“How’s this, then, for starters?” Phillip asked.
Ethan choked as Phillip grabbed him by the collar and jerked him roughly to his feet.
“I believe I asked you to stand up,” the dark-haired man explained while Ethan fought to control his coughing.
“You were too rude to comply,” Phillip continued, “so I decided to follow your lead and attend to my wants, for a change.”
Ethan struggled to force his feet to support him, to remove the pressure from his neck. He focused his gaze on Phillip’s fist, poised to strike his face. Hoarsely, Ethan cried out, “Wait just one damned minute! You’ll have a hell of a time selling cotton when you can’t hire a single ship to move it. One word from me, and everything you haven’t wrecked already will be gone. Hit me and you’re through and so is Payton Enterprises!”
It was hard to take his eyes off of that fist, but Ethan managed it, to glare into Phillip’s face. He had to remind Payton that he didn’t joke about such things, that he was well-connected enough to make good on his threat. And he would, too. He couldn’t care less if he’d stolen Rachel; he wasn’t about to take a beating from this self-righteous prig!
Payton hesitated, and Ethan suppressed a grin of triumph. Good old, sensible Phillip. Any other man would knock his block off, but Phillip was no doubt thinking of his obligations to his family and what this rare display of temper might cost all of them. Virtue was such a predictable weakness, Ethan decided.
As he’d known it would, Phillip’s grip on his collar weakened, and by degrees, his right fist drooped.
“I’m not through with you,” Phillip swore. Turning, he kicked over Ethan’s makeshift bar before he stormed off toward the gangplank.
As an expensive bottle of bourbon soaked into the deck, the laughing gulls barked their belated warning.
Ethan smirked. “Yes, you are, my friend, because you’ve already lost more than you know.”
*
Lucius Oliver’s raised cottage stood amid a modest neighborhood of similar structures, neither grand nor shabby. Although each had once been white, some gray showed through the clapboards. The narrow peninsula’s salt air was hard on paint.
Lucius’s house was not yet peeling, but an unmistakable air of neglect hung over it nonetheless. Claire’s garden in the front yard grew untended. Weeds poked abundant shoots through vines and shrubs she had once maintained fastidiously. In one front window, a tan shade hung askew.
Shae climbed the front steps onto the porch. Guilt churned in her stomach. Since Claire’s funeral, she’d avoided coming here. She’d been so caught up in her conflicting emotions over Ethan, she had neglected helping her old friend adjust to life alone.
The thought of the cameo inside her bag and the note Lucius might have written chilled her. If he had kept some awful secret, did he deserve her sympathy? Was he worthy of her guilt?
Walking up the steps to the front door, she belatedly remembered the hat he’d left at the jewelry store. She’d forgotten it there yesterday, and she realized it would be just like King to throw it out.
In answer to her knock, tiny nails scraped against the inside of the front door. Jasper, Claire’s beloved terrier, yapped frantically, but no one in the house heeded his barking.
“Lucius, it’s Shae! I know you’re in there. Let me in!” Shae knew Lucius would have shut up Jasper in the extra bedroom unless he were home. The small white dog had a criminal history, at least where the pantry was concerned.
Jasper’s yelping grew more desperate, and a chill raced up Shae’s spine. What if Lucius couldn’t answer? She knocked again, hard enough to bruise her knuckles, then listened for footsteps on the hardwood floor. But again, all she heard were the terrier’s frenzied barks.
She walked to the window with the crooked shade and peered inside. All four of the tiny white dog’s feet left the floor with every yip. He paused to dig at the door, evidently still believing she was there.
Beyond the entry, the sitting room looked cluttered. Newspapers littered the rug near a deep brown wingback chair. A film of dust blanketed a small table nearby. Shae’s gaze focused on its surface. When she squinted, she could just make out a trail, as if an object had slid off onto the floor. By tilting her head at an awkward angle, Shae could see the shards of porcelain lying on the wooden floor.
Someone had broken the dancer’s figure Claire kept there. Either that or Jasper had progressed from stealing biscuits to far more serious offenses.
Shae’s heart raced in her chest. Maybe his dismissal, on the heels of his wife’s death, had been too much for Lucius to bear. Perhaps he was lying illor worse inside.
She rushed to the front door and tried it. With a loud creak, it opened, further evidence that Lucius was home. Since a string of burglaries had been reported in the newspaper this summer, Shae doubted he’d leave the house vacant and unlocked.
The terrier pushed past her legs and ran onto the porch, then down the steps. The moment he reached the garden, he relieved himself. The poor thing seemed so desperate that Shae wondered how long it had been since he’d gone out.
“Lucius, where are you?” she called as she glanced around the sitting room. Besides the shattered dancer and the dustiness, nothing else seemed out of place. Without waiting for the dog to finish sniffing in the garden, she walked into the kitchen.
On the table, a beefsteak had been cut into neat bites. Tiny globs of fat had congealed among dried juices. Beside the meat, a fork stabbed a single carrot slice. A hunk of bread, half-eaten, rounded out the unfinished meal.
Pans left on the stove assured Shae that Lucius had cooked for himself last evening. Maybe he hadn’t been as devastated as she’d feared. But then, where was he? He might have become untidier since Claire’s passing, but she couldn’t imagine him departing so abruptly that he would leave a mess like this.
She checked the bedroom, the guest room and the dining roomeven tapped on the backyard privy door but still, she found no other sign of Lucius. It was as if he’d simply vanished during suppertime last evening.
She backtracked to the broken porcelain, not far from the front door. As she let in Jasper, she imagined the old man at his solitary meal. A knock had come, and he had answered. Had some sort of struggle followed? Had Lucius’s departure been unwilling?
That theory explained the condition of the kitchen, the broken porcelain, the unlocked front door, even Jasper’s freedom in the house. But who, she asked herself, would have taken the old man?
Her gaze settled on the sofa. On it sat the old bookkeeper’s bowler, the very same hat he had left behind yesterday at the jewelry store. Tears filled Shae’s eyes, and she sank into the wingback chair. How could she be so stupid as to wonder at who’d come here? Who had fired Lucius only yesterday? And whose secrets might the old man have been trying to tell her?
King must have learned about the cameo’s return. Alberta would have told him. And then what? Had he come here to discuss it, or had he simply silenced his long-time bookkeeper? Despite her earlier suspicions, despite all he had done, she wondered if her father could really be capable of murder.
Jasper hopped into her lap and whined as if he shared her grief. She rubbed his coarse white hair and let him lick the tears that trickled down her cheek.
“We’ll find Lucius,” she swore, assuring herself more than the dog. “We’ll find King and make him tell us everything.”
*
“Phillip! You nearly startled me out of my wits!” Justine said. She carried a wicker basket containing garden shears in one hand, while the other held her cane. Though she had not yet filled the basket with flowers, her face already gleamed with perspiration. The morning was quite warm, and the effort of hobbling outdoors was arduous for her.
“It’s shady enough here,” Phillip said from the bench where he was sitting. For her sake, he tried to force a welcome into his words. Still, he hoped she would cut her flowers and go back inside the house. He didn’t think he could be ci
vil company right now. Not when so much anger churned inside him. He’d come here, to Mother’s garden, to avoid company, not chat.
Justine’s uneven gait made her bob like a toy boat in rough waters. He sighed when she sat near him and seemed to probe him with her gaze.
“Mr. Frindly sent young Frederick from the office to ask if you were coming. I told him you were ill. Was that all right?” she asked.
Phillip nodded. Frindly had worked for Paytons for nearly thirty years. He certainly could manage for one day in Phillip’s absence.
“I was worried,” Justine continued as she set the basket to one side. “I didn’t hear you come home last evening, and you’d left this morning before Lydia and I got up.”
“I’m surprised Lydia didn’t wait up all night for the chance to gloat. She was right, you know, about Ethan and Rachel.”
A strong breeze carried the heavy scent of white roses to his nose. A live oak’s dark leaves rustled, and from somewhere near, a squirrel scolded churlishly.
Justine adjusted her hat to keep the wind from stealing it. Gravely, she nodded. “Lydia slept in my room last night for the first time since we were small. She was sad and frightened too, that you’d do something drastic. Perhaps she’ll learn from this. Every tale she tells must have its price.”
“This time I was the one to pay it.”
“Would you have preferred that she stayed silent?”
Phillip shook his head. “Of course not. I had to find out the truth. At least I learned it from someone who loves me.”
“You should tell her that.”
“Perhaps I’m not quite ready to be noble. Perhaps I’m not quite capable.” Phillip opened his right hand and stared down at the white shell that Shae had given him last evening. After a moment’s hesitation, he offered it to Justine.
“What’s this?” she asked as she picked it off his palm.
“A thank-you from Shae Rowan. For caring for her bird. I met her on the beach last evening, quite by accident. I believe she’s lost her home over this affair with the Lowells.”
Justine fingered the delicate white spiral of the baby’s ear. “Whatever will she do?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. She’s a shy creature. I only hope that she won’t go near Ethan.”
“Ethan? Why would she go to that cad if he’s involved with Rachel?”
Phillip shook his head once more. “I doubt he’d tell Shae that. You should have seen him, gloating about how he’d offered her his ‘patronage.’ To pay her back for standing him up at that party, he’ll take her honor in exchange. He’ll have Rachel for a wife and Shae Rowan as his mistress.”
Justine shot up from the bench, scolding with one finger. “You cannot allow this! You must help that girl.”
Phillip stared at her indignant posture. “You haven’t even met her.”
“She loves birds, doesn’t she? And shells and walking in the surf? She crafts lovely things and rides about the city on her own. Lydia’s told me all about her. And best of all, she’s embarrassed Ethan Lowell. Help her, Phillip.”
“You don’t understand the complications. I found Ethan this morning. We exchanged strong words. He took Rachel from me without a moment’s hesitation. That’s what stung the most. He shrugged it off as if it all meant nothing, all the years that we’ve been friends, all my marriage plans. He handed me an offer to buy Payton Enterprises as if his money could fix what he had done.”
Justine tried to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged away from her touch. He wanted no one’s pity. He wanted nothing but to nurse the white flame of his anger.
“When I asked that he leave Shae alone, he paid no mind,” Phillip told her. “We argued, would have fought, except he threatened me.”
“I shouldn’t think you’d be afraid of Ethan. You’re the bravest man I know!”
Phillip smiled at his sister. “I wish I could live up to that, Justine. But you’re wrong. There’s one thing I’m afraid of, and Ethan knows it. He said he’ll cut off shipping for Payton Enterprises. He could choke us out of business if he wanted. With as many people as I’ve enraged, it wouldn’t be as difficult as you might think.”
“So you left?”
“What choice did I have?”
“You always have a choice.” Again, she lowered herself onto the bench.
He jerked to his feet. “I don’t! I have you instead, and Lydia and Mother! All my choices have been made, and I stand by them every one!”
Her dark gaze seemed to murmur accusations, but she asked only one last question. “Even when you’re wrong?”
*
On impulse, Shae stuffed the old man’s hat into her carpetbag. She had no intention of being ordered to her room and shushed, as she had been so many times before. With the cameo and hat as evidence, she intended to confront her father, to force him to answer her. She no longer felt as patient as the surf; instead, she would pound him with all the fury of a tempest. Biting her lip with determination, Shae let the terrier out ahead of her and pulled shut the Olivers’ front door.
And froze. For in front of the house, King was just pulling Delilah to a halt.
The relief of seeing that the mare had found her way home safely last night did little to blunt the shock of seeing him. Dear God, she thought, she hadn’t imagined facing him so soon!
Every atom of her brashness deserted her, and she felt her knees begin to shake. Though she had meant to challenge him, she’d needed the long ride to Austin Street to steel herself in preparation for his rage. Pressing her body into the shadow of the doorway, she prayed he wouldn’t see her. She needed one last chance to gather the courage to do what she must.
“Mary Shae, you stop right where you are!” King’s voice thundered across the weedy garden. A woman’s head poked from the front door of the neighboring house. King glowered at the woman, and she abruptly vanished.
Shae wished she could pull off the same trick. But, despite her silent prayer, the power of invisibility was denied her.
King climbed down from his black phaeton and tied the horse’s head to an iron-ringed hitching post. All the while, his scowl pummeled Shae and filled her with a paralyzing dread.
In the place of all her withered questions, fear froze her to the core. Fear that whatever fate took her mother and Lucius away would now crush her as well. Daughters could disappear as suddenly as wives, as conveniently as bookkeepers. By the time King reached her, she was shivering, despite the unusually warm morning.
“Where have you been?” he demanded. “You look like holy hell. And what in God’s name were you doing, turning that mare loose? Do you have any idea what she cost me?”
A growl like a small motor erupted near her feet. Shae scooped up the terrier in her arms. Although Jasper quieted, she yet felt hostility vibrating through him. If one small dog refused to tuck his tail and cower, should she be any weaker?
“Delilah turned herself loose, and it doesn’t matter where I was,” Shae’s voice quavered, betraying her nervousness. “I already know that you were here. What I want to know is why. Where is Lucius?”
King’s glare slid across hers, then came to rest on the white terrier. She thought she saw her father’s expression soften just a bit.
“Keep the dog, if you’d like. Bring him home and we can talk.”
“Keep him?” Shae squeezed the dog so tight he yelped. Panic chased her voice an octave higher “No, Father he belongs to Lucius.”
“Lucius Oliver can’t tend him anymore. Mary Shae, please get inside the phaeton.”
She shook her head and backed away from him. “He’s dead, isn’t he? You’ve killed him!”
He closed in on her and slapped her hard enough to knock her off her feet. Pain flared across the left side of her face. She heard King’s howl as Jasper bit his hand. When she looked up, the terrier was dangling from her father’s hand as he cursed and shook it.
“Damn it! Get off me, you cur!” He slung the dog into a p
orch column. It yelped and fell into the garden, then leapt to its feet and barked fiercely. Glaring down at Shae, King shouted, “Look at the trouble you’ve caused with your ridiculous accusations!”
He grabbed her by the arm and hoisted Shae to her feet, then shoved her toward the door. “Get inside the house. I won’t have you creating a spectacle outdoors.”
“You’re the one who shouted!” Shae argued as she went inside. “You’re the one who hit me! If anyone’s a spectacle, it’s you.”
King removed his hat and wrung it. “By God, Mary Shae, you’re every bit as impossible as your mother. Now sit down and let me talk to you.”
Shae opened her mouth as if to argue, then noticed the pain in his gray eyes. Was it possible he had an explanation? Could it be that striking her had wounded him inside? With one hand to her throbbing cheek, she dropped onto the sofa. From outside, the terrier still barked.
“You’re right about one thing.” Her father dug a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wiped away dots of blood as they sprung up on his hand from the dog bite. “Lucius is dead. But listen to me, Mary Shae. I never hurt that old man.”
She pulled the dented bowler out of the carpetbag. “I found this here. You brought it, didn’t you?” She heard her father’s ever-present anger reflected in her voice.
“I did. If you’ll shut up and listen, I’ll tell you what happened.” King stood before her, his features contorted by emotion.
She forced herself to slide back in the sofa, to focus her attention on his words. She couldn’t remember the last occasion he’d tried explaining anything to her.
“I came to talk with him,” King said. “I was still angry about what he said to you, but I thought maybe we could come to some sort of understanding. Lucius just needed a reminder about who paid his bills each month.”
Outside, the dog growled and scratched at the door as if it were digging out a mole. King jerked abruptly toward the sound.
“Please don’t hurt him,” Shae said.
King glared at her once more. “Is that all you think of me? That I’m a murderer of old men and little dogs?” Again, the iron in his gaze softened to sadness.
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