“Atlanta?” Bill raised a brow. “Say, wasn’t Lance there in a play of some sort when he and Claudia hooked up?”

“You’re right, he was. You don’t suppose…?”

Bill considered the possibility, then shook his head. “Nah, too much of a coincidence. What are the chances?”

For an instant, I thought we might be on to something. Disappointment left a bitter taste in my mouth. “Atlanta is huge,” I admitted grudgingly. “Lots of theatrical stuff going on in a place that size.”

But just in case it wasn’t happenstance, I made a mental note to swing by the library and ask Diane if she’d come across anything interesting when she Googled Lance. “Not to change the subject,” I said, “but I visited Claudia this afternoon.”

Bill paused, peering at me over the rim of his half-raised coffee mug. “How’s she holding up?”

I shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I guess, for someone with a first-degree murder charge hanging over their head. I know in my heart she’s innocent, Bill. I’m not going to rest until I find out who’s responsible.”

“Considering Ledeaux’s personality, you’d think there’d be a list of suspects as long as my arm.”

“You’d think.” I took a sip of coffee. “Sheriff Wiggins is determined to pin the blame on Claudia. And all because she happened to pull the trigger. Go figure.”

“Some folks just can’t see beyond the obvious.” Bill drained his mug, then set it down. “Hate to rush off, Kate, but tonight’s poker night at my place. Guys are coming at eight, so if you don’t mind giving me a lift…”

“Sure.” I hid my disappointment as best I could. “Let me grab my purse.”

We didn’t talk much on the short ride over. Bill’s house was along the golf course, on Gardenia Court just off Oleander Avenue. I kept stealing looks his way, but he seemed unusually preoccupied and disinclined to talk. An uneasy feeling coiled in the pit of my stomach.

Was I about to get dumped?

A gazillion questions buzzed through my brain, temporarily stomping out worry over Claudia. Was this the point in our relationship where he would tell me he wasn’t all that “into” me? Or we should start seeing other people? That things just weren’t working out; his fault, of course, not mine? Suddenly I was a senior in high school all over again and Patrick Taylor was breaking up with me a week before prom. Then Patrick, the rat fink, turned around and invited Melanie Johnson, the tramp. I turned into Bill’s drive and braked next to his Ford pickup.

Unbuckling his seat belt, he turned to face me, his expression serious. “Kate, there’s something I have to tell you. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

I braced myself for what was about to come. Bill had an affair with an old flame in Battle Creek. Maybe contracted an incurable disease. Or joined the Peace Corp and was moving to Zimbabwe.

“Shoot,” I said, as in Take that! And that and that! I flinched at my choice of words. Good thing I wasn’t holding a loaded Smith and Wesson.

“Something happened while I was away. Something I’m not proud of.”

Here it comes, Kate, brace yourself, there’s another woman. Probably a floozy who tempts men with home-cooked meals. I held my breath, prepared for the worst.

“I told my brother and my niece all about you.”

I waited for the other shoe to thud on the floor. When nothing happened, I started to breathe again. “I don’t understand. How was that a bad thing?”

He swallowed, looking miserable in the reflected glow of a coach light at the edge of the drive. Miserable but brave-a combination I found endearing. “My brother and niece are convinced you’re a ‘designing woman’ out to get my life savings. Judy, my niece, called you a Jezebel.”

Me… a designing woman? Jezebel? I’d never thought of myself in those terms. Now that I had, I have to admit the notion rather intrigued me. They made me sound like some sort of Medicare Mata Hari.

“The two of them badgered me until I promised to take things slow. They kept saying, ‘No fool like an old fool.’”

Déjà vu all over again, as the philosopher Yogi Berra once said. I distinctly remembered my daughter, Jennifer, making the exact same comment.

“But that’s not the half of it,” Bill confessed dejectedly. “My niece ran a background check on you on the Internet.”

The mention of background check started a bubble of laughter down deep inside. A bubble that swelled and swelled until it couldn’t be contained. Try as I might, it was bigger than both of us. It burst out, not as a coy giggle or a hearty chuckle, but as a full-bodied laugh. I laughed until tears rolled down my cheeks. All the while I was aware of Bill watching me with concern. The poor man was obviously worried I’d lost my marbles. Finally regaining a modicum of control, I dug through my purse for a crumpled Kleenex.

“Here.” Smiling a little in spite of himself, Bill handed me a neatly folded white handkerchief.

“Thanks,” I managed between bouts of giggles.

“Here all this time, I was afraid you were going to be mad-or disappointed. If I’da known it would make you laugh so hard, I would’ve told you weeks ago.”

He listened with bemusement as I told him about Jennifer’s unwarranted concern about my pension. How she referred to him as a gigolo.

“Who, me?” he exclaimed, his pretty blue eyes rounding in disbelief. “A gigolo?”

I nodded, then went on to admit that my son, Steven, had run a background check on him similar to the one his niece had run on me.

Bill’s lips twitched in a smile. “Well, I’m relieved your family knows I’m not on the terrorist watch.”

“Or a pervert,” I added solemnly. “And I’m happy your brother and niece are aware I don’t have a criminal record or liens against my property.”

“No lawsuits…”

“No outstanding debts other than a mortgage.”

Another giggle escaped; then we both laughed ourselves silly.

Bill sobered first, then reached for my hand. “Forgive me, Kate?”

At this point I’d have forgiven him anything. I hadn’t felt this good in an age. “Whatever for?”

“Maybe the kids were right after all when they said there’s no fool like an old fool.” Raising my hand to his lips, he brushed a kiss across the knuckles, causing my heart to go into a skid. “I never should have listened to my brother.”

“Why did you?” I asked when I’d recovered enough to speak.

He gave me that bashful smile I’d always found so appealing. “I’ve never been real smooth where the ladies are concerned. My brother, Bob, on the other hand, always had a way with women. I never should have let him influence me, but little by little he eroded my self-confidence. When I came home and saw how things had turned out for Claudia and Lance, two people who had rushed into things, I decided it might be best to heed Bob’s advice. To take things slow. Get to know each other better.”

“Do you still feel that way?” I asked quietly, glad it was dark enough so that Bill couldn’t read my expression to see how much his answer mattered.

“I had one of those come-to-Jesus moments people talk about and realized I’d be an even bigger fool if I let you get away.”

He scooted closer-no easy feat with a center console-and sealed the deal with a kiss that made my head spin.

Caught in the bright beam of headlights, we broke apart abruptly like teenagers caught necking on Lover’s Lane.

Bill swore softly under his breath as he pulled away. “Almost forgot about poker night. That must be Gus. He’s usually first to arrive. Are things OK between us?”

“More than OK.” I went to switch on the ignition and realized I had never turned it off. There was more than just one motor running. “Well, if you don’t mind dating a Jezebel, I have no trouble seeing a gigolo. I’m fixing a pot roast Sunday. Care to come for dinner?”

He climbed out of the car and grinned back at me. “See you Sunday.”

I smiled all the way home.