“How awful,” I said.
“It was. This was my life gone up in smoke. My wife had died two years earlier, and I felt I had nothing to live for.” He paused. “And that’s when I did something truly awful. I set about making Bert Crowley’s life a living hell.”
Morgan began to hyperventilate. I looked around. “Where’s the call button? You need a nurse.”
I finally spotted it and was about to press the button, when he put out a hand. “Please. Don’t. I have to finish telling you so you can…” He was breathing too strenuously to speak.
Should I ring for help or let him go on with his story that’s upsetting him so? “Morgan,” I said, “you have to calm down. I’m here to listen to what you want to tell me.”
“Water,” he managed to croak, pointing to his nightstand.
I poured water into a glass and handed it to him. He gulped down half of it, and I was relieved to see his breathing had slowed to normal. He cleared his throat.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, but you get the idea how this subject’s been weighing on my mind all these years.”
“Of course.” I waited for Morgan to continue.
“I was furious that someone could be so careless, so thoughtless, and in a matter of minutes destroy what I’d spent years building up. I sued Bert, and since he’d violated a rule I’d steadfastly enforced, I won the case, if you could call it that. He had to pay a few thousand dollars, money I knew he had little of.
“Everyone in town knew what Bert had done. Still, I made it my business to tell every contractor, carpenter, builder, and plumber just how irresponsible he was. He tried to find work, but no one would hire him. Finally, his brother-in-law got him a job delivering pizza.”
“This was what—thirty years ago? Morgan, you can’t keep beating yourself up for something you did so long ago.”
“How can I forget? The drinking got worse. He crashed his cousin’s van and was killed in the accident.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it? A young man dead and I helped drive him to it.”
I hesitated, then asked, “Did Bert Crowley have any children?”
“His wife Stella was pregnant at the time of the fire. She gave birth to a son. They both still live in Clover Ridge, far as I know.”
A son named Chris. “Morgan, what you’ve just told me is very sad, but you’re making yourself sick going over it again and again in your mind. What good does it do? Something terrible happened to you, and you lashed out at the person responsible.”
“I did, and I want to make amends.”
“How, after all these years?”
“Talking to you has helped me firm up an idea that’s been percolating in my mind for some time. I’ve made some good investments over the years and have no heirs to leave my money to. I want to give Bert’s family a check for a substantial amount of money. Two hundred thousand dollars.”
I stared at him. “Are you sure?”
Morgan’s smile was bittersweet. “I have congestive heart failure, Carrie, along with other medical problems that are getting worse. I doubt I’ll still be here come spring. I’d like you to give Stella and her boy the money ASAP. In the Christmas spirit, if you will.”
Chapter Thirteen
I left Morgan in the Carlton Manor’s dining room and drove home, mulling over the last part of our conversation. I’d tried my best to convince him that he didn’t need me to give his very generous check to the Crowleys. His lawyer could mail it to them, along with a very nice letter. But Morgan was adamant. He insisted that a letter wouldn’t cut it. The situation required a personal touch. A woman’s touch, if that wasn’t being sexist. And I was the perfect person to undertake this commission. When he saw that wasn’t working, he finally threw at me that if Evelyn Havers trusted me, he knew he could trust me too. Finally, I “cried uncle” and agreed to return on Monday evening, by which time he’d have the check made out so I could present it to Stella and Chris before Christmas Eve.
Smoky Joe twitched his tail repeatedly to show his displeasure at having been left on his own all morning, but started purring the moment I served him his lunch. I made myself an egg salad sandwich. Now that I’d acquired a few more pre-holiday chores—another visit to Morgan and delivering his gift to the Crowleys—I was especially glad I’d ordered Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco’s gifts online. I had chosen a small food processor for Aunt Harriet, after hearing her complain enough times that the one she had was too large and cumbersome for some of her smaller preps. And I’d bought Uncle Bosco a pair of fur-lined slippers. Having lived with my uncle before moving into the cottage, I knew just how worn and tattered his slippers were. I sighed, envisioning the navy blue, cashmere, V-neck sweater I’d bought for Dylan.
Dylan. I knew he’d come home for the weekend because I’d seen his BMW parked in the mansion’s semicircular driveway when I’d passed by a few minutes earlier. But there were no messages on the landline or my cell phone. No texts. No emails.
What do you expect? You drove him away.
I called Jim to let him know I was on my way and hopped back into my car. As I drove to the hospital, I realized I had one more gift to buy—something for my father. What would he like? What could he use? Probably tools to break into a store or a building, but I wasn’t about to oblige him with that. Perhaps a pair of gloves or a warm scarf. I’d have to be crazy to face the mobs at the mall. Best to stop in at the men’s shop in town. I’d be spending more money but saving valuable time and energy.
The hospital’s parking lot was filled with visitors’ vehicles. I had to circle twice until I noticed someone backing up and was able to take the vacated space. As it was, a car came speeding toward me from the other direction, its driver clearly annoyed that I’d gotten there before her. I reached for the grapes and newspaper on the passenger seat and headed for the entrance.
I heard voices as I entered my father’s room, both of them familiar. Very familiar. I stopped short at the sight of my father laughing and chatting away with none other than Dylan Avery.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“I came to visit your dad. I heard he was hospitalized after someone attacked him.”
I glared at Dylan. “And to help convict him of some crime, no doubt. Jim, I don’t think you—”
“Now, Caro, there’s no need to get upset. Dylan stopped by, and we’re having a pleasant little chat. That’s all.” He grinned when he saw what I was carrying. “Ah, a newspaper and some grapes. Let me have at them.”
“Here’s the paper, but I have to wash the grapes. And I’ll need a bowl. I should have brought one from home.”
“There’s no need for a bowl. Just—” my father called after me, but I was out of the room and making a dash for the nurse’s station. Before I reached it, I felt a tug on my arm. I spun around.
“Dylan! What do you want?”
“To talk to you. Can you manage that?”
“I need to borrow a bowl for my father’s grapes.”
“Your father won’t mind waiting.”
I pursed my lips. “Did Jim send you after me?”
Dylan pointed to an empty visitors’ room with a wall TV, sofa, and two chairs. “Why don’t we sit there and talk?”
“I don’t know what there is to talk about,” I said, but he didn’t hear me. He was heading for the room.
We sat on opposite ends of the sofa and faced each other.
“I’ll start,” Dylan said, “since I need to explain a few things and apologize.”
“Oh? You agree you owe me an apology?”
“I do. When you came to look at the cottage, the case involving your father’s possible involvement was farthest from my mind. I’d reached a dead end. He was nowhere to be found.”
“What made you go after my father?”
He paused, then said, “A person of interest led me to him.”
“Was it Tom Quincy?”
Dylan shot me a look o
f astonishment, followed by one of admiration. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Someone peered into the cottage window the other night. Later, I realized it was Quincy looking for my father. Eventually he found him and assaulted him.”
Dylan whistled. “I wondered about that. Jim refused to say who worked him over.”
“Do you think Quincy killed Benton Parr?”
Dylan studied my face before answering. I studied his in return and saw pain and compassion followed by resolve. Part of him wanted to protect me from a discussion about murder and violence, but given all that had transpired, he knew his only chance with me was to be forthright.
“Tom Quincy’s a vicious thug, so sure, it’s a possibility. Moreover, it’s a safe bet he’s on John Mathers’s list of suspects. Quincy knew Parr. He probably did business with him. They could have had a falling out. Now he’s in the wind.”
“Strange that something this ‘thug’ told you about my father made you decide to go after him.”
Dylan shrugged. “It’s complicated. Quincy claimed to have information about a multimillion dollar theft of uncut gems.”
“And he said my father was involved?”
“Could be,” he hedged.
“And I’m telling you—my father has nothing to do with Quincy.”
“Four months ago this was an open case, a case far from being solved.”
“And now?”
Dylan gave a mirthless laugh. “I have doubts those gems will ever be found.”
I decided it was time to change the subject. “What were you and my father talking about before, when I came into his room?”
“We were reminiscing about Jordan, how he and I got into a few scrapes when we were kids.”
“Like when you picked all those apples in our neighbor’s orchard?”
Dylan laughed. “Right. As if there weren’t enough apples growing on your own farm. Do you know old Myers came after us with a pitchfork? Your dad managed to calm him down.”
“Really?” I said. “I didn’t know that part.”
“Your father’s sorry for a good deal in his life—mostly how he treated his family.”
“He said that?”
Dylan shook his head. “Not in so many words, but I read between the lines. And he misses Jordan.”
“Me too,” I said softly. My brother had died eight years ago in a car accident.
“So, are we good, you and I? Can we still be what we were on our way to becoming?”
“And what exactly is that?” I asked.
“The significant other for each other.”
His words set me tingling. Still, I couldn’t let the topic go just yet. “What about your case? Are you still going after my father?”
Dylan moved closer to me and took my hand. “Carrie, I’m not the police. I don’t arrest people. My job is to recover lost or stolen items the best and most efficient way that I can. I told you—the gems in this case have yet to appear on the market. The owners have offered an award of half a million dollars to anyone who turns them in to me or the police, no questions asked.”
“I see.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m sorry I reacted like I did. When you came to the police station to question my father, I was convinced you’d used me to get to Jim.”
“Why do you call him Jim?”
I shrugged. “It started when I was fifteen.”
Dylan grinned. “About the same time you changed your name from Carolinda.”
“Shh! I hate it! Don’t even say it out loud!”
“Go on.”
“I decided that since he was away so much, he wasn’t much of a father to Jordan and me. Just another adult who walked in and out of our lives. I began to think of him as Jim, and when he came home for one of his visits, I started calling him that.”
“He thinks the world of you, Carrie.”
“He asked me to start calling him ‘Dad’ again,” I said.
“Are you going to?”
“I’m considering it.”
Dylan stood. “I have to get going. Are we good?”
“I guess.”
“Then we’re on for tonight?”
I smiled. “We sure are.”
“Pick you up at seven. Dress nicely. We’re going out in style.”
My father was grinning broadly when I returned, bowl in hand, to his room. “Did you and your boyfriend make up?”
“We did, and we’re going out tonight.” I washed the grapes and put them in the bowl. “Here you go.”
Jim popped a few grapes in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “He’s a good kid, Caro. You could do a lot worse.”
I bristled at his paternal comment. “I’m not getting married, you know.”
“Maybe you will one of these days. And give me the gift of my first grandchild.”
Married? Grandchild? “What did your doctor say when he examined you this morning?”
“He said I’m mending nicely and I can leave here in a few days. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to walk around the hall a few times each day.”
“Good idea. Why don’t we do a few rounds right now.”
After we circled the hall twice, I helped Jim into bed and left him reading the newspaper, subdued and, I suspect, worn out. His injuries and his bout in the hospital had weakened him more than either of us had suspected. For the first time, I admitted to seeing signs that my father was growing old: the graying hair, the wrinkles on his neck. He was approaching sixty, an age when many man were beginning to think about retirement. Certainly not chasing after stolen gems that could be anywhere.
I bent down to kiss his cheek. “Goodbye, Jim.”
He surprised me by wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug. “Thanks for coming, Caro. It feels good, being looked after by my grown daughter.”
I laughed. “I’ll talk to you in the morning. I have work tomorrow, so I won’t be back here till five thirty, six o’clock.”
“I won’t feel bad if you skip a day, Caro. Thanks again for the grapes.”
Chapter Fourteen
When I exited the hospital, snowflakes were falling from a dove-gray sky. They wouldn’t stick, but served as a vivid reminder that winter was on its way. I shivered as I walked through the parking lot to my car. It was just past three o’clock. In another hour or two, darkness would fall. Today was one of the shortest days of the year. One of the gloomiest too. No wonder Christmas and Chanukah were holidays of light.
I put the car in gear and started for home. My visit to my father had put me in a mellow mood. I was happy that I’d made up with Dylan and that I’d be seeing him tonight. I had a few hours free until I needed to get ready for our date, and decided to stop at some of the gift shops in town in hopes of finding a Christmas gift for Jim and my Secret Santa gift for Dorothy. The library holiday party was Tuesday night, and I didn’t expect to have another chance to shop before then.
At first I was too immersed in my thoughts to notice the blue sedan on my tail. A quiver of fear snaked down my spine. It was the same car I’d seen speed away from the cottage the night Quincy had assaulted Jim. Which meant he hadn’t left Clover Ridge, after all.
I made a sharp right turn at the first corner I came to and pulled up behind a parked car. From my rear window I watched the blue car race by. I caught a glimpse of Quincy’s furious expression. Why on earth was he following me? Was he out to intimidate me or planning something worse?
I drove on to the center of town. The shops around the Green were in festive mode. Wreaths hung on doors, and strings of lights framed roofs and windows. The sound of Christmas Carols emanated from one of the shops. A large Christmas tree stood in the middle of the Green, bedecked with tinsel and ornaments. Beside it, a vendor was selling roasted chestnuts and other roasted nuts from his truck to a lineup of customers, the delightful aroma perfuming the area. A picture-book scene of Christmas!
I parked behind the library and walked to the men’s clothing store on
the adjacent side of the Green. I found a blue, tan, and beige cashmere scarf that would accentuate Jim’s blue eyes, and stood in line to pay for it. Next door, in the shop for women’s clothing, I selected a long silk scarf in muted shades of purple and green I felt would flatter Dorothy’s sallow complexion. I headed back to my car, happy with my purchases
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?! Just remember, I’m smarter than you.”
I spun around and gasped. Tom Quincy stood so close I could smell the pepperoni he must have eaten for lunch on his breath.
“What do you want?” I demanded. “Why can’t you leave my father and me alone?”
He sniggered. “I’m here as a reminder. Daddy Jim and I have a business deal. I don’t want him to forget it.”
A young couple with two laughing children were walking toward us to get to their car. Tom Quincy backed away and seemed to disappear as effectively as Evelyn.
I sank into the front seat of my car, where I remained until my breathing returned to normal. He only wants to frighten you. Still, it was unnerving. I didn’t like being intimidated by a thug.
I called the police station and Gracie answered. When I asked to speak to John, she said he wasn’t in his office.
“Please tell him that—oh, never mind,” I ended up saying, suddenly remembering that Jim had asked me not tell John about Tom Quincy. Besides, he hadn’t laid a hand on me.
“Are you all right?” Gracie asked, sounded concerned.
“I’m fine, thanks. It’s something minor. I’m sure the lieutenant has more pressing matters to attend to.”
“I don’t know about ‘pressing,’ but the calls are coming in by the dozen.” Gracie laughed. “Sometimes I think the holidays bring out the worst in people.”
I drove home slowly, wondering what kind of hold Quincy had over my father if Jim was willing to keep quiet about the attack and pay him a few thousand dollars to boot. As I approached the mansion, I noticed Dylan’s car in the driveway. On impulse, I parked behind it and rang the doorbell.
Dylan came to the door in the same jeans and sweater he’d had on earlier. He wore socks, but no shoes. He smiled in delight when he saw me.
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