Grave Phantoms
Page 32
“Too bad, because I don’t. They are so shapely, I was instantly magnetized. And that’s why I had to meet you when I saw you at Gris-Gris. Smile and hips, a one-two combination.”
“Shapely,” she said, like it was ridiculous, but blue eyes slid toward his, and Bo did not miss the delight hiding beneath their surface.
“Like a professional dancer’s,” he assured her. “But what would a beauty like you see in someone like me?”
“The most dashing, handsome bootlegger in the entire city?”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .”
“But it was your wicked tongue that did me in. You made me laugh, and you didn’t give a damn what anyone thought.”
“Is that right?”
“Maybe it’s my Viking blood. Mamma used to say she fell for Pappa because he never hesitated to take what he wanted, and if a mountain got in his way, he wouldn’t just walk around it—he’d move it.”
Bo had spent a good bit of time with the Magnussons’ father before he died. He knew the old Swede had balls of steel to build the bootlegging empire he’d passed along to Winter, but the last couple of years, the man had struggled with a mental illness that greatly affected his moods and decisions. Bo didn’t say this to Astrid, though. She’d been through enough. Let her keep that image of her father. It was a good one.
“So that’s why you agreed to let me call on you,” Bo said, leaning against a wooden railing along the conservatory path, where Astrid had stopped to read an iron plaque that marked an old tree.
She nodded. “Because the world is filled with boring people, but you are not one of them. I knew right away you were the kind of man who’d move mountains,” she said, giving him a confident, firm nod of her chin.
And it struck him then: they were both being truthful. This wasn’t playacting. It was truth in the guise of a story. He had first been attracted to her smile. She really did think he could move mountains.
Could he?
“Anyway, we saw each other in Gris-Gris, and you marched in like a knight and drove away an unwanted suitor who was pestering me. That’s how we met. How could I resist when you asked for my telephone number?”
“You had no chance, really,” Bo said. “I was more dashing than Douglas Fairbanks.”
“And you look even better than he did without a shirt in The Thief of Bagdad.”
“Oh really?” Slowly Bo turned his head to find her staring intently into the tropical flora.
“Those arms, whew!” she whistled. “It’s going to be hard to pretend I haven’t seen those already, but I’m willing to try.”
He could practically feel his ego doubling in size. Something a little farther south would be joining in if he didn’t get control of his racing feelings. “I’ve seen some things I can’t forget, either. Like that afternoon last year in the dressing room at the department store.”
Five seconds of time Bo mentally had dubbed the Fitting Room Incident, which occurred after driving Astrid to one of her weekly shopping excursions. One moment he’d been waiting with her seamstress, Benita, while she tried on clothes, the next he’d looked up to see her stepping outside the dressing screen without a stich on.
“That was an accident!” she whispered, face turning a pretty shade of pink.
She’d argued that a thousand times, but part of Bo had never believed this. Either way, it had been a gift—one he’d never forgotten.
Astrid quickly looked around behind them before sauntering down the path. “Oh, look. Here’s the Highland Tropics gallery. Let’s go inside.”
He followed her swaying, shapely hips through the door and felt the temperature drop as they entered a misty gallery that housed plants from higher elevations. He doffed his cap to an elderly lady sitting on a bench. Her small dog stretched its leash and yapped at him as he passed. No longer alone. That was disappointing, to say the least. But Bo’s hope soared again when he heard Astrid mumbling that it was too cold in this room. They sailed down a long stone walkway that led to the last gallery on this side of the conservatory, the Aquatic Plants room.
Higher, humid temperature. Completed deserted.
The door swung shut on the dog’s high-pitched yaps.
The rain that drummed a gentle rhythm against the conservatory’s glass was reflected in a curving pool of water, the surface of which was covered in giant lily pads from the Amazon River.
“The lily pads grow to six feet across and can support the weight of a small child,” Astrid remarked as she sat along a low wall that hugged the indoor pond and set her folded coat down beside her. “I wonder if anyone’s tested that.”
Bo sat next to her and peered over the edge. “Would you like to try?”
“You’d really like to see me sink, wouldn’t you?”
“Would I get to see you naked again?”
“You might see something new. I daresay some parts of me are much nicer than they were a year ago.”
“Believe me, I’ve noticed.”
Her eyes glittered as she pulled off her gloves and reached over the water to skim the raised, scalloped edge of a giant lily pad and encouraged Bo to do the same. It was strong, but they both decided that she would, indeed, sink. “So, Mr. Yeung, since we’re on this fine date, I think you should tell me more about yourself before suggesting I jump in a pond for your entertainment—which I will not do, so don’t hold your breath.”
“Shapely,” she said, like it was ridiculous, but blue eyes slid toward his, and Bo did not miss the delight hiding beneath their surface.
“Like a professional dancer’s,” he assured her. “But what would a beauty like you see in someone like me?”
“The most dashing, handsome bootlegger in the entire city?”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .”
“But it was your wicked tongue that did me in. You made me laugh, and you didn’t give a damn what anyone thought.”
“Is that right?”
“Maybe it’s my Viking blood. Mamma used to say she fell for Pappa because he never hesitated to take what he wanted, and if a mountain got in his way, he wouldn’t just walk around it—he’d move it.”
Bo had spent a good bit of time with the Magnussons’ father before he died. He knew the old Swede had balls of steel to build the bootlegging empire he’d passed along to Winter, but the last couple of years, the man had struggled with a mental illness that greatly affected his moods and decisions. Bo didn’t say this to Astrid, though. She’d been through enough. Let her keep that image of her father. It was a good one.
“So that’s why you agreed to let me call on you,” Bo said, leaning against a wooden railing along the conservatory path, where Astrid had stopped to read an iron plaque that marked an old tree.
She nodded. “Because the world is filled with boring people, but you are not one of them. I knew right away you were the kind of man who’d move mountains,” she said, giving him a confident, firm nod of her chin.
And it struck him then: they were both being truthful. This wasn’t playacting. It was truth in the guise of a story. He had first been attracted to her smile. She really did think he could move mountains.
Could he?
“Anyway, we saw each other in Gris-Gris, and you marched in like a knight and drove away an unwanted suitor who was pestering me. That’s how we met. How could I resist when you asked for my telephone number?”
“You had no chance, really,” Bo said. “I was more dashing than Douglas Fairbanks.”
“And you look even better than he did without a shirt in The Thief of Bagdad.”
“Oh really?” Slowly Bo turned his head to find her staring intently into the tropical flora.
“Those arms, whew!” she whistled. “It’s going to be hard to pretend I haven’t seen those already, but I’m willing to try.”
He could practically feel his ego doubling in size. Something a little farther south would be joining in if he didn’t get control of his racing feelings. “I’ve seen some things I can’t forget, either. Like that afternoon last year in the dressing room at the department store.”
Five seconds of time Bo mentally had dubbed the Fitting Room Incident, which occurred after driving Astrid to one of her weekly shopping excursions. One moment he’d been waiting with her seamstress, Benita, while she tried on clothes, the next he’d looked up to see her stepping outside the dressing screen without a stich on.
“That was an accident!” she whispered, face turning a pretty shade of pink.
She’d argued that a thousand times, but part of Bo had never believed this. Either way, it had been a gift—one he’d never forgotten.
Astrid quickly looked around behind them before sauntering down the path. “Oh, look. Here’s the Highland Tropics gallery. Let’s go inside.”
He followed her swaying, shapely hips through the door and felt the temperature drop as they entered a misty gallery that housed plants from higher elevations. He doffed his cap to an elderly lady sitting on a bench. Her small dog stretched its leash and yapped at him as he passed. No longer alone. That was disappointing, to say the least. But Bo’s hope soared again when he heard Astrid mumbling that it was too cold in this room. They sailed down a long stone walkway that led to the last gallery on this side of the conservatory, the Aquatic Plants room.
Higher, humid temperature. Completed deserted.
The door swung shut on the dog’s high-pitched yaps.
The rain that drummed a gentle rhythm against the conservatory’s glass was reflected in a curving pool of water, the surface of which was covered in giant lily pads from the Amazon River.
“The lily pads grow to six feet across and can support the weight of a small child,” Astrid remarked as she sat along a low wall that hugged the indoor pond and set her folded coat down beside her. “I wonder if anyone’s tested that.”
Bo sat next to her and peered over the edge. “Would you like to try?”
“You’d really like to see me sink, wouldn’t you?”
“Would I get to see you naked again?”
“You might see something new. I daresay some parts of me are much nicer than they were a year ago.”
“Believe me, I’ve noticed.”
Her eyes glittered as she pulled off her gloves and reached over the water to skim the raised, scalloped edge of a giant lily pad and encouraged Bo to do the same. It was strong, but they both decided that she would, indeed, sink. “So, Mr. Yeung, since we’re on this fine date, I think you should tell me more about yourself before suggesting I jump in a pond for your entertainment—which I will not do, so don’t hold your breath.”
