What the Lady Wants. Jennifer Crusie

June would have left him.”

      “That would upset me,” Mitch said, thinking of the food. “Why didn’t he just offer her more money?”

      “It wasn’t the money. She was unhappy. Her son, Ronnie, had just died, and she was going to leave, and then Uncle Armand brought me home, and I think she knew I’d never get any love if she left, so she stayed.” Mae picked up another slice of roast beef. “So he got to beat Uncle Claud and Uncle Gio and keep June. Putting up with me must have seemed minor in comparison.”

      Mitch scowled at her. Armand Lewis must have been a world-class jerk. Just looking at Mae, Mitch could tell she’d been a great kid, and now twenty-eight years later, all she could say was, “He didn’t like me much.” Hell of a way to treat a kid. He felt himself growing angry, and put a lid on it. She was a grown-up now and obviously capable of looking after herself, and he had a strict rule about getting emotionally involved with his clients. Of course, with his other clients, that hadn’t been a problem. His other clients hadn’t been Mae Belle Sullivan.

      Mitch jerked his mind away from the thought. “That doesn’t explain why Harold came to stay.”

      Mae peeled another layer off her sandwich. “Uncle Gio sent Harold because he knew Uncle Armand didn’t like kids. And Uncle Gio loves kids. He was worried about me. He still worries about me. So he sent Harold.”

      Good for Gio, Mitch thought and then stopped himself. He did not approve of Gio Donatello. Period. Back to Harold. “And Armand let Harold stay?”

      Mae nodded. “I think he liked having him here for free, since Gio was paying at first. And then Harold and June fell in love, which was great because I ended up with two parents just like normal kids. So he’s still here. Could we talk about the diary now?”

      “That doesn’t explain why Armand didn’t want you to move out once you were grown,” Mitch pointed out. “Maybe he really did care about you and just—” He stopped because Mae was shaking her head.

      “The minute I moved out, June and Harold would have been gone.” She picked up another slice of cheese. “He just didn’t want to lose good help. And I couldn’t afford to support June and Harold. They would have had to find a place that needed both a butler and a cook and that would give them the freedom they’re used to, and it wasn’t going to happen. Even at Uncle Gio’s, they would just have been part of the staff. They needed a home.”

      “And you’re responsible for giving them one?”

      “Of course.” Mae blinked at him, surprise apparent on her face. “They raised me. They count on me. They need me. I owe them.”

      “Oh.” Mitch picked up his second sandwich. “This still doesn’t make sense. Why couldn’t they just stay and work for Armand?”

      “Because they both hated him.” Mae narrowed her eyes at him. “Do not get distracted by that. They didn’t hate him enough to kill him. If they’d wanted to kill him, they’d have done it years ago.” She drank a slug of milk and licked her milk mustache off, distracting Mitch from his questions. She reached for a cookie. “Now, about the diary—”

      “You can’t have a cookie until you’ve finished your sandwich, Mabel.” Mitch moved the cookie plate out of her reach.

      “I can have anything I want.” Mae pulled the plate back toward her, but Mitch held on, and she yanked on it, knocking the rest of her sandwich onto the floor where Bob swallowed it whole and then choked for thirty seconds. Mae patted the dog on the back until he stopped hacking, and he collapsed in gratitude at her feet.

      Mitch shook his head in contempt. “Is he okay?”

      “Yes.” Mae smiled affectionately at the dog. “He’s dumb, but he’s okay.” She turned back to Mitch. “Go ahead, inhale your next sandwich. I can do the Heimlich.”

      Mitch picked up his sandwich. “So why do you want the diary?”

      “Because whoever has the diary killed my Uncle Armand,” Mae said piously as she reached for a cookie. “I think justice should be served.”

      “Because you loved him so much.”

      “Actually, I didn’t even like him much, but that’s beside the point. The point is—”

      “That you want the diary. I know, I know.” Mitch put the rest of his sandwich back on his plate. “The memorial service is the day after tomorrow?”

      Mae nodded as she chewed her cookie.

      “And Gio and Carlo and Claud will be there.”

      Mae nodded again.

      “Who else? Stormy?”

      Mae nodded and swallowed the last of her cookie. “And also most of the business community, like Dalton Briggs. He’s been hanging around a lot lately, and he was engaged in some sort of business deal with Uncle Armand. And I suppose some of Uncle Armand’s ex-girlfriends might…oh, God.” She froze with her hand over the cookie plate. “Barbara.”

      “Barbara?”

      “Barbara Ross. She’s been dating Uncle Armand. Very high-society stuff.” Mae looked ill. “She’s going to meet Stormy. Oh, poor Stormy, first Armand dies and now this. This is going to be awful. I’m going to have to think of something.”

      Mitch frowned at her distress and then at himself for caring. He pointed at the most recent journal. “It says here that Armand set Stormy up in a town house.”

      “He kept a place a few miles from here. She used to live there, but I’m pretty sure she moved out.”

      “Do you have a key?”

      “To the town house?” Mae nodded. “Harold has one. He went over and brought a box of Uncle Armand’s personal stuff home. The rest of his clothes are in boxes for Goodwill. They’re still there, so we still have the key.”

      “Okay. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning. I want to see the place. I also want to look around this house and talk to Barbara Ross and Stormy, but I want to see the town house first.”

      Mae looked exasperated. “The diary’s not there. Harold looked.”

      “Forget the diary for a minute. There are other things of interest in that apartment.” Mitch stood up. “In the meantime, can I take a couple of the old diaries with me?”

      Mae scowled up at him. “But what I want is—”

      “I know. The one that’s missing,” Mitch finished. “Let me do this my way.”

      “Do I have a choice?”

      “No.”

      Mitch went to the bookshelves, and Mae rang the bell. Harold appeared.

      “What?” he said. “The game’s on. I’m missing it.”

      “Wrap up the rest of this stuff for Mr. Peatwick, please.” Mae waved her hand at the food on the tray. “He has a lot of heavy reading to do tonight, and he’ll need food.”

      Mitch turned back from the bookcase with three volumes in his hands. “You’re a good woman, Mabel. Spoiled rotten, but basically good.”

      Harold snorted and stalked out with the tray, closely followed by Bob, and Mae rose to look at the diaries he’d taken.

      “Okay, 1967 I get. That’s the year I came. Why 1977 and 1978?”

      “I want to know what Armand did that made Gio so mad he never talked to him again.” Mitch picked up the 1993 volume from the table and added it to the stack in his arms. “I may be back for more.”

      “Why?” Mae didn’t even bother to hide her annoyance. “That’s all in the past. I want—”

      Mitch put his free hand over her mouth and was momentarily distracted by the softness of her lips against his palm. He