He smirked. “What if I already do?”
Fair enough. Between him finding her dancing alone on the stern, to her off-key rendition of the Love Boat theme, and all her emotional behaviors in between, she’d handed him plenty of opportunity to consider her loopy.
She inhaled a calming breath. “I dreamed of water. The sun rested so beautifully it looked like the river was robed in diamonds. I stood at the edge of the shore just staring and then dove in. But instead of floundering, I floated. I felt safe.” Carefree and protected. Something she hadn’t experienced since before her time with Travis. She should have never let him invade the God-reserved space in her heart.
He shrugged as if she hadn’t just shared a chunk of her soul. “Nothing so weird. It was a dream.”
“But then…” She should just stop. Who was this man anyway? She was basically telling him her inner workings. Could she blame her weird transparency on whacked side effects from a sugar overdose? Or was there a growing kinship between her and Chase?
“Then?”
She sighed. “Then I woke up, went outside, and wandered the downtown Riverwalk.” She could still see it in her mind’s eye. “The sun was shining on the water exactly like my dream, and the rays outlined the Belle. As if God was shining a spotlight on where I was supposed to be.” She shifted in her seat, angling toward him. “Do you ever feel that? You know, that you’re divinely led?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Have you ever listened for it?”
“Can’t say I’ve done that either.”
“Maybe you should try. It was the only way I survived my breakup. I saw the Belle and had this stirring in my heart. I couldn’t explain why, but I knocked on the door to the neighboring boat, the Belle’s offices, which I soon discovered was a lifesaving station. And that’s what happened. I felt rescued. Steph talked to me and offered me the job as wedding coordinator.” Though her boss had thought Devyn overqualified, the kind woman had thrown her a life ring, pulling her from the murky depths of heartbreak.
He slowed at a traffic light. “And you’ve been there ever since.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “Right there on my dream river.”
His head snapped toward her, his eyes widening with clarity. “That’s it.”
“That’s what?”
“You’re brilliant.” His voice held warmth and wonder, causing her attraction to triple with those two words. “I knew you’d think of it.”
She shook her head, breaking the daze. “What are you talking about?”
“Dream River.” His lips tipped at the edges. “Your theme.”
Her mouth dropped, but there were no words to fill it. Dream River. It was like a veil had been lifted. The entire event would be related to the river—the décor, the music, the cuisine. They could serve walleye, which was commonly found in the Ohio. And for dessert? She had the perfect dish.
Ideas flooded like the rush of the Ohio’s current after a deluge. She needed to jot them down. And quick. She rummaged in her purse and found a pen but no paper. Her Starbucks receipt would work decently enough. She glimpsed Chase’s notepad peeking out from the console. It seemed the man was never without it. “Can I borrow a piece of paper?” She stretched toward it, but his hand slid over hers.
“Sure.” He ran a thumb along her knuckle. “I’ll get you a page. Give me a sec.”
Ooo-kay. She retracted her hand and hugged it against her stomach. It wasn’t as if she intended to peek at anything.
Chase took the notepad, using his thighs to keep the steering wheel steady, not exactly the most secure feeling. He quickly tore a page from the back of the pad and held it out to her.
“Your efforts to keep me from glimpsing what’s in your notepad only makes me think interesting things.”
“Such as?”
“Like it’s filled with women’s numbers. Do men still do that whole little black book thing?” Or was that only in the movies? Specifically, Rock Hudson films.
“I appreciate your confidence in my honey-gaining skills, but I don’t have that much game.”
She snorted. Not much game? She believed that as much as she believed her bag of goodies was calorie-free. “Then maybe it contains something darker. Like the burial sites of all your victims.”
“Your imagination is sinister.”
“Not always.” She wouldn’t press him. Even if it only increased the mystery behind the man. He definitely had her intrigued with his secret personal business matter, not to mention the constant texts he’d been receiving during the drive. His phone had buzzed every fifteen minutes. Who was trying to get ahold of him? The person that’d called him when they’d been in the ballroom? It didn’t matter. Her mind needed to focus on their new theme. “I can’t wait to start working on this.” She beamed. “You’re good for my creativity, I think.”
“That was your stroke of genius, but I’ll accept wrongly placed credit if you keep smiling at me like that.”
She allowed his ridiculous statement for now.Her mind was occupied with the excitement of making Dream River a reality. Having a flair of romance, yet not too thick, Dream River was a perfect fit for both their patrons and the contest. She relaxed against the seat, excitement threading through her.
The next few hours were spent in casual conversation, getting meals at the gas station, and Devyn almost getting them lost twice. She and Google Maps didn’t get along.
Chase talked about his family. He was the youngest of three, having two older sisters. They grew up in California until his dad had transferred here. He went to the University of Kentucky, her alma mater’s rival.
“You realize now that we are forever enemies,” she teased. “All because you chose the wrong college.”
He raised a brow. “Do I have to bring up the win-loss record between our schools, Miss Asbury?”
“I’m well aware of the unbalanced stats, Mr. Jones.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “You mean undisputed.”
“You choose your adjectives, and I’ll choose mine.”
“Agree to disagree?”
“Exactly. Because we’re reasonable adults.”
He nodded. “Though I’m convinced you have taste buds similar to my four-year-old niece.”
“Are you dissing my gas station hot dog? Because it was the best ever.” Even if the onions were a bit overpowering. She popped a wintergreen Ice Breaker into her mouth. “You can’t tell me that protein bar you inhaled was filling. I totally saw your hand digging into my pretzel bag when I was switching songs.”
“I’m glad you came prepared.”
“Because road trips are—”
“All about junk food.”
She nodded. “Very good. You’re catching on.”
“I had a charming teacher. I’ll adhere to whatever she advises.”
She bumped his elbow on the console. “Then you agree U of L is the best college this side of the Mississippi?”
He smirked. “Anything but that.”
They finally pulled into a drive that led to a yellow-brick ranch home. They exited simultaneously, meeting in front of the Jeep. A middle-aged woman was stooped over pots of autumn mums lining the walkway. At their approach, she straightened.
“Excuse me.” Chase took the lead. “Are you Eleanor Brandish?” He gave her a warm smile, which softened the older woman’s features.
“Depends on who’s asking?” She shed her gardening gloves and pushed her fluffy bangs from her forehead. “The woman is incredibly busy, but I have it on good authority she can be bribed with caramel macchiatos, hand-dyed yarn, or in your case, a well-placed dimple.”
“I’m fresh out of yarn, but if I grin wide enough I can give you two dimples for the price of one.”
Such a flirt.
The woman’s laughter was as loud as her yellow “Keep Calm and Bingo On” T-shirt. “Don’t waste that charm on me. Save it to get yourself out of trouble. Which, by the looks of you, I’d say you’ll land in heaps of it.”
&
nbsp; Chase shrugged, playing along.
“I take it you’re Chase Jones?”
“Guilty. And this is my friend Devyn Asbury. She works as a wedding coordinator on the Belle.”
Devyn smiled. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us today, Ms. Brandish.”
“Of course. And please call me Eleanor. It’s been such an ordeal going through Mom’s stuff. Finding places for everything. She was a hoarder of all things music.” She gave a fond smile. “So I’m glad to have at least one more thing off my hands.” She waved at them to follow her onto the front porch and opened the door for them to enter.
“Sorry about your loss.” Devyn subtly shuffled her feet on the mat.
She accepted the condolences with a nod. “She lived a long, happy life. Mom was never sick, just went peacefully in her sleep.” She led them to a living room with a large picture window, allowing in the early afternoon light. Devyn and Chase elected to sit on the plush love seat, and Eleanor claimed the plaid recliner adjacent to them. “She was a fan of music. Spent decades building a collection of books and prints. Even acquired an original song sheet of ‘My Sunny Tennessee’ signed by Burt Kelmar.”
Devyn gasped, her inner vintage geek rising to ultimate fangirl levels. “You’re kidding. That’s such an amazing find!”
Eleanor took in Devyn’s exuberance with soft laughter. “Next to her great-grandmother’s Bible, that music was one of her most prized possessions.”
“I’m a huge fan of vintage films and music. Your mother and I would’ve become fast friends.”
Eleanor’s expression was warm. “I can see that.” She reached toward the coffee table. “Now, I believe this is what you came for.” She picked up the calliope book, the same from the photograph, and handed it to Chase.
Devyn positioned herself closer to Chase in order to examine it. With such proximity, she noticed faint laugh lines framing his steel-gray eyes, a freckle dotting his left ear lobe, and could see in more detail that curious scar etched near the corner of his brow. She peeled her attention from his remarkable profile and forced it where it belonged—on the book. The weathered beige cover had the same winding vines depicted in the picture.
Chase carefully opened it, and while Devyn had already known the music was handwritten, it still amazed her.
“Look.” She pointed. “There’s ‘Swanee River.’”
A deep groove settled between his brows. “Why would she have to write this one? Why not use mass produced music, since that’s a popular song?”
“Because the calliope only had thirty-two keys. She had to change the key to keep in range.” Brilliant.
Chase browsed the inside cover, a slow smile forming. “I found our girl’s last name.”
Devyn leaned closer. “Hattie Louis.” The urge to yank her phone out for a quick Google search raged strong, but she refrained. “So it was she who wrote this.”
“Is this Hattie person a relation?” There was a curious bend to Eleanor’s penciled brow.
“No,” Chase answered. “Just a mystery woman we’ve been trying to find information on.”
“Gotta watch out for the mysterious ones.” She chuckled. “They may not want you learning all their secrets.”
“I think I’ve found one of them. Maybe two.” Chase held the book open and peered into the hollow space between the spine and the binding. He set the book on his lap and slid a pencil from his notepad.
Devyn’s forehead wrinkled. She hadn’t seen him grab his notepad when they exited the car.
“I think something’s lodged here. Do you mind?” He flicked a glance at the older woman. “We don’t want to intrude on your time.”
“Not at all.” She reclined against the plush cushions. “I’m not exactly itching to go back outside with the slugs.”
Chase smiled, and then, with gentle care, used the eraser end of the pencil and fished out two pieces of paper rolled tightly like scrolls.
Devyn pressed against his side for a closer look, the warmth of his body, the spice of his cologne, reminding her why she put boundaries between them to begin with. Though before she could move away, Chase’s free hand settled on her knee.
“Would you like to do the honors?” He held out the papers.
She waved him off. “They look frail. I’m afraid I’d rip them.”
“Sure?”
“Very.”
With controlled movements, he unrolled the first paper. It was nothing but a jumble of letters. Two lines of capitals.
She squinted at it, as if narrowed vision would help translate the disorder. “Is that a code?”
“Looks like it.”
“Maybe the other paper is the translation.”
“Good thought.” Chase gave the paper to Eleanor for her to see. He then took the second piece and unrolled it like the first.
Devyn bit her lip, taking in the neat, masculine script.
Hattie, meet me at the large elm starboard of
the Idlewild at midnight. —J
Instant goosebumps. “Chase, the person signed it J. Could this be from your great-grandfather? Was his last name Jones like yours?”
“Yes.” Chase stared at it, his tone quiet.
“Was your great-grandfather in love with the woman who wrote this book?” Eleanor reached for her reading glasses on the coffee table and shoved them on her face. She inspected the code again as if the extra magnification would help interpret it.
“I believe so.” Chase’s gaze bounced between Eleanor and Devyn. “Though I’m not completely sure.”
“Why else would he plan a rendezvous?” Were they going to run away together? Chase had said that Hattie wasn’t his great-grandmother. What had happened between them? “Now the question that needs answered is if Hattie went?”
Chapter 11
Hattie
I entered the galley with the poise of a duchess. Because if I hadn’t, Miss Wendall would have ordered me to turn around and try again. The British-born cook bent over a bowl of fruit but glanced up when she heard my footsteps.
“Ah, my dear girl.” She acknowledged my presence with a graceful nod suited for a lady wearing a silk day dress rather than an aproned frock. “I’ve been wondering where you’d gone to.”
“I have a special delivery.” I raised the bucket, tilting it so Miss Wendall could spy our catch. “You mentioned the other day about wanting some fresh fish. Brought you catfish and bass.”
“Delightful.” Miss Wendall rounded the small island and joined me. “I can think of a million dishes I could make with this. Now to choose only one.”
I’d never seen anyone more capable than Miss Wendall. She could take a tub of kidney beans, a slab of bacon, and a gallon of olive oil and make a feast for a king. Or at least to feed the hungry chops of the Idlewild crewmen. “I couldn’t rest until I got a bucketful for you.”
“Laying it on thick, poppet. Now I know something’s stirring in that brain of yours.” She clucked her tongue in playful rebuke and took the load from my grip. “Face told me you’d be in soon, so I made tea. Care for a spot?” She set the bucket down, placing it away from the flow of foot traffic.
“Yes please.” Though I preferred coffee, I’d learned over the years how to soften the cook’s rigid edges. Especially since Duffy had only hired her with me in mind.
You need someone to teach you to be a lady, Hattie-girl. And it never hurts to know how to cook, right?
It hadn’t mattered my say-so, Duffy’s word had always been law. He’d ask for my advice, consider my input, but in the end, he had the final judgment. No begging or whining would jar him from that position. So I’d been stuck with etiquette and cooking lessons with Miss Wendall.
My prim mentor fixed my tea and handed it to me.
“Thank you.” I offered a gracious smile and took a sip, careful to keep my pinky finger extended like she’d taught. I always found it humorous acting like a genteel lady while drinking from a battered tin cup. Instead of sitting on a lush settee, I
lowered onto a barrel of flour. Miss Wendall ran the galley like an English parlor. She even made any fella entering bow before speaking. It never stopped being amusing to see the large char-faced firemen dip their chins in demanded respect. But no one defied Miss Wendall. Not if they wanted a warm meal.
“All right, now.” She lifted her cup to her lips and took a small swallow. “What’s all this fuss for? I already told you I’d make you a chocolate cake for your special day.”
My twenty-first birthday. I’d nearly forgotten. Though how could I celebrate when only weeks after that, we’d be docking in Pittsburgh? The tea soured my stomach and I set the cup on the counter. “I’ve come to chat.”
Her mouth tugged down on one side. “You mean gossip?”
I wouldn’t attack her intelligence by denying it, but maybe I’d adopt a more tactful approach. “I know you hear everything.” The kitchen was the place the crew went in and out all day long. Nothing went on that Miss Wendall wasn’t aware of. “I’m thinking of how to help the new first mate adjust to his position, that’s all.”
“And those fish in that bucket are your means of bribery?”
“Things seem different around here. Only trying to figure it all out.”
She took another sip then stood to stir the porridge on the stovetop. “You know how I feel about whispering stories. It’s none of my business if I caught First Mate Jack Marshall sniffing the pantry jars.”
I gripped the edge of the barrel. “What?”
“Like I said, it’s not ladylike to approach a gentleman about his activities. Even if he returned the lids to the wrong place. Or that he placed the vinegar in a different spot. None of my business.”
Why would he be interested in the goings-on of the kitchen? Sniffing around, literally. And what about the slip of paper with the bizarre jumble of letters? I moved to help Miss Wendall finish the breakfast preparations. We worked side by side as I peppered her with more questions. She kept her false guise of innocence and answered all of my inquiries about the morning’s happenings. Which hadn’t amounted to much—Face had been in here asking her what my favorite flower was. The striker from the engine room tried to steal a box of matches before Miss Wendall smacked him on the hand with her wooden spoon.
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