Chapter Twenty-Five

Paul was sitting in the cushioned chair by the window that oversaw the front yard from the second floor. His eyes were wide as he drank in the view of the dimly lit driveway designed by the lady of the house with loving attention to detail. He remembered seeing the first sketches of her desired brick paver driveway embellished by a surrounding rose garden. He still didn't understand why Della had put so much energy in creating something that could so easily be destroyed in the next best earthquake, but the gleam in her eyes when she had observed the craftsmen realizing her designs had extinguished any further questions from his side. Instead, he now remembered watching her sitting on the front steps of the house Perry had bought in her name, her toddler daughter cuddled up in her arms, sharing her enthusiasm for turning their Colonial style house into a family home.

Paul sighed. He had been an observer then and was one now. With Elizabeth sound asleep in his arms and Amy and Phoebe tucked away in their beds, he heard Gertie walking up and down in the room across the hallway to soothe a cranky Kate. He closed his eyes to her steady rhythm, images crossing his mind, memories flying by a little too fast to hold on to a feeling he liked to deny he had after seeing her struggling today. Della's smile was what he remembered and the beautiful color of her sparkling eyes. He didn't recall what she had said that day more than eight years ago, but he had felt a change in the way she had squeezed his hand. He had let her go, unwillingly, and seen the tears falling from her eyes upon departure. Anger was what he remembered next, giving way to fury when he had barged into Perry's office to give him a piece of his mind. He was angry now, to see Della taking the backseat to Perry's practice again, but he knew his opinion didn't count. They were married, Della and Perry, four children, two cars, a home. It wasn't his place to say anything beyond what he already had.

"What are you mulling over?" A quirky voice suddenly whispered.

"Nothing." Paul preferred to avoid the subject, opened his eyes and watched how Gertie put a happy Kate down to sleep with an iced waffle to chew on.

"So, did you listen to Mae after all?" He grinned.

"I had no idea girls that age could be so persistent," the assistant moaned. "No wonder Della needs a break. One at a time is hard enough, but two?!" She tilted her head to relax her neck.

"And two more growing up fast." Paul's grin broadened.

"I'll never understand why she doesn't just quit running the office and allows her husband to lavish her with amenities instead. I'm sure he would in a heartbeat."

Thinking about Gertie's proposed image, Paul chuckled and shook his head. "Can you imagine Della delegating a house full of servants while she stays in bed all day, dressed in a silky robe with a fur collar, polishing her nails and touching up her lips until her husband comes home after a busy day?"

"Well, no," Gertie admitted with a charming giggle. "But I know I couldn't keep up with her pace, attending to a demanding husband, running a busy practice and raising four kids."

"Didn't you say you couldn't wait to have a family of your own?"

"I'm not so sure anymore," Gertie fibbed.

"It's all right," the detective tried to reassure her. "They say it's easier when they're yours."

"That's just another white lie my mother used to say. You just love them more when they're your own, so your perspective changes." Gertie leaned against the crib, careful not to wake her fosterling again.

"What made you so pragmatic," Paul asked bewildered.

"This little bundle of joy," Gertie answered quietly and caressed Katey's rosy cheeks. "And her sisters."

"Listen to that," Paul held his breath while getting up, "and I thought you were crazy about these kids."

"I am," Gertie agreed. "Maybe not as crazy as you are about them, but that's okay I guess."

Putting Liz down in her own bed without waking her up, Paul didn't respond to the remark until he turned around with a question mark written all over his face.

"Oh Paul." Gertie smiled. "It's not exactly a secret how much you love your god-children and it's all right. I understand it, they are Della's. They'll always have a special place in your heart."

Glaring at her, Paul gestured his friends' assistant to follow him outside to continue their conversation elsewhere. Tiptoeing downstairs, he finally sat on the coffee table to face Gertie who settled comfortably on the couch.

"What is it we are talking about here?" Paul asked quietly and reached out his hand to cup hers in a tender caress.

"I know you are in love with her," Gertie whispered. "You always have been."

"I'm not," Paul replied, his eyes seeking hers.

"You don't have to pretend with me," the assistant reassured him softly. "I've known for quite some time. You love her and it's fine."

"No," the private detective finally locked his eyes with the woman sitting only inches away from him. "I don't love her like that. Della is family and so is Perry," he reasoned. "That's all there is to it."

"But you adore her just like you adore those four precious dolls up there in their beds," Gertie tried to argue in her calm, telephone-trained voice.

"I won't deny that," Paul admitted. "But I don't have romantic feelings for Della. She and Perry, they are my best friends."

"But you broke off your friendship with Perry after he..." Gertie started but was interrupted by Paul's sincere voice.

"I was mad because I didn't protect Della like my little sister. I'm a man, I know how we can get when a beautiful woman is doting on us. For years, I knew they carried a torch for each other but Perry would merely hold her arm or allow Della to rest her head on his shoulder during a long hour drive out in the country. He teased and spoiled her, but they took me along so often, I got used to the way they were being friendly with each other. And that's what it was. They were friends like I am friends with them. Until I saw them kiss. I should've known Della would end up with child, that's the kind of kiss they shared. And I didn't speak up, I just took a French leave while they were practicing another kind of French."

"It must've hurt to realize she would never be yours."

"It just hurt to be the third wheel," Paul admitted. "And it hurt to see them so unhappy for a while."

"And now you're afraid to see history repeating itself," Gertie judged by the worried expression in his eyes.

"It's that doggone case," the detective released a frustrated sigh. "If we only found that missing link Perry needs to get Margie acquitted. I'm sure it would chase all those ghosts away."

"The vultures you mean," Gertie said. "I must admit, I've learned my lesson when it comes to gossip rags. Office tattle on the other hand is what led us to Margie's sister."

"There's an upside to almost everything," Paul replied with a half-hearted smile. "Isn't that what Della always says?"

Nodding, Gertrude Lade checked her watch an asked, "Did you hear from your men? Do they have a lead?"

"Nothing yet." Paul shook his head, then jumped at the sound of a knock and a shadow outside the living room window.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Paul grumbled moments later as he opened the front door to bid his operative Otto Samson to enter.

"You said you were on kid duty," Samson apologized and tipped his hat to greet Gertie. "I didn't want to wake the pack."

"That's very considerate of you," Gertrude Lade chirped.

"What gives?" The detective growled and closed the door.

"That dame you are looking for," Samson replied while thoroughly cleaning his shoes to not smutch Mrs. Mason's beautiful floor. "We found her."

"Where is she?" Paul glared at the operative who gladly accepted a steaming cup of tea from Gertie Lade's welcoming hands.

"Incapacitated," Otto Samson tried to put it gallantly to respect Gertie's presence.

"How so," Paul asked impatiently, a queasy feeling in his stomach bubbling up. "Don't mind Gertie's sensitivities. She's working for Perry Mason, she's seen a police report or two."

"She did away with herself," Samson finally confirmed his boss' apprehension and gave Gertie an excusatory smile. "I'm sorry, Miss."

"It's all right," the assistant mumbled, her hand covering her mouth in shock.

"When?" The detective asked, his face suddenly pale.

"Today," the operative replied. "They found her collapsed over the latest issue of Spicy Bits."