“You don’t believe me?”
“No, Charlotte, I don’t believe you.”
He sounded matter-of-fact more than offended at the prospect she’d skirted the truth with him. Which she had. She hadn’t lied, exactly. She’d simply not told him the full details of her diving accident, her work status or her reasons for being in Knights Bridge. She hadn’t told her family, either. She’d barely been honest with herself.
As she unloaded her grocery bag, she watched Greg out of the corner of her eye. He got a pottery bowl down from a cabinet and set it in the middle of the round oak table off to one side of the kitchen. Then he grabbed the apples, bananas and grapes he’d purchased and placed them in the bowl.
“There,” he said. “I feel downright domestic.”
Charlotte watched him return to his bag of groceries. No, she thought, he wasn’t offended, annoyed or put off by what he was convinced were her omissions. He was curious, intrigued and determined to get to the truth. She grimaced, digging into her own grocery bag. By not being straight with him, she’d given him a mission.
Well, too bad.
If she hadn’t leveled with her colleagues, friends and family, why would she level with a man who was a complete stranger to her? Everything was a jumble in her head. Facts, feelings, options. Just keeping it all inside her continued to make sense, or at least feel like the only approach that she wouldn’t regret later.
And Greg Rawlings was a stranger. They might have had a few close encounters at the wedding and now were sharing a country inn and grocery shopping together, but he was still a stranger. It was Monday. She’d met him on Friday.
“What’s your place like in Edinburgh?” he asked casually as he walked over to the refrigerator with the potpies.
“It’s a small one-bedroom on a cobblestone courtyard near the Royal Botanic Garden.”
“Sounds cute.”
“It has pink walls,” she said.
He opened up the freezer compartment and set the pies inside. “Very cute, then.”
She smiled. “It’s a sophisticated pink.”
“Of course.”
“What about you?” Charlotte folded her bag from the country store for reuse later. “I assume the State Department provides housing when you’re assigned overseas.”
Greg took her bag, folded his and tucked them both next to the refrigerator. “My brother has a spare apartment he let me use in New York last winter. It’s not cute.” He leaned against the sink and folded his arms on his chest. He looked at ease, casual. “You don’t strike me as the type who’d go for anything ‘cute.’”
“I don’t, do I?”
“Am I wrong? I figure if you were the type who went for cute stuff, you wouldn’t mind being called Char or Lottie or something.”
“I mind being called Char or Lottie because I’m called Charlotte. I like puppies. They’re cute. Kittens. Lambs.”
“Everyone likes fluffy baby critters. What about cute dresses? Any of those?”
“You didn’t think my maid-of-honor dress was cute?”
“No. A cute dress needs hearts, flowers, lace. Things like that.”
Charlotte laughed. “By that standard, no, I don’t have any cute dresses. I tend to stick to solids and simple lines. I do a lot of mixing and matching. It’s easier when you’re on the road a lot.”
“And you’re on the road a lot?”
“I was when I was working on the project with Samantha’s parents.” Not a subject she wanted to pursue. “Dare I ask if you have any cute outfits?”
“Sure. You can ask. The answer is none I would describe as cute.” He stood straight and winked at her. “But I look cute in everything.”
“Sorry, DS Agent Rawlings, I doubt you look cute in everything.”
“I’m crushed.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure you’d be cute in anything.”
He grinned. “I’ll leave that one alone and go see if I can find us a hammock.”
He’d sauntered out of the kitchen before Charlotte realized he’d taken her comment to mean he’d be cute in nothing.
She groaned. “Let him have his fun,” she said under her breath, grabbing an apple to take upstairs.
Might as well finish unpacking. She was staying, at least through today—and she might stick around even after Greg’s kids arrived if he did find a hammock they could hang in the shade.
* * *
After she settled into her room, placing her clothes in drawers, organizing her toiletries on the pedestal sink, Charlotte made tea and sat on a cushioned wicker chair on the front porch. Maybe she’d find a book later. She’d noticed bookcases throughout the inn. Right now, she could feel jet lag fraying her at the edges.
She didn’t know where Greg was. Still looking for a hammock, maybe.
Just as well.
It was difficult enough to think even without him and his testosterone in the immediate vicinity. He could be one of the reasons she felt frayed, not just fatigue from her trip and the time change.
An elderly woman crossed the driveway and came up the front walk. She had a cane but seemed sure-footed. She wore a blue sweater, loose jeans and sturdy shoes, and Charlotte had no idea who she was. A neighbor? There was something familiar about her, though, as she stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. “I took a shortcut through the hedges,” she said, pointing with her cane toward the side yard. “I live next door. Evelyn Sloan. I’m Justin’s grandmother. You’re Charlotte, aren’t you? Samantha’s cousin and her maid of honor?”
Charlotte rolled up out of her chair. “I am, yes. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sloan.”
“Eric, my eldest grandson, told me you were here, but I recognize you from the wedding photos and videos. I couldn’t go.” She put her cane back on the walk. “Bum knee.”
Charlotte scooted down the stairs. “I’m sorry to hear about your knee.”
“It comes and goes. I didn’t want to risk a long flight. And call me Evelyn.” She squinted past Charlotte up toward the front door. “Where’s that FBI agent who’s staying here?”
“If you mean Greg Rawlings, he’s here somewhere.”
“That’s his car in the driveway? The little one. I know that big Mercedes-Benz belongs to your family. Samantha came out here in it. Her uncle dropped her off. She thought she could sneak in and out of town with no one the wiser, but it didn’t work out that way.”
“Lucky for her,” Charlotte said.
“True. Eric told me the FBI agent’s name but it didn’t stick.”
“Greg’s actually an agent with the State Department’s Diplomatic Security Service.”
“Same difference,” Evelyn said, matter-of-fact. “He was in town this past winter. He’s friends with my granddaughter’s husband, Brody Hancock.”
“I met Brody and Heather at the wedding. For that matter, I met Greg there, too.”
“Did Agent Rawlings want the place to himself? He hasn’t tried to run you off, has he?”
Charlotte shook her head. “So far, so good. We did a bit of shopping already at the country store.”
“If Hazelton’s doesn’t have it, you don’t need it. You don’t look as if you’d let him run you off unless you had a good mind to leave.” Evelyn leaned on her cane. “I’m not supposed to use it this way. I’ve had this thing for years. I had lessons in how to use it. It’ll be back into the closet with it once my knee settles down. Eric doesn’t think a bum knee was good enough reason for me to miss the wedding, but it’s not his knee. I plan to visit Heather and Brody in London this fall.”
“I understand your son and his wife and a number of your grandchildren are there now.”
“My great-grandsons have been texting me pictures of the sights. Aidan sent me one of Westminster Abbey a little while ago. T
yler sent me one of a window box because he knows I like flowers. They’re having a ball.” Evelyn narrowed her gaze on Charlotte. “You look a bit ragged—excuse me for saying so.”
“It’s a ways from Edinburgh to Knights Bridge.”
“Edinburgh?”
“I live there. I went down to England and back for the wedding.”
“Not the best planning, was it? You should have flown from England instead of going all the way back up to Scotland.”
Charlotte smiled. The Sloans were a no-nonsense lot. “You have a point, but coming to Knights Bridge was a last-minute decision. I didn’t have firm plans when I left for the wedding.”
“Don’t you work?”
“I was able to take time off.” Charlotte left it there. “Would you like to sit down? I just made tea—”
“No, thank you.” Evelyn stared at the porch steps, as if lost in thought. “I don’t think any of us would have put Justin and Samantha together, but I believe they will stand the test of time, just as my husband, Ralph, and I did.”
“Were people uncertain about you and your husband?”
“Quite uncertain.”
“But you weren’t,” Charlotte said.
Evelyn snorted. “Oh, no. I was filled with uncertainties. Sometimes I think walking down that aisle was the bravest thing I’ve ever done.”
“I can understand that.”
“Once Ralph placed that wedding ring on my finger, all my doubts and worries and second-guessing about what my life would be like vanished.”
Charlotte knew that wouldn’t have happened with her and Tommy. If he’d placed the wedding ring on her finger, none of her doubts about him would have vanished.
Because they weren’t doubts.
She’d known what he and their life together would have been like. By the morning of their wedding, she’d had no good choices, but the least awful choice was to do what she did and bail on him.
“I’m glad you had a good marriage,” she said.
“We were married at my family’s home in Amherst,” Evelyn said. “It’s not far from here. My parents were shopkeepers. They thought I’d go to Smith College and marry an Amherst College boy. I thought I’d move to New York and have adventures. I have no regrets. I’ve had a good life here in Knights Bridge.”
“Are you sure you won’t come up and sit a minute?”
“I’m sure. I just...” She paused, clearing her throat. “Samantha said you’re trustworthy.”
“I like to think I am.” Charlotte sat on the top porch step. A breeze stirred in the shade trees on the lawn, creating shifting shadows on the older woman’s lined face. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“My life...” She took in a breath, standing straighter. “I ran a nursery school here in town for many years. I can tell when a four-year-old is telling a tall tale, and I know it’s unfair and unrealistic to trust little ones with secrets. I know my son and my daughter-in-law and my grandchildren. I love them all. They’re reliable, straightforward, the sort you’d want to have at your side when there’s trouble. But they wouldn’t understand.”
“Wouldn’t understand what, Mrs. Sloan—Evelyn?”
She raised her pale blue eyes. “I need you to find something for me.”
“If I can, of course I will. What are you looking for?”
“A time capsule,” she said firmly.
Charlotte tried to hide her surprise. She’d expected something along the lines of a long-lost vase loaned to the inn or a glove dropped on a walk over the winter. But a time capsule? “Do you mean an actual time capsule?” she asked. “One of those things you put together as a kid or a newlywed to open in fifty years?”
“Yes, but my time capsule hasn’t been opened in sixty-five years.”
“I see. Is it here at the inn?”
“I’m sure of it. I just don’t know where.”
“But if you buried it—”
“I didn’t say anyone buried it. I certainly didn’t. I don’t even know if it was buried.”
“Oh.” Charlotte had no idea what else to say.
Evelyn’s cheeks were a warm red now that she was getting into her reason for this visit, obviously not a comfortable subject for her. “It could be hidden in a cupboard, for all I know. If I knew where it was, I wouldn’t need you to find it.”
“That makes sense.”
“Sorry. That was tart. I know it’s here somewhere. My friend and I put it together for our eighteenth birthdays. We were born a week apart. Her parents built this place. She inherited it when they died. She and her husband ran it themselves for a few years but then moved to Myrtle Beach and hired an innkeeper. I visited them in Myrtle Beach several times. Pretty place.”
“Your friend didn’t take the time capsule with her to Myrtle Beach?”
Evelyn gave a firm shake of the head. “I’m sure she didn’t. We planned to bury it together at eighteen, but I had something else to do that day. I don’t remember what it was. Nothing important. I forgot all about the silly thing until Betsy—my friend—died. Her husband had predeceased her, and their children went to war over this place. Now my family owns it.”
“And you didn’t expect that,” Charlotte said.
Evelyn’s thin shoulders slumped. “Not in a million years. I assumed the new owners would be from out of town and they’d tear the place down, and there’d be time...” She trailed off, shifting her gaze to the shaded yard. “Last I knew, it was in a large cookie tin. Imported Belgian butter cookies, as I recall.”
“The time capsule?”
“Mmm.” She turned again to Charlotte. “I’m trusting you not to say a word to anyone about this, whether or not you agree to look for it.”
“Of course. I won’t. I promise.”
“Thank you. I thought you might be up to a bit of an adventure. You’re a Bennett after all.”
Charlotte didn’t know how scouring an old inn for a time capsule two teenagers had put together qualified as an adventure, but she was intrigued nonetheless. “We Bennetts do love our adventures,” she said.
“I remember reading about Harry Bennett’s excursion to the Antarctic. I was married to Ralph by then.”
“Does Samantha know about the time capsule?”
“No. Justin would get it out of her if I swore her to secrecy, and I wouldn’t do that—come between the two of them. Besides, they’re on their honeymoon. They don’t need to be thinking about an old woman’s nonsense.” She tucked her cane up under one arm. Her knee didn’t seem to be troubling her at the moment. “There’s nothing exciting in the time capsule. I just don’t necessarily want my family stumbling on it.”
Charlotte got to her feet. “I’d be happy to look for it for you.”
“Good. Thank you.” Evelyn set her cane back on the walk. “I should go before our federal agent gets the idea we’re up to something. I don’t need him on my case, and I’m sure you don’t, either.”
Charlotte resisted a smile. She didn’t point out that Greg was already on her case. “If I find the time capsule, how should I let you know?”
“Bring it to my house. And don’t open it. Promise me, Charlotte. Promise me you won’t open it.”
“I promise.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn said, although she didn’t look particularly relieved or satisfied. “Tell Agent Rawlings my knee was acting up and I’ll say a proper hello another time.”
She started down the walk using her cane but then tucked it back under her arm as she hustled across the side yard and squeezed through the hedges.
Charlotte returned to her chair on the porch. Her tea was cold. She still was frayed and tired, but having a project—a secret mission—gave her a focus. That it was on behalf of Evelyn Sloan, Justin’s grandmother and a woman in her eighties,
was a bonus. It beat thinking about her own predicament. Diving, her future, her nonexistent love life, Max’s house in Washington, a cousin who was like a sister to her settling in a tiny New England town—why not search for a time capsule?
“What was that all about?” Greg asked, coming out the front door. “Evelyn Sloan, I assume. Eric and Christopher mentioned she lives next door. She looked as if she just paid you to hit somebody over the head.”
He sat on a wicker settee at the end of the porch by the field. Charlotte didn’t want to lie to him, not only because he’d no doubt see through her given his background but because she didn’t do well with lies. They drained her. She’d rather be straightforward and deal with the facts and the truth.
“Yes, Evelyn Sloan is our next-door neighbor,” Charlotte said. “We had an interesting chat. Did you meet her when you were in town over the winter?”
“I think so. I was only here for a short time. I didn’t meet everyone.”
“It is a small town, though.” She nodded to her teapot, cup and saucer. “I’d offer you some tea but it’s gone cold. Did you find a hammock?”
“If I tell you, will you tell me what you and Evelyn Sloan are up to?”
She smiled. “The suspicious Diplomatic Security agent at work.”
“The guy who has his own grandmother. You don’t have any concerns about her?”
“Her knee seemed fine despite the cane. Whatever was bothering her must have cleared up after her family headed to England.”
“Convenient,” Greg said. “How was her mind?”
“You mean depression, memory issues, that sort of thing?”
“That’s a start.”
“I didn’t notice any issues but we only spoke a short time.”
“That’s good.” Greg paused, studying Charlotte. “All right. Before you tell me whatever you two discussed is none of my business, I’ll quit. I gather she swore you to secrecy, anyway.”
“Aren’t you glad I didn’t wither under your scrutiny?”
He grinned. “You really are a riot, Charlotte. I was just making conversation.”
“In that case, are you going to tell me about the hammock?”
Red Clover Inn--A Romance Novel Page 10
