“We’ve just gotten back. So, this was good timing. But come in, please. Join us for a glass. It might warm you up.” Catherine motioned toward the living room.
“I don’t mind if I do.” Addie swept past Catherine and dropped into a chair across the coffee table from Jonathan.
“Good to see you again so soon, my dear.”
“I bet you are.” She smiled sweetly at him, hoping the sugar shock alone would render him mute. “So, tell me, Jonathan, I thought your plan was to leave right after lunch to stay ahead of the storm. Now it appears you’re in the middle of it.” She removed her jacket and laid it across her lap.
“Here, let me hang that up for you.” Catherine took her coat.
“What are you doing here?” Addie leaned across the table and hissed.
“He’s here because I invited him,” Catherine called from the hallway. When she returned, her cheeks had taken on a flushed hue. “This afternoon after we unloaded my shopping, we went to the hotel to book a room for Jonathan until the storm passes, but by then they were full up. Jonathan was kind enough to bring me home while we figure out his options for the night.”
Addie’s brows shot up. “Really, and what have you come up with?”
Jonathan’s lips twitched, and Catherine clapped her hands. “Red or white?”
Addie looked at her.
“Wine?”
“Umm, white please, thanks.”
When Catherine left the room, Addie leaned closer to him. “What are you doing here?”
“You heard her. I gave her a lift, and then we had dinner.”
“And?”
“And nothing, Addie. It’s all completely innocent.”
“With you? Never,” she snorted, and slumped against the back of the chair, crossing her arms.
Catherine swept back into the room, handed Addie a glass of wine, and made herself comfortable on the sofa. “Jonathan and I were just talking about you.” She smiled at Addie. “He commented on my wide range of books, and I was telling him that since you’ve taken over as chair for the book club, you’ve gotten me interested in so much more than those steamy novels I used to read.” She took a sip of her drink and gazed into Jonathan’s eyes.
Addie cringed when he reached over and patted Catherine’s hand. She stood up and walked over to the bookcase. “Yes, it is very diverse. We have everything from Wuthering Heights, Madame Bovary, and Lady Chatterley’s Lover”—her fingers traced the spine titles—“to Agatha Christie, Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and everything in between.” She spun around, smiling at Catherine and ignoring the fact that Jonathan was now holding her hand. “I’m glad the club has taken some of my suggestions.” She made her way back to her seat, trailing her fingers over the piano keys on her way past, and flopped down in her chair beside it. “So, if the hotel is full, where are you planning on staying? I hear the Grey Gull Inn is lovely.”
“No, it’s full, too,” Catherine said. “When we were at the hotel, I had them check around for us and”—she shrugged—“there’s not a room anywhere within two hundred miles.”
“So, then where are you going to stay?” Addie’s eyes narrowed.
He looked at her, swirling his wine in his glass and peering at her over the rim. “If the storm lasts longer than one night”—he glanced at Catherine—“I honestly don’t know.”
“What do you mean?” Addie leaned forward, setting her glass down.
“Catherine was such a dear and just offered me one of her guest rooms for tonight.”
Addie leapt to her feet. “You can’t be serious.” She glanced at Catherine’s shocked expression and sat back down. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable at my house? Being family and all, you should have called me.” Her voice dripped honey. He hadn’t become speechless as she’d hoped earlier. Maybe he just needed a little extra dose of sweetness. But maybe that was impossible given how he took his coffee.
“That’s very kind of you to offer. Perhaps tomorrow.” His thumb stroked small circles over the back of Catherine’s hand. “I’ve had a few of these”—he tipped his glass—“and have settled in nicely for the evening.” He leaned back on the deep sofa.
“It’s just that your longer visit comes as such a nice surprise, and we do have so much catching up to do.” Addie’s jaw twitched. “I’m sure Catherine has other things to do besides entertain a house guest. Didn’t you tell me you were busy preparing for family coming for the holidays?” She looked at Catherine.
Catherine waved her hand. “It’s no trouble, really. I have plenty of room and generally end up spending my evenings just sitting and reading. It’s wonderful to have a house guest who’s so well versed in the classics to discuss them with. In fact, I was just thinking that Jonathan would be welcomed to stay as long as he needs to. You know with the weather and all.” She took a sip of her wine. Droplets dribbled down her chin.
“Here, let me get those for you, my dear.” Jonathan reached over and traced his finger over her lips, removing the trickles of wine.
Addie rose to her feet. “No, really, Jonathan. I insist you stay with me. Besides, Police Chief Chandler will want to speak to you.”
He looked at her. “The police? Why?”
“Because . . . you had lunch with Teresa Lang today.” Her jaw flinched and she glanced at Catherine.
He edged to the front of the sofa. “So? That’s not against the law. We’re old friends.”
“It might be against the law if you were the last person to see her alive.”
“What?” He jumped to his feet. “Teresa’s dead?”
Addie nodded. “And you had lunch with her right before her body was found.”
“But we didn’t have lunch.” Addie’s brow arched at Jonathan’s outburst. “Honest, we only had coffee, and then she got a call and said she’d have to take a rain check on lunch. I left right after that. I swear she was alive, in her office, when I left.”
“Did anyone see you leave?”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “There wasn’t anyone at the reception desk. On my way by, I noticed a sign saying, BE BACK IN ONE HOUR.”
“What time was that?”
“About eleven.”
“I think the police are going to want to speak with you anyway. Maybe I should drive you to the station.”
“Surely it can wait until morning.” Catherine stood up. “I can vouch for the fact that Jonathan picked me up shortly after that, so he wasn’t at lunch with Teresa.”
“Okay, I guess since you plan on staying in Greyborne Harbor for the night, Jonathan, it probably won’t hurt if you go by first thing in the morning.” Addie jumped at the sound of a sharp crack against the window.
Catherine pulled back the curtain and peered out. “It’s just the wind, looks like my old maple tree will be lucky to survive this storm.”
“Yeah.” Addie took a slow, deep breath, bringing her breathing back to normal. “It’s probably not a good night to go out anyway, but you’d better both go in tomorrow and make a statement. Marc will want you to corroborate Jonathan’s whereabouts.”
“We will”—Catherine glanced at Jonathan—“won’t we?”
He ran his fingers through his thick hair. “Yeah, we will.”
Addie wanted to check if he had crossed his fingers while fussing with his hair. “I guess I’d better be off before the roads get too bad. Are you sure I can’t change your mind about you staying with me?” She steadied her gaze on Jonathan’s expressionless face.
He shook his head.
“No, it’s fine.” Catherine took her arm and steered Addie toward the front door, retrieving her coat from the closet. “Really. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him for you. He’s your family after all.”
“Not really. David and I were only engaged when—”
“I know”—Catherine’s voice lowered, and she squeezed Addie’s hand—“but family nonetheless.” She kissed Addie’s cheek. “Drive safely. Call if you have any problems on the
way home.” Addie nodded and pulled her collar up, braced against the wind, and made her way through the snowdrifts to her car.
Addie hopped in and sat staring at the house. The blood boiling in her veins took away the chill of the storm raging outside her windshield. She pulled her phone out of her purse and sent a text to Marc.
Jonathan still in town, staying at Catherine’s. I’m just leaving there in case you want to talk to him.
She started her car and began to pull out onto the road. Her text alert pinged, and she stopped.
Can you stop by the station before you go home?
She typed, On my way, and headed for the police station.
Addie parked as close as she could to the main doors and cringed when the knee-high snow covered her legs. “Skinny jeans and ankle boots just aren’t the thing to wear in this.” She stomped her feet all the way up the stairs to the door and stumbled into the waiting room.
Carolyn lifted her head. “Addie, the chief’s waiting for you, go on in.”
“Thanks.”
“Are we still all on for Christmas dinner?”
Addie stopped. “As far as I’m concerned, we are. Is it still good for you and Pete?”
“Yeah, I’m planning on cooking a small ham to go along with the turkey. I hope that’s okay with you?”
“My mouth is watering already.” Addie grinned and headed into Marc’s office.
“Close the door.” He never bothered to look up from writing in his notebook. “So, a family dinner, hey?” He set his pen down and looked at her.
“You heard that?”
“Couldn’t help it. You and the good doctor seem to be seeing a lot of each other lately.”
“Have you been spying on me?”
“Nope, just seen the two of you out and about.” She squirmed in her chair under his gaze. “Tell me, have you called him David yet when he kisses you?”
A hot flash raced up from under her collar to her cheeks.
“I’d say no, or there wouldn’t be a family dinner planned.” His gaze never cut away.
She flung her hand up in a stop motion. “That’s not fair. How many times do I have to apologize? It was a slip of the tongue.”
“Was it?” He leaned forward on his elbows.
“Yes, David and I had been together for years. We were engaged. You knew that. It just slipped out, force of habit, I guess. I’ve told you that.” She stiffened her shoulders and met his hardened gaze. “So, what’s up? Why did you call me in? Just to ask me about Simon?” She rubbed her rapidly freezing hands together.
He pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk. “How much do you know about Jonathan Hemingway?”
She shrugged and blew out a quiet breath of relief over the change of topic. “I told you most everything I do know. He’s David’s father, he’s divorced from Mary, David’s mother, has been for years. Umm, I don’t know where he lives other than what I said earlier. Why?”
“Where does he work?”
“He worked for years as an antiquity and rare-book retrieval specialist, like David, but every time he visited, he seemed to be working someplace new.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure what his latest job is. He never seemed to be able to hold one down.” She edged closer to the front to her chair. “Why all the questions? Did you find out something about him I should know? God”—her hand shot to her mouth—“Catherine’s alone with him. Is she in danger?”
“I don’t think so, but I’ll dispatch a car just to keep an eye on things there tonight. We won’t bring him in until morning. I doubt he’ll be going anywhere in this weather. Besides, the area highways are all closed.”
“Marc, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
He blew out a deep breath and tapped the corner of the envelope on the desk. His jaw soon ticked in unison with the thumping of his finger.
“Tell me what you found.”
“It’s what I didn’t find.” He stood up and came around the desk, leaning against it.
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Not if the person you run a background check on didn’t exist before 1977.”
“What?”
“There are no records of this Jonathan Hemingway before that date.”
“Then you didn’t trace the right guy. Maybe there’s another one, someone born that year?”
He shook his head. “We triple-checked every database we have access to. There’s nothing, no birth certificate, no school records, no social security number, no driver’s license, nothing before 1977 when all those and a marriage certificate were issued.”
“That’s impossible,” she croaked.
“Nope, before that, he’s a complete ghost.”
Chapter 5
A tantalizing smell tickled her nose. Addie snuggled deeper into her pillow and downy comforter. Her eyes flew open. The light through the window seemed unusually bright for an early winter morning. She bolted upright and looked at the bedside clock. Nine a.m.
She grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed and headed downstairs toward the unmistakable aroma of bacon cooking. The clanking of pots and pans coming from the kitchen hastened her steps, and she grabbed a candlestick from a side table in the hallway, brandished it over her head, and peeked around the doorway into the kitchen. Immediately she recognized the intruder’s chiseled profile framed by shocks of black wavy hair dangling over his brow, and her hand dropped to her side. “Simon? What on earth are you doing here?”
He looked up from chopping onions on the island, tears streaming from his eyes, and beamed at her. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I was afraid you’d sleep right through breakfast, but you’re just in time. Voilà.” He waved his hand.
She crept over to the counter and peered at the delights laid before her. “Wow, this looks amazing, but I can’t possibly eat that much first thing in the morning.”
“I have it on very good authority that you can.” He dumped a pan of scrambled eggs into a serving dish.
“Who’s good authority?”
“Mine.” Serena popped her red head out of the pantry door. “Surprise.” She carried over a box of table salt in her hand.
“When did you get here?”
“About thirty minutes ago.”
“But shouldn’t you be at your store?” Addie glanced at the wall clock.
“Nope.” She set the box down beside Simon. “I thought I told you that I hired a friend of Paige’s to help out over the holidays.”
“If you did, I don’t remember, sorry.”
“Yeah, pretty sure I did, but it doesn’t matter. There’s been a lot going on lately. But I decided that if you can afford an assistant, then I should be able to, as well, and she’s working out great. I might just keep her on after the holidays.”
“That’s good.” A beat of silence filled the air. “Crap. Paige. I should text her and tell her I’m running late.”
“Already done.” Serena smiled.
“You did that?”
“Yup, it’s the least I could do when I saw what Simon was up to here.”
“I just can’t believe I missed hearing all this”—Addie’s hand swept over the food—“and you coming in?”
“You were sleeping rather soundly.” Simon cocked his brow and looked at her. “Did you know that you snore, just a wee”—he pinched two fingers together—“bit.”
“I do not.”
“You do, too.” His sea-blue eyes creased up around the corners. “I checked on you a couple of times just to make sure you were still breathing, but only had to go halfway up the stairs and I knew you were fine.”
Addie flopped down on a counter stool, certain she was still dreaming. “What are the two of you doing here, and why”—she waved her hand over the spread of food—“all this and calling Paige for me? Do you both think I need a babysitter?”
“No, but you have to admit that you had a pretty rough day yesterday, finding a dead body and then discovering your sixty-thousand-d
ollar book was missing.”
Simon came around the island and kissed her cheek. “Besides, I missed seeing you last night. This case is turning out to be quite a puzzle, and I ended up working late in the lab.”
“And I didn’t hear from you and was worried. Simon was already here cooking up a storm and invited me to stay for breakfast. How could I refuse an invitation like that?”
Addie shook her head. “You guys are really too much. Thank you.”
Simon passed Addie a fresh-brewed coffee. “I must admit, though, that I was afraid you were going to sleep right through until lunch, and then Serena and I would have to eat all this by ourselves. Then we’d have to start all over again preparing lunch.”
“No worry there.” She picked up the coffee and took a sip. “I’ve never slept until noon in my life.”
“Now taste this”—he held a forkful of scrambled eggs to her lips—“and tell me these aren’t the best eggs you’ve ever had. They have my secret ingredient in them.”
Addie clamped her lips over the eggs and swallowed. Her eyes lit up. “Mmm . . . they’re delicious. What’s the secret ingredient?”
His usual bright blue eyes darkened. “I’m sorry. If I told you . . . then I’d have to kill you.”
Addie’s eyes flew wide open. “What did you say?”
“Too soon?” He quipped and fed her another forkful of eggs. “It was a joke. I would never—”
“Isn’t that saying from a spy novel or movie?”
“Yeah, I remember hearing that line in an episode of”—Serena scratched her head—“I don’t remember, but it was that television show about the crime-solving author who worked with the pretty police detective.”
“I remember that.” Addie snatched a piece of bacon from the platter and chewed thoughtfully. “Isn’t there a scene where the author finds out his father was a secret agent or a spy or something?”
“I think so.”
“What does this have to do with my award-winning eggs?” Simon frowned.
Addie studied her forkful of fluffy eggs before shoving it in her mouth. “You won a cooking award for eggs?”
“My mom made one and posted it on the fridge.” He thrust out his broad chest. “So, yes.”
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