The Knight, the Waitress and the Toddler

by Arlene James

“Oh, there was a small matter of pretending to be kidnapped and ransomed.”

  Edward felt as if he’d been sucker punched. “K-kidnapped?”

  “Pretending to be kidnapped,” Kennison repeated. His expression was solemn, but those cold, predatory, blue-black eyes gleamed with unseemly delight He was loving this, so much that he stretched the moment as long as possible. Finally he faked a dismal sigh and carried on. “Mmm, she was about fourteen, going to a fancy boarding school. You know the kind. Apparently she wasn’t getting on well, but Virdel refused to allow her to come home. So she wrote a phony ransom note and disappeared. I don’t think she knows herself whether she intended to take the money and run or play the heroine and rescue it and herself. Either way, she was thwarted. Virdel refused to pay the ransom.”

  Kennison chuckled, and Edward wanted to rip his throat out. The kid had obviously been begging for some sort of proof that her grandmother valued her, and Virdel Heffington had simply refused to give it. Edward felt a shadow of the pain that Laurel must have felt. Still, to pretend to be kidnapped…It wasn’t a very rational scheme. He swallowed his anger and dismay. “What happened?”

  “After a few days, the custodian at the school found her hiding out in the basement. Virdel was called. She had Laurel sent to a pricey hospital that specialized in dealing with problem teens.”

  Damn. Now that could blow a hole in any case, a forced stay in a hospital. Maybe Virdel Heffington had had too much pride to allow them to admit her granddaughter as a mental case. For Laurel’s sake, Edward hoped so. Keeping his fisted hands out of sight, he adopted a casual tone. “And did they make a diagnosis at the time?”

  Kennison pursed his lips. “I don’t know. I only know that after she returned to school, she faked—or imagined—several illnesses. After some time, Virdel sent her to yet another hospital for a complete medical workup. They found nothing wrong physically, but the doctors recommended intense counseling. She went to a private institution, what we once would have called a posh sanitorium. She earned her high school equivalency degree during that period. She also tried to elope with a groundskeeper seven years her senior, but Virdel tracked them down somehow, and he quietly disappeared for a few thousand dollars.”

  Edward felt a burning in the back of his throat and swallowed it away, only to have it return immediately. He cleared his throat, as composed outwardly as it was possible to be. “And then?”

  “And then,” Kennison said smoothly, “Virdel brought her granddaughter home, where she became a source of constant battle between her and Mason. Unfortunately, a year or two later, Mason Heffington was declared incompetent and Virdel seized complete control of the Heffington millions. There is a family history, you see, of mental instability.”

  His smirk nearly sent Edward out of his chair and over the desk to put his fist in Kennison’s face. Only one thing stopped him—the fact that Kennison was very likely right. Edward recalled now the rumors that had circulated about Mason Heffington. It was said first that he had died but the family was keeping it quiet to prevent panic from investors in several public companies in which Heffington held large shares. Later, the speculation was that Heffington had suffered some sort of debilitating ailment, a stroke perhaps. Whatever the cause, Mason Heffington had never again appeared in public until the viewing of the body prior to his funeral. Edward knew in his heart that even if Virdel had kept it quiet, a record existed somewhere that would prove Mason Heffington had been legally declared mentally incompetent, and that could only bode ill for Laurel.

  Edward felt as if he’d had his feet swept out from under him, but he had scrambled for purchase on shifting ground before. He relaxed and reached for the hypothesis that would frame his next comment or question. As always, his training paid off. He looked Abelard Kennison straight in the eye. “Well, it’s been an interesting history lesson, but an unfair divorce settlement is an unfair divorce settlement.”

  The smile that curved Kennison’s mouth was downright reptilian. “I’m afraid you have been misinformed, dear boy. It was not my client who outlined the divorce agreement. It was Laurel herself. You see, Mr. Miller did not wish to divorce his wife. She offered him, through her attorney, of course, everything her grandmother left in her direct care—the house, the furnishings, the cars…It almost seems an irrational act, does it not? But it certainly demonstrated the depth of her commitment to parting ways with her husband. Bryce felt that the only thing he could do was allow her the freedom she wanted while keeping the Heffington estate together for her eventual return. It is his belief, his ardent desire, that she will return to him.”

  “So he’s merely protecting her interests,” Edward clarified sarcastically.

  Abelard Kennison bowed his silver head. “Until she comes to her senses and returns to him.”

  “And to prove it,” Edward surmised, “you would draw into question her mental stability, with Miller declaring loudly from the witness stand that he adores the ground she walks on.”

  Kennison said nothing, but he looked like the cat that ate the canary, and his eyes were declaring, “Gotcha!”

  As loath as he was to do it, Edward allowed his dismay and confusion to show. Let Kennison think he had won whether he had or not. Edward still hadn’t made a decision about representing Laurel Miller, and he wasn’t going to until he had settled some of the questions rocketing around in his mind. But if it came to it, he meant to give Kennison the fight of his life.

  Stretching as if waking from a short nap, Ed got to his feet. “Well, thanks for the info, anyway.”

  Kennison rose in one suave movement, began a practiced tug at the vest of his three-piece suit and halted with a pained glance at his hand. “My pleasure,” he said, leaving some doubt as to his veracity. “Feel free to call on me again any time I may be of service. But if I might be allowed an opinion and if you have any influence with our dear Laurel, you really should encourage her to go back to her husband. It’s for her best, believe me.”

  Edward contented himself with a small, wry smile. “Oh, I doubt that” he said lightly. “I’ve met Bryce Miller.” He then added, “And by the way, if he ever makes another threat against Laurel or attempts to carry out those he’s already made, I’ll see him behind bars if I have to cage him myself.” With that he took his leave, wishing he’d never laid eyes on Laurel Heffington Miller.

  Chapter Four

  It was the height of the lunch hour, and she had a dozen things to do, but she reminded herself that beggars cannot be choosers and smiled down at him, her hands reaching for order pad and pencil from sheer habit. Besides, he had cut his hair, and the results were all she’d hoped they would be.

  “Well, well, Counselor, don’t you look sharp today!”

  “Hello, Laurel,” Edward said, a hand self-consciously sweeping over his expertly cut hair. “You don’t think it’s a little too trendy?”

  She bent at the waist slightly, bringing her eyes on a more even par with his face and turned her head to and fro. His face looked leaner, the bone structure more pronounced, those pale blue eyes somehow more commanding. In addition, his upper lip was clearly visible, now merely framed by the thick, dark brush rather than obscured by it. “Oh, no,” she said at last, “I think it’s wonderful. I like the trim of your mustache, too.”

  He seemed to relax, smiling broadly. “Yeah, me, too. I wasn’t sure at first, but the stylist insisted, and I figured, what the heck, in for a penny, in for a pound.”

  “You made a wise choice.”

  “Thanks.”

  For a moment, each of them seemed to search for something else to say, but then Laurel remembered the pad and pencil in her hand and snapped to.

  “Lunch or business?”

  He glanced around him, slid his briefcase up onto the tabletop and said, “Business, if you have the time.”

  Glancing at the trio of workmen standing expectantly just inside the door, Laurel leaned forward and softly asked, “Would you mind moving to the counter? The boss d
oesn’t like us to tie up the booths during the lunch rush.”

  “Oh. Sure. No problem.” Getting to his feet and gathering his briefcase to his side at the same time, he stepped over to the counter and wedged himself between the seat and the bar.

  “Those seats are too close,” Laurel whispered apologetically, watching him pivot sideways in order to find space for his legs. “It’s just so cramped in here.”

  “It is a diner,” he reminded her mildly.

  She nodded, bit her lip and indicated the three workmen who slid into the booth just vacated by Edward. “I’ve got to get this. Sorry.”

  “I understand.” He deposited the briefcase on the counter in front of him, clicked it open and removed the ubiquitous yellow legal pad and ink pen.

  Laurel quickly took orders for two chicken-finger baskets and a patty melt, poured three cups of coffee and refilled a fourth, then delivered a plate of onion rings for Fancy before scurrying back behind the counter to clear off the place next to Edward and slide him a glass of water.

  “You sure you won’t have something to eat?”

  He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ve already had lunch. I will have a cola, though.”

  “Great!” She pulled him a tall glass of soda from the dispenser and set it in front of him, taking great pleasure in telling him that it was on the house, which literally meant on her. He smiled slightly and took a drink, failing to quite meet her gaze.

  “I, um, have some questions I need to ask you.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  Edward uncapped the pen and poised it over the paper. “Is it true that your grandfather was ruled incompetent.”

  Laurel nodded. “Yes, unfortunately, he was. Why do you ask?”

  He drew the number 1 on the yellow paper and drew a circle around it. Next to it, he wrote the words grandfather—yes. Then he laid down the pen and spread his hands. “I want you to tell me about it.”

  Laurel shifted her weight. “Well, the doctors felt that he had a series of small strokes and they affected his mind. I always figured that he just sort of wore down, you know?”

  “No,” Edward rumbled, his gaze on the notes he was making. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked you to tell me.”

  Laurel sighed and went on. “Okay, well, a few months after my father died, my grandfather resigned from the boards of several companies on which he sat. Then he created three trusts— one for me, one for my grandmother and one for charitable concerns. My grandmother disagreed with this ‘division of the wealth,’ as she called it. She claimed it was unsound financial planning. So Grandfather released management of her trust to her, and he spent his time administering my trust and the Heffington Charitable Fund. From that day on, he and Grandmother led very separate lives. She simply could not forgive him for ‘abdicating his leadership in the business community’—again, her words. The changes began then—nothing much at first, just irritability and forgetfulness.

  “Anyway, to make a long story short, I first noticed a really big change in Grandfather when I returned from Europe. I lived there for a few months after my first two years in college. The thing was, he couldn’t seem to pay attention anymore. His mind wandered, when he was awake, that is.”

  “So what you’re saying is that his mental condition had deteriorated,” Edward clarified.

  “Exactly, and even when he was making sense, he didn’t seem to trust anyone anymore. I mean, for example, after I came back from Europe, I went to Grandfather and asked for enough money to go back to college. I’d had a semester in England, and then I’d laid out a semester, working in France. Actually, it’s the only time I’ve ever been able to do what I went to college to do.”

  “Which was?”

  “Fashion designing.”

  He looked up at that, the light of understanding in his eyes. “Of course, now back to Grandfather.”

  “Oh, right. So I asked for the money, and he did the strangest thing,” she mused, thinking. “He started digging money out of hiding places around his room, some from a box in his closet, some from drawers and pockets of his clothes. He’d even stuffed money into the drapery valances over the windows. It was wild. He came up with thousands of dollars, and he made me promise never to tell Grandmother or his doctors where I’d gotten it. I remember that it gave me chills at the time.” She grimaced. “I didn’t tell her anything, but she knew. Somehow she always knew. I didn’t see either of them for several weeks. Then the police contacted me. She had accused me of stealing the money, they said. Then she contacted me herself and said that if I came back home and returned the money, she’d let it drop. I went home. Grandfather was a wreck. His mind was completely gone. He was confined to a wheelchair. I don’t know why, but he was too weak to walk. I managed to get my degree anyway, for all the good that it did me, and I’ve been paying off the loans ever since. That’s pretty much the whole story.”

  She watched him make a question mark at the end of a sentence. “All right,” he said, pecking spots on the paper with the tip of the pen. “Now I have to ask—”

  “Laurel? Honey, could you…”

  Laurel glanced at Fancy who, arms laden with lunches to be delivered, indicated several more waiting on the windowsill between the kitchen and the back counter space. Laurel nodded, slipped Edward an apologetic look and hurried to make herself useful. After delivering a trio of lunches, pouring a half gallon of coffee and dishing out coconut cream pie, she was back. “Sorry.”

  “Never mind,” Edward began, only to be interrupted again, this time by the tinkling of the doorbell.

  “It’s my turn,” Laurel told him apologetically. He sipped cola and pretended patience, while she raced around taking orders, refilling cups and making change at the register. By the time she returned, he was checking his watch and glowering.

  “Sorry,” she said again. He waved her apology away with a movement of his hand. “Go ahead, ask your question,” she urged.

  He tried to drain a final drop of cola from a glass containing nothing but ice, put it down with a clunk and bluntly asked, “Did you pretend to be kidnapped?”

  She closed her eyes. Shame and embarrassment washed over her in a cold wave. She had hoped that humiliating mistake was behind her, but she had believed that before. She took a deep breath. “Yes.” It came out even and subdued, much to her surprise. Taking heart, she went on. “I was fourteen. She sent me to a boarding school in Minnesota while Grandfather was out of town dedicating some new wing at a hospital in my father’s name. I was utterly miserable. I wanted to go home. I wanted her to want me home. I wanted to know that she cared, that she loved me.” Laurel blinked away the tears that had gathered in her eyes and chuckled at the irony of it. “She never even told Grandfather about the phony ransom note I sent. I got a one-word reply, written in her own hand. ‘No.’”

  He said something under his breath, but she was too preoccupied, too caught in the old misery to notice. “Ah, well.” She sighed. “Water under the bridge.”

  “Not,” Edward told her solemnly, “if someone wanted to use it against you.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant by that but suddenly felt a presence at her elbow. She looked to the side and encountered Fancy, who was snapping her chewing gum, a predatory gleam in her eye as she surveyed Edward White.

  “Laurel honey, ain’t you gonna introduce us now that things have slowed down a mite?”

  Fancy’s smile displayed a fresh coat of bright red lipstick, and she had removed her hair net. Old Plug was staring over her shoulder. A quick glance in the direction of the kitchen showed Shorty’s bald pate poking through the order window, head cocked as if trying to catch every word.

  Laurel rolled her eyes. “Uh, Edward White, I’d like you to meet Fancy Bright and—”

  “Maybe you heard of me,” Fancy said in her most ingratiating voice, thrusting an arm across the counter.

  Edward seemed flustered. “Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

  �
��I used to be a dancer,” Fancy went on. “Well, it was some years ago, but I had quite a reputation around here, if I do say so myself. They billed me as Queen of the Exotic Dancers.”

  Edward’s mouth dropped open and quickly snapped shut again as he jerked his hand up to grasp Fancy’s, which he shook and released again in the space of a heartbeat. Laurel had to bite back a groan. Then Fancy jerked a thumb over her shoulder, a hip thrown out as a prop for her free hand.

  “This here is Old Plug,” she said. “And over yonder, that’s Shorty.” She poked Edward in the shoulder with a bloodred nail as thick as lumber and whispered loud enough for the whole place to hear, “Did ye ever see a bald Mex’can before?”

  Edward paused in the middle of nodding at Shorty, shocked speechless. “Uh…Well…Uh…”

  Not to be ignored, Plug pushed forward and offered a dirty hand to Edward, who looked at it, then to his credit, shook it without obvious reaction. Unfortunately, Plug was not so wise. He elbowed Laurel, saying, “I asked Fancy t’ marry me. Did you know?” He went on without giving her a chance to answer. “He the one you asked?”

  Laurel heard Edward White’s teeth clack together, and her face bloomed red with color.

  “Plug!” Fancy scolded.

  “Don’t feel bad, honey,” he said to Laurel, patting her head. “Fancy here, she turned me down, too.” He went on to address Edward. “Now, I’m just an old drunk,” he said, “and Fancy, she’s just an old stripper—uh, pardon me, exotic dancer. But our little Laurel, now she’s class stuff, the very best Ain’t she. Fancy?”

  “The very best,” Fancy confirmed, “a real class act.”

  “Th-that’s just Fancy’s way of talkin’,” Plug clarified. “Wouldn’t want you gettin’ the wrong idea, see, cause Laurel, now, she never took off her clothes in front of nobody. Did you, Laurel?”

  “Plug!”

  “Well, she never,” Plug insisted, glaring at Fancy. Then his brow wrinkled and he turned to Laurel. “Did you, Laurel?”

  “Uh, no, Plug, I never did,” Laurel said, placing her arm about his shoulders and turning him away, hoping to send him back to his booth. No such luck.