“As far as I know.”
“Why did Jenny have the yard sale?”
“She wanted to clean the excess junk out of the house.”
“Can’t blame her, with a fourth kid on the way. So this painting had been kept at their place?”
“Right. I’ve been staying with them since...” She hesitated.
He wouldn’t pretend ignorance. “Since your legal troubles?”
“I see you’ve heard about it.”
Anyone not living in a cave would have heard about it. The scandal and ensuing criminal trial that had bankrupted Amelia and her husband’s investment business more than a year ago had been featured on the nightly news of every major network. It had been splashed across the national papers, too. There had been a mini business boom for local hotels and car rental agencies caused by the reporters who had come to her hometown looking for information to do background pieces. For a while, she had been Port Hope’s most infamous native.
The scandal had also ended her marriage to Spencer Pryce. Feeling any satisfaction over that fact would have been mean and petty, so Hank had tried not to. Despite what she’d done to him, he would never want to see her hurt. “I’m sorry you had a hard time, Amelia.”
She acknowledged his sympathy with a tight nod. “Thank you, but that’s in the past, too. My only concern now is with the painting.”
“I assume it was valuable?”
“Only to me.”
“Could you explain that?”
“You know about my troubles, as you put it, so you must also know the courts seized Spencer’s assets to make partial restitution for the money he stole. That included our joint property.”
“I heard. It wasn’t fair.”
“Depends on your viewpoint. Our former clients thought it wasn’t enough. They would have preferred a few pounds of flesh, too.” She made an impatient motion with her hand. “That’s beside the point. I’m telling you this because I want you to know how important that painting is to me. I have practically nothing left from my old life because I ended up liquidating my personal property in order to pay my lawyer’s fees.”
“Except for the painting?”
She hesitated. “No, it wasn’t part of our art collection. Jenny found it at a yard sale last year. She bought it because she liked the frame.”
“Are you saying this painting belonged to your sister-in-law, not you?”
“Technically, yes, but I thought of it as mine.”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
“It hung on the wall in their back room. That’s where I’ve been sleeping. The painting was the last thing I saw at night and the first thing I looked at in the morning. I got to know every detail. It became very special to me. When I came home from work yesterday and discovered it was missing—” Her voice hitched. She swallowed, taking a moment to regain her composure. “All I’ve been able to think about since then is how to get it back.”
Her emotion over the painting appeared genuine, but it seemed out of proportion. Her reaction didn’t make sense. The Amelia he remembered had been impulsive at times, yet she’d also been practical. There must be something she wasn’t telling him. “What was the painting like?”
“It was a landscape, a grassy hill with an old farmhouse and weathered barns. Oil on canvas. The scene looked a lot like the countryside around here.”
“How big was it?”
“I couldn’t give you exact measurements, but it was large. At least three feet wide and two feet high.”
“Do you know who painted it?”
“The signature at the bottom corner was hard to decipher. It started with an M and could have been Mather or Martin. Possibly Matthews. The name’s not important because I’m sure whoever painted it wasn’t a professional artist.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not very good.”
“But you liked it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Jenny sell it? Did you two have a fight?”
“No. She wasn’t being vindictive, if that’s what you’re getting at. She hadn’t known how...precious it was to me. I hadn’t told her.”
“I see.”
“And what difference does it make why she sold it? It’s gone.”
“I asked because if she’d gotten rid of it to hurt you, she might remember perfectly well who bought it but just doesn’t feel like telling you.”
Amelia lifted one eyebrow. “You’ve gotten cynical.”
“No, I’m just being methodical. That’s how I operate. I need to consider every angle.”
“Jenny feels awful about selling it. She’s almost as upset as I am.”
“Was your brother at the yard sale?”
“On and off. Most of the time he was working on the rooms he’s building in the basement and keeping track of Timmy. He’s their youngest.”
“Then he didn’t see who bought the painting?”
“No. His other two boys had been at the park in the morning and played in the backyard after lunch. They didn’t see anything. None of the neighbors did, either.”
“You asked them?”
“I went to every house on the block. Not everyone was home. The people who were couldn’t tell me anything.”
It didn’t surprise him that she’d already tried to solve her problem herself. That was typical of Amelia. The fact that she’d decided to seek anyone’s assistance, particularly his, was an indication of how serious this was to her. “How had Jenny advertised the yard sale? Signs? An ad in the paper?”
“Both.”
“That means her customers weren’t limited to people in the neighborhood.” Hank tapped his pen against his notepad. “With so many tourists in town, the buyer could have been visiting and just happened to see the signs or read the ad.”
“I realize we don’t have much to go on,” she said, “but I really, really need to get that painting back.”
“I agree, there’s not much to go on. I don’t know if I’ll be able to help you.”
“You can try, can’t you?”
Hank had always admired Amelia’s intelligence. Unlike him, she’d breezed through high school and aced every course. Her brilliance in mathematics in particular had earned her a full scholarship to the University of Toronto. He’d been thrilled when he’d learned about that scholarship, even though it had meant the beginning of the end for the two of them. She was certainly smart enough to grasp the fact that her painting could be a few hundred miles away by now. For all they knew, it could be out of the country. Tracking it down would be time-consuming and expensive, if not impossible. He was about to shake his head when he met her gaze.
There were tears in her eyes.
That threw him. So did the urge he felt to leap from his chair and take her into his arms.
Whoa, where had that come from? He gripped his pen harder and stayed where he was. “I’d like you to answer one more question.”
“Okay, what?”
“What’s the real reason you want this painting?”
“I already told you. I got very attached to it. It’s important to me. Extremely important. I need to get that painting back, no matter how long it takes or how much it costs me.”
“You just finished telling me you sold most of your assets before you moved in with your brother.”
“I can pay you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I might not have access to the kind of wealth I used to have, but I’m living rent-free and I make a decent wage plus tips at Mae B’s. Name your price. Once you find that painting, I’ll pay whatever you want.”
Hank fought to keep his pity from showing. Amelia Goodfellow, their class valedictorian and girl voted unanimously the most likely to succeed, the brilliant financial advisor whose company had once been worth millions, was waiting tables at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. The urge to hug her returned. “My fee isn’t the issue.”
“Then what is?”
“I asked for the real reason you want that painting.
”
Her chin trembled. She tightened her lips.
“You can’t honestly expect me to believe you would be willing to throw away the money you do have on a piece of worthless, not very good art that doesn’t even belong to you. What are you holding back, Amelia?”
She remained silent.
He used to have more patience than she had. It was a good bet he still did. He waited her out.
It took less than a minute. When she finally did speak, her voice shook. “During the past year and a half, I’ve lost my business, my reputation, my husband...” She cleared her throat. “You name it, I lost it. I lost so much, it got to the point that I stopped believing I could win.”
“I’m sorry.”
She clenched her hands in her lap. Her knuckles were white. “I don’t want your pity, Hank. I’m only telling you this to make you understand.”
“About the painting?”
“Yes. That’s where I’ve drawn the line.”
“How?”
“Losing that painting was the final straw. It woke me up. I’m through taking what Fate dishes out. This time, I’m fighting back.”
“Okay, but—”
“I want to start living again. I want the right to be happy again.”
“And you believe that finding this painting will do all that?”
She surged to her feet. “Yes!”
“Amelia...”
“I’m not asking for a guarantee because I realize it’s a long shot, but it’s possible to beat the odds. I know it’s possible. The whole key is being willing to try.”
This was the Amelia he had fallen in love with. Passionate, spontaneous, throwing herself one hundred percent into whatever she did. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her.
“Will you try, Hank?”
“As you just said, it would be a long shot. I couldn’t in good conscience take your money for—”
“Fine.” She turned toward the door. “Then I’ll find someone who will.”
He shoved himself out of his chair and rounded the desk. “Amelia, wait. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. I just said I wouldn’t take your money.”
She faced him. “What does that mean?”
“I’ll make a few inquiries, and I’ll try poking around on the internet, but it will be on my own time. I won’t charge you.”
Relief appeared to be warring with pride. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I may come up empty.”
“If anyone can find it, you will. But I don’t need charity. I can pay you.”
“It’s not charity. Consider it a welcome-home present.”
Her lips twitched. It was the first hint of a smile he’d seen. “Finding that painting would be a better gift than you could possibly imagine.” She held out her right hand. “Thank you, Hank.”
He clasped her hand without thinking. He concluded most of his meetings with a handshake. Often a handshake was the only contract he needed.
But the contact of his palm with Amelia’s jarred him. Her energy tingled through his skin, just as it had when they’d been teenagers. His pulse sped up. So did his breathing. Her scent was something else that hadn’t changed. It was earthy and inviting, like the tangy smell of new grass on a sunny spring day. Not that he’d ever said that aloud, because telling a girl she reminded him of a lawn was even less romantic than the oil slick thing.
Romantic?
Yeah, sure. There was as much chance of rekindling their romance as there was of finding her painting.
CHAPTER THREE
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you lied to him,” Jenny said. “How can you expect him to do his job?”
Amelia finished paring a carrot and handed it to her sister-in-law. Timmy was down for his afternoon nap, so the house was unusually peaceful. Sporadic hammering came from the backyard, where Owen and Eric were attempting to construct a fort with the scrap lumber and drywall from Will’s basement renovation project. Rather than relaxing, Jenny was taking advantage of the lull to get a head start on dinner...and to speak her mind. “I didn’t actually lie,” Amelia said. “I just omitted certain facts.”
“Same thing.”
“He doesn’t need to know about the lottery ticket in order to find the painting.”
“I’m surprised Hank agreed to work for you at all.” Jenny placed the carrot on the cutting board and began chopping. “If I recall, you two didn’t part on the best of terms.”
“That was more than a decade ago. He’s a professional. This is business.”
“Didn’t he think it was a little odd for you to make such a fuss over a worthless old painting?”
“I said it was important to me.”
“You must have been very convincing.”
“Well, it is important.”
“At least you told him the truth about that much.”
“I actually told him more truth than I’d meant to.”
“How so?”
“He seemed as if he was about to refuse me, and I was feeling desperate. I got into how much I’ve lost lately.”
“Ah.”
“I didn’t set out to play on his sympathy, but he probably feels sorry for me anyway.”
“I’m not so sure. Is it possible he still cares about you? That would explain why he took your case.”
“No, Jenny. What we had was only puppy love. It died a long time ago.”
“Hmph.”
Jenny’s skepticism made her flinch. Hank had agreed the past was over and done. Their new relationship was purely business. Well, business between old friends.
But how businesslike was it to work for free? And what about that moment this morning in his office when their hands had touched?
The years had been more than good to Hank Jones. He’d reached his full height of six foot three by tenth grade, but he’d been lanky, to put it kindly. Now his frame had fleshed out into the classic, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, male silhouette of underwear models and Hollywood hunks. He’d grown into his face, too. The angled jaw and sharp features that had seemed harsh on a boy looked good on a man. Okay, more than good—spectacular, particularly when he smiled. He likely did that a lot, since laugh lines crinkled the corners of his light brown eyes. His sand-colored hair was streaked blond by the sun and was as thick and straight as ever. It was too neatly trimmed to fall over his collar anymore, but he hadn’t been able to tame it completely. The same stubborn, endearing lock that used to fall over his forehead still did.
But Hank’s appearance was irrelevant. Amelia had other priorities here, namely fifty-two million and change worth of them. She wasn’t interested in any man, and especially not one who had so thoroughly broken her heart. The bump in her pulse from their parting handshake was because she’d been in an emotional state over losing the ticket. That’s why she’d opened up to him about her feelings, too. It couldn’t have anything to do with her old crush on him. That would not only be absurd, it would be self-destructive and stupid. She rinsed off another carrot and applied her energy to the parer.
“Did I hear right?” Will asked as he moved into the kitchen doorway. Lancaster Cabinets was on summer hours, so it wasn’t unusual for him to get home in the middle of the afternoon. “You really went to Hank Jones for help?”
Amelia nodded at her brother. “I went first thing this morning.”
“That’s too bad. I think you should have gone to someone else.” He slipped his arm past Jenny to set his lunch pail on the counter and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. He patted her stomach. “How’s our little football player? Is he still kicking field goals?”
“She decided to take up tap dancing,” Jenny said.
Both Will and Jenny had resisted learning the sex of the baby she carried. They claimed it didn’t matter and would prefer to be surprised. For Jenny’s sake, Amelia hoped it would be a girl. “Why do you think I shouldn’t have gone to Hank, Will?”
Her brother crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the doorframe.
“Jones likes to play private eye. That business of his is a farce.”
“What do you know about his business?” Amelia asked.
“Most of his work comes from his father, when he isn’t out fishing. He checks out customers who want to buy a car from the old man’s lot on credit. In my opinion, it was his daddy’s way of putting him on the payroll, since he couldn’t make it as a car salesman. It’s not much different from getting an allowance.”
That didn’t sound like the Hank she’d known, but people could change. Had she made another mistake? “I hope that’s not the case,” Amelia said. “I went to Hank because I thought he would be a good detective.”
“Are you sure that’s the only reason you went to him?” Jenny asked. “Maybe you still have some of the old feelings left, too.”
“Absolutely not. I told you, that’s completely over,” she said firmly. She returned her attention to Will. “Are you sure about Hank’s business? From what I remember of his character, being a private investigator would suit him. He’s observant, and he thinks everything through. He’s thorough and methodical.”
“You mean slow,” Will said.
“He’s tenacious,” Amelia said.
“He’s a stubborn idiot.”
Jenny pointed her knife at Will. “That’s too harsh. It wasn’t Hank’s fault that your truck loan fell through last year. It was because Mr. Lancaster had laid everyone off.”
“Temporarily. We were hired back when he got more orders. I told Hank we would be.”
“You’re not being fair, Wilbur, and you know it.”
Will muttered something under his breath. He hated being called Wilbur.
“If anyone was an idiot,” Amelia said, “I was for losing that ticket. If I hadn’t tried to be smart by sticking it in that frame, I could have bought you five new trucks by now.”
There was an awkward silence. Will was the first to break it. “I’ve been wondering about that,” he said. “Why did you store the ticket in the painting? I’m not criticizing you or anything, but it’s not where most people would put a lottery ticket.”
“I thought it was a safe place.”
“Remember how Timmy emptied her purse?” Jenny asked. “And Mae had to replace her paycheck?”
Winning Amelia Page 3
