by Hillary Avis
Nobody could fake emotion like that. I think he’s telling the truth.
A cold wind ruffled the trees around them and Bethany shivered, drawing her jacket closed. She checked her phone—she was officially late. “Listen, the police are waiting by the chapel. You need to tell them everything, Ernesto. All about Bella’s plans. About the postcards, the watch, everything.”
Ernesto looked at Ryan. “You sure you want me to do that?”
Ryan nodded. “You have to. It’s the right thing to do.”
Ernesto crossed his arms and leaned back against the building, eyeing Ryan skeptically. “Your museum won’t be done on time if I’m in jail.”
“I know.” Ryan’s face was resigned. “It’s the only way, though.”
Is it, though?
“What if—” Bethany began, and then pulled Ryan aside and lowered her voice so Ernesto couldn’t hear. “What if he just waits to tell Charley until after the Halloween masquerade? That way you won’t risk, you know, everything.”
Ryan’s eyes went wide. “You think we should hide this from the police?!”
I’m already hiding things from Kimmy. I guess it’s not so different to lie to Charley, too...for a few days, anyway.
She shook her head. “No, obviously not. But telling them on Sunday instead of on Thursday doesn’t seem like a big deal, does it? They’ll still be able to solve the case.”
“But the killer is still out there!” Ryan rubbed his chin and sighed. “I just can’t justify holding this back.”
“Even if it means your dad dumping the museum project and disowning you?!”
His gaze was steady as he reached out and gripped her shoulders gently. “Listen. I don’t even want his money. I never have. Even if I meet his crazy demands this time, he’ll just make new ones. He’ll hold the family fortune over my head forever! I’m better off if he cuts me out now.” He shrugged, and a grin spread across his face. “I can’t tell you how good it makes me feel to say that out loud.”
“We’re wasting time here,” Ernesto called. “My team is just waiting around for me instead of getting work done.”
And Milo is waiting around for me instead of getting the bachelorette party planned, too.
Bethany put her hand on Ryan’s chest and felt his heart thudding underneath his crisp white button-up. “I’m glad you’ve made a choice that you feel good about.”
Pretty soon I will have to do the same.
He pulled her toward him into a quick hug before releasing her and striding back toward Ernesto. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll turn over the watch to the cops and tell them to speak with you about the details. That will buy you some time to give your team a punch list to complete at the main house in case you have to go to the police station for questioning.”
Ernesto shrugged. “Fine. Your grave.”
“I suggest you appoint someone else as supervisor in your absence,” Ryan said, his voice with a warning edge. “Otherwise, when you return, you may find someone else filling your position. You’re not the only person on the planet who can manage an estate.”
Ernesto gave a quick nod and made a beeline for the main house, cutting behind the building to avoid the swarm of law enforcement officers in front of the chapel.
“I thought you said that meeting your dad’s deadline didn’t matter,” Bethany said as she watched Ernesto go.
Ryan nodded. “It doesn’t. But the museum matters. And it’s more likely to stay open if it’s ready to go on Saturday night. I feel like I have a responsibility to the Peregrines to keep them together. And who knows, maybe I can sell some garbage art to my dad’s buddies while I’m at it.” He grinned mischievously at her and tugged her hand. “Let’s go tell Charley about the watch.”
They walked around the end of the building, picking their way around soggy spots where the rain dripped off the stable’s slate roof. But when they got to the front, they saw in the distance that most of the police presence at the chapel was gone. A couple of uniforms were taping off the chapel door and another was posted at the driveway to secure the crime scene, but Charley and the others had left.
“Want me to tell her to come back?” Bethany asked.
Ryan nodded. “Call and let her know what Ernesto said. We’ll drop off the watch with one of these guys to hold until she gets here.”
They got in the car and as they made their way down the driveway, Bethany dialed Charley’s work phone.
“What’s up?” Charley asked as soon as she picked up.
“Ryan and I found something you might be interested in.”
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s a watch that belonged to Bella LaFontaine. We found Ernesto Bautista trying to hide it. He says she gave it to him to sell because they planned to run away together.”
“I’m turning the car around now. Where is he?”
Bethany smiled. That’s my girl.
“He’s at the main house. He knows you’re coming.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Charley asked. Her voice had an edge that Bethany wasn’t used to hearing. Must be her cop voice.
Bethany thought of the angry tears that Ernesto shed behind the stables. “No. He seems genuinely heartbroken that Bella is dead. He loved her.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t kill her,” Charley muttered darkly. “Trust me, people kill for love all the time.”
“Here’s the most interesting thing, though—he says Bella wrote those postcards in advance. They had a friend in Spain send them to Simon so that he would believe Bella was in the convent. And if Ernesto is telling the truth about that, it means Simon is telling the truth, too. He really didn’t know Bella was dead when he had Lucien forge her signature!”
Ryan stopped the car at the chapel and jumped out, leaving the engine running. He ran up the cobbled path, toward the stone steps.
“That is interesting,” Charley said thoughtfully. “But even if that clears Simon, it doesn’t clear our Mr. Bautista. He might have used those postcards to cover up that he killed Bella before she could leave the estate.”
Chills ran up Bethany’s spine. Am I just a sucker for a good actor? Ernesto did know the estate better than anyone. He’d have known about the secret door that Bernard designed in the stone coffin—maybe he’d even built it!
“Do you want me and Ryan to stay to make sure he doesn’t try to leave the grounds?” she asked.
“No, absolutely not. I’m going to tell my uniforms to lock down the property until I get there. Do not get involved, Bethany. I swear, if you do, I’m kicking you out of the wedding!”
“But—”
“Go.” Charley ended the call, leaving Bethany staring at the phone in her hand.
Well, Charley’s orders. She looked up as Ryan swung into the driver’s seat and pulled his seatbelt on.
“Charley says she’s got it handled.”
He nodded. “Perfect. I guess it’s time we get you to your date.”
She swallowed hard. “Perfect.”
Chapter 18
BETHANY CHECKED HER text messages as Ryan pulled into the parking lot of the Home Plate. Nothing from Milo yet.
Did he even get the message that I’d be late? His car wasn’t in the parking lot and his bike wasn’t on the rack, either.
Ryan noticed her quick search. “Maybe he’s running late, too.”
She nodded and checked her phone again. Nothing. “Probably held up in traffic.”
“Newbridge traffic?” Ryan grinned. “Is there such a thing?”
“I’m sure he has a good reason.” Bethany turned on her ringer and slid the phone into her purse. Hopefully a reason that isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.
“I didn’t mean—” He saw her expression and his voice changed. “I’m sorry. I was just joking.”
“I know.” She shook her head, her stomach turning over queasily. “I’m just a little worried. The roads can be dangerous on a bike.”
“Why don’t I wait with you unti
l he gets here?”
She nodded, half grateful to have the company and half wary. She suspected Ryan just wanted to show Milo that he’d spent the morning with her.
Oh, well. She had spent the morning with him—it was no secret. And she could hardly deny her attraction to him. She could think of worse things than hanging out with him in a parking lot on a rainy day, too. She flashed him a grin, and he took it as encouragement, leaning over to brush a kiss on her cheek.
“Your hair curls when it gets wet,” he said, brushing a loose strand behind her ear.
She grinned, feeling a flush creeping up her cheeks. “Yeah, it only curls when I don’t want it to.”
He twined his pinky finger with hers and they sat there for a few minutes, watching the rain patter down on the windshield. Occasionally Ryan flicked on the wipers so they could see the Home Plate entrance, but Milo was nowhere to be seen. Bethany checked her phone again. Forty-five minutes late. I hope he’s OK.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t messaged by now,” Ryan said, his voice neutral. “Is he the kind of guy who would stand you up?”
“No. He wouldn’t unless he had no other choice.”
Ryan nodded. “Let’s give him a few more minutes. If he doesn’t show, then we’ll worry.”
Too late—I’m already worried. Bethany strained to see down the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of Milo’s bike turning the corner.
“It’s fine if you want to head out. I know you need to get to the gallery. I’ll be fine here, really.”
“Nah, I’ll just text the art dealer and let him know I’ll be by later. He’ll understand.” Ryan got out his phone, but Bethany put a hand out and stopped him.
“You know what? There’s no point in waiting around in a parking lot for an hour if Milo got in an accident. That’s not going to help him. Anyway, it’s probably nothing. I mean, I’m the one who was late. For all I know, Milo was waiting around for me, got tired, and left. His phone battery probably ran out. I’ll just message him and we can meet up another time.”
Ryan put his hand on the gear shift. “You sure?”
She nodded, and he put the car into gear and smoothly pulled out of the Home Plate parking lot. She watched the diner disappear from view in the side mirror as they drove down the street.
I really hope Milo’s OK. I really hope Milo’s OK.
Ryan glanced over at her. “What were you guys working on?”
“The bachelorette party. It’s on Saturday night.”
“A Halloween bachelorette party, nice! Tell me about it.”
She nodded, grateful for the distraction. “We were thinking pub crawl, so we were going to try out a few places today to plan a route that would be the most fun. We may just have to roll the dice and see what happens, though, if I can’t reschedule with Milo.”
“Here’s a thought,” Ryan said. “Why don’t you just have the party at the Halloween masquerade?”
“Your parents’ big party? The masquerade?”
“Yeah, why not? You won’t have to plan anything...just show up, drink champagne, and dance all night. It’d be a fun bachelorette night.”
A smile spread across Bethany’s face. A night of luxury and fantasy sounded like the perfect way for Kimmy and Charley to celebrate the end of their single life. “Are we invited? I hear it’s tough to get in the door.”
He grinned. “I happen to know someone who can get you on the list. No pressure, though. If you and Milo plan something else, no worries. The only catch is that everyone has to come in costume.”
She nodded. “That might be great, actually. We can all let loose—and there will be no naughty decorations involved, which I know Kimmy was worried about!” She cackled and Ryan laughed along with her.
“Awesome. Glad I can be your backup plan.” He kept his eyes on the road, but Bethany could sense something simmering under the surface of his placid expression.
Backup plan. Is that what Ryan felt, that he was the backup plan if things didn’t work out with Milo? She rubbed her forehead. She’d never intended it, but maybe that was why she was so reluctant to choose one of the guys over the other. If she had two sort-of boyfriends, that meant one actual boyfriend couldn’t leave her.
I’ve had enough leaving and losing when it comes to family—I don’t think I can handle losing more people. She nervously checked her phone again, but there were no messages from Milo. Was he dead—or just not interested?
“Anything?”
“No.”
“Maybe we should call the police station and ask if any accidents have been reported,” Ryan said.
Of course, they’ll know if he got hurt. As Ryan drove, she dialed the non-emergency line and waited until Mariah, the desk deputy, picked up.
“Hey, it’s Bethany. I’m sorry to bother you, but have there been any traffic accidents reported today? Car or bike?”
She could hear Mariah’s keyboard clicking as she checked on the computer. “Nope, not that I see.”
“OK, thanks.” Bethany hung up the phone, a wave of relief crashing over her. “No accidents.”
“That’s good,” Ryan said quietly.
It was good. Milo was probably OK.
But then why are my eyes stinging?
Chapter 19
RYAN WAS QUIET FOR a moment, apparently unsure what to say to make her feel better. Bethany was grateful that he didn’t try to fill the silence with noise.
“Isn’t that the art gallery?” Bethany asked, as they passed a modern white storefront on Main Street.
Ryan nodded. “I was just going to drop you and come back.”
“Let’s stop, then.” There was no point in him doubling back. Anyway, she needed a minute to compose herself before she could face a sympathetic friend. Kimmy would know right away that something had happened, and she was likely to boot Milo out of his bridesman role if she found out that he stood Bethany up!
We don’t need even a teaspoon more wedding drama.
“Great!” Ryan got out and ran around to open the car door for her. He held out his hand to help her out, and she took it even though she felt slightly silly. “I’m really glad, actually—I’d love your opinion on what pieces to feature on Saturday.”
“My opinion? But I don’t know anything about art!”
“That’s OK!” Ryan held the door to the gallery open for her. “That’s great, actually. None of the people at the masquerade are art experts, either. I want to pick pieces that will appeal to everyone, not just people in the art world.”
“In that case, I’m your girl.” She grinned at him, and then took in the gallery as she entered. The interior was as modern and white as the exterior. Even the floor was a gleaming, reflective white. Vivid, large-scale paintings were hung on the walls, each canvas an abstract study of white and one or two other colors. Pillars displaying smaller glass sculptures dotted the center of the space. Bethany squinted at one of them. “Is that...a tomato on fire?”
“It’s a sacred heart reinterpreted as an heirloom tomato, yes.” A tall, African-American man with a thin mustache and an emerald green suit smiled at her. He smelled faintly of jasmine. “It represents new growth from old traditions. Defying symbols while making new symbols. It’s pretty deep stuff.”
“This is Phil Dixon,” Ryan said. “Phil, this is Bethany Bradstreet. She owns the Railway Café down at the train station.”
“Ah, I know of it.” Phil stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Are you looking for some art on this fine day, Bethany?”
She shook his hand and shook her head at the same time. “Ryan’s the one looking. I’m just along for the ride.”
“And what a ride it will be.” Phil wiggled his eyebrows at her and then turned his attention to Ryan. “So what is it, my man? Don’t tell me you’re short on Peregrines up there at that museum of yours!”
“Nah.” Ryan laughed. “We have plenty of those. I want something different—maybe the opposite of a Peregrine. Nothing traditional or quiet. I wan
t an attention-grabber and preferably an unknown. I need to borrow probably twenty or thirty pieces, minimum.”
Phil narrowed his eyes, thinking. “All the same artist?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not necessary. But some cohesiveness would be nice.”
“Hm.” Phil smoothed his mustache and bent his head one way and then the other, cracking his neck. “Let’s explore the back room. I have some exciting bits and pieces tucked away.”
“What about these?” Bethany gestured to the big paintings on the wall.
“You like them?” Ryan asked, his face lighting up.
She nodded. “They’re simple, but...I don’t know how to say it.” She blushed.
“How would you say it in food, in that restaurant of yours?” he asked gently.
“I guess they have a certain spice,” she said. “They make me pay attention. They entertain my palate.”
Ryan flashed her a grin and nodded. “Exactly right.”
“You have excellent taste—the artist is really hot right now. She’s not what you’re looking for, though.” Phil said dryly. When Ryan gave him a skeptical look, he added, “Rich lady from Martha’s Vineyard. Her friends are clamoring to collect. Come on, I have some lesser-known folks in the back.”
Ryan nodded, and they followed Phil through a sterile white door into a room with hanging racks of paintings and numerous sculptural pieces sitting on tables and even on the floor. He flicked through a rack of paintings and paused on one.
“You sure you don’t want this back?” he asked, winking at Ryan. The painting was a landscape. A seascape, actually. A boat navigated a dark, roiling sea, its creamy sails taut in the wind beneath the heavy storm clouds.
Bethany gasped in recognition. “Isn’t that a Peregrine?”
Ryan leaned closer. “It looks like the companion to the one Simon has, doesn’t it? Where did you get this, Phil?”
Phil grinned knowingly. “Bella LaFontaine.”
