An Unlikely Match

by Arlene James

  Chapter Five

  “You make fun,” Kent Monroe said, trudging into the parlor, “but I’ve always wanted a tree house, and now seems a good time to go for it.”

  “I don’t think Grandmother’s French Empire bedroom suite will fit up in a tree,” Ellie noted wryly, following behind him.

  Kent stopped in his tracks, sighed dramatically and slumped his shoulders. “Well, so much for that. Another dream bites the dust.”

  Coming up beside him, Ellie looped her arms about his shoulders, counseling softly, “Never give up your dreams, Grandpa. It’s not too late.”

  Kent smiled, patted her forearm and quoted, “Where there’s life, there’s hope.”

  “Exactly.”

  A throat cleared, and Ellie looked around just as Asher rose to his feet. Kent smiled and boomed a hearty welcome, but Ellie’s first feeling was dismay. How was she to keep her distance from Asher when he could pop up at Chatam House at any moment? She quickly smoothed her features and nodded in greeting.

  “Any news?” Kent asked of Asher.

  “Uh, no. Sorry. I’m simply here to have dinner with my aunts.”

  “I thought you wanted to speak to Dallas,” Mags said.

  “That, too.” He looked at Ellie. She quickly glanced away. Kent sent her toward an armless side chair before plodding over to drop down into the empty armchair next to the settee.

  “And how is your pet?” Hypatia asked him as soon as he was seated.

  Asher waited until Ellie sat before resuming his own seat. She smoothed the skirt of the royal blue minidress that she wore over matching leggings and flat, ankle boots.

  “Still haven’t seen old Curly,” Kent said, “but at least he’s eating.”

  “Or something is,” Ellie put in. “We really have no way of knowing if it’s the cat or something else. We just put out the feed, and it disappears.”

  “An opossum could be eating it,” Magnolia commented, “or a skunk. “

  “Mice even, maybe,” Ellie said. “We keep the cat food bag on the enclosed mud porch, and something has torn a hole in it.”

  “Guess I’ll have to do a thorough search for my poor old tom,” Kent said. “He must be traumatized by all that’s happened, and it can’t help that we’re not around for him to come home to.”

  Ellie sent her grandfather a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure he’s fine. He always did like to roam, you know.”

  Kent nodded. Dallas appeared in the wide doorway between the foyer and the parlor just then, announcing, “Hilda says to come to the table.”

  “Oh, but Odelia isn’t here,” Kent protested, glancing around the room as if making certain that he hadn’t missed her.

  “Yes, she is,” Dallas said, flashing a smile at him. “She’s waiting in the dining room.”

  Kent hauled himself to his feet and swiftly lumbered into the foyer. Dallas stepped aside to let him pass, targeting Asher with a self-satisfied look. He flashed her an irritated glance, then smoothly came to his feet as Ellie and his aunts did. Ellie brushed her hands over her skirt and swiftly moved forward. It was going to be an interesting evening. She meant to keep her head down and her mouth shut; she could only hope that Dallas would do the same.

  Asher stepped toward the door, hot on Ellie’s heels, only to feel a hand catch at his elbow. He looked down to find Magnolia gazing up at him, her gray braid lying upon her shoulder and brushing against the notched collar of her shirtwaist dress. Of course. How could he have forgotten, as Kent obviously had, that his very proper aunts would expect a gentleman to provide them escort to the table?

  Dutifully, he offered one arm to her and the other to Hypatia. Smiling graciously, his dear old aunties flanked him, and they began a stately progression. Ahead of them, Ellie and Dallas walked close together, their heads bent in quiet conversation. As they moved toward the dining room, Asher couldn’t help comparing his sister and her friend.

  Dallas looked boyish in her slender jeans and skinny black turtleneck sweater, while Ellie…well, even in her heyday Ginger Rogers had had nothing on Ellie Monroe.

  Asher admitted to himself that he might have misstepped by coming here like this. He’d had little opportunity to speak with his sister in private thus far, and Garrett Willows seemed likewise unavailable, so all he’d really accomplished by getting himself invited to dinner was to throw himself into company with Ellie Monroe, which was the last thing he should have been doing.

  Determined afresh to concentrate on the matter at hand, he glanced down at his aunties, only to find them sharing a knowing look. Asher felt his face heat. He had just been caught staring at Ellie Monroe. And for that he was going to rip his little sister to shreds. Just as soon as he managed to corner her. If she had just cooperated…but then, when had Dallas ever? Well, he could be stubborn, too.

  Biding his time throughout dinner, Asher struggled to observe his sister and ignore Ellie, with little success. Though she sat on the opposite side of the long table and several seats farther down than he did, Asher couldn’t help noticing the gusto with which Ellie enjoyed her meal. And the way she constantly smiled. At everyone but him. That rankled more than it should have, and despite his better judgment he found himself purposefully engaging her.

  “So, how did you find the odor at the house today, Ellie? Still overpowering?”

  “We didn’t go into the house itself,” she reported with a frown. “The firemen blocked the doors.”

  “Though what the holdup is on getting the blocks taken down, I can’t imagine,” Kent put in from his seat at the foot of the table. “Ah, well, makes little difference. It’s not like anything is going to change until the insurance company ponies up.” Smiling, he looked to Odelia as if expecting confirmation of his assessment. Odelia, however, was staring at her plate with a woebegone expression.

  Troubled by what her sisters had told him earlier, Asher asked, “Don’t you like the pasta, Aunt Odelia?”

  She looked up in surprise. “What?”

  “You’re not eating,” he pointed out. “Is the pasta not to your liking?”

  “Of course it is,” she said, giving him that sweet smile before quickly forking a bite into her mouth. “Delicious.”

  “It is,” Asher agreed. “One of Hilda’s best dishes, which is saying something.” He meant to let the matter end there, but instead he heard himself saying, “Ellie certainly likes it.”

  She instantly dropped her fork, her face coloring. Too late, he realized how that must have sounded, as if he thought she was eating too much. And he couldn’t think of a way to smooth it over. Everything that came to mind would only make it worse.

  I don’t think you’re a pig.

  I like a woman with a hearty appetite.

  You look great to me, so don’t even think about going on a diet.

  Ellie turned to Hypatia, saying quietly, “Hilda is an excellent cook.”

  “We’re very blessed to have her,” Hypatia agreed.

  “This is so good that I’m quite full already,” Ellie went on softly, “so if you’ll excuse me…”

  “Oh, of course, dear.” Hypatia smiled politely then glanced at Asher.

  Ellie pushed her chair away from the table, stood and left the room.

  Obviously, his thoughtless comment had driven her away. Mortified, Asher bent his head and continued to eat, only to discover that his own appetite had gone with her. He put down his fork and picked up his glass of iced tea, telling himself that he should be glad she’d left the room. But he didn’t feel that way at all. Frustrated, he fought not to follow Ellie, bouncing his knee beneath the table, an old habit he’d thought mastered long ago.

  Dallas stood next, saying, “No dessert for me, either. I’ll just pop into the kitchen and thank Hilda before I head out.” She started off but Magnolia hailed her.

  “Dallas, dear, would you mind running out to the greenhouse? If Garrett is still there, tell him to stop what he’s doing and come in to dinner.”

  Dallas s
miled. “I’ll see to it.”

  Doubly frustrated now, Asher once more watched Dallas leave on an errand for his aunties, while Magnolia muttered about Garrett working too hard and being stubborn. Quickly, Asher, too, excused himself.

  “Isn’t anyone staying for dessert?” Hypatia asked in an exasperated tone.

  “Maybe I’ll have some later,” Asher told her with an apologetic smile.

  As he made for the door, Asher heard Kent declare that he was looking forward to dessert. Asher didn’t linger to hear more. Instead, he hurried after his sister, down the hall and into the sunroom at the back of the house. Weaving his way through the wicker furnishings, he let himself out the French doors onto the patio. The greenhouse stood in the distance. The glass-paned walls of the sizable structure, though lit from inside, were fogged. Still, he could see a shadowy figure moving about at the rear of the building.

  Asher sprinted across the yard, dodging mulched flowerbeds devoid of blossoms and the occasional strategically placed bench. The cold of winter had yielded to a gradual warming in past days, inspiring Asher to leave his coat in his office. The evenings remained crisp, however, leaving him grateful for the lack of wind and even the insufficient weight of his suit jacket.

  Before he could reach the greenhouse door, a tall, muscular man stepped out. Wearing comfortable jeans, heavy work boots and a dark T-shirt under a denim jacket, he brushed something from his coal-black hair, hunched his shoulders and started toward the carriage house behind the mansion where the staff—Chester and his wife, Hilda, her sister, Carol, and the gardener—lived. This, then, had to be the latter.

  “Willows, is it?” Asher said, picking up his speed and putting out his hand.

  The man stopped, his expression inscrutable in the deep shadows of night. “And you are?” He kept his hands in his jacket pocket.

  “Asher Chatam. Nephew.”

  Willows withdrew a hand from a pocket and offered it for a shake, saying, “The lawyer.” The tone of his voice made it clear what he thought of that particular breed, so Asher didn’t make polite conversation but instead got straight to the point.

  “I have some questions about the fire at the Monroe house and your involvement in it.”

  The hand went back into the pocket. “Didn’t have any involvement in the fire. I was riding down the street on my motorcycle when this redhead in a jogging suit dashed out in front of me, waving her arms like a crazy woman. I managed not to run her down. She pointed out the fire, I phoned 911 and, since she said no one was inside, waited until they got there and put the thing out. Whole thing didn’t take twenty minutes. Then, when I realized she was a Chatam, I gave her a ride to the storage unit. She stayed with the Monroes. I came back here. Then later, they all wound up here. No surprise in that, I guess. Every stray in town seems to wind up here sooner or later. Myself included. Most of this is in my statement to the authorities, by the way.”

  Asher frowned, uncertain whether he liked or trusted this fellow. He seemed awfully flip for a convicted felon on parole. Everyone in town knew the story of how he’d gone to prison for beating his stepfather, who by all accounts had been a brutal man and murdered Garrett’s mother. No one in the family had been especially pleased when Magnolia had hired Garrett. Deciding to ignore that last statement, Asher went back to the beginning.

  “So you were just riding down Charter Street, on your way where exactly?”

  He felt, rather than saw, the fellow’s smirk. “Church.”

  On Thursday? Asher thought. The fire had happened on the first Thursday in February. “Which church?”

  “Downtown Bible. Same as you, I imagine, though I haven’t seen you, not at the late service and not at the monthly men’s Bible study.”

  Asher tried not to let his irritation show. “And you’re a regular attendee of that Bible study, are you?”

  “Not yet. It just started in January, and I missed February. For obvious reasons.”

  “How long have you known the Monroes?”

  “Since the night of the fire.”

  “And Dallas?”

  “Since the night of the fire.”

  “But you stopped for her anyway?”

  “It was that or run over her. I almost laid down the bike as it was.”

  “So you’re just the Good Samaritan in all this?”

  Willows said nothing to that, just stood there, a big, silent shadow in the dark. Asher’s frown deepened. They stood about the same height, but the other man’s bulk made him seem larger, tougher—and somehow not particularly trustworthy. Still, his story pretty much jibed with Ellie’s. So far. Cold prickled Asher’s skin, but he’d have turned into a human Popsicle before he’d have let on.

  “Okay. Thanks. I know where to find you if I have any more questions.”

  Willows nodded but before he started off again, Asher jerked his head toward the greenhouse. “My sister in there?”

  “Your sister?”

  “Dallas.”

  That came as an obvious surprise to the man. He took a half step back, his hands sinking farther into his pockets. “No. Ellie is, though.”

  It was Asher’s turn to be surprised. “I thought my sister was supposed to be coming out here to remind you that it’s time to eat.”

  “Don’t know about that,” Willows said, walking off toward the carriage house, “but like I told Ellie, I’ll eat as soon as I wash up.”

  Asher stood staring at the door to the greenhouse. He warred with himself, torn between running after Dallas, who had obviously sent Ellie out here in her place, and finding out just how well Ellie Monroe had gotten to know Garrett Willows since coming to Chatam House. Or maybe they were both lying and they had known each other for some time—long enough to plan an arson, say. Asher didn’t really believe that. Then again, he didn’t know what he believed anymore.

  Striding forward, he wrenched open the door. Moist, welcome warmth flowed over him. Rows of rough wooden tables stacked with tiered shelves of potted plants in various stages of bloom lined both long walls. Larger plants, some that would decorate the patio in more sultry weather, filled the interior of the long, narrow building, including a number of small trees that seemed about to outgrow their space.

  Asher came to a space enclosed in heavy plastic sheeting, split down the middle to allow access. Slipping through, he glanced around at tables laden with tiny pots of seedlings basking beneath the benevolent light of long, hooded lamps. A figure turned from a shadowy corner, a figure he would know anywhere.

  “Ellie.”

  At the same time she asked, “Garrett?”

  “Where’s Dallas?” he asked, not bothering to correct her because her recoil at the sound of his voice had signaled her recognition.

  “She said she had to leave and asked me to deliver a message to Garrett for Magnolia.”

  Asher snorted at that. “Did you tell her that I know about your little plot to embroil my aunt in a romance with your grandfather?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Of course. So, Dallas knew that the jig was up, and she was making herself scarce to avoid a scolding. No doubt she was gone by now. Pushing back the sides of his jacket, he parked his hands at his hips and shook his head.

  Well, this need not be a wasted opportunity. In this private setting, he could tell Ellie that he had decided to hand off the case. He could say that he didn’t have time to give the matter the attention that it needed or even that another attorney had more experience with insurance companies, which would be true as soon as he found someone like that.

  A little voice inside his head asked if he really wanted to hand off the case, and he had to admit that he did not. What he really wanted was to get to the bottom of this situation and see it resolved happily for all involved. Looking at Ellie standing there in the soft light of those heat lamps, he wondered if that was even possible, especially for him. Whatever happened, no matter how this turned out, he was going to come away from this with a sense of discontent.
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br />   He didn’t precisely know why that was so. He only knew that nothing would ever quite be the same again.

  Fidgeting nervously, Ellie considered her options. She had promised herself that she would avoid Asher. He had to know that she admired him, but he obviously did not return the sentiment. He’d implied, in fact, that she was an overeater, and he’d done it in the same tone that she’d heard him take with Dallas—a light, brotherly voice seasoned with a pinch of patronization and a dash of criticism, not that she could blame him. She was a little round, and she did enjoy a good meal. Since coming to Chatam House, she’d enjoyed far too many of them, in fact, and he had obviously noticed.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you earlier. I didn’t mean to imply…that is, I wouldn’t want you to think that I think you’re too—”

  “It’s all right. I know I’m chunky.”

  He looked up sharply. “You’re not chunky. You’re…”

  She wasn’t about to argue the point. “Okay, I’m too curvy then.”

  “No, Ellie, you’re perfect. That is, your shape is perfect. Not that you aren’t personally. I—I mean, I wouldn’t know that, but I can see…” He winced, lifting a hand to the back of his neck.

  Swamped with delight, Ellie stood there with her mouth open for several seconds.

  He looked up at the glass ceiling. “Surely,” he said through his teeth, “I don’t have to tell you that you’re very attractive.”

  “Really?”

  Sighing, he bent his head and pressed the fingertips of his left hand to the space between his eyes, as if his head hurt.

  “Are you okay?” she asked after a moment, concerned even though she couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

  “Fine,” he croaked. “I’m fine.” He waved his hand without looking at her, turned and said, “I should be going.”

  “Wait.” Emboldened by his compliment, she stepped forward to lay a hand upon his arm. He froze. “I should apologize to you, too.”