“Donovan reminded me that my job is to investigate, not play bodyguard. But everything in me wants to stay with you, to ensure you’re safe.”
“Ah.”
“It was just…” He wasn’t accustomed to using the word that popped into his head, not when it applied to himself. But he wanted to be honest with her, even if it made him look bad. “Just fear. For you. But I can’t let it motivate me.”
At their joined hands, her thumb glided across his knuckles, the slightest touch that drew an inappropriate and disproportionate response.
He pulled his hand away. “Sorry. I can’t concentrate while you’re…”
“Oh. Sorry.”
He offered her a quick smile, caught hers in return. And the blush filling her cheeks.
Couldn’t they just stay at the B and B and make out all day? That would be so much more enjoyable than what they had planned.
Focus, O’Donnell. Change the subject.
“Tell me your plans,” he said.
“Well, you already know about the interview. I’m also going to draft a memo to be sent to all employees this afternoon, telling them when the interview will air and assuring them that there are no plans in the works to relocate the factory.
“Also, I thought Tabby’s idea was a good one, so I’m going to meet with her and the head of HR to come up with a plan to seek feedback from the employees on how they think we can improve things to be more efficient and boost profits. The employees need to know that I see their input as valuable. Frankly, they know more about the workings of HCI than I do. I’ll put together a team—I hope Tabby will be involved—to cull those ideas.”
“So, you’ve forgiven Tabby for… for whatever you were angry about yesterday?”
“I wasn’t…” She paused. A moment passed before she continued. “I was angry. She was so quick to believe I was going to relocate the company.”
“Everyone thought that, though. You can’t blame—”
“It was more than that.” Chelsea smoothed the crease in her slacks. Until today, he’d only seen her dress casually, but she looked at home in the gray business suit and blue blouse, as if she’d been dressing like this all her life. The slacks just covered the fat walking cast. She wore a classic gray pump on the other foot. “It wasn’t that she believed the rumors. It was that she was so ready to let me off the hook. Like… This is going to sound silly, but people… Because I’m wealthy and have all this… this perceived power, people have a tendency to try to ingratiate themselves with me. They yes me, even when I’m wrong. They don’t see me as a person but as someone who can do something for them or improve their reputation. At school, I would be invited to parties by mere acquaintances or perfect strangers, not because people wanted to get to know me but because my being at the party would lift the reputations of its hosts. It’s always been so hard to know who was a true friend and who was only using me. When Tabby let me off the hook, I thought…” She paused, watched the forest pass by the windows. “I texted her last night, told her that if we were going to be friends, she was going to have to be honest with me. She responded and told me she’d planned to give me another week to grieve my mother before calling me on my crap.”
He chuckled. “Only a true friend would do that.”
“Indeed.” Her tone returned to the all-business one she’d used before. “I need to dig into the financials, find out what’s going on.”
“I have to tell you something. Honestly, I should have told you yesterday.” But on the drive home, she’d gushed about Laura, how close the woman and her mum had been, how the woman had felt more like a grandmother than her mother’s mother, who’d always been cold and distant.
He hadn’t had the heart, and there seemed to be no rush. Now, he realized his mistake. Because Chelsea needed to know before she got to the office and tackled the giants that faced her there.
She shifted to better face him. “What?”
“When I went to the restroom at Laura’s yesterday?”
Her mouth tightened. “Yes?”
“What Arthur Andris said about Laura? About her debt? Don’t know if that’s true, but I saw a couple of sizable bills. Over twenty grand owed to one credit card company alone.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. “You searched her home? On the premise of using her restroom?”
He felt the grimace that curled the corner of his mouth. “I used the bathroom. Then I did some investigating.”
“You went through her papers?”
“And I saw a couple of brochures from cities, foreign cities, trying to entice businesses to move their manufacturing—”
“Where did you find those?” Her voice had risen. He didn’t have to look to know she was angry.
“In Laura’s office.”
“You just… just decided to snoop around my mother’s dearest friend’s things?”
Which wasn’t the point at all, and she knew it. So he said nothing as he took the exit for I-93.
She said, “It’s very unkind, you know, snooping.”
He merged into traffic.
She faced forward and crossed her arms.
In silence, they drove two miles, three, five.
Finally, she said, “They were looking into relocation. Mum’s the one who brought it up.”
“It was both introduced and shot down by your mother,” Dylan said. “Your mother wasn’t interested, and she was the majority stockholder. So, why would Laura—?”
“Maybe she thought she could talk Mum into it.”
“Was your mother so easily swayed?”
Chelsea said nothing, but from everything he’d heard about Maeve Hamilton, the woman had been dogged in her plan to keep Hamilton in Coventry. Nothing about her seemed fickle or susceptible to manipulation.
He held his hand out again. A moment passed before Chelsea took it. He squeezed. “Laura told you herself she thought it was an idea worth pursuing, for the sake of the shareholders.”
“So she was pursuing it, despite Mum’s refusal to consider it. I can accept that. To be clear, you aren’t under the impression that she would attempt to have me killed, right?”
He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. Because he didn’t want to lie, but the truth would fly like a kite in a hailstorm.
“Dylan, she was my mother’s best friend. She wouldn’t hurt me. Or…” Another thought seemed to occur to her. “Obviously, she didn’t hurt Mum.”
“I’m not saying she hurt anybody or plans to. But I’ve seen people commit evil acts for money. Desperate people sometimes do desperate things.”
“Who said she’s desperate?”
He shrugged. “Arthur Andris for one.”
“Doesn’t it make you wonder about him, though?” she asked. “How would he know about her financial problems, unless he’s a snoop, like—” She cut off her own sentence, but he finished it for her.
“Like me?”
“I’m just saying…”
“You hired me to find out who’s trying to kill you. That’s what I’m doing. I’m an investigator. It’s my job to snoop.”
“I understand that. And you need to understand that you’re snooping in the wrong place. Laura Blanchette would never hurt me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Flanked by armed men on either side, Dylan walking behind her in full-on danger mode, Chelsea stepped into the HCI lobby for the second time in two days.
“Good morning, Miss Hamilton,” said the receptionist behind the desk.
“Good morning, Ida.”
Ida pressed the button, and one of Chelsea’s guards opened the door for her.
Three minutes later, she passed the third-floor receptionist and entered the executive offices. Unlike the side of the building where Tabby worked, this area was spacious and plush. Thick carpet muffled their steps as she made her way to her mother’s office, the largest on the floor.
Behind the desk just outside Mum’s door, an older woman stood. She was slender, near
ly six feet tall, and had frizzy white hair and hazel eyes. She wore no smile, not that she ever had.
“Mrs. Strauss,” Chelsea said as she approached. “Thank you for accommodating me on such short notice.”
The assistant nodded once, then pulled a key ring from her pocket. As she unlocked the door, she said, “Mrs. Hamilton left explicit instructions that I was never to open this door to anybody but herself and you.”
“Really?” Chelsea glanced at Dylan, who shrugged. She turned back to Mrs. Strauss. “I had no idea.”
“Nobody else.” She pushed the door open. “Not even Frank Hamilton, though he did his best to convince me otherwise.”
Chelsea had no doubt Mrs. Strauss had held her ground. The woman was as pliable as she was cheerful. “I hope we’ll be able to film in here, but in case we can’t, please make sure the conference room is available from eleven to twelve.”
“Yes, ma’am. Shall I send for coffee or breakfast?”
“I’ll need my refrigerator stocked with water bottles. Also, I’ll need the password for Mum’s computer.” The brusque tone felt as comfortable as rough wool against a rash, but she needed to establish her authority early.
“Of course.” Mrs. Strauss took her seat at her desk, scrawled the password on a Post-It, and handed it to her.
Perhaps establishing that authority with the assistant wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d expected.
She turned toward the office, but the bodyguard beside her said, “Wait here please,” and stepped in. She waited, perhaps not patiently, until he returned seconds later and nodded for her to enter.
She did, and the bodyguards, mercifully, stayed in the lobby. Mrs. Strauss would love that.
Mum’s office hadn’t changed since the last time Chelsea had been there just a few months before when she’d come home for Easter. The pale gray walls were broken up by the window behind the dark mahogany desk. Images decorated the space—the factory, then and now, photos of management, an overhead picture of the company picnic a few years past, and a portrait of Peter Hamilton looking dashing in his dark suit and trimmed beard. That one hung directly across from the desk. Chelsea could see her mum gazing at Daddy’s photo as if he could guide her whenever she faced a difficult decision or a question she couldn’t answer.
Beyond two plush guest chairs, a stack of papers rested on one side of the desk, a computer screen on the other. In the center of the desk lay a notebook, opened, with a blue pen lying across the top. Mum’s chair—creamy white leather—sat slightly askew, as if Mum had just stepped away.
It was Chelsea’s imagination, she knew, but she could swear she picked up her mother’s unique scent. All the money she could ever need, and she wore Charlie perfume she bought at the drugstore, just like she had when she and Daddy had met.
All of Chelsea’s efforts at feeling professional and in control fell away.
Oh, Mum. How could you leave me like this?
With this mess?
Her throat aching with unshed tears, she moved to the far side of the desk.
Dylan stood in the doorway. He said nothing, just watched her with those kind eyes.
She pulled in air, blew it out. “Could you come in and close the door?”
He did, and she sat. Lifted Mum’s pen. Set it back down.
Dylan crossed the room, stood beside her, and slid his hand from her head to her cheek. A simple touch, a connection that reminded her she wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to do this alone.
She leaned into his palm, allowed herself a moment, just a moment of comfort.
Then she sat up, and Dylan stepped away. “I need to go through your mother’s things, see if there’s anything in here that—”
“If I have time, I’ll get started on that today.”
He backed away to face her. “You don’t know what to look for.”
“I won’t throw anything away. It’ll all still be here later.”
“That’s not how—”
“I need to get to work. And you have other places you need to be, right?”
“I do, but…” He gazed around the room.
“This isn’t a crime scene, Dylan. The door has been locked. I don’t have time for you to search it right now.” She checked her watch. “In fact, I need to get started.”
The tight set to his lips told her he wasn’t happy about it, but he kissed the top of her head. “You’ll be in my prayers. Let me know if you need me.”
After he walked out, she touched the spot his lips had brushed, allowed herself to enjoy the connection another moment, and then lifted her phone receiver to get started on her day.
The interview went well. Chelsea had only gotten teary once when talking about her mother, but she thought she’d been equally firm and passionate when discussing Hamilton’s commitment to stay in Coventry and her belief that the HCI employees were the best in the world.
“My father grew up in this town,” she’d said. “My mother called it home for more than half her life. Despite my troublesome English accent”—she’d smiled with the remark—“I am as committed as my parents were to the town of Coventry and to New Hampshire. I’ve spent years pining for home, and I have no intention of ever moving away again.”
After the reporter and cameraman left, Tabby and the head of HR came in, Tabby eying the security guards and giving Chelsea a raised-eyebrows nice muscles sort of look.
The HR director suggested that, rather than ask for blanket suggestions, they come up with a survey with plenty of room for written feedback. Over lunch—fried seafood delivered from a local spot—they crafted questions.
When they were finished, Tabby promised to have the survey ready by the time Chelsea’s memo was finished.
Chelsea called Mrs. Strauss into her office. “I need your help.”
The woman sat across from Chelsea, laptop open on the far side of the wide desk, and typed while Chelsea dictated. She said nothing when Chelsea told her to change something, barely glanced up as she backspaced, rewrote.
When Chelsea was finished, Mrs. Strauss continued to sit there, tap, tap, tapping away on that keyboard. Chelsea had no idea what the woman was doing. She should’ve asked. When she was a little girl, she’d come into the office to visit her daddy, and everybody would fawn over her as if she were the most delightful child ever to walk the planet. Secretaries would pinch her cheeks, managers would sneak her candy from hidden stashes in bottom drawers.
But Mrs. Strauss, who’d seemed old twenty years ago, wouldn’t even offer her a smile. Chelsea had always been terrified of the woman.
Truth be told, she still was.
So she opened the top drawer, peeking at her mother’s things and feeling guilty for it. A small bottle of facial moisturizer, because Mum’s skin was so dry in the winter, along with a tube of hand cream. Cherry-flavored lip balm. A bag of Starburst candy—Mum’s secret pleasure. Pens in various colors—purple, blue, pink, green. A pair of scissors. Multiple pads of sticky notes, also in various colors. Chelsea looked around. Not a single sticky note decorated the space. Mum was far too tidy to stick square pieces of paper on walls. What did she use them for?
She left the drawer exactly as she’d found it. How much time would pass before this would feel like her office?
Did she want it to? Did she want to lose all the things that Mum had touched every day?
Across the desk, Mrs. Strauss stopped typing. “Shall I read it back to you?”
“Please.”
The statement the woman read carried exactly the ideas and the tone Chelsea had hoped to impart. That she had no intention of moving HCI’s factory to Mexico, Southeast Asia, or anywhere else, that HCI and Coventry were a team, and that she didn’t know how the rumors had gotten started but hoped to find out. There was no explicit apology for the delay in taking her place at the helm, but the underlying tone showed her compassion for the people and her understanding of the void left by her mother.
Chelsea was fairly certain that she’d used m
ost of the words Mrs. Strauss read back to her, though she’d had them in a different order.
When Mrs. Strauss finished, she stood and lifted her laptop without asking if there would be changes. Because, of course, it was perfect.
“What would I do without you?” Chelsea asked.
The woman pressed her lips together. Her gaze scanned the room, and a tiny glimmer of emotion crossed her expression. “What will we do without her?”
Tears stung Chelsea’s eyes. Before she could come up with an appropriate response, Mrs. Strauss turned and walked out, closing the door behind her.
Chelsea spent two hours on the computer, looking at financials. She needed input from her management team, but first she wanted to take in the information, get a general feel for where things were.
Things were not good.
Production had been down ever since Frank left his position as head of sales—a great role for him, considering the way he connected with people—and took over as the COO.
Not a good role for him, apparently.
But not only had production dropped off at that point. Sales had, too.
She could see why people believed the rumors. They were afraid.
Chelsea had no idea yet how to fix it, but it could be done. Of course it could. It seemed as if her first job as CEO of Hamilton would be to remove an ineffective subordinate.
Unfortunately, that subordinate was her uncle.
She closed the accounting program. She needed to let what she’d learned simmer. Monday, she would meet with her management team and get their thoughts. The board was scheduled to meet on Tuesday.
She was already exhausted. Dylan wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours. For now, she would search the rest of Mum’s drawers.
It was in the bottom on the left, the last drawer she checked, that she found the box.
Chelsea had given it to her, a homemade Christmas present from fifth grade art class. The teacher had handed each child a shoebox and laid out supplies for the kids to decorate them. Chelsea covered her box in white paper, then plastered it with photographs she’d pilfered from the big box Mum kept in a cabinet in the TV room.
Legacy Reclaimed Page 18
