal fashion.
"No, I - " She wasn't a daydreamer. She was a thinker. A doer. "I've got a lot on my mind."
"Bet you do. Thought I'd catch you before you opened up. Do you mind if we go inside?"
"No, of course not." Still fumbling, she set the watering can down and opened the door. "It's just me today. My partners are - aren't here."
"I wanted to talk to you alone. I didn't mean to spook you, Ms. Powell."
"No, that's all right." Her speeding heart seemed to have settled back to a reasonable rate. "What can I do for you, detective?"
"Actually, I just came by to catch you up on the progress of the investigation. I figured after the trouble you went through, you deserve to know how it panned out."
"Well, that makes one of you," she murmured.
"Your boyfriend nudged me toward Roger Thornhill."
"He's not my boyfriend," Kate said quickly, then set her teeth. "If you're referring to Mr. De Witt."
"I am." He smiled a bit sheepishly and tugged on his ear. "I never know how to refer to these kinds of things. Anyway, Mr. De Witt nudged me toward Thornhill. Fact is, I was already looking in that direction. You don't look shocked speechless by the news," he commented.
"I figured it out yesterday." She shrugged her shoulders, discovering it simply didn't matter any longer.
"Thought you would. Thornhill's got a little gambling problem. Gambling's one of the best reasons to need quick money."
"Roger gambles?" That did shock her. "You mean he bets on horse races, that sort of thing?"
"He bets on Wall Street, Ms. Powell. And he's been losing steady for the past couple of years. Overplayed his hand, so to speak, and lost his ante. Then there was his personal relationship with you.