by Peggy Jaeger
Clara’s inability to scold anyone who possessed a Y chromosome had rendered her useless to halt these two once they got started. Since I spent my days dealing with argumentative clients, I stood, grabbed my filled water glass, and rapped it a few times with my knife.
I rapped harder when they ignored me.
“Gentlemen.” I used my firm, loud, lawyer voice cultivated over years spent in the county courthouse. “Why don’t we let Mr. Frayne explain why he’s here instead of getting all riled up with unnecessary speculation?”
Their bickering came to a stuttering stop. Both octogenarians looked first at me, then one another, the rest of the room, and then back to me, mouths agape.
“He is, after all, our guest.”
Olaf was the first to capitulate. With a determined shake of his hairless, billiard-ball head, his mouth closed, the corners of it pulling upward. He winked at me, then at Finlay. “Smart. Same as her pa.”
“But prettier,” Finlay, who always wanted the last word, added.
With a smile for both of them, I then turned my attention to Frayne. His gaze hadn’t left my face since I’d stood and commandeered the situation. The comma in one corner of his mouth grew and a dimple appeared deep enough to shove a button into.
A moment after the darling curl appeared, it flew, and once again Frayne’s expression grew serious.
“Mr. Frayne? You’ve got the floor.”
I sat back down, and he stood.
With one hand, he swiped the hair tumbling across his brow straight back on his head, only to have it fall forward again the moment he let go. “Thank you, Ms. Mulvaney.”
I have to admit I was impressed he’d remembered my name. I was good at names—a factor of my job—but I don’t think I could have had the immediate recall he had after being introduced to nine new people all at the same time.
“And thank you all for letting me intrude on your lunch today.”
“Oh, it’s no intrusion at all,” Eloise piped up. “We’re all excited to meet such a famous writer.” She probably more than any of us, evidenced by the way she fidgeted in her chair.
“Eloise.” Clara made a zip-it motion with her hand across her lips.
Frayne took a breath and then ran his gaze down the table, briefly touching on each of us. Because I was the last one he lit on, he addressed me. “I’m writing a new biography, and I need access to your historical archives for research. Frequent access, in fact.”
“Who’s the book about?” Clara asked.
“Your town founder, Josiah Heaven.”
“Oh, goodness.” One of Clara’s hands flew to her throat as her eyes popped wide open. “What an—”
“Honor,” Eloise gushed, clapping her hands together again.
“Don’t know it’s much of an honor, Weezy,” Olaf said, his lips twisting. He turned his attention to Frayne. “Why’d anyone outside of Heaven want to read about ol’ Josiah? Man’s been dead a couple hundred years. I can’t see much interest in him in this day and age.”
Peter and Finley started defending the town founder, both of their sonorous voices rising against the other to be heard.
I shot a quick glance at Frayne. The furrows in his brow deepened as his gaze ping-ponged between the two—now three—men who were all vying for attention. The notion the poor man was out of his league blew through me. Once again I rose, dinged my water glass with a knife, and called for the trio of city elders to quiet.
With reluctance, all three did, but not after I shot each of them what my sister Colleen called my lawyer death stare. She claimed she’d seen me use it on trial witnesses when I didn’t like an answer I’d been given and the witness tended to disintegrate under its power. She also claimed I used it on family members when I was being pissy—her word—about something.
Once the room was again quiet, I said, “Please continue, Mr. Frayne.”
He lifted his water glass to his lips and, after taking a large draft, said, “Thank you. Well, as I was saying. The biography is of the reverend. There have been one or two books written about him over the years, though none have presented a sense of the real man behind the legend. For instance, what brought him to New Hampshire? I’ve never been able to find the answer in any research I’ve done. The man doesn’t exist on paper before he showed up here one day, built a homestead, and then a town. No birth certificate on record, no background material at all.”
Heads bobbed around the table. This was information we’d all been weaned on.
“And why did he insist all the streets and businesses have Biblical associations? I understand the town charter still requires any new enterprises to use a city-council-approved name whether it fits the business or not.”
“That’s the truth.” Davison nodded. “It’s written in perpetuity in the town charter.”
“Why? Why did he want to ensure the town continued on the same way generations after his death?”
“Some folks think he was a bit of kook,” Olaf offered.
“I’ve read that.” Frayne nodded. “It’s also been theorized he had a God complex, a mental fixation on Heaven and Hell, perhaps even, that he suffered from delusions.”
The table grew quiet for a moment.
“The reverend was a complicated man,” Clara said.
Frayne cocked his head to one side. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this society has never allowed any writers into the Heaven archives, the personal ones I mean, of Josiah, his sons, or grandsons, have you?”
“No.” Clara shook her head. “Not the personal annals. We’ve had people conduct research through the town charters and the county historical records. Never Josiah’s personal ones, though.”
“Why not?”
All committee members turned to me. Since I was the sole lawyer at the table, it was my duty to answer what they collectively viewed as a legal matter.
Frayne’s attention lit on me as well. I could tell from the question in his eyes he didn’t understand why they’d all zeroed in on me to provide an answer.
“The Heaven family,” I explained, “viewed the private documents as personal property, which legally, they were, and which weren’t, therefore, included in the museum’s archives. They kept a tight hold over those documents. Whenever someone wanted access to them, we needed to ask, formally, in writing, for permission to show them. It was always denied.”
“Why?”
“We never asked,” Clara said.
“As I’ve said, the documents were ruled over by a family member who was placed in charge of their caretaking. I believe the society asked for decades for the public to be allowed access to them.”
“And they were always told no,” Eloise said.
“Are there any descendants I could ask now for permission?”
“No. Josiah’s line ran its course two decades ago with the death of his four-times-great grandson. He left no children when he died, and no other direct blood relatives exist.”
“So, there’s no one to seek authorization from to view those files or documents but this committee, then?”
All eyes settled on me again. I took a silent breath. “Correct.
With a hopeful expression on his face and in his eyes, Frayne bent forward and leaned his knuckles on the table, all the while keeping his gaze on me. “So.” He took a breath. “What do I have to sign to be allowed access?”
Chapter 2
“Why are the personal papers so important to you, young fella?” Olaf asked, his bushy, snowcap white eyebrows lifting up to his bald head.
Frayne’s expression blanked and then, just as quick, recovered. I don’t think anyone else noticed because it happened in an eye blink, but my lawyer spidey-sense went on hyperalert.
“Yes, what do you think they contain that the other biographers haven’t already made note of?” Clara said.
“The other books have skimmed the surface, stating the facts of the reverend’s life as much as is known. I’d like to dig deeper, get to the man himself, his tho
ughts, his motivations, if I can. Try to give a more balanced view of his life and history. That’s kind of my specialty.”
“You sound like one of them investigative reporters, digging up dirt anywhere they can.” Finlay Mayhew’s thin lips bent down at the corners, deepening the grooves in his face into dermal crevasses.
“You’re not working for one of them slander rags with enquiring minds, are you, boy?” Olaf asked. “ ’Cause we ain’t gonna let anyone sully the name of our town founder.”
I don’t know if it was the reference to a salacious weekly tabloid or the fact he’d been called a boy, but Frayne’s entire face changed in a nanosecond. The guarded cast in his gaze flew, replaced by a quiet mirth. His lips twisted up, and two delicious dimples developed at their corners.
Holy Christmas.
Frayne’s gaze met mine, and I swear his charming grin grew before it moved to his accuser.
“No, sir. I’m not. I can assure you I’m not a tabloid journalist, and I have no intention of writing anything salacious about the reverend. I simply want to give as accurate a portrayal of the man, the times, and his circumstances as I can. That’s the way I approach every biography I write. I want it to be as thorough and balanced a representation as possible.”
“You never mentioned who’s publishing this book, Frayne,” Gunny said. “You got one lined up?”
Frayne rattled off the name of a well-known publisher.
“How wonderful.” Clara beamed. She glanced around the table and asked, “Are there any other questions for Mr. Frayne before we vote on his request?”
I had several, but I decided to ask them in private if the opportunity presented itself.
When no one expressed any concerns, Clara said, “All those in favor of allowing Mr. Frayne access to the Heaven family’s personal papers and any other historical documentation, please raise your hand.”
Eight hands went up, Finlay Mayhew the sole holdout.
No surprise there.
Clara, in a show of uncharacteristic pique, slanted him a squinty-eyed glower, her lips pressed flat together like two squished pancakes. This, from the woman who never missed an opportunity to defer to the man’s opinion, was the most heated I’d ever seen her get toward him.
“The motion passes by a clear majority,” she announced.
Finlay’s response was to fold his arms across his midsection, his flannel shirt tugging across his ample girth with the movement.
“Thank you,” Frayne said. “I appreciate it.”
“We’ll set you up with a schedule to view the documents,” Clara told him. “Just give us your time availability.”
“All day, any day. I’m staying in town while I do my research. If you tell me where to go, I can get started as soon as possible.”
This posed a bit of a problem. I was about to tell him why, when Clara beat me to it.
“You’ll need to coordinate with Cathleen—Mrs. Mulvaney,” she said, nodding toward me. “Our current curator, Leigh James, is indisposed, otherwise she would be the proper person to help you with your research.”
“I don’t require any help.”
“Yes, well, Cathleen is in charge of the personal archives while Dr. James is on leave, and Cathleen’s a very busy woman. You two will need to put your heads together to decide on times she’s available to assist you.”
“I don’t understand.” His gaze shot from Clara to me. “All I need is access.”
“There are rules involved with viewing the personal archives. Rules you must abide by.” Clara directed a very pointed stare at me. “Maybe you should explain it, Cathy, dear.”
I nodded. “I need to get back to start my afternoon.” I rose and addressed Frayne. “Why don’t we go outside, and I’ll let you know what needs to be done?”
“Come back and join us for lunch after Cathy leaves,” Clara told Frayne.
I grabbed my purse, tossed my fellow society members a quick goodbye, and then moved from the room, Frayne following.
In the foyer, I stopped. “Sorry about that. They’re a little much to take when you don’t know what to expect.”
Frayne shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve been called boy for more than twenty years.”
I smiled.
“What did Mrs. Johnson mean about rules?”
“It’s an archaic regulation passed down from the previous society members. It’s never been challenged, and this group isn’t going to change anything in their lifetime.” I pulled my coat from the closet. “The personal archives are kept locked, and no one is allowed access to them without the curator, or the society board member in charge of overseeing the collection, present.”
“That’s you?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t just have the key?”
“Unfortunately, no.” With a sigh, I started to shrug into my coat. Frayne slipped behind me to help.
I was surprised by the gesture. It had been a long, long time since a man had done something as chivalrous as hold my coat for me. Standing behind me, he was close enough his warm breath fanned across my neck as I slipped my arms into the sleeves. As soon as my coat was on, I turned around to continue our conversation. The words died on my lips.
Frayne was still standing close to me—so close I could make out the tiny shards of ice blue competing with the light slate in his irises. Long, dark, and thick curled lashes framed his eyes, highlighting the pale colors swimming in them.
“Why unfortunately no?” He slid his hands into his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels.
“Again, it’s a society rule. I’m not allowed to give the key to anyone else. It’s required to stay in my possession at all times until my term as archive director is over.”
“So…” He tilted his head, his brows tugging together in the midline as he examined my face. A ghost of a grin slanted his lips. “You’re like, what? The keeper of the keys? Guarding the secrets of the ancient and sacred archives from dark, outside forces, like Cerberus guarding the gates of Hell?”
I laughed, and the sound echoed in the empty space around us.
“Not sacred, I assure you. But the board does regard itself as the historical protector of the past, and the Heaven family in particular. If you want entrée to the private collection and the personal documents, you need to abide by their rules.”
After a few moments, he blew out a breath. “Okay. What’s your schedule look like, then? Because I’m free, and I want to get started as soon as I can.”
“I’m tied up today until about four. I could meet you back here afterward.”
I could tell he wasn’t happy about having to wait.
“Do you need to stay with me while I do my research?”
“If you dip into the personal files, then yes. If it’s the public files, I can arrange to have a docent assist you. The files are all up to date, computerized, and catalogued in the system, but the storage space is a maze and you’ll need some guidance finding specific items. The docent can help.”
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you after four.”
“You mentioned you’re staying in town for the time being?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“At the inn.”
“Inn Heaven?”
He smiled, and my toes curled inside my boots when those dimples appeared again.
“Yeah. Great name. I need to go check in once I’m done here. I’ve got a room booked for a month. If it looks like it’s gonna take longer, I might rent a place. The inn is good for now.”
“Better than good,” I said, no small amount of pride in my voice. “You’ll get breakfast and lunch every day, and if you want dinner, all you have to do is ask Maureen, the owner. You’re in good hands.”
“You know her?”
“We share parents.”
It took him a moment.
“Sisters.” He nodded.
“Got it in one.” I shot a finger at him. In doing so, I happened to see my watch again.
“Why don’t you go have lunch, and I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”
Because it was second nature for me to do so, ground into my manners rulebook by my grandmother, I put out my hand to shake his.
When he took it with his own, I was engulfed in a cauldron of heat so consuming, my entire body stilled, reveling in the sensation.
And not only the warmth, but the actual feel of his skin against mine. Little pulses of awareness surged over my wrist and up my arm, spreading warmth to every pore it crossed. I don’t know how long we stood there, our hands together, our gazes locked. I do know when the sound of my cell phone penetrated the silent air around us, it was like a booming strike of thunder clapping directly overhead.
We both jumped, Frayne tightening his grip on my hand. I yanked on it, and when he let it go, I reached into my bag.
“It’s my office. I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go.”
Without looking back at him, I sprinted through the doors I’d walked through less than an hour before.
****
I wasn’t surprised when Frayne was seated in one of the antique sofas lining the perimeter of the marble-floored foyer when I returned hours later.
“Right on time.” He shoved his cell phone into the briefcase next to him.
When I’d run from him earlier, I’d tried to convince myself the reason I was out of sorts was because I had a great deal on my mind. Between two court cases on the docket in the next few weeks, concerns about my grandmother, the wedding I was scheduled to officiate at this weekend and for which I hadn’t yet written a word, and the thousand other issues that came up daily, it was no wonder I’d been a little unglued around Frayne. I didn’t need another responsibility like being at his beck and call when I was this busy. I’d had no say in the matter though. With Leigh James on strict bed rest until her baby arrived, I was duty bound to act on her behalf.
When Frayne stood and swiped a hand across his forehead to push back the shock of hair falling across it, I realized what a poor liar I was. I could argue and debate a cause for someone else ad infinitum, redefine facts, or reinterpret them at will. But I couldn’t lie convincingly to myself to save my life.
