by Bailey Cates
His teeth flashed. “And here I was afraid you’d be mad at me.”
“I am!”
“But still worried. So you still care about me.”
“I’m not worried. Just . . . curious. Plus, I saw your father earlier today, and he said you two aren’t speaking. Does he even know you’re back in town?”
He looked around to see if anyone had heard me. We were the only customers.
“Ah, Father. Yes, well. Listen, I saw Mungo outside, so I assume you’re on foot. Are you heading back to the Honeybee?”
“So if you saw Mungo, what was with the ‘Katie, is that you?’” I shook my head. “Yes, I’m walking. And I need to get back.”
“Mind if I walk with you?”
Now that I knew he was okay, I wanted to strangle him. “Suit yourself.”
I bought the card from the friendly clerk and went out to untie Mungo. We started down the street in the direction of the Honeybee.
Steve hurried to catch up. “I saw in the Savannah Morning News that someone was killed in the Fox and Hound Saturday night.”
“Dr. Dana Dobbs.”
“You were there, of course.”
I looked at him sideways.
“Don’t bother denying it. I’m back working at the News, doing my column again and working part-time on the crime beat, as well.”
“Were you the one who called Croft for an interview?”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t me.”
“But that’s the sort of thing you’re doing now.”
“Yes.”
My steps slowed. “What about Dawes Corp.?”
We walked in silence for a few moments. “I quit.”
I stopped short. “Just . . . quit?”
“The last three months I’ve been living in the Bahamas and working on a charter fishing boat.”
That explained how tan and fit he was. The Bahamas. Sheesh. I couldn’t believe I’d been concerned. We started walking again.
“I needed time to think after what happened with Samantha.”
I grimaced, remembering the fiasco with the woman he’d been dating in August.
He cleared his throat. “And I came to a conclusion, Katie.”
Something about his tone made me look over at him again.
“When you chose Declan over me, I tried to let it go. To let you go. But after what happened with Sam, it became obvious that there’s simply no one else for me.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Steve. We’ve talked about this—”
He barreled on. “I truly believe we’re supposed to be together, Katie. I know you and Declan have been together for a year.”
Darn it—even Steve remembered that.
“But the truth is, if I can’t have you, I won’t have anyone.”
At our feet, Mungo made a low, growling noise. He’d never liked Steve as much as he liked Declan.
“Now, come on,” I said, feeling a little desperate. “Stop being so dramatic. You’ll find someone.”
He shrugged. “I don’t want anyone else. I love you.”
Ack!
“Which means I want you to be happy, more than anything. If that means you stay with Declan, then so be it. But I thought you should know how I feel.”
“Steve,” I tried again.
“And I think you should also know that I understand why you turned away from me in the first place. So I’ve not only quit working for Father, but I resigned my membership in the Dragohs.”
I stopped and gaped at him.
“I know you disapprove of how we—those—druids conduct their business in Savannah. At least now I’m not one of them.”
I realized my mouth was still hanging open and snapped it shut. “Is that why you and Heinrich aren’t speaking?”
He nodded. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s going to disown me. I moved out of the guesthouse on my parents’ estate and rented a basement apartment in Midtown. I’ve cut all those ties.”
For me? The thought made me feel sick with guilt. Good heavens—he was pining for me. But I truly loved Declan. Sure, there had been a zing of energy between Steve and me since the first time I’d seen him sitting across the Honeybee, and Lord knew he’d been a good friend to me. But that wasn’t anything like what I had with Declan. I have to fix this somehow. Steve was giving up an enormous fortune and familial ties to the community . . .
No. Wait.
Is that my fault?
I’d given him no encouragement after I’d started dating Declan. I hadn’t asked him to go to the Bahamas or to give up anything for me. I’d only saved him from what would have been a truly horrible marriage—and I’d done it as a friend.
We reached the Honeybee, and as we stopped in front I found myself growing angry. He had no right to pressure me like that. If he wanted to give up everything, then that was his business.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said, slowly. “And while I don’t think you’re deliberately trying to manipulate me, it still kind of feels like it.” I held up the bag I’d been carrying. “This is the anniversary card I got for Declan. And there are going to be more of them.”
Yip! Mungo added his two cents.
Steve’s face clouded. “Katie.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster, and escaped into the bakery.
He didn’t follow.
My hands were trembling, and my insides felt like jelly. I’d forgotten to put Mungo in my tote, but no one seemed to care. The homeschoolers were oblivious, but Ben, Lucy, and Iris were all watching me as I hustled behind the register. Mungo beelined through to his chair in the office.
“So Steve’s back,” Ben said. Obviously we’d had an audience. My uncle’s disapproval was clear. Declan had been his protégé in the fire department long before I’d come to town, and he viewed him as the son he’d never had. He’d never cared that much for Steve and had been over the moon when Declan and I got together.
“He is.” I kept my tone neutral.
“Ohmagod,” Iris breathed. “He is so hot. I would just die if he asked me out.”
“He’s twice your age,” I said wryly.
“The chocolate torte is in the oven,” Lucy said diplomatically. “I see you found a card.”
“You didn’t forget your own anniversary, did you?” Ben asked.
I managed a bright “Of course not!”
Lucy frowned at the lie, but I crossed my fingers that I could count on her not to give me away.
“A whole year!” Ben grinned. “From what I understand you can expect filet mignon tonight.”
“Ben!” Lucy admonished. “Declan may have wanted to surprise her.”
“I promise I won’t let on,” I said, hustling to drop my tote in the office and get back to work.
Chapter 15
As I went about my work, I kept an eye on Arthur, the writer who came in to work at the corner table several days a week. When he sat back, removed his noise-canceling earphones, and looked around, I sidled over. He looked up with surprise.
“Hey, Arthur. I hope I’m not breaking your concentration.”
“Not at all. I needed to take a little break. What’s up?”
I sat down across from him. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me how to find the name of an author’s literary agent.”
He leaned his elbows on the table and grinned. “Why, Katie. Are you writing a book?”
“Heavens no!” I mentally scrambled and settled on the usual: “It’s for a friend.”
He looked puzzled but shrugged. “Some authors list them on their Web site.”
Dr. Dana hadn’t. I’d just checked in the office.
“And most agencies list their authors. But that’s not what you’re asking. You could ask the au
thor directly.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Not in this case.”
Understanding dawned. “Your ‘friend’ wants to know who repped Dana Dobbs?”
I nodded.
“Well, I don’t know why, but you could always check the back of her books. Most writers that I know thank their agents in the acknowledgments.”
I brightened and stood. “Thanks. I’ll try that. Can I get you more tea?”
He held out his mug. “Sure.” As I walked away, he said, “For a friend, huh.”
I pretended I didn’t hear him.
* * *
Even though I’d ducked out twice already, I couldn’t help running next door about half an hour before we closed. Croft was perched on his usual stool behind the register when I came in, and he looked up hopefully. When he saw it was me, his face fell.
“Gee, thanks,” I said.
“Sorry, Katie. I was hoping you were a real customer. I can see there’s traffic out on the street, but no one’s coming in except reporters and looky-loos who want to know the gory details.” He looked disgusted.
I didn’t blame him one bit. “Did they at least buy Dr. Dana’s books?”
With a rueful twist to his lips, he said, “A couple, but there aren’t many left.” His shoulders slumped. “I just couldn’t bring myself to bring the ones she was signing in the back room out to sell.”
“Oh, man. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“And Mrs. Potter was so upset by what happened that she didn’t come in to work today. Since she’s the story lady, story time was canceled.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure some of the kids came over to the Honeybee this afternoon,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll be back over here in no time.”
“If Mrs. Potter is.” He sighed. “I don’t suppose you’re here to actually buy anything.”
“Sorry. But I’ll sure be in after Thanksgiving to do some Christmas shopping. Today I just wanted to take a look at one of Dr. Dana’s books.”
He waved his hand. “Knock yourself out. There are some left over there on the table.”
Dr. Dana’s earnest and slightly judgmental eyes gazed up at me from the cover.
Who hated you enough to slip cyanide in your drink? At least Angie had been up-front and honest about her feelings regarding the psychologist. Whoever had killed the woman was as sneaky as they came.
I flipped through to the acknowledgments. It was a short paragraph. The author had listed her husband first, then her fans, and then her sister. There was no mention of anyone else. Closing the book, I sighed. “Well, so much for that.”
“What are you looking for?” Croft asked.
“The name of Dr. Dana’s agent.”
“Well, that’s easy. Ronnie Lake.”
I whirled. “How did you know that?”
He slipped off the stool and came around to the front of the counter. “She was here the night of the signing. Long blond braid, wore some crazy Mexican poncho? Only showed for a couple of minutes. I didn’t talk with her, but Phoebe told me that’s who she was.”
A small whistle escaped my lips. “That was her agent? Golly. No wonder she looked so unhappy.”
His forehead wrinkled. “I don’t remember that.”
“You had a few other things on your mind, Croft. But she was definitely unhappy. And since I heard Dr. Dana had just fired her, I can see why.”
Croft looked thoughtful. “Phoebe didn’t mention that part. All I know is that Ms. Lake lives in New York and came down for her client’s event.”
So she was long gone. My shoulders slumped.
Shuffling back toward the office, he said, “Apparently she’s spending the holiday in Savannah with family. I’ve got her card if you want it. Phoebe gave it to me as backup when she was arranging the signing.”
I tried to keep the glee out of my voice. “Yes, I’ll take it. Thanks.”
He returned with a business card and held it out to me. “I get the feeling you’re doing that investigative thing you’ve done before. I don’t get why you feel like you have to snoop around when the police are already on the job.”
“Croft—”
He raised his hand like a traffic cop. “But you got your uncle Ben off the hook last year, and that makes you golden in my book. Seems to me that Kissel woman probably did it, but I want the right person to be prosecuted for what happened in my store. So you let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Oh, Croft.” I gave him a hug. He stiffened at first, then awkwardly patted me on the back. “Thank you.”
“Sure thing,” he said in a gruff voice and turned away.
I grinned. Old softie.
* * *
I couldn’t follow up with Ronnie Lake personally that night, and it would be difficult to get away the next day. Perhaps I could convince her to come into the Honeybee for a cup of coffee. How, though? I was a complete stranger, and she’d likely already been inundated with calls from reporters wanting to know more about her deceased client.
What if I used my Voice? A little shudder went down my back. No. Bad things happen when you do that. Like that time I’d almost killed Declan. Or when I’d told the kids in the schoolyard to leave me alone—and none of them had spoken to me for years.
But you didn’t even know you had that power back then. You have better control now.
Slowly, I punched in the number Croft had given me, running over in my mind what to say. If I compelled Ms. Lake to come to the bakery, would I have to use my Voice to get her to talk to me? What if other people heard? That seemed like a recipe for disaster.
I was almost relieved when the call went to voice mail. I left a simple message asking her to call me back.
And yes, I might have infused the words with the tiniest smidgeon of Voice.
* * *
Before leaving for the day, I carefully wrote in Declan’s card:
Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart! I decided the best gift would be a getaway together to Boston. You can show me around, and I can finally meet your mom and sisters. We could go for Christmas, or New Year’s! Love you!
I sketched a quick heart but stopped myself from adding a smiley face. That plus the heart and exclamation points would definitely alert him that I’d almost forgotten our anniversary.
After a quick text to let Deck know I was on my way, I loaded Mungo into the tote, grabbed the yummy torte Lucy had made, and headed home. The ambrosial scent of dark chocolate filled the interior of the Bug, and by the time I got to the carriage house my mouth was watering.
Declan met me at the door. The aromas of baking meat, caramelized onions, and tarragon boiled out to the porch, piquing my appetite still further. He wore jeans, a crisp collared shirt—and one of my vintage ruffled gingham aprons.
I grinned. “Something smells delicious. And you have no idea how sexy you look in that apron.” I raised my face to his.
But instead of kissing me, he took the torte out of my hand with a grimace and stepped aside to reveal Margie sitting on the couch, her face streaked with tears.
“Welcome home, honey,” he said with the faintest trace of sarcasm.
“What on earth happened?” I asked, rushing in and throwing the tote on a chair.
“Oh, Katie! I don’t know what to do!” Margie wailed.
Looking uncomfortable and bewildered, Declan called the dog in from the yard and returned to the kitchen. Mungo settled in the corner by the bookshelf, out of the way but watching intently.
“Now, honey.” I took Margie’s hands in my own. They were trembling. “Tell me.”
“I did what she said, and now he hates me.”
“What . . . who . . . oh. You mean Dr. Dana?”
She nodded, her red-rimmed eyes welling again.
I retrieved a tissue and sat down next to my friend.
“Now, don’t you worry.”
A snorting noise came from the kitchen. I hoped Margie hadn’t heard it.
“What did you do?” I asked.
She took a shaky breath. “I installed a GPS tracker on Redding’s phone. He leaves for Oklahoma tomorrow. I’m not very tech savvy, though, and he found it right away.”
Ugh. “But isn’t part of Radical Trust for people to know they’re being, er, monitored? Isn’t that where the trust part is supposed to come in?”
“I guess so,” she said in a small voice. “But I thought he might get mad, so I didn’t tell him.”
“How did he take it?”
“Oh, God. He’s furious!”
I would be, too. “Honey, did you explain about the book?”
“I tried. He was too mad at me to really listen, though. Katie, do you think he’s hiding something from me? I mean, he could have a whole other life I don’t even know about!”
“Oh, now, come on. You know better than that! You two have been married for what? Seven years?”
Her head bobbed an affirmative. “Almost eight. And we dated for three years before that.”
Declan dropped something in the kitchen, and I heard him swear under his breath.
“So you’re trying to tell me that your husband of almost eight years, the father of your three children who calls them on the computer every night he’s on the road so he can read them a bedtime story, is leading a double life?”
She looked at the floor. “I guess not.”
“No. I guess not. How would you feel if he hired someone to follow you around when he was gone to make sure you weren’t doing anything he didn’t like?”
“He’d never—! Oh. No, I wouldn’t like that at all.” She gave me a pleading look. “But that’s not what I was trying to do.”
“First off—how was he to know that? It looks like you’re suspicious. Are you?”
Her ponytail swished back and forth. “Of course not. At least I wasn’t.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because Dr. Dana—”
