Boss Man

“Of course I am,” Violet said stolidly.

“I think Mr. Kemp would like it if you went back to work with him.”

Violet stared at her with her spoonful of soup in midair. “Why would you say that, Mama?”

“Mabel, who works at your office, stopped by to see me at lunch. She says Mr. Kemp is so moody they can hardly work with him anymore. She said she thinks he misses you.”

Violet’s heart jumped. “That wasn’t how he sounded when I ran into him in the post office the other day,” she said. “But he was acting…oddly.”

The older woman smiled over her soup spoon. “Often men don’t know what they want until they lose it.”

“Bring on the day.” Violet laughed softly.

“So, dear, back to my first question. Do you like your new job?”

She nodded. “It’s challenging. I don’t have to deal with sad, angry, miserable people whose lives are in pieces. You know, I didn’t realize until I changed jobs how depressing it is to work in a law office. You see such tragedies.”

“I suppose cattle are a lot different.”

“There’s just so much to learn,” Violet agreed. “It’s so complex. There are so many factors that produce good beef. I thought it was only a matter of putting bulls and heifers in the same pasture and letting nature do its work.”

“It isn’t?” her mother asked, curious.

Violet grinned. “Want to know how it works?”

“Yes, indeed.”

So Violet spent the next half hour walking her mother, hypothetically speaking, through the steps involved in creating designer beef.

“Well!” the elderly woman exclaimed. “It isn’t simple at all.”

“No, it isn’t. The records are so complicated…”

The sudden ringing of the telephone interrupted Violet. She frowned. “It’s probably another telemarketer,” she muttered. “I wish we could afford one of those new answering machines and caller ID.”

“One day a millionaire will walk in the front door carrying a glass slipper and an engagement ring,” Mrs. Hardy ventured with a mischievous glance.

Violet laughed as she got up and went to answer the phone. “Hardy residence,” she said in her light, friendly tone.

“Violet?”

It was Kemp! She had to catch her breath before she could even answer him. “Yes, sir?” she stammered.

He hesitated. “I have to talk to you and your mother. It’s important. May I come over?”

Violet’s mind raced. The house was a mess. She was a mess. She was wearing jeans and a shirt that didn’t fit. Her hair needed washing. The living room needed vacuuming…!

“Who is it, dear?” Mrs. Hardy called.

“It’s Mr. Kemp, Mama. He says he needs to speak to us.”

“Isn’t it nice that we have some of that pound cake left?” Mrs. Hardy wondered aloud. “Tell him to come right on, dear.”

Violet ground her teeth together. “It’s all right,” she told Kemp.

“Fine. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He hung up before Violet could ask him what he wanted.

She turned worriedly to her mother. “Do you think it might be something about me coming back to work for him?”

“Who can say? You should wash your hair, dear. You’ll have just enough time.”

“Not to do that and vacuum and pick up around the living room,” she wailed.

“Violet, the chores can wait,” her mother replied amusedly. “You can’t. Go, girl!”

Violet turned like a zombie and went right to the bathroom to wash her hair. By the time she heard Kemp pulling up in the driveway, she had on a nice low-cut short-sleeved blue sweater and clean white jeans. Her hair was clean and she left it down, because she didn’t have time to braid it. She was wearing bedroom shoes, but that wasn’t going to matter, she decided.

She opened the door.

Kemp gave her a quiet going-over with his pale blue eyes. But he didn’t remark about her appearance. He was scowling. “I have something to say that your mother needs to hear, but I don’t want to upset her.”

There went her dreams of being rehired. “What is it about?” she asked.

He drew in a sharp breath. “Violet, I want to have your father exhumed. I think Janet Collins killed him.”

Three

Violet wasn’t sure she was hearing right. She knew there was something going on with Janet Collins. Curt had come by her office when he carried a note to Duke from Jordan Powell, his boss. He’d told her that he and Libby were going to have to have their father exhumed because there were suspicions that Janet, their stepmother, might have killed him. She was suspected of killing at least one other elderly man by poison. Violet and her mother knew about the waitress Mr. Hardy had had his fling with. But they’d never questioned the cause of death. And they’d never found out who the waitress was. Now, a lot of questions she hadn’t wanted even to ask were suddenly being answered.

Her lips parted on a husky sigh. “Oh, dear.”

Kemp closed the door behind him and tilted Violet’s chin up to his eyes. “I don’t want to do this,” he said softly. “But there’s a very good chance that your father was murdered, Violet. You don’t want Janet Collins to get away with it, if she’s guilty. Neither do I.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “But what about Mama?”

He drew in a long breath. “I have to have her signature. I can’t do it on yours alone.”

They exchanged worried looks.

His eyes suddenly narrowed on her oval face in its frame of dark hair. Her skin was clean and bright. She wasn’t wearing makeup, except a touch of pink lipstick. And that sweater…His eyes slid down to her breasts with quiet sensuality. They narrowed, as he appreciated how deliciously full-breasted she was. She had a small waist, too. The jeans emphasized the nicely rounded contours of her hips.

“I’ve lost weight!” she blurted out.

“Don’t lose any more,” he murmured absently. “You’re perfect.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Sir?” she stammered.

“If I weren’t a confirmed bachelor, you’d make my mouth water,” he replied quietly, and the eyes that met hers were steady, intent.