Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series)

by M. Kate Quinn

  She remembered that one of the cops told Benny that Clyde Stone was a black belt in karate, adept enough to send one of his muggers to the hospital. She swallowed hard. What if he was really a psycho?

  She’d taken a women’s self-defense class at the recreation center with some of her garden club members. She tried to remember what she was supposed to do if someone grabbed her. All she could think of was “the collapse move” that would turn her into a ragdoll—enough of a dead weight to hopefully topple the attacker and put the victim in a position to kick the attacker in the groin.

  She eyed Clyde Stone. Tall and lanky, narrow shouldered, black-rimmed glasses. Not too scary-looking, but still.

  “I won’t take too much of your time,” he said. “I’d like to discuss purchasing your inn.”

  Anger shot through her, dispelling the thoughts of self defense. Her Cornelia Inn needed defending and she was all it had.

  She jutted the front door open with a forceful arm and stood tall in the doorway. “You’re wasting your time. It’s not for sale.”

  Clyde Stone stepped forward suddenly and grabbed her by the shoulders with both hands. Adrenaline coursed through her system, charging to her brain. Instantly she envisioned the demonstrator at the women’s defense class and saw herself practicing the moves with her partner. She let herself fall limp, collapsing backwards onto the hand-hooked rug in the foyer. Clyde Stone toppled into the room with her.

  “Oh my God,” he said, pulling himself up onto his knees.

  Eyes closed and lying prone, just one thing chanted in her head. Kick him, kick him…

  “Shit, lady,” he said leaning forward enough so that she could feel his breath on her face. “Did you pass out or something? Crap, you have epilepsy or narcolepsy or one of those things?” He poked her arm with one spastic finger. “Wake up, lady.”

  He didn’t sound menacing, that was for sure. He sounded scared. Was it a trick? Did he like his victims alert? It was now or never, she shot her eyes open and kicked at him aiming for his balls. Instead, her loafer flew from her foot and hit him in the head.

  “Ow, what the hell?” he shouted, putting a hand to his head. “What are you, nuts?”

  “Leave now,” she boomed. “How dare you touch me? I could charge you with assault.”

  “Assault?” He barked the word. “I tripped over that stupid mat out there. I could sue you for damages.”

  She sat up straighter. He didn’t move, but continued to stare at her, with one hand still at his forehead. “I’ll count to three, then I’m yelling like a banshee.”

  “Hold on. Let me help you up,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  “One…”

  “Listen, Mrs. Grayson, I think you might want to hear what I know about your inn.”

  “Two…”

  “It’s going to be condemned.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sarah stood in her foyer staring at Clyde Stone, who also had risen from the floor. He pressed one hand to his head and in the other he held her shoe.

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

  “I believe this belongs to you.” He jutted the brown leather loafer in her direction.

  He removed the hand from his head where a reddening welt had begun to show. Sarah swallowed the instinctive guilt that pinched at her but she couldn’t help feeling the need to justify her rash move.

  “You can’t show up at my door and suddenly come at me like that.”

  “Come at you? I fell. And then you assaulted me.”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”

  “You have a gun?”

  His voice was so filled with terror that she couldn’t help but snort in his face. “I might,” she bluffed. “But, you better start explaining about using the word condemned.”

  “Have you seen the condition of your foundation?”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s decayed, crumbling out from under your inn. I’m surprised the town hasn’t shut you down before now.”

  Harvey and Richie hadn’t mentioned anything about the foundation when they’d first come to give her an estimate. But that wasn’t the only thing they didn’t know to mention.

  She swallowed hard realizing that though Harvey and Richie had performed plenty of small jobs for some of her friends, that didn’t qualify them to tackle her inn. At the time it seemed like the right choice.

  Harvey’s mother had been a member of the garden club and she’d taught Sarah everything she knew about tulips. Her son had lost his service station, and needed work.

  Clyde Stone interrupted her thoughts. “Look, I happen to know that most homeowners’ insurance coverage excludes some ‘perils,’ as they call them. Crumbling old foundations are one such peril. I also can tell you that fixing that foundation is going to involve extensive work. And lots of money and time. Lots.”

  “You’ve done your homework on my inn, haven’t you?”

  “Watch,” he said and withdrew a marble from his pocket. He bent low and rolled it across the wooden floor. The little glass globe scooted to the end of the foyer, slowed, then reversed direction and rolled lazily back toward them.

  “The floor’s pitched. If you don’t fix the foundation the whole place could fall. I’m sure you don’t want to take the lives of your guests into your hands.”

  He paused as though waiting for his information to sink into her every pore. “I’m prepared to make you a fair cash offer for the place. More than fair, all things considered.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her mind reeled with the wedding plans, and the upcoming season that provided her livelihood. What the hell was she supposed to do if this guy was right?

  “Mr. Stone, I think this conversation is over.”

  He extended a business card toward here. “I’m in town for a few more days. If you come to realize that I’m right, which I hope you do, please contact me.”

  And he was gone.

  Sarah stood alone in the foyer. She cast her gaze around at the furnishings, the wall art, the draperies. She went to the banister, ran her hand up over the smooth mahogany.

  She looked down at the rug she’d purchased from an Amish woman in Pennsylvania, the tufts a riot of color. Her eyes filled with tears, blurring the scene. She blinked them away and her gaze riveted to the marble, still on the floor.

  She pulled on a jacket and went outside. She needed to see the foundation for herself. A strong wind had brewed, whipping her hair harshly. She trod along the perimeter of the structure, running her fingers over the obvious cracks, the missing mortar in places between rocks that left gap-toothed-looking holes in the façade.

  A chalky substance covered her fingers, remnants she was sure of the disintegration that had occurred without her even being aware. She closed her eyes, wiping the powder off her fingers by swiping them across the back pockets of her jeans.

  She pulled the jacket tight across her body as the wind pressed at her back. She strode through the yard to the front door.

  Inside, she paused. She wondered what to do now? Where to turn? Her eyes found the portrait of Cornelia DeGraff in her splendid butter-yellow gown. Our house is crumbling out from under us, Cornelia.”

  Sarah went to the phone. She knew not to bother Gigi with this news, not after the day the girl had had. Sarah wouldn’t dare call Hannah and send her kid into a tailspin.

  Her mouth was dry and her throat scratched when she swallowed. She dialed Benny’s cell phone number, surprising herself that she knew it by heart.

  The call went to voicemail. When she heard the beep, her tongue had tied and her mind had no idea how to relay what she needed to tell him. She hit the end button and put the phone back in its cradle.

  ****

  Arms loaded with food and a six-pack of beer, at the convenience store, Benny heard the cell phone ringing in his pocket. He waited until he was able to lay everything down on the counter at the register before he reached for the no-lon
ger-ringing phone.

  There was no message, but he saw that the call had come from Sarah. A funny pain jabbed at his insides, a kind of poke at his heart.

  His mind went right back to the thoughts he’d been trying to squash all day. Sarah Grayson. Exasperating, pigheaded, and irrational Sarah Grayson.

  And yet there was no denying the feelings that had brewed in him. He wanted her. He wanted to kiss that pink mouth, run his fingertips over her face, count the freckles, and kiss each one. His thoughts were pitiful, and he groaned audibly.

  “Sir?”

  He startled alert to find the young clerk at the register peering at him as if he were about to keel over.

  “I’m sorry,” he laughed and gave his head a shake. He reached for his wallet. “What do I owe you?”

  “Thirty-two fifty.”

  He withdrew a pair of twenties and handed them to the young man who slipped them into his tray and fished out the proper change.

  “Having a party?” he asked as he handed bills and change to Benny.

  “What?” Benny looked into one of the bags. What else would the guy think? A family-sized bag of tortilla chips, a can of bean dip, and all the rest of the makings for his famous seven-layer Mexican dip. Let alone the beer.

  “Something like that,” Benny said. He pulled his purchases into his hands. “Have a good night.”

  He hadn’t intended to buy so much. It would be a long walk back to his place with all this stuff. Thoughts of Sarah had propelled his need to arm himself for what he was sure would prove to be a long night ahead. He’d dig out a couple of cop-chase DVD’s he’d packed somewhere. They, along with his refreshments, ought to do the trick. No time to think about a woman he had no right to want.

  But, she’d called. Questions filtered into his thoughts as he made his way home. What had she wanted? Maybe she was in trouble. God only knew what she was capable of getting herself into.

  He shook his head. Not my problem.

  Or, what if she was feeling the same thing he was? He remembered the way her eyes clung to his, those golden flecks keeping him from looking away. Was this an opportunity? Would it be yet another wrong choice to ignore it?

  He thought of the compass, his father’s relic that all these years he’d detested. The thorn that pricked his ego, that had made his heart bleed with knowing that the old man had thought so little of him.

  At first when he’d seen the hand-tooled wooden case the lawyer had placed in front of him on that day he and Sal sat in the man’s office, he’d thought it might be a treasure of some kind. After lifting the lid, the old brass object all but laughed at him. Was his father’s message true? Would he always be a loser? Destined to be lost and in need of a device to give him direction?

  He readjusted his packages, bracing himself against the gusts of wind that blew into his face. He saw The Cornelia Inn up ahead, the lights already on inside. Sarah was home.

  He did not need a compass tonight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The doorbell sounded, jarring Sarah. What now? She trotted down the staircase to the front door. She knew who stood outside the moment she saw his silhouette through the beveled glass.

  Her nervous system, she decided, was a mess. The news about her house, the wedding plans, Hannah’s quirkiness, and then there was Benny Benedetto. How much could she take?

  If she had half a brain, she’d ignore the front door and charge right back up to her apartment and go to bed early with earplugs in place.

  The half of her brain she no longer possessed opened the door. The wind was strong enough now to do all the work. Benny stood hunkered down into his black jacket, laden with packages.

  “I, uh, stopped on my way home from the store.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, she spoke. “Come in. You want to put those down?”

  He placed his bags and the six-pack on the floor. “It’s really kicking up out there.” He rubbed his hands together. Nice, masculine hands.

  “Yes, something’s brewing.” She folded her arms across her chest. Again they shared a long gaze.

  “I came by because I saw you had called.”

  “Yes, I did,” she said. “Clyde Stone came by for a visit.”

  “What?” Benny’s eyes grew, the dark orbs beaming with intensity. “Sarah, he could be some kind of wacko. You talked to him?”

  “Yes,” she said, letting out a whoosh of air. “After I hit him in the head with my shoe.”

  “Why? What’d he do to you?”

  Before she had time to process it, Benny had rushed to her and grabbed her upper arms into his firm hands. However, he had not tripped over the front mat. And she would not hit Benny with a shoe.

  “It was a misunderstanding,” she said softly. She was acutely aware of Benny’s nearness. His face was sharp, eyes alert. “He tripped over that mat out on the porch and fell forward. I thought he was attacking me.”

  Benny let his hands fall. His face softened and something new shone in his onyx eyes. Amusement? A trace of a smile played over his lips. “So you threw a shoe at him?”

  “Actually, no. I was aiming for his crotch.” Now she couldn’t help the grin that claimed her mouth.

  “And you got his head instead. That’s some kick. Shit, how long are those legs of yours?”

  “Yeah, very funny. Benny, he came here with an offer to buy the place. He said it’s ready to fall down and if I’m smart I’ll let him buy it.”

  “Don’t listen to him. We figured that’s what he was up to when the cops found that list in his wallet. He say anything about writing those notes?”

  She shook her head.

  “I hope you told him to pound salt.”

  “I did, basically. But he’s right about the foundation disintegrating. I saw with my own eyes.”

  “You didn’t know anything about that until now? What about those guys doing the work for you? They never mentioned that?”

  “Nope.”

  “What I want to know is how does this Stone guy know so damned much? Did he trespass onto your property and inspect your foundation? Everything about this stinks.”

  “I don’t know. He said insurance doesn’t cover decaying foundations. Apparently, he’s got the funds to make the inn safe.”

  “You’re not considering his offer?”

  “No, but I’m scared, Benny. I don’t have the money to do the repairs. How am I supposed to keep an inn going if it’s not safe? Maybe it’s time for a new reality check.”

  “We don’t know a thing about this guy. We can’t believe a word he says.”

  She pulled the business card out from her pocket and extended it toward him. “I don’t know. He could be legit.”

  His eyes scanned the text. “Wait a second. It says here he’s the president of the Metropolitan Karate Institute.”

  “Well, the police did say he was a black belt, right?”

  “Yeah, they did.” As though a light bulb flashed on in his head, scorching his brain, Benny pulled out his cell phone and flipped the screen a few times. He tapped a finger and flipped some more.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m checking something.” His eyes were intent on the screen. She watched his finger’s rapid movements as he shuffled through electronic screens.

  “Damn it to hell.”

  “What?”

  “Sarah,” he looked up at her. “There’s something I need to do. I’ll explain when I get back. It won’t be until later, though.”

  He reached for the door, it flew open and an icy gust whipped into the room.

  “And please, don’t talk to this guy again until I come back.”

  Sarah watched him retreat down the sidewalk. He moved too quickly and the wind was too loud for her to even attempt calling after him.

  She stood in her foyer with her arms clenched across her chest and his bags of groceries at her feet.

  ****

  Benny struggled with the wind on his race home.
The force of air pushed against him, but adrenaline pumped strong and nothing would hold him back. I knew it. There was no way this was a coincidence.

  Benny now pictured that photo hanging up on Sal’s self-aggrandizing wall. The karate school where he’d earned his black belt had given Sal a new buddy…named Clyde Stone. He recalled in detail now the photo of Sal in his dress blues shaking his teacher’s hand, the benefactor of some donation, both of them smiling in kinship into the lens.

  Damn it, Sal was going to come clean about whatever the hell he was up to. If not Benny might need to choke it out of him.

  He went inside the cottage, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and shoved an apple into his jacket pocket. He turned around and went right back out, locking the door behind him.

  He climbed into the Jeep and headed toward the main thoroughfare. If the traffic was right, he’d make it to Sal’s office around seven-thirty, right around shift change.

  The Parkway was slick from a fast and furious bout of rain. Although the rain had subsided, an angry wind howled through the windows of his vehicle. It only served to fuel Benny’s frustration.

  He wasn’t just pissed at Sal. He was pretty mad at himself for being stupid enough to get into this predicament.

  Periodically a strong gust would rock his truck, especially when he ascended the crest of the Raritan River Bridge. Cars slowed and traffic clogged the roadway, reducing Benny’s speed to less than thirty miles per hour. At this rate, it would take him all night to get to Glendale. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be stopped.

  He crawled along, switching lanes like a squad car chasing a criminal. He snorted into the empty cab of his vehicle. “Oh, I’ll bet my ass I’m chasing a crook. Hands down.”

  An inventory began to form in his head, a mental list of all the times he’d had to cover for Mr. Bigshot over the years. The first time Benny remembered was when they were kids and Sal had gotten caught lifting a Playboy from the drugstore. Sal had lied right to their old man’s face and Benny had been coerced to confirm it.

  But that had been just the beginning. There’d been times Sal cheated on girlfriends and made Benny cover for his whereabouts, convincing him to lie and say his brother was sick in bed.