Get a grip, Francesca! Back in high school, she’d prided herself on being different from the rest of the female student body who drooled every time Jack walked down the hall. She’d thought he was drop-dead gorgeous like the rest of them, true, but as far as she was concerned, something had to be wrong with any guy who dated Karan Kowalski.
Now she had to wonder. Even if she was interested in dating—which she was not at this time of her life, thank you very much—Jack was exactly the sort of man she’d vowed to steer clear of. A charmer. And after thirteen years of marriage to a man who could make the polar ice cap melt with one smile, Francesca could spot a charmer a mile away.
Forcing her fingers to fly, she typed descriptions into the search function even faster, racing against the clock—or his phone conversation as it was.
No matches.
She wanted out of this tiny room, where Jack seemed to steal all the air.
No matches.
Finally, she entered the last one…
“I’m sorry about that, Francesca,” Jack said, flipping his phone shut and stepping back into the room.
No matches.
She smiled and hit Print. “No apology necessary.”
“Any luck?”
“Depends on your interpretation of luck. No matches, so I’d say my luck is holding. Not sure about yours.” Still not meeting his gaze, she willed the printer to produce quickly, then whisked the report off the tray before the ink was dry. “So, where are we off to next?”
“Housekeeping.” He scanned the document, not appearing in any hurry to move his broad-shouldered self out of her way. “I need to know how you work things here. Do the same staff members regularly service apartments?”
“We assign certain groups to certain quadrants to keep traffic in and out of the apartments to a minimum. Doesn’t always work as we intend, but it’s a pretty solid system.”
“I need to talk to the folks who serviced the Hickmans’ apartment during this time frame.” He finally lifted his gaze from the report and reached into his pocket for another list, which he held out for her.
One quick glance at the list and she saw the possibility for escape. “Let’s go then.”
Jack stepped aside to allow her to precede him, and Francesca resisted the urge to bolt. Leading him down the hallway, she reached for the radio that was a permanent fixture at her waist. “Kath, is Emelina in the laundry today?”
“Yes, Ms. Raffa.”
“Thanks. On my way.” She ended the connection and found Jack staring down at her.
“Do you know where everyone works around here without looking at a roster?”
There was a compliment in there. She could hear it in his deep voice, knew it would be all over his smile if she looked at him. So she didn’t look. “I oversee the scheduling.”
“And have a photographic memory, it sounds like.”
She was saved from a reply when they reached the elevator and the doors slid wide to showcase Mrs. Talbot.
The woman wore a badge with the lodge logo and her name imprinted to provide easy identification for staff and residents. And visiting police chiefs.
“Good day, Mrs. Talbot,” Jack said.
She nodded politely before asking Francesca, “You’re coming for lunch today, aren’t you? It’s Tasty Thursday.”
Francesca glanced at her watch. “Fingers crossed. I can’t promise.”
“They’re featuring my squash casserole, so do your best.” Mrs. Talbot moved along with another polite nod to Minnie Moorehead, who shuffled up aided by an electric-blue walker.
Jack reached above Francesca’s head and held the elevator door.
“More like Tasteless Thursday,” Minnie said as she stepped inside.
Francesca followed, unable to hold back a laugh. “I don’t know about tasteless. Her four-bean salad was so good Chef Kevin added it to the menu.”
Minnie made a moue of distaste. “Gave me gas.”
Francesca wasn’t sure how to respond to that but enjoyed Jack’s surprised response. Nice to know the man could be taken off guard.
To his credit, though, he didn’t miss a beat. Stepping into the elevator, he asked, “What floor, Ms. Moorehead?”
“Fourth.” She eyed him curiously. “This your man, Francesca?”
“Minnie.” Francesca warned and hurried on before Jack could introduce himself. The last thing Minnie needed was anything more interesting than Mrs. Talbot’s squash casserole to discuss over lunch. And another visit from the police chief definitely qualified. “How did you ever find a shade of lipstick to match that beautiful sweater?”
Flattered, Minnie launched into a discourse about her particular shade of Cherries in the Snow until the elevator ground to a stop on the fourth floor.
Disaster averted. Whew!
Jack held the door until Minnie was into the hallway before letting the doors slide closed again. He depressed the button for the basement.
“We’re riding the local today,” Francesca said to fill the quiet.
“An interesting ride.”
“Usually is,” she agreed.
“I’ve got a question for you, Francesca.”
“Shoot.”
“You mentioned that you’d spoken to the Hickmans’ daughter about the list. Do you always liaise for the residents?”
She shrugged. “Not always. Company policy is to notify family members whenever anything out of the ordinary comes up. Unfortunately, we can’t be everywhere at once.”
His visit to the Hickmans was a prime example. She’d barely made it upstairs in time to intervene. “If we can’t notify a family member, we try to make someone from the lodge available. We have a patient care consultant on staff for that purpose, but any one of the management staff will do.”
“It isn’t always possible?”
“Afraid not. Try though we might. This is a senior-living community. We don’t oversee every aspect of our residents’ lives. Our involvement is like our security vault—a courtesy.”
“But your company still has policy in place?”
Hmm. How could she phrase this delicately to a man who clearly wasn’t grasping the whole concept of senior living? “We deal in aging services here, Jack. Double-checking details usually works to everyone’s benefit.”
“Got it.” And something about that quirk at the corners of his mouth told her he did.
They found Emelina in the laundry, but after Jack introduced himself, she eyed the nattily dressed chief of police in horror and launched into a stream of Spanish that had Francesca scrambling to keep up.
“There’s nothing wrong, Emelina,” Francesca said. “Chief Sloan just wants to ask you a few questions.”
Jack stepped in, turned on the charm and soon had Emelina eagerly looking over his list. Anything to help out the police chief. Francesca tried not to be impressed—by the effect of his manner or his fluent Spanish. She tried to find something off-putting in the way he used his charm.
Nada.
But she did find herself distracted when he showed Emelina an entirely different list, one that itemized costly sound systems, hi-definition televisions and computer equipment.
Could