Number's Up

  The bar was what I imagined an English pub to be. There was even a picture of the Queen in the corner. And Prince William and his family. But not Prince Charles. Joe was still angry over his split with Princess Diana. Another thing in this town that I had learned not to ask about the hard way.

  Glancing around, I saw Donald in one of the booth seats along the wall with an empty glass in front of him. He saw me and waved, standing slightly and reminding me of how short he was. Not that I cared about height. That would make me superficial. And I wasn’t. Much. I didn’t even focus on the receding hairline or the pudgy belly. Nope. I wasn’t thinking about his weight. That would make me a hypocrite. I faked a smile and waved back.

  “Jen. So glad that you came out tonight.” He really did seem to be happy about it. His smile beamed, as he stood and lead me to his table, which was nice. I couldn’t remember the last time a guy stood when I walked over, much less met me in front of the table. Maybe I wasn’t giving him enough credit. My smile warmed up.

  “I’m glad you asked me out. I could use the distraction.” Well, his grandmother asked me out, but I could overlook that. Probably.

  “I’m truly sorry about your business partner. Were you close?” He gave me what I could only assume was his best sad face. It was superficial, the sad face people give when they knew someone was hurting but didn’t feel the pain, themselves. After Frank’s lack of sympathy in our earlier conversation, I appreciated the effort.

  “Yes. He hired me straight out of college. He was more like a father than my own.” Not that beating out my father was an achievement.

  “He was a really good guy.”

  “You knew him?” How? Although I had consulted on some things for Dorothy, Watts Enterprises was not a customer. In fact, as far as I knew, Henry had no contact with anyone from her family company at all.

  “We had done some business together,” Donald said stiffly, lifting the menu and glancing at the options. “We worked on some special projects for my own personal finances.”

  Special projects. There it was. The phrase I was curious about. I buried my head in my menu, trying to hide my internal debate. Should I just ask? I mean, he offered the information. I didn’t know why it would be weird to ask about it.

  “Special projects? Funny, Henry hadn’t told me anything about it.”

  “Henry was keeping it quiet for me. Nothing important.” He waved his hands as if he were throwing away the conversation. “But I know a lot about you. He talked about you frequently.”

  “Did he?” Because that would be even more weird. Henry didn’t talk about me much to his clients. Just like I didn’t talk about him to mine unless there was a reason. What reason would he have? Unless this was a lie.

  “Yes, although he forgot to tell me how beautiful you were,” Donald replied, leaning closer trying to gaze into my eyes.

  I looked at my menu. Yep. That level of corny indicated he was lying. The points he had earned by the greeting had been cancelled out. I glanced up to catch Becky’s eyes, and she hurried over.

  “Is that how you met Frank?” I asked, turning back to face Donald.

  “Frank?” Donald recoiled slightly, trying to cover it by leaning back in his booth. “I… yes, that’s how. Well, not exactly. We met at the club.”

  “The club?”

  “It’s not important.”

  I was pretty sure it was. “So, you guys are personal friends?”

  Donald picked up his glass, drinking down the last bit before looking at me again. “Sure. He was the one that recommended your firm.”

  Funny how Henry never told me that. And he would have. “And you guys met at the club. What a small world.” How did I ask about the club without seeming suspicious? Maybe—

  “Welcome to The Pub. What can I get you?” Becky asked professionally as she stopped at the table, smiling at us.

  “Why does everyone say it like that?” Donald asked her, jumping on the change of subject. She looked at me and I smiled at him.

  “No reason.” My answer was a hint for Becky. Donald wasn’t the one. This was my signal that I wasn’t happy and that I might need an out. The bigger the out, the better her tips. She nodded while getting her pad out. After the number of bad dates I’d had here, we had the system down. Not that we had any practice recently. I had been pretty good at dating before my last boyfriend, but after him I had only flirted when the opportunity arose and dated even less. In a town with very limited resources in eligible bachelors, it wasn’t hard to be reclusive.

  “Whatever. What are you getting?” Donald asked, although it edged into the demanding category.

  “Hot wings and garlic fries.” There was going to be no kissing. Not going to happen. That wasn’t why I was here.

  “You are one of those girls that don’t mind eating in front of men.” He eyed me up and down, hesitating at my stomach that he couldn’t see around the tabletop. He must be focusing on what he remembered. “How novel. Most of the girls I eat with just pretend to eat. It’s so annoying.”

  The words were all right, but his tone seemed to be judging me more than those poor girls he usually dated.

  I was starting to get more superficial by the minute.

  “I like the food here.” Also, I needed some alcohol if I was going to last until the end of dinner. “And can you add a lemon drop?”

  “Yes. And an old-fashioned.” He looked at the menu again, his eyes flicking from item to item. “Are the steaks here good?” he asked, his face scrunched up as if he were debating the validity of her answer.

  Becky glanced at me, her brow arching slightly before she smoothed it out. “Yes. We don’t get many complaints on the menu.” Yeah, he was making friends left and right over here.

  “Then, I will have the steak. Medium rare. I like it bloody.”

  Becky glanced at me and I was pretty sure she was questioning my sanity. Hell, I was questioning my sanity. “He’s Dorothy’s grandson,” I told her, so I could explain a little. It wasn’t like I could admit that I wanted to pump him for more information about my dead partner and his son.

  She smiled tightly at him before shooting me a look and returning to the kitchen to place our orders.

  “You know, I was surprised when Henry asked me to come out this week,” Donald said, putting his menu back in the holder at the head of the table.

  “Henry asked you to come out this week?” I was stunned. Why? What was he up to?

  “Yes. Even offered to pay for the room, even though I told him I would get it for free since I was family.”

  “I didn’t know that the two of you were so close.” That didn’t compute. Henry was not generous. He argued over sending our clients Christmas cards. There was no way he would offer to pay for a small client’s room. Plus, I hadn’t seen Donald’s name on any of our client lists. What had Henry been up to? And had it caused his death?

  “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you anything. Nothing at all?” He seemed to be scanning my face intently, looking for something. Since I had no idea what he was talking about, I doubted he found it. I was starting to feel like I wasn’t the only one here to pump the other for information. And that was a little worrisome. Maybe I should’ve just told Nic or John my suspicions.

  “Nothing. I had no idea you were a client,” I answered honestly. “In fact, I probably shouldn’t have accepted a date with you, if you are. Were. Maybe we should call it a night.” I started to flag down Becky so I could get mine to go, but Donald grabbed my hand and pulled it down.

  “No. I mean, no, we just ordered. You are closing the business with Henry’s death, anyway. Why should we rush out now?”

  I could think of a few reasons. “I don’t think—”

  “Grandmother would be so upset to think I let you leave so quickly,” he reminded me.

  I dropped, leaning back in the booth as I studied him. He had answers, and I was tempted to try to get them out of him. Why did my partner, who never left the city, suddenly take a tr
ip to Barrow Bay? Why did he stay in an expensive suite? A treat he was saving to be a retirement gift to himself. And he invited his ex-wife, whom he hated. Donald Watts, a businessman who had lots of connections in the business world—at least I assumed from his family’s contacts alone—was saying that Henry had invited him too. Even though I had no idea he was one of our clients. And after doing all of this, Henry ended up murdered.

  I was starting to get a better idea as to why. But I really hoped it wasn’t true.

  “You must be very busy with Watts Enterprises. What made you take Henry up on his offer?” I asked, accepting my drink from Becky with a smile and a murmured, “Thanks.” Donald let her put his drink down in front of him, without acknowledging her at all.

  Ass.

  He studied the room for a second before taking a large sip and turning back to me. “He was right. I needed a vacation. Now seemed like the perfect time.”

  Really? The beginning of October was his perfect time for a vacation? Did he really expect me to buy that?

  “Most people come in the summer. When it’s warmer and you can swim,” I mumbled, afraid if I talked louder it would come out accusatory.

  “I visit then, as well. I spend a lot of time out here, trying to learn the business. Kenneth and I will be taking it over from Grandmother at the end of the year.” He finished the drink and signaled Becky for another. Joe saw it and lifted a brow at me before starting it and handing it to Becky, who also was eyeing him. I hadn’t thought to ask Becky if she had seen him here before.

  “Really?” Huh. I knew Dorothy had been talking about hiring one of her relatives, but I had gotten the impression they were more… experienced that the man in front of me. At least one had been. I was willing to bet that Donald was the other candidate. The one she was going to deny.

  “Yes. She should be making the announcement soon. I will finally get a real position,” he sneered and took another sip from his new drink.

  “I thought you worked for Watts Enterprises.” Which was an important company. Important enough that he would have contact with most of the major players in the area.

  He waved away my comment. “They don’t actually let me do anything. I just sit in meetings and act important. My father doesn’t trust me with any real work. That’s why—” He cut himself off abruptly. “You’re very easy to talk to, do you know that?” His words were a little slurring, but he’d only had one drink, so he couldn’t be that bad. Right? I looked up at Becky, who was still watching Donald. Catching her eye, I mouthed, “How many?” She lifted three fingers.

  Great. He was drunk.

  “What will you be doing at the hotel?”

  “OM. That means—”

  “Operations Manager.” I dealt with upper management on a regular basis. I knew the lingo.

  “Ahh, I forgot that I was on a date with a smart girl. You’re a smart girl, right?”

  What answer did he expect? No? Yes? Eat dirt? I admitted I liked the last option.

  I started to get up again, signaling to Becky to wrap mine to go. This wasn’t worth it. I could just tell Nic and let the FBI figure it out. If I hurried, I could make it home before the fries were cold. Maybe. “Well, this has been nice, but I really think that—”

  “What time is it?”

  Not late enough. “Six…” I checked my phone. “Thirty.” Wow. I don’t know that I have ever ended a date this quickly. This might be a new low. Stellar.

  He nodded. “Perfect. See you around.” He took another drink, picked up his phone and began texting.

  That was it? A ‘What time is it?’ and then ‘Bye’? I got out before he could change his mind and pulled out my phone to text Lark, stopping by the bar to cancel my food and pay for my drink. The look on Joe’s face when he said they hadn’t placed the order yet told me what they thought of my date. And the chances of me making it to eating. I was not alone in my disgust.

  Me: How hard is it to switch teams?

  Lark: I have no idea what you are talking about.

  Me: Teams? Like, how do I become a lesbian? Is there, like, reverse shock treatment, or something?

  Lark: How bad was the date? Also, that’s still not how it works.

  Me: Thirty minutes. He was drunk. What was Dorothy thinking?

  Lark: He asked her to set it up. Told her he was too shy. I asked for you.

  Me: Too rude, would be more like it.

  Lark: Why didn’t you say no?

  Me: Because I’m stupid.

  And suspicious. I would call Nic and John in the morning with my new information. No point in covering for Frank.

  Lark: Wine?

  Me: You have enough?

  Lark: I can get more. Hailey is at the Tea House for their Princess party.

  Me: Three bottles.

  Me: Scratch that. Four. And bring something to watch. And eat. I left before I could get food.

  Lark: Can I bring something Marvel?

  I sighed.

  Me: No. No Marvel movies. No romantic comedies.

  Lark: So… unless you want to watch Disney movies I’m out of suggestions.

  I was out of better ideas and I didn’t want to watch more reruns.

  Me: Disney sounds good. Let’s do Disney.

  I was outside by this time, looking down the street. The liquor store was right there, only a few doors down. I changed directions.

  Me: I take it back. I will get the alcohol. You bring the movies. See you at my house in ten.

  Lark: Deal.

  I crossed the street to the liquor store. Some days called for something stronger than wine.

  Chapter 13

  After spending too much money on enough alcohol for the both of us to drink ourselves into a stupor, I walked the two blocks to my home debating how overactive my imagination could be. I mean, it seemed too elaborate. Was Frank the real criminal, helping Tony and Dan commit insider trading behind Henry’s back? Then Henry found out and admitted to the crime to protect Frank. Could Donald Watts confirm any or all of these theories? And why had Henry worked so hard to bring all of them here, in Barrow Bay, at the same time as the FBI investigation?

  I was confused. And starting to think that Nic might be able to help me make it fit. Which worried me on another level. When did I depend on someone else to help me figure anything out?

  “Jen,” said Lark as she walked towards me with a bag that I hoped included something with lots of starch to absorb the alcohol. “What wine did you get?”

  “Russian,” I yelled back.

  As we got closer, I could see her head drop to the side as she tried to figure out what that meant. “Please tell me you mean vodka.”

  “And Mexican varieties.”

  “And tequila? This is going to be a good night.” She smiled and rubbed her hands together. “I texted Gran. Hailey can sleep over at her house, so I’m a free woman.”

  “Well, I don’t plan on remembering much of it,” I admitted. “By the way, thanks for the tea this morning.”

  “What do you mean?” She tilted her head slightly to the left. “What tea?”

  Wait, if she didn't bring the tea this morning, then who… no. No, there was no way Nic did. Although he was there when I made it the first time we met. And he knew the Tea House. But he would have been really paying attention to me to—

  “Nic brought you tea this morning and told you it was me, didn’t he?” Lark bit her lip trying to hide her smile.

  “No.” That denial wasn’t going to play. “Yes. Maybe.”

  She laughed. “He likes you so much.”

  “But he’s mean to me.”

  “You’re pretty mean back. Plus, some men are weird. Doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like you. Maybe he just didn’t want to like you.” She thought for a second. “In fact, he really just plays off you. I don’t know that he’s ever been the first one to be mean. Well, this trip. Unless you’re about to spiral. Then he says something to get you out of it.”

  “You’re crazy.” A
nd right. Could she be right? “Whatever. Let’s go.” Avoidance sounded good.

  We both turned to walk up my walkway at the same time, which made it more awkward when we both stopped.

  My door was open.

  No. NO! No, no, no, no.

  “Oh, hell,” I moaned. Too many years being the person called in to handle the emergencies had trained me well, and it kicked in, keeping me from panicking. But it didn’t stop me from staring at my alcohol with longing. My dream of avoidance was gone.

  “Odds that the FBI left it open?” Lark asked.

  “I was home after them.”

  “Want me to call John? I have him on speed dial.” Lark gave me a sympathetic look while pulling out her phone.

  “That’s not normal,” I told her.

  “Yeah, but I have learned my lesson. I will never call 911 again.” She shivered with the memory.

  “You know, if you just stopped with the sarcasm you would be fine,” I pointed out.

  “You say that like it’s possible,” she answered. “Hey, John. Can you—” She suddenly glared at the phone like he could see her. “No. No, I have not found more body parts. That is not funny. No, really. Stop laughing.” If looks could kill, the phone would be a goner.

  “I feel the need to remind you two that this is about me, not you,” I spoke up, hoping I would be loud enough to talk over John’s laugher. When Lark continued to glare at her phone, I grabbed it and started talking. “John, someone broke into my house.”

  “What? Why?” He stopped laughing and got serious.

  “I don’t know. What do I do?”

  “Wait there with Lark. No. Go to a neighbor's house and wait. Don’t go inside. Nic and I will be there soon.”

  Why couldn’t tonight just end?

  “Jen? Lark? You girls okay?” Sallie Mae, retired teacher and certified gossip, walked by and drifted over to join us. “Jen, honey, your door is open.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it supposed to be?”

  “No.”

  “You had a break-in?”

  “Looks like it.” Screw it. I was drinking. I pulled out the vodka and took a swig.