He handed her the cellophane-wrapped bundles. “For you.”
Ursula gathered the three, no, four bouquets in her arms. “Thank you, but why are you bringing me flowers?”
“I want to apologize.” Actually, from the pained expression on his face, the last thing he wanted was to apologize, but he was doing it anyway. This should be good.
“Come with me.” Ursula led him through the maze of tables and power cords littering the living room.
“What’s going on?”
“A quilt retreat. Twice a year, Catherine and a dozen or so of her friends reserve the whole inn and spend the weekend sewing. It’s a lot of fun.”
“Do you quilt?”
“I dabble, but I’m not a serious quilter like these ladies. My job is to keep everyone fed and happy.” Ursula gestured for him to sit on the couch near the fireplace and laid the flowers in a basket on the coffee table. She sat in a chair directly across from him and leaned forward. “Okay, shoot.”
“Shoot what?”
“The apology. You said you wanted to apologize. I’m ready.”
He chuckled. “You’re not making this easy.”
“Well, I’m curious exactly what you’re apologizing for. Blocking access to the ski trails without giving me notice? Siccing your dog on me? Threatening to have me arrested for trespassing? If it involves this many flowers, it must be serious.”
“Actually, none of those things. Well, all those things, but they’re not the main reason I’m here.” He took a long breath. “I was rude to you yesterday because I blamed you for something of which I’ve since learned you were innocent.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Say again?”
“Yesterday. When I found your note that you had the dog.” He explained, and as he talked, Ursula started to smile. By the time he’d finished, she was laughing out loud.
“You really thought I’d sneaked into your house and kidnapped your dog just so I could bug you about the right-of-way.” She shook her head. “You have some imagination.”
“Occupational hazard, I suppose.”
“What occupation is that?”
“I’m a writer.”
“Are you? That’s exciting. What do you write?”
“Thrillers.”
“Ah. I don’t read a lot of those. Too scary. I would have thought growing up on a ranch, you’d write Westerns.”
Mac shook his head. “No. Growing up on a ranch means I know too much to write pretty little stories about cowboys.”
“That bad?”
“No.” He paused and just for a moment his gaze went past her toward some remembered place. “Rather wonderful actually. It was losing the ranch that was hard. My dad never really got over it. He died young. They both did.” He gave a sudden smile. “But I didn’t come to talk about myself. I came to say I’m sorry.”
“I accept your apology.”
“Good. Well then, if I can find my dog, I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.”
“I’ll get her.” She gathered up the bouquets before starting for the kitchen. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely.”
“I’m glad you like them. Thank you for delivering the eagle and picking up the fencing wire. And for your patience.”
“You’re welcome. See you around.” Before she could get to the kitchen, the door opened and Blossom ran past her to Mac.
Catherine followed, carrying a tray. “Mac, take one of these brownies before you go. Ursula made them. She’s a fantastic cook.”
“Yes, I know.” Mac nodded before accepting a brownie and taking his leave.
Ursula carried the flowers into the kitchen. She was on a step stool, retrieving vases from the highest shelves when Catherine bustled in. “So what was that all about?”
Ursula grabbed a ceramic jar and set it on the counter before answering. “You mean you weren’t standing in the kitchen with your ear pressed against the door?”
“I was but he didn’t talk loud enough. Spill. Why are good-looking men bringing you bucket loads of flowers?”
Ursula shrugged. “It was one man and who knows why he does what he does?”
“So you admit he’s good-looking.”
“He is. He’s also my new neighbor.”
“Maybe he wants to be more than your neighbor.”
“Just the opposite, I think.” Ursula stepped down. “He’s bribing me to leave him alone.”
“If that were true, wouldn’t he have brought a cactus?”
Ursula laughed and filled the vases with water. “He’s as prickly as a cactus, but it seems his overachieving conscience won’t let him get away with being rude. Thus, the flowers. Now that he’s apologized, he can go back to brooding in his cave.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will.” Ursula trimmed the stems of one bouquet, stuffed it into a vase, fluffed the flowers and handed the arrangement to Catherine. “Here, you can put these out for your quilters to enjoy.”
* * *
IT DIDN’T TAKE long for the locksmith to do his thing. Once he’d gone, Mac made sure the deadbolts were latched and slipped the new keys onto his key ring. The leather fob had worn to the point that it was hard to read the M stamped onto it. Another of Andi’s craft projects, back before she realized leather came from cows.
Mac picked up his phone and dialed the familiar number. He was in luck. Detective Russ Ralston was in.
“It’s Mac. Just checking in to see if you’ve found any new evidence.”
“Sorry, nothing.” He sounded almost as frustrated as Mac felt.
“Have you checked out that tip from—?”
“You know I can’t share details. Rest assured, we’re following up every lead. That reward you offered has generated plenty of interest. So far none of the calls have panned out, but we’re still working on it. We won’t give up until we find him.”
Mac believed him. Russ was a longtime acquaintance and had a daughter two years younger than Andi. He was taking Andi’s murder as a personal affront. Not that Mac was relying entirely on police resources. The private investigator he’d hired was canvassing everyone even remotely connected to Joel Thaine, Andi’s boyfriend.
Mac never liked him. The first time they met, there was something...off about the young man. Nothing he could put a finger on, just the feeling Thaine was playing a part, saying what he was supposed to say to his girlfriend’s father. Come to think of it, Blossom didn’t care for him, either.
They met on Andi’s birthday. She said she had plans for the evening, so Mac had stopped by her apartment that afternoon to deliver her present. Andi had been happily unwrapping her gift when her new boyfriend walked in unexpectedly, and Blossom barked at him. At Andi’s rebuke, Blossom quit barking, but she planted herself between Andi and Thaine, and judging by his stiffness, Thaine wasn’t any fonder of the dog than she was of him.
At the time, Mac had written off his own unease. He was annoyed to be interrupted in the middle of giving her a gift and didn’t like that Thaine seemed to have his own key. As far as Mac knew, they’d only been dating a couple of weeks at that point.
He’d tried to feel Andi out when he took her to lunch the next week, but she was defensive, saying Mac never liked any of her boyfriends. And she had a point. Andi had a habit of dating fixer-uppers. He guessed it was part of her save-the-world campaign. Andi said Thaine was some sort of professional photographer, although Mac was unable to find any evidence he’d ever made money at it. Anyway, Andi made it clear that if Mac wanted to spend time with her, he needed to respect her choices. So he did.
It hadn’t mattered. She still withdrew. She skipped many of their weekly phone conversations and when they did talk, she chattered on about frivolities and never gave him the chance to ask how she truly was. She always seemed to have a prior engagement when he’d in
vite her for a meal. Mac only found out Thaine had moved in with her when his housekeeper, whose son lived in the same apartment building, happened to mention it.
How could Mac have missed the signs? Abuser 101—isolate victim from her friends and family. Mac should have picked it up from the beginning, when he saw the friction between Thaine and Blossom, but he told himself lots of people were nervous around pit bulls. Then there was that last phone call. “Dad, can you take care of Blossom for a few days? I’m going to this women’s retreat thing, and they don’t allow dogs.”
He’d seen her request as an olive branch, Andi’s way of saying he was back in her good graces. She’d seemed jittery when she dropped off the dog, but more hurried than scared. She said she’d lost her cell phone, and would call him when she got a new one. She didn’t volunteer any details about the retreat or why she was going, and Mac hadn’t pushed. He figured they’d talk when she got back. She hugged him goodbye. That was the last time he’d laid eyes on her.
Judging by the calls to the reward line, it was the last time anyone laid eyes on her except for her killer. Thaine was a clever one. He didn’t offer any false alibis the cops could shake. He said he’d spent the day driving around, looking for subjects to photograph. When they asked to see the pictures, he said the light was poor, so he’d made mental notes and planned to come back to the most promising sites later. Perfectly nebulous, and impossible to shake.
He set the perfect tone as concerned boyfriend, not overdone, not too casual. He hadn’t been seen in the company of other women. He’d managed to drop hints that cast doubts on Andi’s emotional stability without seeming disloyal. Mac could almost buy it, except that some of the phrases coming out of Joel’s mouth bore a striking resemblance to popular fiction. He was definitely playing a part.
Finally, they’d found her, inside her partially burned-out car behind an abandoned homestead. When they went to question Thaine, he was gone. The contents of Andi’s bank accounts had vanished along with him, no doubt funding his escape. But he couldn’t hide forever. Mac would make sure of that.
* * *
SATURDAY EVENING, and the quilting retreat was in full swing. The hum of sewing machines filled the room, punctuated by voices and laughter. Over in the corner, Catherine wielded a rotary cutter like a surgeon, slicing and dicing colorful fabrics into shapes. In the dining area, Ursula set a large salad on the buffet table and put breadsticks in a warming tray. Ordinarily, she only provided breakfast, but on quilt weekends, she did all the food so the quilters could concentrate on their art.
Rory shadowed Ursula as she moved between the kitchen and dining area. The change in routine and a room full of people had her sticking close. Ursula smiled at her. “Whew, quilting weekends are a lot of work. I’m glad I have you to help. Could you please fold the napkins like this? Then we’ll set the tables.” Ordinarily she would set silverware and napkins on the buffet table, but Rory would be happier if she kept busy.
Catherine crossed to the dining area and inspected the napkin Rory had folded into a precise triangle. “Nice job, Rory. Something smells good. When will dinner be ready?”
Ursula checked her watch. “Soon.” She moved one of the bouquets from the buffet table to the center of the largest dining table.
Mary, another longtime quilter, wandered over. “The table looks nice. I love all the flowers.”
Catherine chortled. “Ursula’s boyfriend brought them.”
Mary raised her eyebrows. “Boyfriend, hmm?”
Rory stopped folding napkins and looked up. Ursula had to put a stop to this before she got any ideas. “No. Not a boyfriend. A new neighbor thanking me for watching his dog.”
“But he brought you flowers,” Mary pointed out. “I never get flowers for watching my neighbor’s dog.”
“And he smiled at her, a big one, before he left,” Catherine tattled.
“He did not.” Even as the words left her mouth, Ursula knew she was just feeding into their teasing.
“He did,” Catherine insisted. “I saw it with my own eyes. He took a brownie and grinned like a smitten teenager. That’s flirtatious behavior in my book.”
“He’s not a boyfriend,” Rory declared. “He’s a grouch, like Oscar the Grouch.”
“Oh, really?” Catherine snickered. “He didn’t seem grouchy to me.”
“He blocked the ski trail, and he acted mad when he took Blossom home. He’s a grouch.”
Ursula rested her hand on Rory’s head. “Remember what I said? That we shouldn’t call people names like that?”
“But you said it—”
“I know. And I also said I was wrong, and I apologized. Just like Mac apologized when he brought these flowers yesterday.”
Rory frowned. “So he is your boyfriend?”
“No.” Ursula flashed a look of exasperation at Catherine for starting this whole mess, but Catherine didn’t appear the least bit repentant. “Mac is not my boyfriend. He’s our neighbor and friend, and we should be nice to him just like we’re nice to all our other neighbors. That’s all. Okay?”
Rory nodded and went back to folding the napkins, but she looked a little doubtful.
Ursula began distributing silverware around the tables. “You might give everyone a ten-minute warning. I just need to bring the lasagna out.”
“Will do.” Catherine and Mary went to spread the word.
Rory carefully set the napkins beside the forks, just as Ursula had shown her. “His dog is nice, though.”
Ursula pulled serving utensils from the drawer. “Whose dog?”
“Mac’s. He’s grouchy, but his dog is nice. Maybe if he was your boyfriend, he’d bring Blossom over to play.”
Ursula laughed. “He’s not, so it’s a moot point.”
“What does moot mean?”
“That it’s something you don’t need to worry about, because it’s never going to happen.”
* * *
AT THE QUILTERS’ REQUEST, Ursula and Rory joined them for dinner. Afterward, Rory escaped to watch a movie. Once Ursula had finished cleaning up, she strolled around the room, looking at everyone’s projects. One of the newest quilters was sewing strips together to make a log cabin baby quilt, in pretty shades of yellow, peach and green. Mary had captured the skyline of Mount Susitna in her wall hanging and was using freehand machine quilting to add texture. One of the other ladies—Susan, if Ursula remembered correctly—had pieced strips of deep pinks and purples onto a fleece backing and was cutting them into a curved shape.
“What are you making?” Ursula asked.
“Dog jackets. This one’s for my friend’s Chihuahua. Their fur isn’t quite suited to Alaska.”
“Gorgeous colors.” Ursula smiled. “I know of a dog who could use a jacket like this, but I suspect her owner would be embarrassed to be seen with a dog in a pink coat.”
“Yeah, it’s a guy thing.” Susan laughed. “I did one for my son’s pit bull out of fleece. What size dog is the one you’re thinking of?”
“She’s a pit bull, as well.”
“I have the pattern here if you want to copy it.”
“Thanks. I think I will.” Blossom could use a jacket. Unlike huskies with their double coats, Blossom’s short fur was better suited to warm weather. She needed an extra layer of insulation. Ursula would just have to make sure not to let Catherine find out she was sewing for Mac’s dog, or the teasing would never end.
CHAPTER FIVE
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, the quilters had packed up their sewing machines and stashes of fabric and gone home. Rory had accepted an afternoon playdate with another girl from Sunday school, a hopeful sign. Ursula carried a load of sheets to the laundry room. Five bedrooms cleaned, and one to go.
She thought briefly of leaving the last room for her cleaner to handle the next day, since only two of the rooms were scheduled for Monday night, b
ut no. She couldn’t rest until all the rooms were ready to go, just in case. Once Ursula finished the last bedroom, then she would reward herself by sitting down with a cup of coffee and enjoying the flowers Mac had given her.
In the Rose room, she pulled off the quilt, stripped the sheets from the bed and spread a clean sheet over the mattress. After tucking in the corners on the near side, she circled the bed. A book had fallen and was caught between the bed and the nightstand. Probably Mary’s.
Ursula finished tucking in the sheet before bending to retrieve the book, a thick hardback. The cover looked familiar, one she’d seen on various endcaps here and there. A thriller, judging by the figure on the front. No signature on the fly page. She turned it over.
Mac’s face looked back at her. R.D. Macleod. Of course.
He’d said he was a writer, but Ursula had been mentally spelling his name McCloud, and he’d introduced himself as Mac, not anything beginning with an R, so she’d never made the connection. Marge was right; he was famous. Not a movie star, but a household name. His books were everywhere, and Ursula knew at least one had been made into a movie, maybe more. So what in the world was he doing at Betty’s place?
He said he wanted to be alone. Somehow, it was all tied up with the death of his daughter. But why come to Alaska to grieve? Maybe he was here to write a book about Alaska, but somehow Ursula didn’t think so. Not after seeing those faces he carved. Something niggled in the back of her brain, some mention of R.D. Macleod, but she couldn’t bring it to the surface.
He looked younger in the photo. Well, maybe not younger exactly, just not as weighed down. He’d posed outdoors with a Kansas prairie behind him, looking off into the distance as though he saw things most people couldn’t. Now his focus was inward, like he no longer cared what might be out there.
She finished the room and carried the book to the kitchen. While the coffee brewed, she called Mary. “Hi, it’s Ursula. I found a book in the Rose room. Did you happen to lose one?”
“Oh, the R.D. Macleod? I didn’t realize I left it behind. I finished it, though, so you can keep it or pass it on, whatever. I love his books. So sad about his daughter, wasn’t it?”
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