Elizabeth set one of the containers of Preen down and took the softball-sized fruit in her hand. It smelled heavenly. In fact, she’d smelled the peaches when she’d come in. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” Debbie said.
Debbie helped her load the Preen into her car, then waved her goodbye before heading back inside.
Once in her car, Elizabeth lifted the peach to her nose, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. She took a bite, and the sweet juices dripped down her chin and onto her shirt. It was the best peach she’d ever had.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she opened her eyes again. Mr. Daley was walking toward her on the sidewalk with a stunning woman at his side. The woman was so different from her. She had at least four inches on Elizabeth, and her blonde hair was in stark contrast to Elizabeth’s raven locks. She was also curvy in a way Elizabeth would never be, with wide hips and a prominent chest. As a teenager Elizabeth had hated her small chest, but as a cop she was grateful for it. It made running less awkward. She still wore a sports bra.
The woman laughed at something Daley said and smacked him playfully on the shoulder before tugging on the hem of her long-sleeved shirt. Too warm for the weather they were having. Patrick ignored the woman, though, in favor of staring right at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth drew back in her seat, hastily wiping the juices from her chin. But it was too late. He made eye contact and smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing just a little to further showcase his amusement at catching her in a less-than-ladylike situation. From dirty and sweaty the other night to juicy and messy today. Great. And of course he looked as flawless as ever in a three-piece suit minus the tie.
She forced a smile and lifted her peach to him in salute, then turned her car on and drove away before they reached her. Would he have stopped to talk? She wasn’t positive, but she wouldn’t put it past him either. And frankly, Elizabeth wasn’t interested in feeling silly right now.
Sure, she’d promised to be more sympathetic, but that man had a mischievous side to him. The fact that he’d pretended to a psychic was testament enough to that. And the look he’d given her just then made her nervous. She amended her plan and decided she’d still be sympathetic to him, but only if she couldn’t avoid him first.
Chapter Six
True to Helen’s word, they finished up in the garden after a five-hour day instead of the nine they’d been doing the whole week before. Anticipating their finish, Alice invited them in for lunch. An hour later, they sat in the kitchen laughing together in the cool air conditioning and warm sunlight streaming through the windows. After lunch, Alice pulled out Oreos and milk—Elizabeth’s second favorite treat.
“So,” Helen hedged with a playful smile, “have you asked Alice yet what Patrick guessed about her?”
Elizabeth chuckled and glanced down at her light blue teacup. “Not yet.”
From her reclined position in her chair, Alice smiled. “Ah, that. You know, for years I swore up and down he was psychic, until one day he’d finally had enough and explained to me how he’d guessed.”
Elizabeth sat up straight. This interested her. Maybe what he’d done really had been pinpointed guesswork. “I’m intrigued. What did he guess?”
Alice’s smile dropped just a little. “He guessed that I was really left-handed, but my parents had forced me to write with my right hand; that my favorite food was white chocolate; that I was into theatre when I was younger; that I’d come to Thornfield because I was running from a messy divorce and wanted a new start and … he guessed that I’d suffered three miscarriages. I never told anyone about that last bit. Not even my doctors or ex-husband knew.”
It was all Elizabeth could do to keep from sucking in an outraged breath. What a thing to pry into.
Alice must have seen the look on Elizabeth’s face, because she gave a little chuckle. She reached across and patted her hand. “It’s not as intrusive as it sounds. The miscarriages came up much later in my employ, and only because he found me crying. He can be a gruff boy, but I’m really quite fond of him.”
“What did he guess about you?” Helen asked.
Elizabeth thought back and nearly shivered.
“Now, Helen,” Alice chided, smacking her on the shoulder. “You know the kinds of intimate things he can figure out. You can’t go asking her that. If she wants to volunteer it, she will.”
“It’s not guesswork,” a man’s voice called from the door.
The three of them turned. Patrick stood in the center of the archway, with his hands in his pockets. His suit coat was gone, exposing the perfectly tailored-to-him gray vest he wore. His sleeves were rolled past his elbows, and he had his hands in his pants pockets. Elizabeth hoped he wore these suits often, because dang, he looked good.
“It’s not?” Alice smiled at him from ear to ear.
“For example,” he said, taking a step into the room. “Tonight we’re having chicken curry. I know this because when you cook chicken, my dear Alice, you like to put a yellow curry rub all over the chicken breasts before cooking them, and the tips of your fingers stay yellow from the rub for the rest of the day.”
Elizabeth glanced at Alice’s fingers, and sure enough, they were slightly yellow. Still, she couldn’t help but say, “And the curry smell has nothing to do with it?”
He smirked. “The sense of smell is also a powerful tool of deduction.”
They all laughed again.
He continued, “And Helen, from her posture, has been hauling objects too heavy for her again.”
Helen sat upright from her relaxed position.
“And appears to have pulled a muscle in her back,” he said.
Helen’s smile fell.
“Helen.” Alice turned to her, concern in her tone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m fine,” Helen said.
“Not fine,” Daley continued. “Sore. It’s about time we think of hiring a man to help out around here—do the heavy lifting for you.”
Helen’s lips pursed. “I don’t need help.”
“Of course not. Much better to keep straining yourself,” he said. “If you take exception to it being a man, then hire another woman.”
Helen slammed her glass down on the table. “You have enough women around here already, don’t you think?”
He stepped forward. “Is there ever enough of the fairer sex, Helen?”
Helen looked down, her knuckles turning white around her glass.
Patrick looked at Elizabeth. “Come with me, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth scoffed. “Ms. Shea.”
“Now, please.” He turned his back and marched off.
Alice leaned closer to her. “You’d better go. Looks like he’s in one of his moods today.”
Helen stared at the table, her cheeks flushed and lips down-turned. He’d hurt her feelings, and he was in a mood? No, he didn’t know what a mood was, but he would soon. Elizabeth pushed out of her chair, tossing her linen napkin onto the white tablecloth, and marched after him.
He beat her to the library and stopped at the door to wait for her to catch up. He pulled the door open and gestured for her to go in before him. She narrowed her eyes but went in and stopped dead in her tracks. The room, which she’d found beautiful but eerie at night, was nothing compared to now. Colored light from the stained glass windows streamed in, hitting the walls and books, painting them in browns, reds, blues, and yellows. The books, many of which were leather bound and ornate, seemed somehow proud in the daylight, pleased to be seen.
This was the kind of library one saw in movies. She especially loved the runner ladders all over, attached to copper rods at the tops of the bookshelves so they could slide around the room. And while the shades of red in the area rug and furniture had given the room a dark look at night, she could now see the sense in those colors. So far this was her favorite room in the house. Her least favorite was the ballroom, where every piece of furniture, including the piano, was covered in white sheets. She shivere
d just thinking about how lonely and desolate it was. But it wasn’t the only room that was either closed up or covered up.
Patrick passed her and plunked down in the same club chair he’d sat in before. He signaled to the couch. “Sit.”
She clenched her jaw and sat in the chair next to his.
The skin around his eyes creased a little in amusement.
“You shouldn’t treat Helen like that. She works really hard on your property and is proud of it.” She pointed to the window. “And she should be. Yes, it’s backbreaking work, your property is massive, but pushing her to hire someone she doesn’t want—”
“But clearly needs.” He leaned forward. “If you’re under the impression that I’m not pleased with Helen’s work, then you’re mistaken. What I don’t like is how often she injures herself on behalf of her work. Bringing on another employee is just common sense. Can you deny that?”
She couldn’t, so she wouldn’t even try. Having another set of hands around here would be nice. But it was Helen’s company and she should be able to do what she wanted. In the end, easing Helen into the idea would be the wiser and probably more effective way of persuading her. “I’m not saying that more help is a bad thing, just that she shouldn’t be bullied into it.”
He nodded. “Helen is stubborn. She seems to be under the impression that if she hires more help than what she’s currently getting, her work might somehow be underappreciated.”
“Underappreciated?” Elizabeth stared at him unblinking. “And just how often do you appreciate her work?”
He gave a little smile. “Every day, but I’m guessing you mean verbally, and in that case not enough, probably.”
“She’d probably be more likely to hire someone else if you told her what a great job she was doing around here.”
He chuckled. “Point taken.” He made eye contact, and his gaze seemed to bore into her. Again, she had the horrible feeling that he was peering into her psyche, delving for her most intimate thoughts, like how perfect she thought the bottom curve of his lips were.
She blushed and glanced down.
“There, just then,” he said.
She peered at him through her lashes.
He paused. “What were you thinking about just then?”
She wanted to say, Can’t you guess? But she worried he might actually be able to. “Chicken curry.”
He smiled again, this time exposing beautiful white teeth. “Does chicken curry usually make you blush at the thought of it?”
She cleared her throat. “Why am I here, Mr. Daley?”
“Patrick, and I should think after all the work you’ve done around here that was obvious.”
“I meant, why did you call me in here? Did you have something you wanted to say to me?” Like I’ve discovered you’re a cop and your cover’s blown. Pack your bags? She wouldn’t put it past him. The man was brilliant. Annoying, but brilliant.
For some reason, the thought made her … not sad, but dissatisfied. And that alone was enough to make her pause. She absolutely wanted to get back home, but she liked the people here and had felt at home since arriving. And now, she found herself really wanting to stick around to help with this case.
“Yes.” He nodded and stared off into the distance, then shook his head as though clearing it of clutter. “I’ve had a long and boring day, and I’d like you to help me take my mind off it.”
Her jaw dropped a little. Was he serious? She thought of the stunning blonde he’d been with this morning and doubted he’d been bored then. “I’m not a court jester.”
His gaze skirted to her briefly. “I’m not asking you to juggle. Only to keep me company.”
She sighed.
He faced her. “My mind keeps going to dark places today, and I’d appreciate some conversation to stay away from those unsettling thoughts.”
Her heart thudded hard against her chest. She knew all about dark thoughts. She’d had a few after her mother died, but had managed to pull herself together. However, after her father had drunk himself to death, the dark thoughts had been much harder to get rid of. Especially when in the wake of all that, she’d had to grow up too fast and take in her brothers so they wouldn’t be placed in foster care.
She could only image the dark thoughts this man must have swirling around in his mind after what had happened to his wife. She nodded. “I’d be glad to keep you company, but wouldn’t you be more comfortable talking with Alice or Helen?”
He shook his head. “If Alice felt for one second that I needed to have my mind taken off something, she’d burst into tears. And Helen … well, never mind that. You know what happened here, but you treat me no differently than anyone else. I find that refreshing.”
At a time when all she’d wanted was for people to stop asking how she was doing, she would’ve given anything for someone who understood. She smiled. “What would you like to talk about?”
“Anything. Anything pleasant.”
Was she supposed to come up with the conversation? She glanced around, then stared at the design in the red and cream carpet. Okay, garden it is. “The garden is—”
He waved her off. “No, no. I like looking at the garden; I don’t like talking about it.”
She closed her eyes briefly and rubbed between her brows. “You’re going to have to help me out here.”
“Yes.” His gaze narrowed in.
She fought the urge to lean away as her face warmed under his scrutiny. Her gaze flitted once more to the carpet.
“Have you traveled?”
“Me? No. Never,” she said. “I want to, but I’ve always had other priorities that came first.” Like putting herself through college and the police academy, then putting her brothers through college. Even with scholarships, she’d had little money left, and even though the two oldest of her little brothers had jobs now, they still owed money for college. And she still had her youngest brother to go.
“Like?”
“My brothers.” She glanced at the door, wondering if she could make a hasty retreat. Her family was a sensitive subject. She hated people pitying her, or making suggestions for courses of action she should have taken with her brothers instead. Well-intentioned people had a way of putting their feet in their mouths. She’d learned to avoid all that mess by keeping her family life private.
“Ah, yes.” He nodded. “That must have been difficult becoming a legal guardian at such a young age. You must be very competent to have been awarded custody.”
She glanced up from the carpet. Sure, that information wasn’t exactly private, but it certainly wasn’t well known. “How do you do that? Guess stuff like that?”
“Years of practice.”
If his skills were real, she wanted to know how he did it. It could come in handy in her line of work. “Would you tell me?”
He drummed his fingers on the leather armrests as he thought it over. “Nothing much to tell. From birth, my father taught me how to pay attention, how to read people. Being raised in a circus and able to do what I do is an excellent way to bring in crowds. For years I pretended to be a psychic.” He looked at her. “I even got to travel the world doing it. But there came a time when I couldn’t bring myself to keep conning people. I never liked it. Not really.”
“Why did you do it, then?” she asked.
“It was all I knew, and fame can be intoxicating.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, but when he faced her his gaze softened. “I think maybe you are a witch after all. Drawing out my secrets.”
Her heart thudded in her chest again, and she dropped her gaze to the carpet out of self-preservation. “You think I’m prying?”
“No, just listening and asking the right questions, like you’ve been trained …”
Trained? Like she was a cop? Crap. “I’m a good listener. Just ask my brothers.”
He tilted his head, sending one of his golden locks across his forehead. “Tell me, Ms. Shea, do you find me attractive?”
Elizabeth whipped he
r gaze up and furrowed her brows. Had he seriously just asked her that? “Excuse me?”
His smile reached his eyes now. “Most women do, but I can’t get a read on you. You’re being very careful to keep your eyes off me and on the carpet, and you’ve blushed three times since we started talking. At the same time, you’re speaking to me in clipped responses and your gaze keeps finding the door. Like you want to make a run for it. Well, at least you did at the beginning of the conversation. You seemed less spooked when we moved the conversation off you and onto me.”
Her cheeks warmed and she wanted to scream as his eyes lit up in response to her apparently fourth traitorous blush. “It has nothing to do with attraction, and everything to do with annoyance.”
“So I’m annoying and not attractive?” He laughed.
“Yes,” she said without really thinking. Then, quickly, she amended with, “No.” Being around someone who could read her like this was unnerving. But even if he couldn’t read her, he was in truth very attractive. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she was lying. But there was more to it than that. She felt inexplicably drawn to him, and that scared her for more reasons than one.
The corners of his eyes crinkled from mirth. “Well, which is it, yes or no?”
She let out a sigh. “I think that you find yourself attractive enough for the both of us, but I guess you’re good-looking enough. That is, when you’re not talking.”
He laughed out loud. “Brutal honesty. It’s been a while since anyone has been so candid with me. Thank you.”
“Honesty is something you never have to thank me for,” she said.
“Good-looking on the surface, huh?” He brushed his hair back. “Last year, I was named one of America’s most eligible bachelors.”
Last year? That seemed kind of sudden after the death of his wife. Still, Elizabeth found it insensitive that some magazine or news source, or whoever had nominated him, would include a widower whose spouse had died in such a horrific way in something like that.
The Heir of Thornfield Manor Page 5
