Grace Among Thieves (11 page)

I waited a couple of beats, then gave in to my curiosity and followed to the doors in time to watch him disappear around a tall group of shrubs. That was odd. No, it was more than odd. I stood staring long after he was gone, attempting to sort out my disquiet. What was it exactly that bothered me? I’d encountered rudeness before in my life, but a peculiar sense of dread stole over me when I thought about the man’s glare. Could he have had anything to do with Lenore’s killing? Or the missing items from Marshfield?

Chapter 11

IT WAS PREPOSTEROUS FOR ME TO MAKE SUCH a leap, but events over recent months had served to make me ever suspicious, ever aware of oddities. I ran my hand through my hair, trying to sort out facts from feelings. It would do little good for me to call Rodriguez to report a non-encounter with a curious stranger in a second-rate hotel.

Instead, I turned and made my way to the front desk. “Hello,” I said to the twenty-something young man again. “I thought I spotted a friend of mine in the room over there. But he disappeared before I could say hello.” I gestured backwards. “Did you happen to see him?”

I had to give the boy credit. He valiantly tried to tamp down his “Are you kidding me?” expression. “I’m sorry ma’am. I’ve been very busy here. What is it you need?”

I tried a different approach. “I thought I saw someone I knew. He’s . . . ah . . . forty-four,” I guessed, “not terribly tall. Bald. That is, his head is completely shaved. I saw him for a moment, but I don’t know where he went.”

The kid worked hard at being polite. He picked up paper and pen. “If you give me his name, I can give him your message.”

“Oh, no,” I said flipping my hands forward in a dramatic gesture. “It’s not that important. I wasn’t even sure it was who I thought it was. It might not be. I mean, I didn’t even know that he was in town. Maybe it isn’t even him. That’s why I was asking. Just to see if it was who I thought it was.”

Stop talking, I told myself. I backed away as I babbled, thoroughly embarrassed, wishing I could duck out the front door.

One of the reception desk phones rang right then, sparing us both further discomfort. “Thanks, anyway,” I said with forced cheer, and returned to the lobby, taking a seat out of the young man’s line of sight.

I thought about what Flynn had proclaimed on the news broadcast. I should have been excited to learn that the police were close to an arrest, but the truth was that I didn’t buy it.

I considered sneaking out the front door to wait, in the hopes that the bald guy might come around the far side, but at that moment Mark and Arthur returned. Arthur gripped the handle of a black suitcase, which he rolled while carrying a laptop case slung over the opposite shoulder. “Ready to go, Ms. Wheaton?” he called. I nodded and he headed out at a quick clip.

As I passed the front desk, the young kid said, “I hope you find your friend.”

“What was that all about?” Mark asked.

“A man in the hotel,” I said, waving my hand in dismissal, wishing I’d minded my own business. “I . . .” How to explain my sense of unease without sounding like a total idiot? “I thought I recognized him, but I was mistaken. By the way, here’s a copy of your bill.”

He took the receipt, folded it one-handed and tucked it into his pants pocket. “Thank you again. That was unnecessary, but I truly appreciate it.”

Arthur had taken off ahead of us, probably intending to crank up the Marshfield car’s air-conditioning as soon as he could.

Mark and I followed, returning to the blast-furnace outdoors. I squinted in the blinding sunlight, stopping in my tracks because I couldn’t see. “Yikes,” I said, my eyes instinctively clenching shut. The sun was so intense that it actually hurt. I put a hand up to shield my face, blinking to try to accustom myself to the brightness.

“You have light eyes,” Mark said. “That means you’re more susceptible to the sun. And today’s a scorcher.” He reached into the pocket of his shirt. “Here,” he said, proffering a pair of sunglasses. “You can use mine.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got a pair in the car. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

The words died on my lips because just as my vision acclimated, I spotted Jack walking toward us. Beneath his khaki shorts, his knees were crusted with dirt, his tan T-shirt dark with sweat, his shoes filthy. As he crossed the street, he tugged off muddy gloves and stuffed them into a back pocket. He’d apparently been landscaping at the church across the street.

“Grace,” he said, smiling, “I’ve been meaning to call you.”

He had? Warmed by the thought, I was cautious all the same. “Anything wrong?”

“No,” he said drawing the word out. “I wanted to see what you were up to.” His attention was not on me, but on Mark.

I could read Jack’s mind from the expression on his face. With Arthur out in the parking lot, Jack couldn’t know I was here on official business. What he saw was me exiting a second-rate hotel in the morning accompanied by a strange man.

“How’s your dad?” I asked changing the subject before Mark picked up on the vibe.

Jack shrugged. “It’s been rough. But we’re getting through it. My sister’s there at least once a week.”

Mark extended his hand and introduced himself. “Sorry to hear your father is ill.”

Jack and I exchanged a glance as the two men shook hands. Gordon Embers wasn’t ill, but that was too much information to share.

“Jack Embers. I’m . . .” He looked about to say that he was a friend of mine. “I’m the landscape architect at Marshfield Manor. Grace and I . . . ah . . . work together sometimes.” There was a look in his eyes that I read as disappointment. To me: “How have you been?”

I was still off-kilter from my clumsy attempt to identify the bald guy with the clerk at the front desk. “Good,” I said, for lack of anything better. I was unsettled. Truth be told, I was a little angry, too. If Jack had bothered to keep in touch, if he’d taken time to talk with me instead of buzzing in only when Marshfield garden business required he do so, he would have known exactly why I was here this morning escorting Mark Ellroy out of the Oak Tree Hotel.

If he couldn’t be bothered to keep in touch, why should he care that I might have spent the night with another man? I hadn’t, of course, but my face flamed nonetheless.

Jack gave a lopsided smile. “You look happy,” he said. To Mark, he nodded. “Nice meeting you.” And then he was gone.

Mark and I resumed our trek to the parking lot. “I know it’s none of my business, and you’ve already set me straight about Flynn. If I’m overstepping, please feel free to say so, but do you and the landscaper have a history?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but he interrupted.

“Forget I asked. It’s really none of my business, sorry.”

I knew I should resist the urge to explain, but Mark’s polite inquiry and that tiny undercurrent of attraction I was feeling for him made me spill. “Jack and I went out. Once.”

“I assume it was a disaster.”

We turned the corner at the hotel’s edge. “Actually, it went very well.” I expected surprise to register on Mark’s face. When it did, I continued, “Up until the very last minute. A problem arose that had nothing to do with our being out together, but had everything to do with another murder on Marshfield property.”

“You’re joking.”

I shook my head. “Jack was a suspect. So was his brother.”

Mark’s brows came together in concern. He gestured behind us. “That guy? I know I just met him, but he seems like a decent sort.”

“He was innocent. His brother, too,” I said, wondering how deep to take this. “But what they had to endure to prove their innocence was pretty rough. They’re still recovering.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Not very.”

Mark didn’t comment, but I could feel the questions he wanted to ask. Thankfully he let the subject die and we made it to the parking lot to find Arthur sweating next to the idling Marshfield car. “All set,” he said as he rounded the car to open the passenger door. “Mr. Ellroy?”

Mark shot me a rueful smile as he started for the car’s far side.

“Unless you’d prefer to ride with me?” I asked. The question popped out of the blue. Why hadn’t I thought of that earlier?

He smiled, showing those deep dimples again. “I’d like that very much.”

I turned to Arthur. “I guess we’ll meet you there.”

Within seconds, Arthur had hopped into the vehicle and pulled away. Mark and I opened our opposite car doors and waited a minute for the stuffy air to clear. “Sorry,” I said. “It’s a little hot box.”

“You need a convertible.”

“Yeah, right,” I said, thinking about the gorgeous 1936 Packard Phaeton convertible Bennett had once offered me. “On a day like today, there isn’t enough sunblock in the world to get me into a convertible.”

“Ah, that explains it,” he said.

“Explains what?”

His eyes twinkled. “With those light eyes, that lovely blonde hair, and fair skin, you seem like a person who’d burn quickly. And yet”—he gestured toward me across the top of my car’s roof—“you have the most flawless complexion. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

He climbed into the passenger seat.

Had he just flirted with me? I took a moment to process the possibility, then joined him in the car. “Thanks,” I said as I started the engine. “That was a very nice thing to say.”

“One thing you’ll learn about me, Grace,” he shot me a sidelong smile, “that is, if I’m fortunate enough to spend more time with you . . .”

Okay, so he was definitely flirting. Even better, I was enjoying it. I delayed putting the car in drive and turned to him. “What’s that?”

“I don’t lie. I won’t even fib to protect a person’s feelings. Gets me into trouble sometimes, but it’s who I am. So when I look at you and tell you you’re a beautiful woman,” he smiled into my eyes, “believe it.”

“Oh,” I said in a small voice. “Thank you.”

He didn’t break eye contact. “Have I made you uncomfortable?”

Time for me to share the truth. “A little.”

“I apologize. It’s just that the moment John introduced you to our group, I had the strangest feeling that I was destined to get to know you.”

“You did?”

“Isn’t that odd? I’ve never had a sense like that before and I confess I don’t believe in fate or woo-woo supernatural stuff. What I do believe is that everyone makes his or her own luck. But I couldn’t help feeling that I ought to get to know you.” He looked away. “Of course, I never imagined circumstances like these. I would give anything to change recent events . . .”

He broke off and I decided it was a good time to get moving. I pulled out of the lot, realizing that Mark’s words had taken a good bit of sting out of the pain I’d felt from Jack’s sudden appearance.

What had become obvious to me—too late to avoid the hurt, of course—was that I really didn’t know Jack at all. I’d fallen for him—the part of him that was strong, upstanding, and reliable. What I could never have anticipated was how he would pull away from me at every unexpected turn.

Unusual situations had shaped Jack’s behavior years earlier, and I’d tried my best to be patient. Nevertheless, it was hard to maintain so much as a cordial relationship with someone who didn’t believe in communicating. When things got rough, he preferred isolation, avoiding anyone with the capacity to hurt him. I blamed myself for some of my own heartache. I’d missed the fact that he was still too broken inside from prior tragedies to be able to sustain a romantic relationship. He needed help, but was too proud to ask for it.

Mark proved to be an easy person to talk with. I learned that he was an only child and had inherited the jewelry store a relatively short time ago. His father had died five years prior, and his mother two years before that. He was thirty-seven years old, held a master’s degree in business administration, and had three dogs.

“Three!” I exclaimed with delight. “What kind?” I turned into the entrance gate at the manor, and waved to the guard as I drove in. We still had another two miles to the hotel.

“Two golden retrievers and one mutt. The goldens were my parents’ dogs. They’re brothers and were still pups when my mom died. I took them in when Dad got sick and they’ve been with me ever since. The mutt is mine. A cross between a Lab and a Border collie, his name’s Bubba and he’s almost twelve. Getting up there. The other two watch out for him, though.”

“You must have a big house.”

He shrugged. “Too big sometimes,” he said quietly.

“Having a jewelry store must be fun. People buy jewelry for happy occasions.”

He didn’t smile.

“Did I say something wrong?”

He was quick to try to make me feel better. “Not at all. I’ve come to realize that as lucky as I am to have this thriving business, it isn’t the best fit for me. I . . .” He looked out the window. “This is probably too heavy for a first real conversation.”

“I don’t mean to pry.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, looking at me again. “But I might as well be up-front with you. I still have a hard time. I was married. For ten years. Very, very good years.”

I took a little breath of surprise.

“She died,” he continued softly, “exactly sixteen months after my father did. I lost everyone I cared about in the span of three years.” He looked out the window again. “That was a rough time for me.”

“I’m sorry.” I gripped the steering wheel, not knowing what else to say.

Now that he’d opened the wound, Mark was quick to share more, and I got the feeling it was cathartic for him to do so. “While Madison was alive I enjoyed the jewelry store, but only because she loved it so much. Now, however . . .” His voice trailed off. “There’s nothing there for me. My favorite part of owning the business is the financial dealing that goes on behind the scenes. In fact, I’ve started to think about a new career.”

“Doing what?”

He snapped out of his reverie. “That’s what this trip was supposed to be about, you know: starting fresh, a new beginning. Getting a handle on where I want to be, what I want to do.” His voice grew with excitement. “I could easily sell the store and all its contents, and let me tell you, the temptation is strong. The only thing holding me back is the thought that I’d be selling off all my father and grandfather worked for, for so many years.”

“But if you aren’t happy . . .”

He smiled at me. “We make our own happiness. I think there’s more out there for me. There is so much I’ve missed while I’ve been sitting home brooding and feeling sorry for myself. I’ve been alone now for almost four years and life is short—a fact that I’ve recently been reminded of all too clearly. I think it’s time to reassess. Don’t you?”

I didn’t answer, but he didn’t seem to mind.