The man raved for a few moments, and then Olivia translated, “He said he found a hair.”
“Tell him to produce the hair,” Wayne said.
“What!” Olivia and Mary asked in unison.
“Tell him to produce the hair. Tell him!”
“Monsieur, néanmoins avez-vous les cheveux?”
It took a few minutes before the blustering Frenchman admitted he no longer had the hair. Wayne pretended to look at the wooden floor.
“What are you doing?” Olivia asked.
“Why, I’m looking for the evidence. Ask him what color the hair was.”
Olivia obeyed, and the Frenchman shrugged, claiming all hair looked alike.
“Esther, help me look,” Wayne ordered.
Esther hit the ground with an ease only an eight-year-old could manage. After a moment, she held up a short brown strand. “Here, Papa!” She slipped her hand in his.
“Is this it?” Wayne patted his daughter’s head appreciatively as he held the piece of hair close to the Frenchman’s face.
The Frenchman pushed Wayne’s hand away and started to sputter in a loud, obnoxious voice, which Wayne quickly dispelled. “Tell him he lacks evidence and that unless he’d like to spend the night in jail for assault, he should leave the restaurant and find some other establishment for his meals.”
Olivia repeated the words, and when the Frenchman started to respond, Wayne interrupted and said, “Tell him I will be the one to personally press charges.”
“Hah, les cheveux a goûté mieux que les oeufs!” With that, the Frenchman stomped out.
Wayne almost felt exuberant. Not only had he successfully, and peacefully, dispelled an explosive situation, but he’d also managed to win his daughter’s admiration—she called him Papa!—while looking like a hero in front of Olivia.
He looked around to see if Niles had wandered in, as he was prone to do on his day off. But, no, Wayne was solely in charge. Already the staff worked together to clear the restaurant of any evidence of the altercation. Esther picked bits of egg off the floor. Olivia knelt next to her and dabbed at splashes of coffee with a napkin. Mary sat at a chair in a corner, staring at Olivia and wearing a stricken expression on her face.
Wayne had just proven to himself that he could manage a restaurant—but kneeling before him was the woman who made it possible. Olivia Prescott, blue blood, speaker of French, onetime owner of overpriced and frilly clothes, meticulous, and his daughter’s favorite person and caregiver.
Niles intended to take one employee with him to Belen, New Mexico to open a new Harvey House: Olivia.
Maybe Wayne could survive without Niles, but with Olivia gone … He shook his head as he watched Esther following behind Olivia. His little girl aped the waitress’s style of walking and insisted on wearing her hair tied back in the same loose bun.
As a lawyer, he should have noticed that Olivia and Esther had a lot in common. They both required plenty of attention. They both hated getting dirty and liked pretty, frilly things. They both had a tendency to do what they wanted to do instead of what he wanted them to do.
“Mr. Gregory.” Dinah Weston appeared at his side again.
Wayne glanced around the restaurant and breathed a sigh of relief—no irate Frenchman.
“Mr. Thatcher has asked to speak with you.”
“About his breakfast tab?”
Dinah shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Robert Thatcher occupied a bench on the El Tovar’s porch. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands covering his face. He looked like he was praying.
Just as Olivia had taken Wayne by surprise by caring for his daughter, Thatcher had also surprised Wayne. He’d lost his belligerent expression and attended every church service, finally even taking over the song leading.
“You need something?” Wayne asked.
Thatcher stood, and Wayne thought of that long-ago day when he’d dismissed the man from the law firm of Conn and Williams. “I need a job,” Thatcher said.
The conversation lasted maybe five minutes before Thatcher headed back to wherever he was boarding. Wayne shook his head for the second time that day. Life was full of surprises, and it seemed he was constantly on the receiving end.
“Strangest conversation I ever heard.” Daniel leaned in the doorway, chewing on a toothpick. “You’ve just given a job to a man you despise.”
“‘Love your enemies … do good to them that hate you.’” The scripture rolled off Wayne’s tongue. As he said the words, he realized that Thatcher wasn’t an enemy.
Daniel joined Wayne. “I almost believe you mean what you say.”
Wayne smiled. “Truthfully, hiring the man made me feel like I was finally doing my part for the Harvey organization.”
“Don’t care for your job much?” Daniel asked.
“I didn’t say that.” Wayne suddenly felt interrogated. “Is there something you need, Daniel?”
“I was interested in your threat to press charges against Mr. Laperouse. Did you know the closest lawyer is fifty miles away in Flagstaff?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Miss being a lawyer, do you?”
Wayne took a step back. “What else do you know? Did you know I was exonerated? This is the start of a new life for me. Did you follow me here to the El Tovar? Why are you quizzing my employees and even my daughter?”
“You surely are a lawyer at heart. You ask more questions than a widow at a potluck.” Taking out his wallet, Daniel showed a badge. “I’m a private detective—”
Annoyed, Wayne interrupted, “You’re on the wrong trail. I shared everything I knew—which wasn’t much—with the district attorney. If anyone else was involved—”
“Slow down, Mr. Prosecutor, I’m not here investigating you, although I know more about your case than you do.”
“You’re not investigating me?”
“No, I’m actually interested in—”
“Olivia Prescott,” Wayne finished. It all made sense now: Daniel’s questions on the train, his requesting Olivia’s station, his meeting the girls for nightly walks. Had Wayne not been so focused on his own problems, he would have noticed.
Daniel grinned. “How did you know?”
“I watch her as much as you do,” Wayne admitted. “So if you’re really investigating Olivia Prescott, why is it you know so much about my case?”
“A good detective doesn’t believe in coincidences. I overheard young Thatcher that first day. Two people with ties to embezzlers seemed quite an unlikely occurrence, so I asked my friend William to find out about you.”
“Who is William?”
“Not important,” Daniel said, brushing him off. “What is important is your Olivia.”
“She’s not my Olivia.”
Daniel walked to the edge of the porch. After a moment, Wayne followed. Together they watched Olivia—with Esther in tow—picking flowers.
“She’s too young for me,” Wayne murmured. “She can’t be my Olivia.”
“A few months ago I’d have agreed with you, but the girl’s got more grit than you’d expect. What do you know about her situation?”
“The one newspaper clipping I read stated that her father ran off with the town’s money and left everyone, including her, destitute.”
Daniel reached in his wallet again and pulled out a telegraph. “Arrived this morning. Seems Miss Prescott has saved enough to hire herself a private detective. Of all things, she contacted the agency I work for. She’s willing to pay more than twenty dollars a month just to hire someone to look for her father. That’s just about all her earnings, isn’t it? Seems she doesn’t believe her old man was an embezzler.”
“Is he?” Wayne asked.
“Was he, you mean? His body was located a week ago. Single gunshot wound.”
“You going to tell her?” Wayne watched Olivia and Esther head back their way.
“No,” Daniel said.
“Why not?” Wayne demanded.
“Isn’t that what she hired you for? To find out?”
“Yes, but I think she still has something the men who killed her father want.”
“Is she in danger?”
“Not while I’m here.”
“Is this putting any of my employees or my daughter in danger?” Wayne thought of his daughter, who now willingly traipsed to church each Sunday morning. She had her favorite spot, right next to Olivia Prescott.
“If I thought that, I’d be the first to tell you. Killing Olivia won’t get the killers what they want.”
“Which is?”
“Her property. I’m thinking any day someone is going to turn up looking for Olivia. With Niles, you, and I watching out for her, we should be able to keep her safe.”
“Niles? You mean Niles already knows?”
“I told him the day I arrived. He’s been keeping an eye on her ever since. It’s why he’s thinking of taking her to Belen with him.”
It all made sense. No wonder Niles put up with Olivia’s eccentricities. Wayne slowly shook his head. “Why did you tell Niles and not me?”
“Because I saw the way you were looking at her on the train. I was afraid your attraction to her might interfere with my case.”
“And you’re only telling me now because the stakes are higher.”
Daniel nodded. “That and with your daughter spending so much time with her, seems you more than deserve to know.”
Wayne closed his eyes, surprised by a sudden attack of fear. He hadn’t felt this way since hearing the foreman of the jury say, “Guilty as charged.” Taking a deep breath, he managed to say, “I’m not comfortable keeping her father’s death a secret from her.”
“I understand,” Daniel said. “But she hired me to find the truth, and not telling her is the quickest, easiest, and safest way to arrest those involved.”
“This feels dishonest. It feels like a lie, and I—”
“Son, you need to remember I’m not the only one following Olivia. Telling her the truth will put her in danger.” Daniel put his wallet away and headed for the door. “You know your Bible. Think of Peter in Matthew 26. He lied to save himself. You’re lying to save someone else—someone you love.” Daniel certainly had a way of making a point. Not that the man had convinced Wayne that lying could be a virtue. Peter, after he denied Christ, wept bitterly.
Following into the El Tovar’s lobby, Wayne cleared his throat loudly enough to get the private investigator’s attention.
“Yes?” Daniel turned around.
“You said you knew more about my case than I did,” Wayne reminded him. “Just what do you know?”
“I know that young Thatcher knew Conn and Williams were embezzling, and that’s why they had you fire him.”
Chapter 7
The office looked the same as it had the last time Mr. Gregory dragged her in here, except that her torn dresses were gone. She’d be wondering what she’d done wrong now, except the other waitresses had already been called in for their evaluation. Why did she have to do hers with Mr. Gregory instead of Mr. Niles? Mr. Niles made her feel needed; Mr. Gregory just made her feel out of breath.
The door to the office opened, and Mr. Gregory stepped in—smiling.
Olivia looked behind her. He never smiled at her!
“Thanks for waiting, Olivia.” He sat down, for some reason smiled at the sight of his fountain pen, and picked up a folder. Opening it, he set aside a few pieces of paper. “Ruth Owens thought highly of you. Tell me why.”
“Tell you why she thought highly of me?”
“Yes,” Wayne said, nodding. “I want to know what it is that made her see beyond your”—he cleared his throat—“mistakes.”
“You mean ineptness.”
“I may have judged you too harshly, Olivia. So tell me your strong points.”
Olivia sat a bit straighter. She knew her strong points and none of them advanced her waitressing skills. “I can’t, sir. Telling you my strong points would feel too much like boasting. Didn’t you preach against that last week?”
“I’m glad you were listening.” He smiled again.
Olivia looked behind her again.
He shuffled some of the papers and then set them down. “How about I go over your strong points? First of all, you like order and correctness.”
“Correctness?” She frowned. Her strong points sounded dull.
“Beauty,” he elaborated. “That’s evident in the way you hold yourself, the way you took over the centerpieces, and the way you rearranged the gift shop.” He leaned forward. “What would you think about managing the gift shop?”
She blinked, almost afraid she’d misunderstood. She would love to spend her days handling the Indian jewelry, pottery, and blankets, plus other memorabilia, as opposed to handling food, but… “Will I make the same amount of money?”
“I’ll personally see to it.”
“How?”
“Since the gift shop closes early, you can wait tables at the end of the day. I believe that’s when your regulars come in anyway. Am I right?”
Olivia nodded.
“The loyalty your customers feel to you demonstrates another of your strong points: an inclination to pay attention to customer details. I’ve watched you. During a rush, you’ll help a child cut his meat or redo a little girl’s hair ribbons. Some customers are annoyed because all they see is their unfilled coffee cups. But the locals, and those who request you, just seem to sit back and enjoy. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“That’s not saying much, Mr. Gregory. You’ve only been a manager for about as long as I’ve been a waitress.”
If her bluntness surprised him, he didn’t let it show. “That’s true, Olivia, but I’ve dined in the finest restaurants throughout the East. You tend to get more personal with your customers than the typical waitress. It’s why Ruth Owens wanted you here. You need to be in a locale where your customers are not in a hurry to catch a train.”
Olivia finally smiled back. Every time she cleaned up and walked out of the restaurant last, she wondered if anyone had noticed that her customers seldom seemed to hurry. Daniel liked to talk, and he introduced her to rugged men who told stories while eating and chewing on a cigar. Men like the Kolb brothers who photographed the tourists taking mule rides into the Grand Canyon. Men like President Roosevelt who came to dinner in muddy boots and dusty riding clothes and had Mr. Niles talking about the El Tovar building a private dining room for the man.
As much as she thought she’d like working in the gift shop, knowing that she could continue waiting on the customers she counted as friends was a nice incentive.
“And,” Mr. Gregory said, his voice changing from brisk to gentle, “there’s the matter of your attention to my daughter. From the day she arrived, you’ve freely given your time to her. I’d like to pay you what I would pay a governess.”
“The other girls watch her, too. I’m not quite sure paying just me would be fair.”
“Then how about I pay you for watching her on your day off?”
Olivia started to refuse. Surely Mr. Gregory realized she never took a day off. She tried to fill every moment with work, because if she made more money, she might be able to hire a second agency—she wished she would hear back from the first agency—or pay the detective more—anything to find out where her father was or, at least, clear his name.
“How much money?” she asked.
Her new schedule started the following Tuesday. As she dressed, Olivia could barely contain her exuberance. Mary sniffed at the change but didn’t comment. Since the encounter with the Frenchman, the head waitress had been decidedly withdrawn. Instead of the usual show tunes and ragtime records she favored, Mary played the few winsome ballads she owned—over and over. Rumors among the girls had Mary counting on going to Belen with Mr. Niles and helping to open the new restaurant. She obviously considered the unfortunate encounter with the customer as detrimental to her career.
“Morning,” Olivia called a
s she entered the restaurant.
A chorus of “Mornings” greeted her. What a wonderful feeling: acceptance.
Esther—wearing the little Harvey uniform Olivia had finally finished—sat in the corner beside Dinah and copied her every pencil stroke. Esther liked drawing scenery best but still enjoyed the hoopla her accidental caricatures incited.
About the time Olivia finished filling the last ice bin, the train arrived. Taking Esther by the hand, Olivia headed for the outdoors.
“Where are we going?” Esther asked. “Will I get dirty? I don’t have another dress.” The last was uttered accusingly. Esther knew if a Harvey Girl dirtied her uniform, she immediately changed. With only one uniform, Esther dared not get dirty.
“Don’t worry. I’m your head waitress, and I get to decide when you’re too dirty to be seen,” Olivia assured.
Esther, who had no intention of getting dirty, nodded. “Now will you tell me where we’re going?”
“I thought we’d see what the Indian women are selling.” Ever since Olivia had stepped off the train and noted the Native Americans with their wares spread out on blankets, she’d wanted to investigate.
“Papa said I’m not supposed to go near the Indians.”
“Yes, but you’re also supposed to stay near me. Correct?”
“Correct,” Esther agreed.
“And that’s where I’m going, so you—”
“And I think I’ll go, too.” Mr. Gregory stepped up and took Esther’s hand.
Esther took a step back and then grinned at her father. Outside of the end-of-day proddings out of the dining room—Esther hated to go to bed—it was the first time Olivia noticed Mr. Gregory touching his daughter. He looked at Olivia, and she thought for a moment that he’d reach for her hand also. Uncomfortable because she actually wanted him to, she stepped off the porch and hurried down the path to the train depot, where at almost any time of the day, Native Americans spread out blankets and sold everything from jewelry to pottery to the blanket they used for display.
Olivia held on to her money; she’d just inquired at the detective agency of Baldwin-Felts. Mr. Gregory wasn’t so tightfisted. He purchased a few trinkets for Esther and also fingered, but decided against, a few items for himself.
The Timeless Love Romance Collection Page 12