The potato salad tub slipped from Cait’s fingers and landed unopened on the wood floor. She managed to re-grasp the apple cider bottle just in time. The delicate art of speech, however, was beyond her.
“Uh…” she said.
“Hi, Cait. Little klutzy today, aren’t you?” Seth grinned at her, swooping up the potato salad and giving her shoulders a squeeze before lifting and swinging her as usual. Cait was too shocked to protest.
“Hi, Cait,” Dianne said, her blond curls springing around her face like golden ribbons on a Christmas present. “I’d better make sure Mia and Gibberish haven’t broken anything out there.” She pointed toward the family room and left with a twinkling laugh.
“Hello, honey,” Mom said, radiating the happy look of the innocent—even when she couldn’t possibly be. Cait squinted at her mother then further narrowed her eyes at Garrett. He couldn’t mask his triumphant gleam nor, she noticed with irritation, did he try.
“So good to see you, Cait,” he said, putting the knife and fruit down with a fluid yet exacting motion. “Your brother has been challenging me to a little contest of skill.” He pointed at the bowl of chips. “While I’m usually a popcorn man myself, I agree with Seth that these work pretty well, too.”
He grabbed a chip, held it up for Seth’s inspection, then tossed it high into the air, catching it neatly between his teeth. He grinned at her brother before crunching it with the smile of a satisfied tiger.
Seth laughed. “This guy’s great. He hasn’t missed yet and we’ve been at it for ten minutes.” He slapped Garrett’s shoulder. “I’m getting the grill started. See y’all in the backyard soon.”
Ten minutes! How long had he been here?
Cait recovered her voice. “I’m sorry I was late. It seems I’ve been missing all the fun.” Her tone was chilly, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. She eyed her mother who searched in agitation for something near the stove. “What is it, Mom?”
“Where’s the pepper grinder?” Her eyes brightened. “Oh, maybe on the dining room table.” Mom skipped out of the room.
Left alone in the kitchen, Cait turned on Garrett. “And you’re here…why?”
“Now, now, that’s not very hospitable of you.” He gave her a prickly look. “Keep up that attitude and you might just give me the impression that I’m unwelcome. I’m here only because I was personally invited. By your very own mother, I might add.” He twisted his lips and began slicing cantaloupe again.
“Cripes, I knew it,” she said under her breath, but not quite softly enough.
Garrett’s eyes widened. “Am I that much of a disturbance in your life? No one else seems to be upset by my coming today. Your mom put me to work chopping fruit right away, figuring a ‘fruit and nut kid’ like myself would be an expert. Mia’s sweet, Dianne’s been friendly and your brother Seth’s a riot.”
He smiled—almost sincerely.
“It’s so nice getting to know a colleague’s siblings, isn’t it?” he said. “I may just have to call up my new buddy sometime and chat with him about you.” His grin turned into a glare. “Thought you, of all people, would approve of that tactic.”
Cait put the apple cider on the counter with a bang and took four long strides closer to him. The man looked substantially more dangerous than usual, and she couldn’t attribute it entirely to the paring knife he clutched in his fist.
“So that’s what this is all about,” she said. “You left me with very little choice, Garrett. I suddenly have no administrative support and not a penny that can be allocated by the school budget to run the festival. Mysterious resistance is plentiful, however.” She put her hands on her hips. “I needed to use the few resources available to me. Marianne offered her help when she was here and—”
“Oh, don’t talk to me about Marianne!” He slammed the knife down. “I mean it, Cait. You dragged my sister into this. I’m sorely tempted to get even with you. If your family weren’t so damned nice, well…” He inhaled, picked up the knife again and made several very controlled incisions in the unlucky cantaloupe.
“Well…what?” she asked, biting her lower lip.
He shook his head, removed some rind and skewered a stray melon cube.
“Garrett—”
“Look, I’m trying to understand your point of view even though you’re undermining everything I’m working toward. Marianne ranted for an hour yesterday about how you had to move the festival here to New Brighton and how I should’ve been more helpful. But neither of you understand the circumstances.”
“Then enlighten me.”
He leveled a stare at her. “You accused me of asking for your trust but yet not trusting you in return. If I tell you about the problem, Cait, I’m going to need both your absolute trustworthiness and your total discretion.”
This took her aback, but she nodded solemnly.
And then he told her about money being skimmed out of district accounts. Fifty dollars here, a couple hundred there. How incidental items and extracurricular activities were the thief’s main targets—the places where the discrepancies were most clear. Situations where a series of individuals were involved. Events like, oh, the Harvest Hoopla.
She stared at him, stunned.
“So, by canceling the festival, you’d hoped to draw out the person or people involved?” she said. “Hoped they’d try to get the money from another source?”
“Yes. I’d planned to limit the areas where more than two or three people require payment. Overcharging vendors, for instance, would be easier to check, and those people with access to the accounts would, likewise, be limited.” He paused. “At last year’s Harvest Hoopla alone, several hundred dollars were unaccounted for when the proceeds of the event were compared with its expenditures. The vendors, in particular, were shortchanged. I just discovered that by going over all the records this week, although I’d had my suspicions before.”
“Wait. You can’t be thinking that I—”
“No, not anymore,” he told her. “Every penny you spent you documented. But at least seven other people had access to school district money for that event, and none of the others were as meticulous in their record keeping as you, Cait.”
“Oh, boy.” She thought of all the people who, in one way or another, were involved in the organization of last year’s Hoopla. There were administrators, board members, other teachers. Jenna, Marlene and Loni, just to name a few. And Ronald, of course. She caught Garrett’s eye. “Is this why the superintendent keeps meeting with you? Does he have a list of people he wanted you to check out?”
“You could say that.” Garrett glanced away from her and, finally, she understood.
She felt her cheeks heat up. “So all of your questions and interest in talking to me—that was only because you wanted to find out if I was a thief?”
He looked her in the eye. “I apologize. Clearly that’s not the case. I know I misjudged you initially, but I had to do my job, and I tried to correct my error quickly.”
His error. As if his assessment of her character was as inconsequential in his eyes as an adding miscalculation on a piece of scratch paper.
It hardly mattered now, though. The hurt was already there. The thin veil of trust she’d allowed to creep in had, once more, been torn to shreds. Then again, she couldn’t throw stones with a clear conscience. She’d snooped in his car after all.
“Cait—”
“I tried to investigate you, too,” she blurted out. “I searched all over your car. I’m sorry.”
“My car?” He looked confused, then light dawned in his eyes. “Oh, you mean when I was in the bookstore?”
She nodded.
He flashed a grin. “That’ll teach me to leave you alone with my possessions. Learn anything good?”
“You like Sting.”
“Good detective work, Nancy Drew,” he told her and went back to slicing melon. He acted nonchalant about it, but she sensed he, too, was hurt by her insincerity that day.
One thing she
had to admit, though: Seeing him interact so genuinely with her family in those few moments when she first came in…that had shaken her up. It was as though he fit with her clan. As though he were one of them. That perhaps, in some areas, they weren’t so far apart.
“Um, about Marianne,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to put a wedge between you two.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“Okay, but just a little wedge,” she conceded. “She seemed so receptive when we met, and I needed an artist sympathetic to the project.”
He looked at her, laughed and popped a skewered chunk of melon into his mouth. “I’d say you two were flawless in your choice of allies. I give up. I can’t keep fighting you both.” He shook his head again, sliced another piece of melon and offered it up to her on the end of the paring knife like a pink flag of surrender. The fruit floated on stainless steel a millimeter away from her lips. His eyes challenged her to accept it.
Her stomach flipped and an unknown magnetism made her lean in, pull the melon off with her teeth as daintily as she could and chew. Very sweet.
“Thanks,” she whispered. She wiped away the little stream of juice escaping from the corner of her mouth and glanced up at him. He watched her every move, his expression serious.
Then one of those moments happened. One of those “she knew that he knew that she knew…” moments. Neither said a word, but their eyes confessed things and, against every act of reason, she knew their attraction to each other was real, mutual and not part of some charade.
Garrett finally broke the spell.
“Mind you,” he said, those beautiful lips of his curving into an expression of open mocking, “you’d better watch that sassy behavior. I’m betting I could meet Seth for a round of golf and, after two beers or less, get the inside scoop on your childhood. In fact, if I were you, I wouldn’t get too comfortable tonight, sweetheart, what with that big, long shelf you’ve got in the family room filled edge-to-edge with photo albums. Why, I think your mother would be more than happy to—”
Her mother breezed into the room carrying a new bright blue dishtowel, but no pepper grinder. Garrett closed his mouth but didn’t stop smirking.
Tearing her gaze away from him, Cait turned her attention to Mom. “Did you find it?”
“Find what, dear?”
“The pepper grinder. Was it on the dining room table?”
“Oh, darn it. I didn’t look.” Her mother swiveled around and marched out the doorway again.
Dianne popped her head in ten seconds later. “I’m letting Mia and Gibberish loose outside. You two want to join us?”
STEP 6:
Add about 2 cups heavy cream.
(None of that whimpy low-calorie stuff, please.)
Whisk some more.
~From Mr. Koolemar’s Top Secret,
Kool Kreme Ice Kreamations Recipe Book, pg. 97
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Seth grilled the bratwurst to tawny perfection, Cait thought. Mom’s chili, even without that extra hint of pepper, was satisfyingly spicy. The spread included corn on the cob, green beans and bakery rolls, as well as the apple cider, potato salad and cantaloupe.
After the main meal, Dianne went inside to mop up Mia, whose grass- and food-stained outfit looked like a Van Gogh painting. She also brought out dessert. Dianne had made brownies and Garrett, Cait gathered, had brought some kind of cake.
Mom spirited Seth away to get the Vanilla-Mocha Swirl from the basement freezer while she busied herself loading up the dishwasher and brewing coffee. She assigned Cait and Garrett the task of outdoor cleanup.
Cait collected the burnt tinfoil from the grill and a handful of dirty paper napkins from the picnic table then tossed them into a trash bag. But something significant nagged at her, and she decided it was high time she figured out the truth.
“What’s your history with Shelley McAllister?” she asked him, knowing full well it wasn’t any of her business, but she couldn’t discount the relationship.
His dark eyes focused on her. He put down the grill scraper, grimaced and exhaled slowly, like he had to compose a legally binding document and needed the concentration.
“Our families have known each other a long time,” he said, “and she and I dated, briefly, years ago. But I like to think I’m a better judge of character now than I was as an adolescent.”
“So, you’re not still…in touch?”
He laughed openly. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.” She was not jealous, damn him. Not exactly.
“Okay. Whatever you say. And, no, we’re not remotely in touch. Truth is, I forgot she was living around here now, and I didn’t recognize her new name when the superintendent showed me the list of board members.” He shrugged. “She, of course, wouldn’t have had any trouble recognizing mine once I was hired.”
Cait tied the top of the Hefty bag and set it down. “Garrett, you realize she and several other board members had access to the Harvest Hoopla money last year. Are you prepared to investigate her as thoroughly as you were me?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
“Then why can’t we meet both our goals in this? I’m already set to host the festival, but the change in location ought to be enough to establish different precedents as far as organization and funding. Why not trap the offender in a controlled environment? One he—or she—knows well? One that worked for the thief before…instead of trying to create a new opportunity?”
He gave her a curious look. “Why is this event so important to you?”
“Because…I love it. My students love it. It’s all about celebrating autumn’s abundance.” She tried to put into words the meaning of the festival from her viewpoint, but she knew it was something he had to experience to understand.
“It’s really fun, Garrett. But it’s also more than that. It brings the community together. People look forward to it all year and, for some, it’s their favorite seasonal event. It’s certainly mine. And my mom’s. She loves to participate in it, and I need to do things with her while I still can.”
“You two are that close?”
“Well, yes. She’s my mother. I’m afraid before long she won’t remember all the things we used to share.”
Something in his expression softened, but he turned his head before she could read the emotions she saw there.
“All right, all right,” he said after a moment, sighing and motioning her nearer. His fingers brushed the tops of her shoulders making her pulse race. He leaned in, even closer than he’d been at the beach, and whispered, “I’m a ten-minute walk from here or, if you wanna give me a ride, a two-minute drive. We can go to my place and talk strategy.”
Cait nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. “After dessert?”
“Okay,” Garrett murmured, just as Mia came sprinting out of the patio doors.
Dianne emerged behind her daughter with a plate of brownies and Garrett’s Black Forest cake. Seth trailed them carrying a half-gallon of ice cream, bowls and spoons. Their mom followed closely behind.
“So, when you come out to this Harvest shindig my sister’s organizing, you’ll have to stop by our place,” Seth said, plunking down the ice cream tub. “We’re in the green, mauve and white painted lady in the lot next to the orchard.”
Garrett shot Cait a mischievous and rather exultant grin. “Love to see it, Seth,” he said. “Hell, maybe you and I should get together even before the Harvest Hoopla and go golfing or something.”
Cait scowled at her brother but he didn’t take the hint.
“Sure,” Seth said. “Sounds like fun.”
***
Once in his condo, Garrett led her up to the fourth and highest floor, welcoming her into his home.
She was beyond nervous. She pinched at the cuff of her blouse and twisted the fabric to try to take the edge off her anxiety. It didn’t work.
“See my iPod station over there?” Garrett pointed to a shelf that held his iPod and
speaker system plus a few books and magazines. “I just got a new dock for it and plugged it in, but the rest of the shelf isn’t organized yet. In fact,” he looked around ruefully, “I wasn’t expecting company today, so nothing in here is organized to impress guests. You’ll have to ignore the mess.”
Cait swiveled from side-to-side, trying to give the impression of observing the room but not really seeing the details. “I think it looks nice. Very spacious,” she said, forcing a tiny smile.
“Well, thanks. I appreciate elbowroom.” Garrett indicated the iPod again with a flick of his wrist. “Best thing about this place are my new speakers, though. I’m going to grab a few sheets of paper from the other room. Pick something good to listen to.” He strode out the door thus granting her a few moments to collect herself.
She eyed the furnishings more attentively now as she meandered over to the music and books. Garrett lied. Other than a pyramid of candy wrappers on the far side of the counter and a few scattered magazines, no real mess existed anywhere.
Actually, if the few items he had in the room weren’t of such fine quality, it would’ve appeared spartan. One long black leather sofa. A few essentials like lamps and a trash bin. A Persian throw rug over the parquet floor. Only one piece of artwork—a framed watercolor of three children playing by the beach.
She stepped closer to the picture. Two boys, roughly eight and twelve years old, and a girl who looked about four. Cait read the title at the bottom and the artist’s initials. “Nantucket—M.E.”
Marianne. It must have been painted from a photograph taken some long-ago summer. She looked closer. Garrett as a boy—dark hair, devilish grin, long tanned limbs, sand in his toes and on his shirt. Happy. The older boy, which must be Jacob—with hair a little lighter, limbs a little longer—running up ahead, gesturing for Garrett to follow. And the young girl, the chubby preschooler Marianne, sitting quietly with her pail and shovel, playing at the water’s edge.
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