Bad Influence

“I was distracted,” he muttered, turning to look out the window. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

And there it was, a white placard on the verge before the neighboring estate that said simply: Coming Soon, The Burlesque Museum.

“The next gate,” Paige told the driver and stared at the sign as they passed. No date, no specifics, just the words guaranteed to give her conservative grandfather fits.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said dismissively. “They can’t do it around here. It’s zoned residential. I mean, there’s the mission and the Museum of Natural History, but—”

“But those don’t involve strippers,” her grandfather ground out. “I grew up in that house. My grandfather is spinning in his grave right now. Traffic, cars parked on the street, hoodlums. I won’t stand for it. The neighborhood won’t stand for it,” he insisted, his mouth firming. “That woman is not going to get away with this.”

“What woman?” Paige punched the security code into the keypad and the big gates rolled back.

“Gloria Reed, that’s who.”

“Gloria Reed?” She frowned. “Your next-door neighbor?”

“Her and her fool museum idea. This accident was all her fault. She pulled out right in front of me.”

“Wait a minute—you ran into your neighbor? ”

“I wouldn’t have run into her if I hadn’t been surprised by that blasted sign,” he defended. “She just put it up without warning. And she always comes out of her gate too fast. That woman is a menace. Shameless,” he added as they pulled into his estate and drove up to the house. “Why, here she is in her seventies and she’s taken up with some long-haired kid who looks like a criminal.”

My grandmother just got knocked around in a fender bender.

Paige closed her eyes. “Long-haired kid?”

“Appalling for a woman her age. He looks young enough to be her son. Her grandson, even.”

“I think he is,” she said faintly. The car pulled to a stop before the front door.

“How would you know?”

“I think I met him last night in the emergency room.”

“She was hurt?” Sunlight slanted across his face to show a flash of mingled surprise and guilt as the driver opened the door.

“They kept her overnight, like you.”

Lyndon opened his mouth, then closed it. “Her grandson.”

Paige nodded and got out of the car.

“Well,” he said as she helped him get into the wheelchair the driver brought around for him. “Well,” he said again, then was silent until they got inside.

“Do you want to lie down?” Paige asked after the driver left.

Lyndon rose from the wheelchair with a wince. “No bed for me yet. I think I’ll just sit down in my easy chair for a while.”

“Chest hurting?” Paige asked.

His answer was a shrug; she knew he’d rather grin and bear it than complain.

“How about if I go get your medication?”

“I’ll be all right. Just get me an aspirin.”

“Granddad, I think there was a reason the doctor gave you something stronger. He said you’d be hurting. Don’t you think you should at least take the meds today? Your last dose from the hospital must be wearing off by now.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I think I’ll go get the prescription filled anyway,” she said, ignoring him. “Let me get you settled and then I’ll just nip out for a minute. I need some things for the next couple of days anyway.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble to you, sweetheart.”

“Granddad, you and Nana practically raised me. The least I can do is help out a little when you’re down.” Paige tucked a pillow behind his head. “I’ve been meaning to take a break. It’ll give us a chance to have a nice, long visit.”

He smiled at her. “You’re a good girl.”

“I had good examples.” She patted his cheek. “Do you want me to have Maria make you some lunch?”

“Not just yet. We still need to do something about the museum, you know,” he said as Paige laid a coverlet over him.

“We who?” she asked.

“We the neighborhood. And you, now that you’re here. This estate will be yours one day. Do you really want a parade of thrill seekers coming up here, littering and parking on the verges and looking over the wall from the main house? It’s barely four feet high. Anyone could jump over.”

“Why don’t you make it higher?”

“Because it belongs to that woman,” he said. “She refuses to raise it because of the bougainvillea.”

The bougainvillea. The bane of Lyndon’s existence. Some relation or other had planted it decades before on the far side of the wall. It spilled over the white stucco in a tangle of leaves and blossoms, looking perfectly charming from Paige’s point of view.

Lyndon swore at the litter of fallen leaves and blossoms and had his gardener kneecap the blooming vine on a regular basis.

“The contractor told her the bougainvillea roots had undermined the foundation and raising the height would mean tearing out the plants and putting in a whole new wall. She refuses. Completely unreasonable. But she won’t get her way with the museum,” he said with relish. “I’m going to organize a neighborhood meeting to talk about this.”

“Right now you need to forget about the museum,” Paige told him. “The only thing you should be worrying about is healing.”

“We’ve got to stay on top of her. There’s no telling what that woman will do.”

“Later,” she said.

“We don’t have time for later.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she soothed.

“Tomorrow, then,” he said drowsily.

Paige sighed. “We’ll see.”