by Laura Scott
He mentally counted the cash in his pocket. Should be enough for a modest lunch. No way was he going to allow her to pay for his meal. “Sounds good.”
“The ATM is right across the street; I’ll stop there first.” It was downright uncanny the way she always seemed to know what he was thinking. “It’s better to grocery shop on a full stomach, less impulse buys that way.”
He nodded, wondering if Deputy Lewis had already questioned some of the locals about the vandalism. Jazz and her sister were turning the place into a B&B, but he remembered how Mrs. Cromwell had referred to the place as the McNally Mansion.
Was that how the locals thought of the place? As the McNally Mansion? With an undertone of resentment?
He winced and blocked the old memories threatening to resurface. Greed was a powerful motivator, as he well knew.
Don’t go there, he warned himself. Stay focused on Jazz and the renovations she needed to get done so she could start her new business.
The diner was full, but they managed to snag a booth toward the back that was recently vacated by a young couple wearing business attire. He didn’t know what businesses were in the area, mostly because he didn’t much care. All he needed was construction work, and he preferred housing projects rather than large corporate building.
A harried female server came over to wipe down their table. Her name tag identified her as Ashley. “I’ll be right with you,” she said before hurrying off.
He reached for the menu tucked behind the condiments. It felt odd to be here like this, in a public place with a beautiful woman.
Not that this was a date or anything. Still, it might appear that way to others. The idea made him uncomfortable.
“What’s good here?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “Any specials?”
“The specials are written on the white board over there.” She gestured to the small square board propped on the edge of the counter. “Looks like today they’re featuring Daisy’s pot roast with red potatoes and mixed veggies.”
He tucked the menu away. “Sounds good to me. Are you worried about this place being competition for the B&B?”
“Not at all. We only plan to offer meals for our guests. In fact, I plan to display marketing materials for the local restaurants, like this one.” She replaced her menu as well, indicating she already knew what she intended to order. “There’s a really nice restaurant a few miles from here with great food, too. It’s located on the water and has outdoor seating so you can watch the sun set over the lake. It’s called the Rustic Rooftop Inn.”
“Sounds nice.” Now that was a place to take a woman out on a date. Not him, but hopefully Jazz would find someone else who would treat her nice. While he didn’t know exactly what had happened to cause her to call off the wedding, he could guess it had something to do with finding out something bad about the groom. She didn’t seem like the type to get cold feet without a good reason.
Ashley returned and plunked two glasses of water on their table. “Are you ready to order?”
“I’ll have the special,” Jazz said. “And a glass of iced tea.”
“Make it two,” he said. “But replace the tea with lemonade.”
“Easy enough. Thanks.” Ashley tucked her pad away and hurried off.
“I was thinking of spaghetti for dinner,” Jazz said. She sipped her water. “Even I can handle that.”
“Give yourself a break. Everything you’ve cooked has been great,” he protested.
She waved a hand. “You’re easy to please. If Jemma were here, trust me, you’d definitely prefer her cooking to mine.”
Looking into her bright green eyes, he couldn’t imagine preferring anyone else.
Whoa, wait a minute. They were discussing food here, not people. And definitely not women.
“Spaghetti is fine.” Time to change the subject. “Do you know the owner here? Daisy?”
“I’ve met her a few times, but she’s about ten years older than I am, so I don’t remember her as a kid.” Her gaze turned thoughtful. “Although I think she used to hang out with Mark and Rich.”
“Really?” He still believed the Stevensons were suspects in the vandalism. They had opportunity and motive.
Was it possible Daisy knew something about that?
Their food arrived quick, considering how packed it was. It tasted great, too.
When Ashley set their bill on the table, he scooped it up before Jazz could move.
“Give it to me,” she protested. “I haven’t gotten to the ATM yet to pay you.”
“I’m not destitute. You’ve fed me more than enough. This meal is my treat.”
She tried one more time to argue, then gave up. They made their way to the cashier where he gladly paid the bill, leaving a decent tip for their overworked server.
Outside, Jazz pulled up short when she saw an elderly man with a hunched frame coming toward them, leaning heavily on his cane. He glared directly at her, a sneer etched on his face.
“You’re not welcome here, McNally. So why don’t you pack up your crap and go back to Chicago where you belong?”
“What?” Jazz looked confused by the hateful attitude spewing from his mouth. “Why?”
“You know,” he said in a harsh tone. He brought up one shaky hand and pointed at her. “Don’t play innocent with me, missy. You know!”
Jazz gaped as he turned and walked into the diner.
“Who is he?” Dalton asked.
She slowly shook her head. “No idea.”
“We need to talk to Deputy Lewis.” Dalton watched the old man stump his way through the diner to the booth they’d vacated. “Apparently, we just found the guy holding a grudge against your family.”
5
“I doubt he was the guy running across the lawn toward the Stevenson place.” Jazz wasn’t keen on the idea of talking to Deputy Lewis yet again. He was no doubt tired of her calling him with every little thing. “Not with that cane.”
“No, but maybe he paid someone else to do it. We need to let the police know about his anger toward you.” Dalton was like a dog with a bone, refusing to give up. “This is a good lead, Jazz. I’m sure the deputies must have their headquarters close by.”
She ignored his comment and walked across the street to the ATM machine. After punching in her pin number, she retrieved the cash she needed to pay Dalton. When she handed the folded bills over, he seemed reluctant to take it.
“Ready to grocery shop?” she asked, determined to shake off the negative energy swirling around her.
He tucked the cash into the front pocket of his jeans. “Are you sure you won’t report that guy to Deputy Lewis?”
“For what? Being rude?” She snorted and walked around him to head back to her truck. “Not hardly.”
“Aren’t you curious about who he is?” Dalton persisted as he followed her. “He’s obviously upset with your grandparents about something.”
“Like what? He’s not in their same age range,” she pointed out. “Despite the cane, I bet he’s closer to mid-sixties than mid-eighties. Grandpa Jerry was eighty-eight when he passed away, Grandma Joannie was eighty-five. They had my dad much later in life than most people did back then.”
“Maybe he knew your parents.”
She stopped abruptly and rounded to face him. “Listen, Dalton, he’s old and crabby. As far as I know, that’s hardly a crime. Maybe he had a crush on my mother and resents the fact that she married my father. Or maybe he simply resents the perceived McNally wealth. Most people assumed they had more money than they had because they lived in the largest house in the area located right on the shore of Lake Michigan. Either way, I’m having a hard time imagining him hiring someone to sabotage my B and B.”
He looked as if he was going to argue, but she lifted a hand. “No. I’m not going to the police to report a crabby man. End of discussion. Now, do you want to go to the grocery store or not?”
Dalton glanced toward Daisy’s Diner. “You go on ahead. If you don’t mind
swinging by to pick me up here when you’re finished, that would be great. If not, I’ll find my own way back.”
Was he seriously going to go back inside to interrogate that old man? To what end? She threw up her hands in defeat. “Fine. I’ll swing by after I get the groceries.”
“Use some of this.” He pulled out the money she’d just given him, but she wasn’t about to take it.
She spun away without taking his cash, fueled by annoyance, and climbed in behind the wheel of her truck. Seconds later, she was on the road, heading to the grocery store.
Her temper simmered as she pushed the plastic cart up and down the aisles, picking the items she thought she’d need to provide meals over the next few days. Dalton was supposed to be helping her renovate the house, not investigate who was upset with her and why. Had he been a cop before becoming a drifter? He didn’t act like a cop, not to mention he was incredibly knowledgeable about construction.
Whatever. She didn’t care about Dalton’s past, only his willingness to help her get the B&B into shape so that they could offer the rest of the rooms to paying guests over the upcoming tourist season. Getting the business off the ground was her priority. For her sake, and for Jemma’s too.
Her twin has been through a rough time with her ex-husband and needed to get away from the area where Randal lived and worked. Jemma had been granted sole custody of their son, Trey, so she wasn’t prohibited from moving. As a teacher, finishing out the school year was important to her sister, and Jazz agreed with her plan.
She made a mental note to check in with Jemma later that evening, after the school day.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear anyone behind her until a cart rammed into her backside. She stumbled forward, wincing at the flash of pain.
“Oh, sorry,” a female voice said in a tone that was anything but apologetic.
She whirled around to see who was behind her. It was a woman who looked to be in her fifties, wearing baggy sweatpants and a bulky sweater covering her wide frame.
“Did you hit me on purpose?” Jazz asked bluntly.
“Of course not.” The woman lifted a brow as if offended and then turned to go in the opposite direction as if nothing had transpired between them.
Jazz stared after the lady for a moment, knowing full well the woman hadn’t run into her by accident.
What was going on here anyway?
Did everyone in Clark County hate the McNallys? And if so, for Pete’s sake, why?
Dalton stood inside Daisy’s Diner for a moment, looking for the server who’d taken their order. When Ashley stepped past him, he lightly snagged her arm. “Excuse me, do you have a minute?”
“Not really, can’t you see how busy we are?” Ashley glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression softening as she remembered him. “Oh, hi. Did you forget something?”
“No. Listen, I know you’re busy, but can you tell me who that guy is sitting in the booth we just left? The one who uses a cane?”
She turned to see who he meant. “Sure. That’s Leon Tate.”
“Do you know why he’s upset with Jazzlyn McNally?”
Ashley shrugged. “No idea. I’m new to the area myself, have only been here about a year.” Her tone indicated it was already a year too long.
He noticed several customers were craning their necks, looking for her, so he dropped his hand from her arm. “Thanks, Ashley, I appreciate the information.”
“Sure.” She hurried back to work.
Dalton considered heading over to confront the guy but sensed it would only make things worse. Now that he had the guy’s name, he headed toward Mrs. Cromwell’s place. If anyone would know why Leon Tate was holding a grudge against Jazz McNally, it would be the town’s biggest gossip.
The rain stopped for a moment, but the air was thick and heavy with humidity as he made his way to Mrs. Cromwell’s house. When he knocked at her door, she looked surprised to see him.
“Dalton. What brings you here?”
“Hi, Mrs. Cromwell, sorry to bother you, but I’m wondering if you’d be willing to provide Jazzlyn McNally a reference on my behalf. She’s looking for some construction help.”
She beamed. “Of course, come on in.”
He stepped inside her house and followed her into the kitchen. “Did you know the McNallys?”
“Yes, I knew them. They’ve been here longer than the town.” She gestured for him to take a seat at the kitchen table. “Do you need me to write something out for you?”
He nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
“You did good work here,” she said, patting his arm.
She pulled out a sheet of flowered stationery that looked a bit yellowed with age and picked up a pen. She dashed off a reference and signed her name with a flourish. “Here you go, I hope this helps you out.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Cromwell, it will.” He folded the note and tucked it in his pocket. “Ms. McNally has had two episodes of vandalism in the past week, do you know of anyone who might be holding a grudge against her or her family?”
“I heard about the damage to her gazebo, such a shame.” Mrs. Cromwell tsk-tsked. “Unfortunately, there are several people who might hold a grudge against the McNallys, you know how it is with old wealthy families. Someone’s undies are always tied up in a knot over the littlest transgression.”
Mrs. Cromwell wasn’t helping as much as he’d hoped. “What about Leon Tate? He told Jazz to go back to Chicago because no one wants her here.”
“I guess I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Cromwell admitted. “Leon attended high school with Justin McNally, and the two boys never did get along.”
“Why not?” Dalton pushed. “I mean, what could be so bad that he’d be mad at Jazzlyn all these years later?”
“Nothing specific that I recall, but they were always competing with each other. Sports, jobs, cars, girls, you name it. There was a rumor that they once almost came to blows over who would get the last slice of pizza.”
“Girls? Like Jazzlyn’s mom?”
“Probably.” Mrs. Cromwell shrugged. “I don’t remember specifics, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they fought over the same girl. But to be honest I don’t believe Justin’s wife was from the area. I think they met while she was here on vacation. Or maybe at college.”
Her opinion reinforced what Jazz suspected. Yet he couldn’t see why Tate would hold a grudge against Jazz because he loved her mother and couldn’t have her, what, forty years ago, maybe more.
“Okay, thanks, Mrs. Cromwell.” He stood and checked his watch, hoping he’d make it back to Daisy’s before Jazz came looking for him. “Appreciate the reference.”
“Anytime.” She walked with him back to the door. “Come back and visit again soon,” she called after him as he left.
He waved a hand in acknowledgment. Walking fast, he made his way back to the diner just as Jazz pulled up in her bright blue Chevy truck.
The groceries were stored neatly behind the bench seat, making him feel guilty about the fact that she hadn’t allowed him to pay his share. And that she’d done all the work herself.
“Does the name Leon Tate mean anything to you?” he asked while she drove home.
“Sounds familiar.” She shrugged. “I think the Tates have been here almost as long as the McNallys.”
“Mrs. Cromwell seems to think he had a thing for your mom.” He filled her in on the competitive nature between Leon and Justin when they were in high school. “Your dad ever mention anything about that?”
“Not that I remember.” She frowned. “He and my mom were very much in love. It was hard on all of us when they died in a freak train crash in Europe two years ago.”
He inwardly winced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“It’s okay.” Her smile was sad. “We like to think they are up in heaven, together.”
“I’m sure they are.”
Once they were back at the McNally Mansion and the groceries were put away, he volunteered to begin working
on the blue room.
Jazz insisted on helping. He didn’t mind having a partner so much, except that her scent, rain mixed with lilacs, messed with his concentration.
He did his best to take on the heavy lifting, although the way Jazz kept glaring at him confirmed she was on to him.
Jazz brought a radio for background music.
“What are we listening to?” he asked in horror.
She cocked a brow. “Eighties tunes. My favorite.”
“You weren’t even born when this music hit the charts.”
She shrugged. “I still prefer it over country.”
“What’s wrong with country?”
“Every song sounds the same. Blah, blah, blah.”
He put a hand over his heart and winced. “Ouch. That hurt.”
“Too bad.” She flashed a cheeky smile that made him laugh.
Despite their different tastes in music, they worked in harmony for the rest of the afternoon and were covered in drywall dust by the time they’d finished cutting away all of the spots damaged by water. The gaping hole looked bad, but he knew it was really a positive sign of their progress.
“Okay, let’s carry in the Sheetrock from the garage,” she said, swiping her sleeve over her brow. “Once that’s finished, I’ll start dinner.”
“Sounds good.”
They made several trips between the house and the garage. The sheets of drywall were bulky but not that heavy. By the time they brought the last one in, though, he could tell she was fighting fatigue.
“We can work on hanging this new stuff tomorrow,” she said, slapping the dust off her hands.
“I’ll work for a bit while you make dinner,” he said. “Unless you’d rather have help in the kitchen.”
“I don’t need help, spaghetti and meatballs isn’t difficult.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll let you know when it’s almost ready.”
There was a streak of drywall dust across her cheek that he was tempted to swipe away with his thumb. She turned and left before he could act on his impulse, which was probably a good thing.
