by Diane Noble
“And don’t forget my reimbursement for the drug sale,” I called to him before sliding behind the steering wheel. “And I prefer a check to a fistful of twenties.”
I didn’t care if the sheriff sent a deputy to my house to read me my rights. I just hoped Max would follow me home.
Once home, I watched for him by the dining room window for several minutes, then turned away, feeling strangely bereft. Perhaps I’d set my hopes too high.
I walked back to my office in the potting shed. When I powered up the laptop, it opened the last site I’d visited, the chat room on ipecac. Elbows on the desk, I propped my chin in my hands, staring at the screen.
My thoughts went again to Hyacinth. Because we’d grown up together, we were as close as sisters, and I missed her. Several times over the past few days, I’d actually caught myself reaching for the phone to tell her all about what was going on in my life—just as we always did.
Memories of our childhood would flood my heart if I allowed them to. And now, more than ever, I needed clear focus.
I reached for the list I’d put together Saturday night and checked to see if anything I’d looked into had actually paid off. Too many dead ends, and yet I still felt they were all somehow connected.
I still hadn’t called Silas Sutherland to set up a meeting with the owner of the cabin that burned. No time like the present. I pulled out my cell phone and tapped in the number I’d memorized from his billboard ad.
A receptionist answered and then connected me to his office. Put on hold, I was forced to listen to spa music punctuated by static. Just when I thought I couldn’t take another Indian flute trill, Sutherland’s executive assistant picked up.
“Thank you for calling Silas Properties. This is Darla speaking. How may I help you?”
I told her I wanted to make an appointment to see Mr. Sutherland, the sooner the better.
“May I ask what this is regarding?”
“Real estate.”
“You’ve come to the right place.” She sounded like a mechanical doll. “Let me see …” A few clicks of a mouse came from her end. “He will be out of the office all next week. I don’t see an opening until the week after. How will that work for you?”
“It won’t. This is an urgent matter. Does he have any time this afternoon?”
A short laugh erupted from the young woman. Obviously, getting in to see Silas Sutherland was akin to making an appointment to see the pope. “I’m sorry. Mr. Sutherland is a very busy executive.”
“I’m sure he is. We are all very busy and put a high value on our time, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, of course.” She heaved a sigh, and I pictured her rolling her eyes. “May I ask your name and what this is regarding?”
I gave her my name and then added, “I’m interested in a real estate transaction.” I wouldn’t get past the front door if I mentioned that I also wanted to find out about the money due me from the university.
“You said that it’s urgent. Let me see what I can arrange. May I place you on hold?”
“Yes, I’ll wait.”
Flute music and static made my ears ring. I put the phone on speaker mode and placed it on the desk.
“Good news,” Darla said when she came back on the line a short time later. “He says he’d like to talk with you. He has a few minutes between clients. If you could give me your phone number, he’ll return your call.”
“How about a Skype call?” I blurted without thinking. I wanted to see his face—especially his reaction to my questions.
“So you do Skype?”
I didn’t know one “did” Skype. Rather, it seemed to me something one would use. “Yes,” I said.
“He can speak to you in ten minutes.”
“Yes, all right, that will be fine,” I said. I gave Darla my Skype account info.
“Great. Get set up and I’ll connect you when Mr. Sutherland is ready.”
Holy cannoli, what had I just suggested? I’d never “done” Skype before. Katie had showed me once how to turn on the camera and make the call, but when I saw how washed out and grim I appeared in the reverse shot, I vowed it was one piece of technology I would never use.
This was terrible. I ran back into the house, sprinted up the stairs and into the master bedroom. I quickly changed into a colorful floaty top that reminded me of Hyacinth. In fact, she’d given it to me on my last birthday. I ran to the dressing room, put on a dab of mascara and a swipe of pink lip gloss, and fluffed my hair. With a last look in the mirror, I pinched my cheeks.
Nine minutes later, I was seated in my chair behind my desk, computer open to Skype, hands calmly folded in front of me. I checked my appearance on my webcam and adjusted the lighting accordingly.
A minute later a new video call came through, and I accepted the call. Immediately, a well-appointed office appeared on my screen. My focus went from the expected masculine executive furniture to a large framed print depicting Saint George slaying the dragon. Interesting choice.
Sutherland sat down in front of his computer a moment later, obscuring my view of the print. Holy cannoli. I caught a glimpse of something else: a framed photo that sat on the corner of his desk, just beyond the frame of the camera.
I squinted, trying to focus on it. The people in it looked familiar, but oddly out of place. Then I remembered I was on Skype and Silas Sutherland had a great view of my puzzled squint. I plastered on a wide-eyed friendly look.
“Mrs. Littlefield, it’s a delight to see you again.”
“Hello, Mr. Sutherland. Good of you to work me into your schedule.”
“What can I do for you?”
Relax. Smile. Breathe. I sat back and folded my hands. “I’m looking into some property near Waynesville, and I want to find out its value.” I remembered to smile. “You were the first realtor that came to mind.”
“Are you looking to buy?”
“Actually, I’m conducting some research.”
“You’re on a case, then.”
I laughed. “You caught me. Although it might be crazy after everything that’s happened since Friday.”
He nodded. “Not a good night to remember. What’s the address of the property?”
I studied his expression as I gave him the address, looking for any reaction to the address. If he or his godsons were in any way connected to the heist, he didn’t show it. He typed in the address and tapped a few keys.
“Here it is,” he said a moment later. “Josiah Meyer is the name on the original deed, dated 1883. It was passed along to male heirs for two generations. The current owner is …” He squinted at the screen. “That’s odd. The name is blacked out.” He tapped on his keyboard as he spoke. “I’m looking on other sites, county and state, and then back at a central database. It’s blocked on every site. Very odd indeed.” He turned back to me. “What is your exact interest in this property?”
“The owner may be involved in the crimes committed Friday night.” I gave him the details, watching his expression change. The muscles in his jaw tightened visibly, and he pressed his lips into a straight line.
When I finished, he said, “I will look into the current owner’s status and get back to you.” He stood abruptly, leaving me again with the image of Saint George slaying the dragon … and the two young men in the photograph taken at what appeared to be a graduation ceremony. Then the screen went dark.
I closed my laptop. The legend of Saint George was one of heroism and sacrifice, with the dragon representing Satan. Why would it appeal to a man like Silas Sutherland, godfather to two redneck yahoos? Or had it been chosen because the colors matched his furniture?
What about the two young men in the photo—who I now knew were Bubba and Junior, looking nothing like rednecks? What was their game?
I was still pondering the blocked-out property owner’s name, the framed print o
n the wall, and the strange photo of his godsons, when I remembered I’d forgotten to ask about reimbursement for Friday night. My stomach twisted again at the thought of losing The Butler Did It. I blinked rapidly and swallowed hard. How could I have let this opportunity slide by when I was about to lose everything?
Chapter Twenty-eight
The Professor
After El stormed off and the sheriff and Noseworthy drove away, Max sat in his car in the parking lot, contemplating his vow of peace and goodwill versus the anger he felt at the town’s treatment of El.
Following in the footsteps of Francis and patterning his life after that of Christ wasn’t always easy. Make that never easy. It helped to remember Jesus’s anger over the moneychangers in the temple. He breathed deeply and unclenched his hands.
He couldn’t get El off his mind as he drove home. She was all he could think about as he knelt in his garden and plucked a few weeds. Things were moving too fast, and his emotions were becoming involved. In three days, he’d gone from not knowing El at all to thinking about her constantly.
Could it be possible that she shared his feelings? They had exchanged looks that made his stomach do flip-flops, and his heart raced each time he touched her. But they had never discussed such things.
He rocked back on his heels and focused on the row of radishes, considering his dilemma. He longed to hear the velvet sound of her voice. He longed to see her. Be near her. Take her in his arms. He brushed off his hands and stood, feeling like a shy schoolboy.
He needed to get out of his fantasy world and back to the real one. The world where he was desperate to find the figurehead, where he was desperate to help El find Hyacinth, where he was not spending hours daydreaming. His feelings were distracting him, and he needed to get over them.
Yeah, right. He almost chuckled. Nice try, buddy.
He went inside and changed into his jogging clothes, immediately thinking that he had been with El the last time he wore them. Stuff and nonsense! He took off at a trot toward University Square, glad for the sunny day with relatively low humidity.
His church, Grace Episcopal, was coming up on the right. The rector, his friend Father Rob, stood in front, watering some droopy looking plants. He looked up and waved.
Max grinned and headed over to chat. “Don’t tell me you’re taking up gardening too.” Grace was such a small parish that Father Rob often filled several roles. He’d been known to fill in at the piano, though he preferred to play jazz, which breathed new life into some of the church’s venerable old hymns. Of course, it also brought consternation to some of the older parishioners.
Father Rob laughed. “One never knows what God will put in His children’s paths to teach them patience. The sprinkler system is on the fritz. Stopped working the minute the temperature began to climb, wouldn’t you know.” He aimed the hose at some rosebushes in a flower bed to the left of the entrance.
“I’ve been meaning to stop by and talk. An issue has come up recently …”
Father Rob studied Max. “It sounds serious.”
“It is.” Max took a deep breath, thinking of El. How could he explain all that she had come to mean to him in just a few short days? Finally, he said, “I think I’m falling in love.”
Father Rob raised his eyebrows and smiled. “That’s wonderful.”
“It is, but also confusing at my age.”
The rector smiled. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Max shook his head and glanced at his watch. “Thanks. I can’t right now, but maybe another time.”
“Anytime you want to talk, you know where to find me.”
They shook hands again, and Max continued his jog. It was time to say more to his Friend than Thanks or Help. He didn’t need words during times like these. He let the utterances of his heart speak for him. He jogged the circumference of the university and beyond and finally turned toward home, his heart full of new resolve.
He jogged into his kitchen, grabbed his phone, pressed the speed-dial key he’d just this morning set up, and waited for her to answer.
“I’m so glad you called.” Her voice held a note of joy, and his stomach did another of those flip-flops.
“I am too,” he said. “We need to talk …”
“I agree.”
“I don’t know if you’re feeling anything like I am.”
“I am,” she said. Glory of all glories! “It’s overwhelming.”
“I’ve never felt like this before,” he said.
“Neither have I.” Then she added with a little laugh, “At least not for a long, long time. Wouldn’t it be better to talk to each other face-to-face?”
He laughed with her. “I’ll be right over.”
“I can’t wait to see you,” she said, sounding breathless.
Max sprinted out the door and was halfway to the Defender before they ended the call.
El was waiting for him on her porch, looking fresh and beautiful, a breeze ruffling her hair.
Her expression warmed him to his toes. He opened his arms as he walked toward her. She quickened her steps, almost running as she closed the distance between them. He thought he might melt right then and there. He’d never in his life had anyone run toward him with such abandon.
He drew her close, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh my,” she said as she leaned against his chest. “This is nice, isn’t it?” She smelled of violets and jasmine.
“Yes, oh yes, it is,” he whispered. He stepped back, touched her cheeks with his fingertips, and then, gently holding her face, he kissed her.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Mrs. Littlefield
Max and I put together a wonderful meal that night using whatever we could find in the fridge. Being a confirmed foodie, I always keep a nice selection of interesting tidbits of this and that. My frequent trips to the farmers’ market and specialty shops kept my larder quite nicely stocked.
I stood back, unable to stop smiling as I watched Max’s reaction to the treasures he found: jars of homemade jam; packages of prosciutto; English cheddar with dried apricots, another with caramelized onions; dried fruit; a carton of hummus; a tube of ready-to-bake phyllo dough. His sighs and utterances of appreciation were music to my ears. I was grateful the man I was falling in love with didn’t eat only meat and potatoes.
Falling in love? I let the words flow through my mind like beautiful music.
He pulled out his favorites, I added a few of mine, and we put together a cheese-and-fruit tray, a basket of petite french rolls and crackers, some jams and jellies and specialty mustards, a bottle of Gewürztraminer, and a bottle of sparkling water. I spread a tablecloth on the floor in front of the fireplace, and Max brought in two plates, the flatware, napkins, and stemware. We made a few more trips to the kitchen for the food and wine, which we placed on the nearby coffee table, and then I lit the fireplace candles and dimmed the lights.
I tried to settle gracefully onto the floor, wishing I’d somehow worked yoga into my schedule during the past year. The creak of my knee joints sounded anything but romantic as I eased myself down. The only consolation was that Max’s knees popped and cracked even louder than mine. We looked at each other and laughed.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” I said.
He laughed and opened the wine. “It’s romantic. That’s what counts.” His eyes caught the candlelight as he handed me a wineglass.
The candlelight, the picnic, my dancing heart … and a queasy stomach. This was wrong. A celebration? How could I think of such a thing? My thoughts flew to Hyacinth, and I set my glass on the nearby coffee table.
Max seemed to study me for a moment. “You need this, El,” he said softly as he poured his own glass. “You need another few hours of soul rest. Please, don’t feel guilty.”
I blinked rapidly and bit my bottom lip. His words touched me. He obviously u
nderstood me. The strange fear that had troubled my heart earlier faded as I allowed myself to be drawn into the warmth of his expression.
I let out a cleansing breath. “I can’t help wondering where Hyacinth is tonight and whether she’s safe.”
He reached for my hand and said the best thing possible: “I have a new plan for finding her.”
I sat up straighter, ignoring the ache in my lower back from my attempt to find a floor-friendly, dainty-looking position. “What is it?”
“Let’s get together an army of kids—maybe from culinary arts, your crew kids …”
“We can ask Enrique and his friends.” I leaned forward and chose a cracker from the basket. “He’s a planner. He’d be a good one to put in charge.”
Max nodded as he reached for a cluster of red grapes. “I know a printer that’s open twenty-four hours. If we got something designed tonight, we could hand them out—”
“—tomorrow at a meeting place.” Land sakes, we were already finishing each other’s sentences. “Maybe the parking lot by the Encore. They can fan out, cover all the main roads, and keep watch for the rental truck.”
I was so taken with the idea that I stood quite suddenly, wobbled a bit, and then grabbed the hand that Max extended. “I’ll call Enrique to get the ball rolling.” I shot him a smile and headed to the kitchen for my phone. I got as far as the dining room and turned to him. “You know what? You’re a genius.”
“It’s still a gamble, a needle in a haystack,” he warned.
Even so, I was cheered by the prospect. “But it’s a needle worth looking for,” I called from the kitchen.
When I finished filling Enrique in on the plan, I came back to our picnic spread, tried out a yoga move I remembered from an infomercial, and dropped to the floor with a minimum of fuss. I picked up some walnuts and dried apricots, nibbled a few, and then took a sip of sparkling water, watching Max over the rim.
“Think about this, though,” I said. “The good folks of Eden’s Bridge are ready to run me out of town on a rail. There’s no way they’ll be willing to help if they find out Typhoid Mary is involved with getting our ‘army’ together.” I sipped my water again.
