Summer Reads Box Set: Volume 1

by Freethy, Barbara

  "Unfortunately, the computer records at the store only go back ten years and the files another ten. Judging by the photo I saw, Mr. Delaney must have worked for Hathaway's in the fifties or sixties. And I don't think we still have those records anywhere, do we?"

  "No. That's that, then," Wallace replied. "Anything else?"

  "You're sure you don't remember the dragon statue?"

  "I've bought and sold thousands of statues in my lifetime, Paige. Not many stand out in my mind."

  "I guess not." She turned toward the door, but his voice stopped her.

  "What happened to this Delaney guy? Is he dead?"

  "No, he has Alzheimer's. He's in an assisted living place. Riley says he doesn't remember much."

  "Too bad." Wallace picked up the golf ball and set it up again. She watched him measure the distance to the hole. Then he stroked the ball. It missed by a good two inches. Wallace Hathaway was nowhere near as steady as he usually was. Paige wondered why.

  Chapter Seventeen

  An hour later, Paige was still thinking about her conversation with her grandfather as she leaned over the pool table, trying to concentrate on the shot in front of her. It was nice to focus on something simple for a change. All she had to do was hit the ball into the corner pocket. She slid the cue between her fingers and took the shot. It was perfect. She stood back, admiring her handiwork.

  "Not bad," Jerry said as he stepped into the back room of Fast Willy's in search of empty glasses. "But don't you think it's kind of pathetic that you're here all by yourself on a Saturday afternoon shooting pool?"

  "It's not nice of you to point that out."

  "How's your father?"

  "He's much better, almost ready to go home. I'm incredibly relieved."

  "Are you?" Jerry picked up two empty beer bottles and set them on the tray. "Then why are you shooting pool today? You usually only do that when you've got some problem on your mind that you can't figure out how to solve."

  "I do not have one problem, I have many problems," she replied.

  He gave her a thoughtful smile. "Any involving that guy who followed you here earlier this week?"

  "That is none of your business."

  "Come on, Paige. Give a little. This is your old pal Jerry you're talking to."

  She let out a sigh. "I think I'm falling for him."

  "Does he feel the same way?"

  "Who can tell? I know he wants me, but the rest, all the emotional stuff, I don't think it's going to happen." She sighed. "But my love life or lack thereof isn't really the problem. It's my family, it's my job, it's what I want to do with the rest of my life."

  "That's going to take a lot of games of pool to figure out."

  "Tell me about it." She set her cue back in the rack. "What's up with you?"

  "Actually, I'm thinking about moving on. I have a job offer, if you can believe it."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yes. I know that surprises you but I don't want to tend bar forever."

  "What kind of job is it?"

  "Computer programming. It's in Seattle. And I've always wanted to live in the Pacific Northwest."

  She frowned. "Since when?"

  "For a while," he said with a shrug.

  "It rains all the time in Seattle."

  "I like the rain."

  She snapped her fingers. "That's not it. There's a girl there."

  His freckled face flushed at her statement. "Maybe," he conceded.

  "No maybe about it. Is it serious?"

  "There's some of the emotional stuff, as you called it, involved."

  She threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug. "I'm so happy for you."

  "All right, don't get mushy."

  She felt mushy. She felt like crying. She was happy for Jerry, but it seemed like everyone was moving on except her. Why was she stuck in one place?

  "I need a drink," she said as she let him go.

  "I'll get you one."

  "Don't bother; I've got it covered," Riley said. He walked into the back room with a beer in one hand, a diet Coke in the other.

  Her jaw dropped at the sight of him. "Did you follow me again?"

  "Actually, I came on a hunch. Couldn't find you at home, at the hospital, or at work. Process of elimination."

  "You went to all those places?" she asked, amazed at his persistence.

  "I called around."

  "Oh." So he hadn't tried that hard; but he had tried a little. And here he was, looking even better than he had the day before. And she wanted... she wanted a thousand things that all had to do with kissing and touching him and getting really, really close. She was still kicking herself for not making love to him when she'd had the chance. Maybe she should have thrown caution to the wind instead of playing it safe the way she always did.

  "I don't think you two need me anymore," Jerry said with a laugh, since Paige seemed unable to do anything but stare at Riley. "And, Paige, I don't think you're going to need to play as much pool as you think."

  "What did he mean by that?" Riley asked when they were alone.

  "Nothing. What's up?"

  "How's your father?" Riley asked.

  "Getting better. He's coming home tomorrow. He still has no memory of what happened, though." She paused. "You don't think he's faking, do you?"

  "You know him better than I do," he said, his expression carefully neutral.

  Did she know her father? She used to think so. Now she wasn't nearly as sure. "I suppose if he was trying to cover up going to Jasmine's apartment, he might claim a memory loss. I'm not sure. I'll ask him about it when he gets stronger. I don't want to put too much pressure on him too soon."

  "That's understandable. Why don't we sit down?" he suggested as a group of men came back to play pool. He chose a table by the window. "I think we need to talk."

  "Yes," she said, joining him at the table. "I spoke to my grandfather today. I asked him if he'd met your grandfather."

  "And his reply?”

  "He said the name sounded familiar. Then he pointed out to me that he's eighty-two years old, and he's met a lot of people in his life. He also said that he's sold thousands of statues in his time and none stand out as the one we're looking for."

  "That sounds about as productive as my conversation with my grandfather." Riley took a sip of his beer. "Although, he did ramble on about someone named Wally. I wondered if Wally was short for Wallace, but my grandmother said she didn't think so."

  "I don't either," she said with a shake of her head. "I can't imagine my grandfather allowing anyone to call him Wally."

  "My grandmother did mention that Ned worked at Hathaway's when they were first married, which would explain the photograph."

  "Yes. And it might also explain where your grandfather got the statue," she said.

  His gaze narrowed. "What are you talking about? You think that statue was owned by your family?"

  "It's a possibility, isn't it? I mean, think about it. Where would your grandfather have gotten such a piece?"

  "Just what are you accusing my grandfather of doing? Stealing from Hathaway's?" he demanded, protective fire in his eyes now.

  "I didn't say that."

  "Yes, you did. I knew you'd go down that road, Paige. It just came a little sooner than I thought.”

  "What came sooner?"

  "The choice between your family and mine."

  "I'm not making a choice; I'm just pointing out some things."

  He jumped to his feet, obviously angry.

  "Riley, wait. Don't go."

  He paused at the door, his blue eyes as cold as steel when he looked at her. "Why not?"

  "Because we're not done."

  "I think we are. You've already decided—"

  "I haven't decided anything." She got to her feet and walked over to him. "I just said what came to my mind. I'm sorry. I thought we were past the point of having to pick and choose our words. I thought we were friends."

  "How could we ever be friends?" he asked
, as if that would be totally impossible.

  "We can be friends if we're honest with each other."

  "My grandfather wouldn't have stolen a statue from your store. He wasn't that kind of man. He was honest to a fault. He set the standards of behavior for me. He taught me what was right and what was wrong."

  In other words, Riley couldn't bear to believe his grandfather wasn't perfect. She understood that. Too many people had hurt this man with their actions; he couldn't afford another disappointment.

  "Okay," she said evenly. "Then there must be another reason why your grandfather had the statue. Don't make me the enemy, Riley, because I'm not. I'm your partner. Now, what do you say to starting this conversation over?"

  He hesitated, then let out a long sigh. "Fine."

  "You can finish your beer. I'll drink my diet Coke. And we'll both take a deep breath."

  Riley sat back down at the table and picked up his beer. "I'm sorry if I jumped on you, but my grandfather was a good man, Paige. He ran into a lot of prejudice when he was young. He used to tell me that when he was a teenager, the Irish in San Francisco were considered second-class citizens, thieves and robbers. It made him very determined to live the kind of life he could be proud of. I won't let his reputation be smeared at this late date."

  "I understand. And I was just talking off the top of my head. From here on out, let's try not to point any fingers unless we have hard proof. Deal?"

  "Deal." Riley ran his finger around the edge of his glass beer mug.

  "What was your grandfather like before he got sick?" she asked curiously.

  "Typical Irishman. He liked his drink, his food, his wife, his stories. He wasn't wild, though. He had all these rules for himself."

  "Like what?"

  "Like no more than two drinks before dinner. No dancing with anyone other than his wife. No stories that made fun of women. No laughing in church." He smiled to himself as if he were lost in a fond memory. "That was a tough one, though. Father O'Brien used to fall asleep during the readings and snored so loud he could have woken the dead. My grandfather and I could barely get through those moments without a laugh." Riley took another drink. "For the most part his rules worked for him. He said they kept him out of trouble."

  "He sounds like a good man."

  "He is—or he was. He's not the same now. I must admit I've wondered where he got that statue, but if anyone stole it from somewhere, it was my mother, not my grandfather."

  "Or maybe it wasn't stolen at all," she said soothingly. "We really don't know. It is odd though, isn't it—this connection between us, between our grandfathers."

  "So, did your grandfather have anything else of importance to say?"

  "Not about the statue. We did talk about my position at Hathaway's. He shocked the hell out of me by telling me that I can take control at any time. I just have to stand up and do it. I'm not quite sure how that's supposed to happen since I have no title, no real power."

  "Do you want to take control of the store?"

  "I think so," she said slowly. "I've been raised to believe it's my destiny. Everything I've done has been to that end. I've never worked anywhere else. Every summer since I was fifteen, I've been at the store, filling out sales slips, working the floor, tracking inventory. But now all I do is plan events or host tea parties for clients whose art objects we wish to acquire."

  "So do what your grandfather said, take charge."

  "And what do you think my mother will do, roll over and get out of the way?"

  "You need to be as smart and ruthless as she is."

  She sent him a doubtful look. "I'm not sure I have it in me."

  "And that's the problem," he said with a knowing nod. "You have to believe in yourself before anyone else will."

  "I'm trying."

  "I have an idea," he said after a moment. "Are you free for a few hours?"

  "Why? What do you have in mind?"

  "Just answer the question."

  "I guess. My father is resting. My mother has hired a private detective to look for the dragon. Alyssa has not returned my calls. And I'm not accomplishing anything here, so sure, I'm free."

  "Good. I know just the thing for you. Come with me." He stood up, holding out his hand. She hesitated as anticipation raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

  "Where are we going?"

  "To my apartment."

  His eyes dared her to say no, but she couldn't. There were a lot of things she wanted to do at his apartment, and they all involved saying yes.

  * * *

  "Bike riding?" Paige asked in surprise as they stood in the center of his small garage a few minutes later. "You want me to ride this bike somewhere?" She looked down at the mountain bike he'd pushed over to her.

  Riley laughed at her look of dismay. "It's a good bike. There are fifteen speeds."

  "I don't ride bikes that actually move."

  "Then you've been missing out. This is a great city we live in. You should be out in it."

  "I was just out in it—in your warm, comfortable car. Besides, it's cloudy. It might even rain."

  "And your point is? Come on, live a little. You might like it."

  He walked his own bike out of the garage, pleased when she slowly followed. He handed her his extra helmet. His bike riding passion had grown so much over the years that he was always replacing his equipment with newer and better, which meant he had extras to share.

  "Are we planning on crashing?" she asked.

  "No, but Hathaways aren't the only ones who are prepared for every possibility. You need to wear the helmet."

  "There's so much traffic in the city. Why don't we drive to a park and start there? Golden Gate Park is really nice."

  "It's too flat." He adjusted his helmet and watched as she reluctantly put hers on.

  "This isn't really my color," she said, referring to the bright orange helmet now covering her blond hair.

  "But the cars will be able to see you." He was actually surprised she was such a good sport. Most debutantes probably would have bailed on him by now. He handed her a clip for her pant leg. "Put this on. It will keep your pants out of the chain area."

  "You are prepared for everything." She clipped her pant legs and straddled the bike. "You couldn't have had a girl's bike, could you?"

  "I think you can handle it."

  "Okay, I'm ready, but I haven't ridden an actual bike since I was a kid, and I only did that about three times.”

  "You'll be fine. Just follow me, and yell if you have a problem." He got on his bike and began to pedal slowly down the street.

  "Riley," she yelled.

  He stopped immediately, turning his head in anticipation of seeing her sprawled on the ground, but she was still standing where he had left her. "What?" he asked with annoyance.

  "Just testing to see if you'd really stop."

  "Get on the bike, Paige."

  "Okay, okay." She perched gingerly on the seat and began to pedal so slowly the bike was in serious danger of falling over.

  "Faster," he encouraged. "It will be easier."

  "So you say," she grumbled, increasing her speed until she passed by him.

  He headed after her, pleased to see her gaining confidence as they moved down the block. The beginning of their ride was flat. He took her along the Embarcadero, past the magnificent Bay Bridge that connected San Francisco to Oakland, the ferry buildings where the cruise ships docked, and the downtown Financial District that edged North Beach and Fisherman's Wharf, closer to the hills he wanted to tackle today.

  He motioned for her to follow as he cut across the Embarcadero toward a residential area. The hills of San Francisco called to him like a beacon in the night. But Paige's voice yanked him back. He stopped his bike and looked over his shoulder at her. "What's the problem now?"

  "We're not riding up that hill, are we?" she asked in disbelief.

  "Sure we are."

  She shook her head. "It's too steep. I'll never make it."

  It w
asn't nearly as steep as the next one, but he wasn't about to tell her that. "I thought you wanted to find out what you were made of."

  "By riding a bicycle up a hill?"

  "It's a test of your strength, courage, stamina, stubbornness. You can do it."

  "I don't think so."

  He saw the uncertainty in her pretty brown eyes and knew that she needed to do this for herself. "You're stronger than you think, Paige."

  "This isn't going to prove anything."

  "Try it and see."

  "I don't like to fail."

  He smiled. "So don't fail." He sent her an encouraging look. "It's not a test if it's too easy."

  "Who said I wanted to take a test?"

  "Fine. I'm going up this hill with or without you. Your choice."

  "That's not very gentlemanly."

  He laughed. "I thought you'd figured out by now that I am not a gentleman."

  "You're not a very good date, either. I can think of a lot of other things that would be more fun than this."

  "You haven't even tried it yet. And this isn't a date." He turned his head toward the hill in front of them. He drew in a deep breath and counted to ten. Then he got on his bike and pedaled hard, wanting to get as much speed as possible for the ascent. He heard Paige muttering to herself and saw from the corner of his eye that she was on the bike and riding after him.

  So far so good. He just hoped she really could make it up the hill. Maybe she was too pampered, too spoiled, too weak for such a challenge, and maybe he was a fool, wanting to believe she was someone she wasn't.

  * * *

  Paige knew she'd passed the insanity mark when her legs began to burn and her chest tightened with each breath. She was only halfway up the hill; there was no way she would make it. She wasn't in shape for this. She should have trained, prepared, worked up to it. But wasn't that what she'd spent the last thirteen years doing at Hathaway's: training, preparing, but never actually doing? At least here she was being aggressive, taking a chance.

  But it hurt.

  And damn Riley. He was already at the top, off his bike, watching her, waiting for her. He shouted words of encouragement.