by Miles, Ava
As they walked up to the door, he prayed Harriet was dressed and ready to put on a show. She knew how to act, that was for sure.
When he knocked, he heard the hardwood squeak and braced himself. Surely she’d have enough respect to come to the door dressed. She’d be a branded woman for sure if she answered the door in that black slip.
“Come back in, Arthur,” she said when she opened the door, dressed like she was receiving guests for a late supper. “And Charlie. Thanks so much for coming to a lady’s aide. Arthur said you would be the perfect person to help. But before you head up to the attic, would you like a piece of pie or a cup of coffee? I just brewed some for Arthur since it’s cold up there, but I hadn’t served the pie yet. It’s banana cream.”
Her smile was picture perfect. As were the lies spewing out of her mouth.
He met her gaze. Oh, he was going to get to the bottom of this, all right. He would find out who she really was, why she was here, the whole shebang. That was for damn sure. No holds barred.
“Pie would be nice,” Arthur said, and stepped inside like the fly to the spider web.
Chapter 6
Harriet didn’t come to work the next morning.
Not really a surprise.
He called in her license plate number to an old source from his days at The New York Times and discovered it was registered to a Warren Perkins from Loveland, Colorado, age twenty–one. Maybe a friend of theirs? He didn’t doubt that a man would give his car to the pretty sisters if they batted those rust–colored eyelashes just right.
His friend hadn’t found a Harriet Jenkins with a Colorado driver’s license, which meant she wasn’t a resident, just like he’d thought. So, he’d need to get a look at her license. He wouldn’t have looked in her purse before, but last night had helped him overcome his scruples.
Since it was too early to pay a social call to her house, he headed over to Kemstead’s Bakery. Over coffee and a donut with Herman and a few of his old school chums, he recounted the fake story about the squirrel in Harriet’s attic, telling them about how it had eluded him and Charlie. Everyone had suggestions on how to trap the critter. He told people Harriet was feeling poorly today, likely due to her fear of the squirrel, and that he was taking her a Bavarian cream pastry to cheer her up. And check on that darn squirrel again.
For cripes sake.
As he drove to her house, he realized he’d just lied for her, and that didn’t exactly sit well. Elvis sang “Heartbreak Hotel” on the radio, which seemed fitting. Charlie was at work at the gas station when he arrived, but Harriet’s other neighbors were home. Likely watching the show from their kitchen windows.
Coming here twice in less than twenty–four hours looked strange, but he hoped the story he’d planted at the bakery would be believed. People already thought something was going on, what with them both working such long hours.
And she’d confirmed it by calling him to help her last night.
A few of his friends had given him a knowing wink. A couple of guys had said she was a stunning broad, so who could blame him? Even if she wasn’t from around these parts.
He’d tried to set the record straight every time it had come up, but his assurances had fallen on deaf ears. Since he wasn’t keeping the company of any women right now, people weren’t inclined to listen.
The sidewalk leading to the sagging white porch was covered with a thin layer of snow that had fallen during the night. Someone hadn’t shoveled it yet, and he wondered if they had to do it themselves or if old Mrs. Kennion’s son had hired someone to take care of it. Shoveling snow could be back–breaking work when there was a lot of it, which there often was. Then he realized he was worrying about Harriet and her sister and put a lid on that.
He knocked on the door, holding the white pastry bag. Realized he should have bought two pastries when her sister opened the door.
The car must be in the garage. “Hi, Maybelline.” They had met briefly a couple of times when she came to pick Harriet up from the office. “You’re back from Denver?”
“Yes, I got an early start,” she replied.
Her red hair was a lighter shade than her sister’s, and she had blue eyes, not green ones, but it was easy to see the resemblance in the wide mouth and patrician nose.
“Ah, did Harriet, forget to call you? She wasn’t feeling… Ah, she had an…errand to run today and won’t be able to come in.”
Right.
“Well, then, it’s your lucky day. You can have her Bavarian cream while we have a cup of coffee and visit.”
He handed her the bag, which she reluctantly took. And she had no choice but to step back when he crossed the threshold.
No need to delay his investigation. He could already tell that Harriet’s sister would be an easier nut to crack. If nothing else, he could search her purse.
“So, did Harriet tell you about calling me about the squirrel in the attic after nine o’clock last night?” he asked, wanting to see if her sister had made herself scarce last night on purpose.
Her face muscles tensed. “No, ah…she didn’t mention it.”
He decided to probe. “It was rather late, but she sounded scared, so I came by. She’s new to town, so perhaps she didn’t realize it wasn’t the smartest thing to call a single man over to her house so late—even over a critter.”
The hands pouring the coffee into the cups jerked, and the brown liquid spilled over the counter.
“Here,” he said, taking pity on her. “Why don’t you let me help?”
The pink dishrag looked like it was one of Mrs. Kennion’s old hand towels, cut up for rags when it was too worn to put out for company. He mopped the mess up and poured the coffee.
She took over after smoothing her hair back. “Here. I’ll bring them over. Please, take a seat.”
The white table in the breakfast nook had a few cigarette burns on it, but otherwise, it was clean. She sat stiffly across the table from him, not touching her coffee.
He gestured to the pastry bag she’d left on the counter. “Please, have the Bavarian. Mr. and Mrs. Kemstead make the best pastries in town.”
“Thank you. I had a big breakfast, but I’ll save it for later.”
Horseshit, he thought, not smelling any eggs or bacon in the kitchen or seeing any dishes drying on the rack.
With her hands folded in her lap, he couldn’t see if they were shaking, but her pulse drummed in her neck, and she couldn’t meet his gaze. He’d interviewed enough people to know when he could go with the direct approach.
“So, I expect you know why I’m here,” he began.
Well, that brought the eye contact he wanted. The whites of her eyes made him think of Tandy, the frightened horse they’d had on the ranch growing up.
“No, I…”
“I’m here to find out why you and your sister are really in town. I know when a woman is out to get me. Last night was proof of that. What I don’t know is why.”
Maybelline reached out for her cigarettes and fumbled with the package until she could take one out. Harriet didn’t smoke, he knew, since she’d turned down Herman’s offer of a cigarette, saying it made her cough. Arthur drew out his lighter and lit it for her, seeing the telltale shake in her hands. She took a long drag, as if it would give her the fortitude she would need for their conversation. People who had something to hide always smoked when he interviewed them. He didn’t join her. Just bided his time.
“I suspect Jenkins isn’t your real name,” he began, even though he didn’t know for sure.
Her eyes went wide, and the cigarette ash fell in a zigzag when her hands shook.
“That car you have is registered to a Warren Perkins from Loveland. I know you pay cash for everything in town and don’t have a bank account here, which is odd. After seeing what Harriet is willing to do to herself and me, the gloves are off. I will find out why you’re here, but since you’re her sister, and you love her, I’m going to ask you straight out to tell me. I don’t want to get t
he law involved or embarrass you both.”
He let the threat hang in the air.
She tapped her cigarette in the ashtray. “Calling in the law would embarrass you too, and you strike me as a prideful man, Mr. Hale.”
So she had spine like her sister. And her animosity was as clear as a summer day in Sardine Canyon. Just like Harriet’s had been.
“I came here planning to search your purse when you were out of the room, but I don’t want to do anything like that now. Just tell me the truth.”
“Why not peek? Isn’t that how you usually conduct yourself as a journalist?” she said, her tone as bitter as the smoke wafting between them.
The way she said “journalist,” she might as well have been drinking poison, not coffee.
“You don’t like me, do you?” he asked.
Instead of answering, she took another long drag. Then she stood. “After what I suspect Harriet tried last night, we won’t be staying in Dare much longer, so let me show you what you were planning to steal a look at.”
He followed her into the family room. An expensive blue handbag was tucked away on the brown side chair in the corner. She picked it up and brought it over to him.
“Here. I don’t want to stop you from being nefarious.”
Pursing his lips, he studied her. Somehow her giving him access to her purse made him feel like a jerk.
“Fine,” he finally said, remembering Harriet’s fake seduction scene last night. Answers were the only way he would understand what the hell was going on with these two.
He grabbed her pocketbook and opened it, drawing out her license. Maybelline Wentworth. Massachusetts.
Wentworth.
Oh shit.
He’d never met her father in person, but he’d seen pictures of him. Dr. Ashley Wentworth. Given those pictures to his editor along with his series of articles about what the man had done. The nose was the same. And then he remembered the scientist had two daughters, both college age.
His stomach dropped, and with it came the utter devastation of realizing Harriet had lied about everything from the day she had walked into his office. He cared about a woman who hated him for doing his job.
“So you and Harriet are here for what? Revenge?” he asked her.
Maybelline retrieved her license and set that and her purse down on the small side table by the mauve settee. Then she put her hands on her hip, ashes falling to the floor. “We came for the truth, for evidence that you exaggerated your findings on our father. But since the files are still in New York, I guess she decided to try something different last night. She didn’t tell me what she had in mind, or I would have stopped her.”
They weren’t in New York. He just hadn’t been able to tell Harriet there were more boxes of filing that day. She’d seemed so darn dejected. Now he knew why.
“By ruining herself in front of the whole town with me?” he scoffed.
“By showing Dare Valley you aren’t the Favorite Son everyone thinks you are.” Her words were as cutting as a chainsaw through a downed tree.
“This town knows me. They don’t know you. Trust me. When it comes down to it, they’ll believe me over you two.”
She crushed her cigarette out in the brown glass ashtray on the lamp stand, twisting it and twisting it until all smoke disappeared. “But you’ve been gone for five years, and in the big bad city, no less. People have been talking about how different you seem. Working long hours with an attractive woman like my sister, who’s working long hours too. Unusual that. And then there’s all your big ideas. You’ve set yourself up as a new leader in the community. That changes things. People think you’ve gotten pretty big for your britches already. Even this outsider has heard the talk.”
Well, he knew there had been talk, but he hadn’t considered how it could be used against him. If he’d thrown his integrity aside last night, it would have tarnished his reputation and his place in the community. Sure the woman always got the brunt of the censure, but he would have felt the heat too, particularly as he tried to launch his business.
“Tell Harriet that if she wants to see the files on your father, she can come to the office and ask me herself.”
“They’re here?” she whispered, her face suddenly losing all color.
“Yes.”
Part of him was sad they’d be hurt by the final knowledge that their father was guilty. His evidence was airtight.
“Our father was a good man, and you destroyed him.”
He walked to the door, the floor squeaking in spots, and heard her heels click on the hardwood as she trailed behind. When he shrugged into his coat, he turned to her.
“I expect your father was a good man and a good father, but he made an enormous mistake that killed seven infants. That’s what destroyed him, Ms. Wentworth. Not me. You and your sister would be wise to understand that.”
Her face fell.
And with that he let himself out into the cold day.
Chapter 7
Harriet parked the car in the driveway as the sun was dipping below the mountains. Escaping down the highway for a while hadn’t helped. She was ashamed of what she’d almost done, and she felt a newfound, begrudging respect for Arthur. He’d kept his head when other men might not.
What had she been thinking? Had she become so blinded by anger that she’d been willing to throw away her first moments with a man like that? These were some of the serious questions she’d had to face on her car ride, and she hadn’t liked the answers. The one that had scared her the most was how much she’d enjoyed being kissed and held by Arthur, a man she’d sworn to destroy.
Even though part of her hated to admit defeat, she was ready to get the heck out of town and put this whole terrible episode behind them.
Maybelline met her at the door and told her about Arthur’s visit. A bucket of cold water to the face couldn’t have been more shocking.
“How could you have done something like that?” her sister raged at her. “I know you’re upset, but it scares me that you’d risk yourself that way, Harry.”
Her heart shattered, as much from the honesty as from Maybelline’s childhood nickname for her.
“It won’t happen again,” she pledged as she watched Maybelline storm out the parlor rather than acknowledging her promise.
She sat on the settee and folded her hands over her face. Shame blossomed inside, but rage quickly followed. Arthur Hale still had the gall to cling to the illusion that he’d been doing his job by destroying her father and their family. How dare he?
She knew he must have misrepresented something.
Her father was not guilty.
He couldn’t be.
Well, Arthur had said she could look at his files, and so she would. She drove to The Western Independent and walked into the place like she owned it. It was after five o’clock, but she knew he’d be working. His typewriter was clacking along as she strode down the hall to his office.
He spun around in his chair the instant she reached his door, almost like that sixth sense of his was working in overdrive.
“I knew you’d come for the files,” he said, his tone flat and unfriendly.
She was so used to kindness and warmth from him that it took her a moment to make her way into his office. His eyes didn’t remind her of an endless blue sky now, but rather the churning Atlantic Ocean in the middle of a storm.
“Where are they?” she asked.
He tossed something toward her. A rubber–banded stack of papers fell to the floor, and she had to go through the indignity of bending over to pick it up. All his courtliness was gone now.
The file was small compared to what she’d expected, but she had what she wanted, so she turned to walk out.
“Do you really think that’s all there is?” he asked her, stopping her at the door.
She turned and cocked a brow. So he wasn’t going to make this easy. Why hadn’t she expected that?
“I figured the size only proved what I already knew. That you d
idn’t research your series of articles on my father worth squat, which is why you got everything so wrong.”
His mouth thinned into a bitter smile. “And here I thought you would have realized how wrong you are after all the boxes you’ve filed.”
The swipe reminded her of an angry lion she’d seen at the circus. “Well, aren’t we a cute sight? After all this time together, both of us are showing our true colors.” Her throat tightened after she spoke the words, and she realized part of her was sick that they’d come to this.
“You lied to me from the beginning, and I was starting to care about you. Which you used to your advantage last night.” He rose and planted his hands on his hips. “Harriet, if all you wanted when you arrived was the goddamn files I had on your father’s case, I would have given them to you.”
Because she’d worked with him, because she knew him, she believed that. “Where are the rest of them? You told me the other day that there weren’t more boxes.”
He fished out his keys, came around the desk, and walked out, leaving her to trail behind him. “My brother helped me move the boxes in here. But we didn’t finish before he took off to do some field work, so I got lazy and left them at my house.”
“You lied to me.” Why would he do that?
He looked over his shoulder. “Well, you looked so tired and worn down that day that I decided not to tell you. I was planning to hire someone to help you once my brother, George, got back, and we brought the rest of the boxes over.”
He’d been planning to hire someone to help her? She looked down at her feet, feeling more shame.
“You’ll have to follow me. Frankly, I don’t want to give you a ride back into town, and after your crap last night, I don’t plan on feeding the gossip.”
The hard tone of his voice made her clench her teeth. “Fine.”
He strode out of the office ahead of her, not bothering to open the door for her, and headed toward his car without a backward glance. Tension radiated through her body, and she realized her shoulders were knotted too.
