Grand Passion (10 page)

Daystar shrugged. “Don't know if that would have done any good.”

Cleo decided to take charge before the discussion degenerated into a what-went-wrong-with-Benjy session. “I've been doing some thinking. We've known Benjy for a year and a half. He's a good kid, and I can't believe he's really run out on his responsibilities. I'll bet he's just gone off someplace to think for a while.”

Trisha looked up from the napkin. There was a tiny flicker of hope in her eyes. “Do you really believe he'll come back?”

Cleo pursed her lips in thought. “I'm sure Benjy is very confused and shaken at the moment. He probably needs someone to talk to.”

“Well, why didn't he talk to one of us?” Daystar demanded. “We're his family.”

Cleo grimaced. “Have you noticed that with the exception of Sammy, we're all female? Poor Benjy probably felt we'd be so busy sympathizing with Trisha that we wouldn't understand what he was going through.”

Sylvia's brows rose. “That's a possibility, I suppose.”

“It's important to remember that Benjy does have a responsibility in this, whether he wants it now or not,” Daystar said. “A financial responsibility.”

“I agree,” Sylvia said. “Benjy may not be able to handle his moral and emotional commitments yet, but he can and should be required to handle his financial responsibilities. At least Doug still sends some child support once in a while. Benjy should do the same.”

Cleo held up her hand. “Before we start pressuring Benjy to honor his financial obligations, I think we should try another tactic. I think we should convince him to come home where he belongs.”

Trisha gave her another desperate look. “But he's gone. I don't know where he is. How can we find him?”

“Maybe Max can find him,” Cleo said slowly.

“Max?” Trisha stared at her. “But how can Max find him?”

“Max says he has a friend who runs an investigation firm,” Cleo said. “I don't have much faith in private investigators, but Max seems to think his friend is very good. Benjy hasn't been gone long, and he probably isn't trying to hide.”

Trisha bit her lip. “Do you think Max's friend can find Benjy?”

“I suggest we find out.” Cleo got to her feet with sudden resolve. As soon as the idea had occurred to her, she had sensed it was the right approach to the problem. “Stay here, I'll be right back.”

She whirled around and headed for the door. She did not look back, although she was aware of the others staring after her in bemusement.

Cleo went down the hall to the lobby. There was no sign of Max. She tried the parlor next. It was empty except for three guests who were reading quietly in front of the fire. In the hallway she encountered one of the maids who came in on busy days and was helping clean up after the seminar guests.

“Darleen, have you seen Max?”

“I think he's in the solarium with Sammy,” Darleen said.

Cleo changed direction and went down another hall. A moment later she walked into the solarium. Rain was beating pleasantly on the glass roof. The steady patter and the gurgle of the fountain were the only sounds in the room.

Max was seated in a fanback wicker chair, his left leg propped on a matching wicker footstool. His cane was leaning against the wide arm of the chair.

It struck Cleo that Max looked oddly at home in the exotic surroundings. Something about the scene made her think of an elegant pirate who had retired to a South Pacific island. She winced when she saw that he was reading
The Mirror
.

Sammy was seated beside Max in the miniature wicker chair that Cleo had bought him for Christmas. He had Lucky Ducky and a picture book in his lap. He had his thumb stuffed contentedly in his mouth and seemed as intent on his reading as Max was on his.

“Hi,” Cleo said softly.

Sammy took his thumb out of his mouth. “Hi, Cleo. Me and Max are reading.”

“So I see.”

“Max says books are special. He's got lots and lots of 'em. He keeps 'em in a secret room in his house where no one can see 'em except him.”

“Is that right?” Cleo wondered what else he kept in that secret room. His heart, perhaps. She crossed the tiled floor. “Max, I wondered if you would mind joining me and the others in the kitchen.”

Max looked up warily from
The Mirror
. “Why?”

Cleo cleared her throat cautiously. “We, uh, wanted to ask you to help us.”

He gazed at her with a brooding stare. “Help you do what?”

“Find Benjy.”

“Damn,” Max said very softly.

Sammy yanked his thumb out of his mouth again. “You're not supposed to say words like that around me.”

Max looked down at him. “I apologize. I don't know what came over me.”

Sammy nodded. “It's okay. Just don't tell Mommy.”

“I won't,” Max promised.

Cleo waited hopefully. “Do you think you could find him, Max?”

“Max can find anything,” Sammy announced. “He even found Lucky Ducky.”

“O'Reilly might be able to locate him,” Max said carefully. “What do you intend to do with Benjy if you do find him?”

“I'm not sure,” Cleo said. She gave him her most winning smile. “But I think I'd like you to talk to him.”

Max looked completely taken aback. “You want
me
to talk to him? I don't even know the guy.”

“I realize that,” Cleo said earnestly, “but you're a man, and I think Benjy will feel more comfortable talking to a man at this stage.”

“What the hell do you expect me to talk to him about?”

“Not supposed to say hell either,” Sammy said.

“Sorry,” Max said brusquely.

Cleo kept what she hoped was a persuasive smile in place. “Ideally I'd like you to talk him into coming home. I want him to shoulder his responsibilities toward Trisha. But at the very least he needs to realize he has a financial obligation to her.”

“You don't ask much, do you?” Max said grimly.

“What's an obligation?” Sammy asked.

“That's what people say a person has when they want that person to do something.” Max didn't take his eyes off Cleo.

“Oh.” Sammy appeared placated by the answer.

Max studied Cleo. “This is way outside my area of expertise. I am definitely not a social worker.”

“But you said your friend O'Reilly was good at tracking down people,” Cleo reminded him.

“Finding Benjy is one thing,” Max said. “Talking him into coming back here is another.”

“We've got to try.”

Max looked at her. “I'd rather you left me out of this.”

Sammy took his thumb out of his mouth. “I bet you could make Benjy come home, Max.”

Cleo gave Max a searching glance. “Would you mind if we finished this discussion in the kitchen?”

“Something tells me I can't avoid it.” Max took his foot down off the stool.

He started to reach for his cane, but Sammy jumped to his feet, picked it up, and handed it to him.

“Thank you.” Max took the cane politely. He tucked
The Mirror
under his arm and looked at Cleo. “All right. Let's go.”

Sammy sat down in his small fanback chair. “Are you going to come back and read some more with me, Max?”

Max glanced down at the boy. “Maybe.”

“Okay. I'll wait here for you.”

Cleo smiled ruefully as she led the way out of the solarium. “Sammy has really glommed on to you, hasn't he?”

“He does seem to be underfoot every time I turn around.”

“I think he's trying to turn you into a sort of honorary uncle, just as he did Jason,” she explained.

“It's okay,” Max said. “I'm getting used to it.”

Cleo pushed open the kitchen door. Trisha, Sylvia, Andromeda, and Daystar turned to stare at them. The expressions on their faces ranged from anxious and hopeful to grim and determined.

“Well?” Daystar beetled her brows at Max. “Are you going to help us locate Benjy?”

Andromeda and Sylvia watched Max with an ill-concealed expression of appeal. Trisha sniffed into her napkin and gazed at him uncertainly.

Max surveyed the group sitting in the nook. His face was unreadable. “I can probably find Benjy for you.”

The women traded relieved glances.

“That's wonderful,” Andromeda said. “Will you talk to him? Try to get him to come home?”

Max's jaw tightened. “I'll talk to him for you, but I'm not making any promises.”

“We understand,” Cleo said quickly.

Trisha stirred uneasily. “I'm not sure this is a good idea. I mean, I don't know if Benjy can handle this kind of pressure. What will I say to him if Max does find him and bring him home?”

“For one thing,” Max said, “you will stop calling him Benjy.”

A startled silence fell on the group. Cleo and the others gazed at him in mute astonishment.

Cleo got her mouth closed first. “What are you talking about? Benjy is his name. Benjy Atkins.”

“Not if he comes back here willingly and shoulders his responsibilities,” Max said. “If you're going to ask good old Benjy to become a man, the least you can do is to treat him like one. From now on, his name is Ben.”

“Sure, Max, I can run that list of names through the computers,” Compton O'Reilly said on the other end of the phone. “But what the hell's going on? Is it true you've left Curzon International?”

O'Reilly sounded amused, but that was nothing new, Max thought. He always sounded that way. Max was one of the few people who understood that O'Reilly's humorous approach to life was a facade. Since the death of his beloved wife and daughter in a plane accident five years ago, O'Reilly had retreated into a place where nothing seemed to bother him. Max would have envied him if he hadn't sensed that, for O'Reilly, the relentless amusement was a way to cover up the pain that still burned hot inside him.

“I'm through with Curzon.” Max cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he reached for a pen. “I've got a new position.”

“No kidding?” O'Reilly said. “There've been some rumors, but I didn't believe them. Thought sure the Curzons would make you an offer you couldn't refuse after the old man died.”

“I'm not open to offers from Curzon.” Max winced as he leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his leg and gazed out the window of his room. It occurred to him that he was starting to enjoy the view from the attic.

“I can't say I'm totally surprised to hear that some other big chain got you. Was it Global Village Properties? They've been after you for a long time.”

“I didn't go with Global Village or any of the other big chains.” Max tapped the pen idly against the pad of yellow paper sitting on the desk. The names of all the guests who had stayed at the inn that weekend were listed alphabetically on the first page of the pad. He had noted addresses and phone numbers beside each name.

“Picked a small independent, huh?” O'Reilly sounded briefly thoughtful. “What's up? Looking for a challenge? Going to buy out a small operation and start your own hotel chain? I can see you doing that. You're the one person who could give the Curzons a run for their money. Should be fun to watch.”

“It's just a small inn on the coast, and I don't have any plans to buy it out and turn it into a chain.”

O'Reilly chuckled. “Come off it, Max, I can't see you running a folksy little bed-and-breakfast place on the coast.”

“You don't understand. I'm not running the place at all. I'm working for the owner.”

“Doing what?” O'Reilly demanded.

“Odd jobs. Unclogging toilets, hauling firewood, tending bar. At the moment I'm trying to handle a small security problem,” Max said. “Do you think you can stop laughing long enough to check out that list of names I just gave you, or shall I call Brindle Investigations?”

“Hey, no need to call the competition. I can handle this. Who do I bill?”

“Send the bill to me.”

“Something I don't understand here,” O'Reilly said. “You've already got the addresses for those people. What, exactly, do you want me to look for?”

“I'm not sure.” Max scanned the page of names. “See if anyone on that list has connections with ultraconservative groups or off-the-wall religious organizations. You might also check on whether or not any of them have a record for getting arrested for making right-wing social protests or causing disturbances over First Amendment issues. That kind of thing.”

“You think you're dealing with some morally outraged fanatic?”

“It feels like that,” Max said. “My employer wrote a book that's just been published. I think what we've got here is a self-appointed censor who's decided to mete out his own brand of literary criticism to an author.”

“Sounds like a guy who's got a couple of screws loose, is that it?”

“Whoever he is, he's the type who would go out of his way to frighten an innocent writer.”

“There's no shortage of people who feel called upon to censor what other people read, Max, you know that.”

“I know, but I'm hoping that the number of people who would take the trouble to track down an anonymous author and leave weird warnings around will make a much shorter list.”