“Work? I thought you lived in London.”
“Paris, temporarily. For an internship.”
“Right.” He scratched his head, then pulled a pen and notebook from his shirt pocket and, holding the notebook over his plate, wrote something down. “How did you have to work in Coventry if you live in Paris?”
“I’d given up the internship and was expected at my parents’ business, which I’m to inherit. Or, I suppose, I have inherited, though we’ve rescheduled the reading of the will.”
“Why?”
“That was to take place Monday afternoon, but I didn’t make it.”
Eyebrows lifted, he made a note. He started to speak, stopped himself, and said, “So Monday, you went to the state park.”
“There’s an overlook where you can see Lake Ayasha and the entire valley. Have you ever been there?”
“Not the mountain. Been to the lake. Pretty spot.”
It was, though she wasn’t sure she’d ever see the scene the same way again. “This overlook lets off to a steep cliff. I’d just bent down to tie my shoe when a man bolted out of the woods behind me. He ran straight toward me and pushed.”
Dylan’s eyes widened. “Pushed as in—”
“I tumbled over the cliff.” She gave him a quick summary of the ledge that had slowed her, the tree that had saved her, and her harrowing climb to safety.
Dylan stilled for the story. No coffee. No food. No notes in his little notebook. Just watched her, eyes wide. When she’d finished, he sat back. “Someone tried to kill you.”
“It would seem so,” she said. “Though perhaps it was just a random act of violence.”
“Not a lot of serial killers operating in northern New Hampshire. Precisely zero at the moment.”
“I’m just saying…” She took a deep breath, blew it out.
“Did you get a look at him?”
“He wore a black sweatshirt, and the hood was pulled over his head. I got a quick glimpse of his face, enough to tell it was a man. But nothing else.”
“He wasn’t familiar?”
She shook her head.
“Do you go up there every morning?”
“It was my first time since I’d gotten home.”
He pushed his food aside, set the notebook on the table, and scratched out a few lines.
She peered across the table to see what he’d written, but his handwriting was illegible upside down. Perhaps right side up as well. She hoped he could decipher it.
He tapped the pen on the paper. “Did you notice any unusual cars or people when you left home?”
“I didn’t drive. I climbed the path from my backyard up the side of Mt. Coventry to the trail.”
His eyebrows hiked. “You climbed it?”
“It’s not that high from the valley where our house is to the lower trail. I used to do it all the time as a girl.”
“Huh.” He took a bite of bacon, studying his notes. When he’d swallowed, he asked, “Did you see anybody on your climb up?”
“I didn’t see another soul until that man ran out of the woods.”
“Did you hear anything? Maybe someone on the trail behind you?”
“You have to understand, my mind was elsewhere. I’d just buried my mother, and I was worried. I’m inheriting a business where I’ve never worked. I’ve been studying, but no amount of classroom training could be enough to prepare me for the job ahead. I’d thought I had years to learn the ins and outs. I’d thought Mum…” She swallowed down the rush of emotion. Grief could come on so fast.
When she had it under control, she continued. “Suddenly, I had to figure it out on my own. I was just…” Tears threatened, and she looked away. She would not cry, not here, not with this stranger.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Dylan hold out a napkin.
She snatched it, wiped the moisture. “Forgive me. It’s been a lot to take.”
“You’re holding it together better than I would be.”
She dabbed fresh tears. She could do this. She had to.
Dylan forked a bite of pancakes, then tapped the pen on the notebook while he chewed. He sipped his coffee, tapped some more. “Tell me about the business.”
She sighed. When she told him, everything would change between them. Not that they’d developed a friendship, but the rapport had been nice. Would he see her differently when he knew who she was? Would he treat her differently?
Everybody else in the world did.
There was nothing to be done about it now. When Dylan O’Donnell had told her he was a private investigator, she’d felt the strongest inclination that she was supposed to hire him. To trust him. Over the years, through grief and loneliness, she’d learned to listen to the voice of God. There’d been a time when He’d been her closest friend. Her only friend. She had no doubt it had been His voice that nudged her to trust Dylan. So trust him she must. Even with this.
She took a deep breath, sat back in the booth, and squared her shoulders. “I am Chelsea Hamilton. My parents were Peter and Maeve Hamilton, the founders and owners of Hamilton Clothiers.”
Chapter Six
Dylan’s pen—and thoughts—stopped as he took in her words. Chelsea Hamilton. He should have recognized her. Especially considering the designer clothes and handbag. Seeing her at the food bank had thrown him off. Nobody would expect to see a woman worth millions, easily the wealthiest woman in the state of New Hampshire, at a food bank.
Chelsea Hamilton.
He knew little about the public figure. The private figure, the one sitting in front of him? She was alone, injured, and afraid.
Why, of all the private investigators in the world, would she want to hire him? Surely with her money, she could hire a team of investigators, people with more experience, people with reputations for doing more than locating lost drug addicts and photographing wayward husbands and workers’ comp claimants suspected of insurance fraud. Yet, here they were.
Something about this felt off.
Everything about this felt off.
Across the table, Chelsea studied him over the rim of her coffee cup, eyes wary. She was still the same stunning blonde with shaking fingers and dark circles under her eyes. With bandages on her hands and a walking cast on her foot.
Nothing about her story had felt untrue. Nothing about her nature told him he shouldn’t trust her.
But could she trust him? His years on the force in Manchester had prepared him for a lot of detective work, but working alone, without a team to back him up… He was new at that aspect of his job. And here was a woman whose very life depended on him getting it right.
He looked at the notes he’d written but didn’t see them. Father, what should I do? He wanted to take her case, to help her discover who was trying to kill her. He wanted to protect this woman who so obviously needed help. But was he the right man for the job? With his lack of experience as a private investigator, maybe he should send her to someone else. But his fears were silenced with a quiet whisper to his spirit. Where you are weak, I am strong.
He let his heart absorb the truth of God’s word. He couldn’t do this on his own, but he wouldn’t have to.
And Chelsea… The cool regard she’d had in her expression moments ago had darkened. Her mouth turned down at the corners. Her shoulders slumped. This woman needed more than a meal.
With God’s direction, Dylan was going to help her.
Of course, he’d been silent so long now, the moment had turned awkward. He smiled to put her at ease and said, “Okay, then. I guess I’ll let you pay me back for breakfast.”
She smiled, and the tension fell away.
“Why me, though?”
Her tiny shrug was the first indication of insecurity he’d seen in her. “Truth is, I felt the Lord nudge me to trust you.”
Dylan leaned forward to speak, but Chelsea wasn’t done.
“And maybe you think that’s ridiculous. I don’t care. I’m quite accustomed to being the only Christian I know, and I k
eep my own counsel.” She blinked, shook her head. “No. To be honest, I keep the Lord’s counsel. He told me to trust you, and so I will. Not because you’re trustworthy but because He is. And I don’t care if you think—”
“I’m a Christian, too.”
“Oh.” She sat back. “Truly?”
“Not the kind of thing I’d lie about.”
Her smile lit her face and did funny things to his insides. “So I suppose we shouldn’t chalk it up to pure luck that a private investigator and an… heiress—” she tripped over the word—“met at a food bank.”
“Seems God’s got a plan.” Dylan would trust that, trust God to direct him. “You were going to tell me about the business.”
“Right.” She set down the coffee cup. “My parents started HCI before I was born. Daddy had studied business at Dartmouth, and Mum was a clothing designer. Their dream was to create a line of business and casual clothes that rivaled high-fashion cuts and styles but was affordable for the middle class. They started with men’s and women’s suits, but as fashions changed, so did Hamilton. We still make suits, of course, but the bread-and-butter of the business is the casual line.”
He had a number of Hamilton items in his closet. He loved their clothes because they were affordable and sturdy. And made in America.
“Another aspect of my parents’ business, what many people don’t know, is that as they were dreaming of starting Hamilton, Daddy’s hometown of Coventry was dying. It was the early eighties, and the poor economy of the previous decade had hit the tourism industry hard. My parents wanted to breathe new life into the town where Daddy had grown up. It started small, but over time, Daddy and Mum built the company so that today, Hamilton employs thousands of people all over the world. And all the clothes are still made right in Coventry.”
She took a breath, sat back in her seat, and turned pink. “Sorry. I went into a little speech there, didn’t I?”
He chuckled. “I take it that’s not the first time you’ve given it?”
“Does it sound too prepared?”
“Not at all. With your parents gone, you’ll take over?”
“That was their plan. But nobody planned for Mum…” She looked away. He watched as she swallowed the emotions. Impressive self-control. Why did she feel she needed it, though? There was no shame in crying for a lost parent. If his mother died…
He didn’t even want to think about it.
“Who’s running the business if you’re not there?” he asked.
She lifted her head. “Uncle Frank, Daddy’s older brother. He’s worked there since the early days. In fact, he owns a portion of the business. He’s been acting as the company’s chief operations officer for some time and understands the workings. He and Mum worked closely together.”
“You trust him?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “With my life. He’s the only family I have left in the world.”
That didn’t mean he was trustworthy, but Dylan didn’t voice that thought. “You said your uncle took you to the hospital and called the police. Have they learned anything?”
“I don’t know. I have no phone service in Nutfield. It’s odd, really, considering how much closer to Manchester we are here.”
“Who’s your carrier?”
“Oh…” She looked confused for a moment, then said, “AT&T, I think.”
“I use them, too, and I have service. In fact, all the major carriers work here.”
“That doesn’t make sense at all.”
The waitress, Bonnie, stopped at their booth. “More coffee?”
He nodded.
“Just a half a cup,” Chelsea said.
Bonnie poured the brew. “You guys finished?”
At their nods, Bonnie left, returning a moment later with the check.
As she cleared the table, Dylan watched Chelsea’s expression. Her eyes had stayed narrowed, and a tiny line appeared between her eyebrows. Confusion, concentration, maybe.
“You don’t drink tea?” he asked.
That tiny line between her eyebrows was joined by another, a faint inverted V, which, when added to the tightness in her lips, could only mean irritation. “I know I don’t sound it”—she said the words in her forced Connecticut accent—“but I am an American.”
“Just an observation,” he said. “I thought after so many years over there—”
“I prefer coffee.” Then, her expression faded to a shy smile. “I made myself prefer coffee, though when I first sipped the brew, I thought it was quite possibly the most disgusting thing I’d ever tasted. It’s so strange, coffee. Sometimes, it smells delicious. Sometimes, the same smell brings to mind canned tuna fish.”
He couldn’t help a chuckle. “If you say so.” His laugh died quickly. “You have no idea who might’ve pushed you?”
“I think maybe…” She looked beyond him, eyes narrowing. “I wonder if Uncle Frank has a guess. He told me about some rumors around town, rumors that I’m planning to relocate the factory to Mexico.”
“Are you?”
Her shoulders pushed back, and her words were sharp. “I will never take HCI out of Coventry.”
He lifted both hands, palms out. “Just a question, not an accusation.”
She settled back against the bench seat, though she didn’t relax. “Daddy and Mum located Hamilton in Coventry to save the town. To move it would be to ruin thousands of lives. I would never do such a thing. It’s my home.”
Despite the English accent, he believed her. She seemed devoted to the little town. He wrote Rumors about Mexico on his notepad. “You think your uncle has a theory. Did he share it with you?”
“He told the police about the rumors, but… Maybe the attempt on my life was just the random act of a crazy person.”
“Someone tried to kill you,” Dylan said. “We’re going to assume you were a target.”
“But nobody knew I’d be there that morning.”
“You’re sure about that? You didn’t tell anyone?”
Her mouth slid to one side, and she shook her head. “I mentioned after the funeral Sunday that I was eager to get back on the mountain.”
“Who’d you say that to?”
She shrugged. “A few friends of Mum’s. I told them I planned to hike the next morning. I don’t remember if I told anybody else.”
“Names?”
She sighed. “Laura Blanchette was there. And others, but I don’t know all their names. Mrs. Blanchette could tell you.”
Dylan wrote the name on his notepad. “How do you know Laura Blanchette?”
“She was my mother’s dearest friend. And the rest of the women… They used to go to the club together. Mum didn’t get to go often, since she worked. Mrs. Blanchette never worked, I don’t think. The rest of them… I simply don’t remember them very well. It’s been so long since I lived here.”
“They all knew you’d be hiking the next morning?”
“I don’t remember exactly what I said.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair. “There was one man in the group, too. One of the shareholders. I’ve known him all my life, but I’ve always felt… I never thought he cared for me.”
“That’s odd. Even when you were a kid?”
“Yes. Well, I’m not sure he likes people. But he did respect my mother, so for that, I appreciated him.”
“Name?”
“Arthur Andris.”
He wrote the name on his notepad.
“It’s all a bit of a blur,” Chelsea said. “The funeral, the gathering afterwards. What I remember most was wanting everybody to leave.”
He set his pen down. “I’m sorry to make you go through this.”
She lifted her cup, swirled the liquid inside. “I should just go home, start work, pretend like…”
Her words trailed off, and she dropped her gaze.
“Chelsea?”
When she looked up, he said, “You stand to inherit a lot of money and a huge responsibility. Until we know differently, we’re going to assum
e you’re a target.”
“But I have to get to work. The business… Frank can handle day-to-day operations, but Mum confided to me more than once that he’s not competent to run the company. In fact, since he’s been the operations officer, profits have been declining. I need to get in there, find out what’s going on. It really can’t wait. So the most important thing right now is getting me to work. You can protect me there, right?”
“Why are you here,” he asked, “if that’s the most important thing?”
“Uncle Frank sent me away. But I think I should go back, get started. If I just surround myself with people, I think I’ll be safe.”
“You think?” He swallowed rising irritation. “You’re willing to risk your life to save a company? Is the money that—?”
“It’s not about money.” She leaned against the table. “It’s about all the people who are counting on me to save their jobs. It’s about the business my parents spent their lives and their fortunes to build. It’s about saving their legacy.” She sat up straight, shoulders back. Confident she’d made her point.
Dylan moved his coffee cup out of the way and rested his arms on the table between them. He met her gaze and held it. “Chelsea, you are your parents’ legacy. The business is just a business.”
She blinked, and the shoulders drooped a smidge.
“If they were in this booth with us,” Dylan said, “what would they say? Would they want you to risk your life to save HCI?”
Her lower lip trembled. She swallowed. “They’re not here, so they don’t get a vote.”
He leaned back. “Well, I am here, and I do get a vote.” Frustration laced his voice, but he didn’t work to temper it. She needed to be jolted out of the fantasy that she could resume her life and hope for the best. The best way to ensure her safety was to keep her hidden until they found the would-be killer. “If you want to go run your company and pretend you’re not a target, go for it. But you’ll do it without me.”
Chapter Seven
Dylan paid the check, and they stepped into the sunshine. Crystal Avenue was bustling that morning, families window-shopping at the little tourist shops in town, wandering along the sidewalks, sitting at cafe tables outside the new coffee shop on the corner. When the temperature warmed this afternoon, many of those folks would head to the lake, perhaps rent a boat at the marina or swim at one of the many little beaches. This would be Dylan’s first summer in Nutfield and his first time living in a community that thrived on tourism. It was odd, the way the town had changed since winter. He’d heard the population doubled in the summertime, and that number was bound to go up with the new construction on the lake.
Legacy Reclaimed Page 4
