“I always wondered what that dog would have done to us if he’d gotten loose.”
“Probably the same thing he did to the Marshalls’ cat.” Abby made a face. “I heard from Aunt Leila that it wasn’t pretty.”
“I wonder what happened to that dog.”
“Died. Just like Mrs. Lawrence and Mrs. Marshall and the Marshalls’ cat. Most of the people we knew back then are gone. Except for Belle.”
“Naomi’s still around,” he noted.
“I didn’t know her back then. Did you?”
“Not that I remember. She said once that she used to see us around town.”
“She told me that, too. I asked her why she didn’t join us, and she said…’’Abby hesitated, recalling Naomi’s words.
“…that we just looked like we belonged together, alone.” Alex finished the sentence for her. “And she was right. I never needed anyone’s company but yours, Ab.” They walked in silence past three or four houses, then crossed the street.
“Primrose is remarkably the same, don’t you think? There are some new shops, but for the most part, the town has changed very little.”
“You sound happy about that,” she noted.
“I guess I am. Maybe it gives me a certain sense of security to have a constant in my life again.”
“What about your job?” she asked. What about Melissa? is what she meant.
“I’m very good at what I do,” he told her pointedly.
“I’m sure that you are. What I meant was, don’t you get a certain amount of satisfaction—of security or self-esteem or whatever—from what you do?”
He seemed to mull over the question before offering an answer. “I get satisfaction when I win a case. If that kind of satisfaction means self-esteem, then I guess I get that, too.”
“And security?”
“You don’t get that from a job. You get that from…” He appeared to struggle. His facial expression hardened.
Abby looked up at him, anticipating the completion of his sentence.
“Who knows where that comes from?” he mumbled, kicking a stone from the sidewalk with a quick, fierce deliberation.
“When I was working for White-Edwards, I felt very secure,” she confided. “I was very proud of myself. I had worked hard and deserved every perk, every raise, every bonus, every promotion. I felt as if I had made a very safe little world for myself.”
Abby’s shoulder brushed against his arm as they walked. She thrust her hands into her pockets to keep herself from looping an arm through his as they strolled along.
“One of the reasons losing my job had hurt so much was that I had really believed it was mine for as long as I wanted it to be mine. That it was something that could not be taken from me unless I wanted to give it up.” She cleared her throat.
“Was that naivete or arrogance? Everyone is expendable.”
“Tell me about it.” She frowned at the memory of her exit interview. “Well, it’s a mistake I won’t make again.”
“Are you still looking for a new position?”
“Yes. I still have resumes floating throughout half the major cities in the country. And I have a few headhunters looking for me.”
“What would you do if a really great offer came in before the house was ready to be sold?”
“Well, I guess I would take the job and hope that the local Realtors could find a buyer for the place in whatever condition it is in by then.”
“Won’t you miss it? The house, Primrose, Naomi…”
“Yes. Of course.” She frowned at the obvious, though she herself had not, she realized, given much thought to this aspect of leaving town. “But there’s no work for someone like me around here. There’s no market for what I do in Primrose.”
“Do something else,” he suggested.
“Easy for you to say, Mr. Kane, Esquire. Attorneys can find work just about anywhere. With experience in only investment counseling, my resume is a bit thin, sir.”
He was about to say something else when they reached the doorway to the hardware store. He put aside whatever thought he’d been about to share and held the door for her. While Alex discussed the availability of a ladder of the required height and arranged for its delivery that afternoon, Abby poked around at the eclectic array of goods for sale. Kitchen gadgets from apple corers to microwave ovens. Shower curtains, bathmats, and toothbrush holders in the latest colors. African violets and flower seeds. Spatulas and barbecue grills, paring knives and Scotch tape.
“Don’t you just love stores like this?” Alex grinned as he sorted through a bin of loose nails.
“I do. Almost as much as I love stationery stores,” she told him as they walked back outside. “I could fill an afternoon looking at notebooks and writing papers and notepapers and cards and calendars and appointment books—not that I need one of those these days,” she added ruefully.
“Well, the right position will come along, sooner or later.” Alex took her by the arm and led her across the street.
“There’s a lot to be said for sooner,” she said, enjoying the feel of his hand on her arm. “Where are we going?”
“All of a sudden, I have a craving for a double chocolate ice cream cone.” He grinned, steering her through the door of the Primrose Cafe. “And you’ll have strawberry. Single dip. Chocolate sprinkles.”
“I can’t believe you remember that.” Abby laughed.
“You have to be kidding. We did this every day for years.” He nudged her, his hand lingering on the small of her back. The small act seemed to both soothe and agitate her.
Soon they were headed back to Cove Road, paper napkins wrapped around the bottoms of the cones to keep the ice cream from dripping onto their hands.
“Look, Ab, they’ve paved Patton’s Road.” He pointed to where the once-dirt road angled into Cove.
“I noticed.”
“Remember when we used to ride our bikes out to the Point?”
“And just about anyplace else we wanted to go. Bikes were definitely the prime mode of transportation back in those days. Especially since neither Aunt Leila nor Belle had a car. It was bike it or walk.”
“Wonder where those old bikes are now?”
“After all these years, they’re rusted and useless, wherever they may be.”
“Ummm, I guess.” He sighed.
“You’re slowing down, Kane.” She poked his side. “Not losing momentum, are you?”
“Nah. It just feels good to kind of amble along. It’s a nice change of pace for me. Not rushing. Not pushing. Just enjoying the sunshine and the company.”
“Well, there’ll be plenty of sunshine atop that ladder— which, it appears, is being delivered as we speak.” Abby pointed to the pickup that had passed them as they rounded the corner onto Cove Road. “And the company is not likely to change for the rest of the weekend.”
“Suits me just fine,” he told her. “There is no place I’d rather be. And, Abby…”
“Abby, Abby!” Meredy was jumping up and down on the opposite side of the street.
“Hi, Sweet Pea,” Abby called back.
“Someone’s at your house, Abby.”
“I know, baby. Mr. Phelps is bringing us a new ladder.” Abby sighed, wondering what thought Alex’d had that Meredy’s enthusiastic pronouncement had pushed aside.
“Are you going to paint?”
“I don’t know.” Abby frowned, wondering how many good work hours were left in the day. “I had planned to.”
“Momma said she was going to get out into her garden today.” Meredy was parallel to them across Cove Road, trying to keep up with Abby and Alex by taking two steps to each one of theirs while tugging with pudgy fingers at the dangling ribbons of an overlarge straw hat that threatened to slide from her head. “And she said I could help.”
“I like your hat,” Abby told her.
“Momma says I have to wear it when I go out into the sun, so’s I don’t burn up.” Meredy repeated her mother’s words with the
same emphasis as Naomi must have used, and both Abby and Alex smiled at the child’s recitation. “Momma says…”
“Momma says you are going to talk everyone near to death, Meredith Dare Hunter.” Naomi appeared at the end of her driveway, a pair of large pruning shears in one hand, a pair of heavy gloves in the other. She smiled and waved to Abby and Alex as they passed by, then shooed her daughter into the backyard, where she could keep an eye on her.
“Well, there’s your new ladder.” Abby pointed up the driveway before turning back to check the mailbox.
“Can I help you with something?” Alex called.
“I’m just getting the mail,” she replied, before looking up and realizing he had spoken to someone beyond her. Curious, she closed the mailbox and followed Alex around the side of the house.
“Drew!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean it’s too soon.” He flashed a smile.
“Of course not.” Abby smiled back at him.
A very solid pause hung in the air, heavy as a block of concrete, as the two men approached and looked each other over warily.
“Alex… Alex.” She tugged at his sleeve to get his attention. “This is Drew Cassidy.”
“Cassidy,” Alex repeated, and for a moment, Abby was uncertain if he was addressing Drew or merely repeating his name.
“Alex Kane,” Abby told Drew, “is Belle’s grandson.”
“I see.” Drew extended a hand with little enthusiasm. The two men shook and more or less grunted a greeting of sorts.
“Alex is helping me renovate the house,” Abby explained. Then, to Alex, “Drew is Thomas’s grandson.”
“Thomas who?” Alex’s forehead creased into a frown.
“Thomas Cassidy.”
“I don’t recall that he and Leila had children.”
“Leila was not my grandmother.” Drew addressed Alex directly.
“Drew’s grandmother was a woman Thomas met before he met Leila.”
“And did not marry,” Drew added.
“I see.”
“I hope I’m not intruding on anything.” Drew turned to Abby. “I just thought I’d stop by and see if you’d had any luck in locating any more of Thomas’s stories.”
“Actually, I found three more. Come on into the study, and I’ll show you.” She motioned for him to follow her.
Alex remained in the driveway and watched, hands on his hips, as Abby and Drew approached the back of the house. As she reached the steps, Abby turned and asked, “Would you like to see Thomas’s books?”
“I have work to do,” Alex snapped.
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and led Drew into the kitchen, unaware that the man she’d left standing in the middle of her driveway was muttering curses and clenching his fists.
Dinner proved to be an unexpectedly somber event.
Once having invited Drew to look through the additional books she had found in Thomas’s library, Abby could not very well have asked him to leave when it came time to sit down at the dinner table. Abby’s guest could not have been less popular with the Matthews clan. Alex addressed Drew in short, clipped monosyllables, and Belle ignored his presence entirely. Immediately after dessert, Belle excused herself and retired to her room, claiming a headache. Alex, pleading exhaustion, followed at her heels, throwing one last barb—“I’m sure Drew will be more than happy to help you with the dishes”—over his shoulder as he left.
“Was it something I said?” a faintly amused Drew asked after Belle and Alex had made their exits.
“I doubt it.” Abby looked to offer a plausible explanation. “I think Alex is just tired, and I think we both know how Belle feels. I do apologize for them both.”
“No apology is necessary,” he replied, the very essence of understanding. “But I do have the distinct feeling that somehow my being here has put Kane’s nose out of joint.”
Abby stared blankly at him from across the table.
“Your relationship with Alex…?”
“Oh. We’re old friends.”
“That’s it? Friends?” Drew raised a questioning eyebrow.
“That’s it,” Abby assured him. “He’s helping me to fix up the house in exchange for me taking care of Belle. Our relationship is strictly platonic.” All too.
“Then why do I have the feeling that I stepped on his toes just by showing up?”
“I have no idea,” she told him, turning her head as she reached for the coffee pot, “but there are no toes to step on.”
Abby heard the slight creak of the old bed in Alex’s room as he flopped onto the mattress in the room over their heads.
Unfortunately, no toes at all.
26
“Well, Mr. Personality.” Abby greeted Alex as she strolled into the kitchen for her morning coffee. “Did we sleep away last night’s grumpies?”
He turned from the bowl of eggs he was beating for the French toast and glowered at her with brown eyes dark with malice.
“Ooh, I guess not.” Abby’s eyebrows rose slightly, and her mouth stretched into a grim line as she reached past him for her coffee mug.
“There is nothing I hate more than coming into a messy kitchen first thing in the morning,” he said pointedly. “It puts me in a foul frame of mind if I have to wash dishes and clear counters before I can start making breakfast.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Alex.” She tried to look contrite for having committed a major infraction of the cook’s rules. “I meant to do the dishes last night. I really did, but, you see, Drew wanted to see if we could find some of the notes Thomas would have used to write the Treasure Seekers stories, and we just lost all track of time. See, we were going through…”
“Treasure Seekers. How apropos,” Alex muttered dryly as he slid butter into a frying pan and turned the flame on low.
“Just what is that supposed to mean?”
“Gee, what a coincidence that Thomas Cassidy’s hitherto unknown grandson shows up out of the blue so shortly after the widow Cassidy passes away and leaves all to her grand-niece. Who happens to be single, beautiful, and bright. Not to mention gullible.”
“You sound just like Belle.”
“Well, maybe Gran’s not quite as dotty as I thought.”
“Alex, there is nothing dotty about your grandmother. She has as much of her faculties as you or I have.”
“You’re half right,” he mumbled, slipping several pieces of bread, drippy with egg and milk, into the sizzling butter in the frying pan.
“What does that mean?” Abby challenged him.
“It means that at least I have enough sense to know a phony when I see one.” Alex gestured at her with the long-handled spatula.
“What is wrong with you? I can understand Belle not wanting to accept Drew—I think she sees this as a stigma against her best friend’s name. But you don’t know Drew. You don’t know what it means to him to find family. Alex, he’s had no one for so many years. You didn’t see his face when he was going through Thomas’s papers. He was totally overwhelmed by the experience.”
“Overwhelmed by the possibility of finding a fortune, is more likely.”
“You are really infuriating, you know that? You have absolutely no reason to believe that Drew is not exactly who he says he is.”
“And you have absolutely no reason to believe that he is.”
“Why would he say he is if he isn’t?”
“Abby, people do a lot of things when they think there is money at stake.”
“What money? There is no money here, Alex. Trust me, if there was money lying around here, I’d have found it and spent it by now. Someone other than yours truly would be scraping and painting.”
“Have you been looking?”
“Looking for what? Or where?” she chided.
He shooed her away from the front of the stove. “Well, I can’t believe you would just open up your house—not to mention Thomas’s desk, his notes, for cripes’s sake—to a stra
nger.”
“Alex, we are talking about notes that a man used fifty years ago to write a series of children’s books, not detailed instructions on locating the Holy Grail. We are talking about bits and pieces of papers with little half-sentences or whatever. I think it is enormously touching that Drew is so interested in his grandfather’s stories.”
“Abby, there was a big magazine article a few years back about Thomas…”
She waved him aside with a sweep of one hand. “I know, I know. Some people think maybe Thomas gave clues to finding real treasures in his books. I’ve heard it before. And I think it’s nonsense. Now, it makes sense that if he located something he could not get to—like that sunken ship he found back in the thirties but which was only raised a few years ago—he would have had to leave it. But if you read the books, which I have done, incidentally, you’d know that accessibility was not a problem in ninety percent of the places and things he wrote about. Most of the ‘adventures’ led to places that were, in fact, accessible—though not without some danger. I mean, otherwise, they wouldn’t have been adventures, right?”
“So what are you trying to say?”
“Only that if Thomas knew how to find these so-called treasures, don’t you think he would have done it? I mean, do you really think he went to all the trouble of tracking down these treasures for the sole purpose of leaving clues for other people to follow, instead of doing it himself?”
“How do you know he didn’t find the things he wrote about?”
“Where are they, then?” Her fists sought her hips with an air of defiance. “Where are these wonderful things he wrote about, these fabled antiquities you are so certain Drew is plotting to find?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re in your basement. Or your attic. Thomas could have buried it all under the front porch for all I know.”
“Why would he do something like that? Why would anybody risk his life to go find something only so that he could take it home and bury it, like a dog buries a bone?”
“Abby, I don’t know. But neither do you. And my guess is that Drew is betting that the stories are true. If he can get his hands on Thomas’s notes and those notes are legitimate, his little masquerade would be worth every minute he puts into it, wouldn’t you say?”
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