Then, thirty minutes later, he walked them back to the hotel and into the gift shop. On the register counter lay Esther’s drawing of Sarah Jane folding napkins. Mr. Gregory set it aside and proceeded to instruct Olivia on how to use the cash register.
It was the closest she had stood to her manager. She could smell his pepperminty aftershave. For a moment, she wished Mary were training her, because then Olivia’s attention would be completely on task instead of on the proximity of Mr. Gregory.
When she finally satisfied him that she could add two plus two and even remember to write it in the book, he left. Olivia took a deep breath and looked around, trying to decide her first duty. Taking the drawing of Sarah Jane, Olivia tacked it to the wall next to the famous print by Thomas Moran. For the rest of the morning, Esther memorized the plaques that accompanied the artwork on display. When customers came in, sometimes she’d read them the history. Daniel wandered in, supplied some additional information about a few of the paintings, and then took off. By the end of the day, Esther had sold two paintings and her drawing of Sarah Jane.
Earning a penny turned the already-too-serious little girl into an instant entrepreneur. Esther immediately took off for her lodgings to gather up all the drawings she had. She returned with a good-sized handful along with two glasses of iced tea and, of all people, Michelle—who carried a tray of food.
“Mr. Gregory said it was time for you to eat lunch.” Michelle sat down to eat with them and commented, “I’ve often wished I could work in here. I really like how you’ve arranged it. Remember when we used to decorate your mother’s parlor?”
“Do I.” Olivia laughed. “I remember when we moved Papa’s favorite chair.”
“And he came in, didn’t bother to look, and sat down.”
“Well, the light wasn’t on.”
“And you took the blame,” Michelle said gently. “Although it was my idea.”
“I remember.”
Esther laughed. “Did your papa hurt himself?”
“No, but he broke a vase my mama really liked.”
“And he bought her a new one she liked even better so she couldn’t stay mad. I’ve been thinking,” Michelle said, “your father wouldn’t steal his factory’s money and take off. And he certainly wouldn’t leave you behind. You must be worried sick.”
“Every day,” Olivia admitted.
“I’m sorry I called him a criminal that first day. I guess I’ve been jealous and mad for a long time. Truthfully, I never wanted to go to high school. I wanted to get married and have babies. And guess what? I’m going to marry Benjamin Mason.”
He wasn’t the cuter of the two young men who so often followed Michelle around, but Olivia thought him friendlier. “When?”
“I need to finish my contract, so not for another six months. Ben’s going back to Philadelphia to work in his grandfather’s store. We’ll both save our money and maybe even buy a house.”
“I’m happy for you, Michelle.”
“You need to get married and have babies, too. You’re really good with Esther. I’ve been watching and wondering why she didn’t choose someone like me to follow. After all”—Michelle grinned—“I’m nicer.”
“I picked Miss Olivia because her favorite color is pink,” Esther said.
“How did you know?” Olivia asked.
“Papa told me about the pretty dresses you traded away.”
Michelle kept grinning. “So the stern Mr. Gregory isn’t blind.”
“No,” Esther said seriously. “He likes pink dresses. He told me so. All my dresses are pink.” She stopped and looked down. “Except this one.”
“And I don’t have a pink dress anymore—just my uniform and then two others.” Olivia looked at Michelle and said ruefully, “But you know that.”
“I do know that,” Michelle said. “But the loss of your clothes is not because of me. I didn’t destroy your dresses.”
Chapter 8
One of the best things about being the manager of the El Tovar Harvey House was the office. Its view included trees, wildlife, and a vast chasm of canyon highlights. Wayne stared out the window thinking about his daughter and Olivia, his current management job and Olivia, and his old law practice and Olivia.
He was spending entirely too much time thinking about Olivia. He could blame Daniel, but the truth was, even before he knew her history, Olivia demanded his attention.
Spread out before him was all the information Daniel had gleaned so far. LeRoy Baker—not his real name, although no one knew for sure what that was—wasn’t just an embezzler. He was also a bigamist and murderer.
Wayne had chuckled the first time he’d seen Olivia’s school history. Grace School for Ladies sounded like the sort of place his in-laws would have sent Esther. Now Wayne knew Olivia had been fortunate to be away. LeRoy had married five other girls before relieving their fathers of a lifetime of hard work and earnings.
Daniel had included the obituaries of two of the fathers—one murdered, the other dead by his own hand.
Wayne said a quick prayer. Suicide wasn’t a solution he understood. Plus, it left a bereaved daughter facing a double sorrow: a runaway husband and a deceased father. Of the other three fathers, one had rebuilt his empire, another had become an employee of a business he’d previously owned, and the last had made it his personal vendetta to find Frank Warren, aka Jack Tate, aka William Smith, aka Albert Tucker, aka LeRoy Baker.
Wayne headed toward the dining room; he figured father number five had some explaining to do.
Daniel sat at a corner table drinking coffee. He’d made himself so constant a visitor that the girls were used to working around him. Wayne helped himself to a cup. “LeRoy, or should I call him Frank, got unlucky, didn’t he?”
“He hadn’t figured on Olivia going to Europe for almost a year,” Daniel agreed. “And didn’t want to wait that long to get his hands on the money. What else did you get from the papers I gave you?”
“Enough to know that LeRoy won’t be showing up here. He’s too careful. He’s had an accomplice each and every time—someone on the inside.”
“In my case,” Daniel said ruefully, “it was my oldest daughter’s husband. Seems I wasn’t turning over enough control and money to him fast enough.”
“So you have two heartbroken daughters. No wonder you have a vendetta.”
“Interesting word: vendetta. I’m not sure that’s what I still have. Oh, at first I’d have gladly taken the law into my own hands and strung Frank up, but that’s not the way our Lord calls us to act. Yeah”—Daniel shook his head—“that’s right, I know the Savior. I lost Him for a while, but I’m slowly getting Him back. Your first sermon really made me think. Do you remember the scripture you accidentally quoted?”
Wayne managed a tight smile. “‘Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’” That one little mistake had garnished him more compliments than all the scriptures he’d since quoted correctly.
“That’s the one. You stumbled all over yourself trying to recover, but that scripture was just what I needed. I saw you up there, just a young pup, and like me you’d watched as much of what you loved was taken. No doubt revenge was something you wanted.” Daniel shook his head. “I’ve spent two years hunting Frank. I’m ready to go home. But first I have to see to it that Frank Warren doesn’t hurt anyone else’s daughter.”
Speaking of keeping an eye on a daughter, Wayne realized that if he didn’t hurry, he’d miss out on the morning excursion. A quick look showed Esther and Olivia already heading out the door. Wayne needed to get moving, but he had one last question: “If you’re not really a private detective and if you had all your money taken from you, how are you financing your time here?”
“I am a private detective for the Baldwin-Felts Detective Agency. I know William Baldwin personally—have ever since we were children. Being on his payroll, although he’s not paying me a dime,
gives me access to information I’d have trouble finding on my own. How do you think I found out about you? I have an assignment, self-assigned: find Frank Warren. Oh, Frank got us good, but we’ll bounce back. He shut down my business, managed to sell my home and the homes of my daughters, and I hold him responsible for my wife’s breakdown, but I’ve always understood the parable of the talents. I don’t keep my eggs all in one basket. I had holdings neither Frank nor my other son-in-law knew about.”
“If he’d known about them, would he have gone after them?”
“You betcha.”
“And Frank, er, LeRoy must know about Olivia’s property, but isn’t it useless?”
“That’s what she’s been told, but now that her father’s body has been found, she’s potentially a wealthy woman. By the way, when you were nosing around in all that paperwork, did you happen to notice my previous occupation?”
“No,” Wayne admitted.
“I owned a factory. As a matter of fact, I’ve recently inquired about purchasing another one. I’m thinking Prescott, Kansas, might be just the sort of place for me to move my family and start again.”
“And today we’re …?” Mr. Gregory wasn’t a student of the outdoors.
“Looking for arrowheads,” Olivia finished for him.
Esther carried a sock, which she was convinced she could fill. So far two pretty rocks and one eagle feather took up space, probably the only items they would find today.
Changing the subject, Mr. Gregory asked, “If Michelle didn’t cut those dresses, who did?”
“I was convinced she did it,” Olivia admitted. “I never considered anyone else. I mean, why would someone destroy my belongings?”
Mr. Gregory helped Esther over a log and guided her away from what he must have considered too close to the edge. A shout came from just below. “Who’s up there?”
Olivia leaned over the edge. “Mr. Kolb, what are you doing down there?”
“Stay put,” Emery Kolb yelled.
A moment later, Mr. Kolb crawled over the ledge and, muttering something about light, had them arranged too close to the canyon’s edge and was shooting a photo. Olivia tried to protest that the picture should be of just Mr. Gregory and his daughter, but Mr. Kolb had something in mind and was in no mood to listen. After more than a few minutes of lens adjustments and more than one repositioning of a fidgeting little girl, Mr. Kolb had what he wanted and ran toward his studio.
Mr. Gregory took up where he left off. “And you absolutely believe Michelle.”
“I do.”
“When you arrived here, did you know anyone besides Michelle? Someone who might carry a grudge?”
“No, everyone else was a stranger.”
“I think you’re right about Michelle. Nothing in her file indicates a woman who would jeopardize her career just for a little revenge. Who all knew that you’d exchanged your finery for the other girls’ dresses?”
“Well, the other girls.”
“Constance, Sarah Jane, and Mabel.”
“And Mary O’Dell,” Olivia remembered. “But she’d have no reason except that she wasn’t enthralled with the idea of having a roommate.”
“And she knows it’s only temporary,” Wayne agreed.
Olivia considered her roommate. She didn’t smile much. Constance thought Mary was still grieving her late husband. Both Sarah Jane and Mabel grumbled about Mary’s habit of guiding the wealthy to her own tables so that her tips were probably a bit higher than others. Dinah generously claimed it was the head waitress’s right to handpick her customers since she spent much of her time training.
Olivia didn’t see much training going on. Most of the girls were as efficient as Mary, and those who needed help gravitated toward Constance.
In companionable silence, Olivia and Mr. Gregory followed Esther along the rim. Although Olivia hated to admit it, she was starting to enjoy his company. Last night, when Mr. Gregory noticed that she was the last out of the dining room, he’d waited around to walk her to the dormitory. He didn’t talk business like Mr. Niles. Instead, he talked about his former law practice.
Not that she’d spent much time with Mr. Ennis, but it soon became clear to Olivia that Mr. Gregory had what her father called vast knowledge of the law, while Mr. Ennis had only limited knowledge. If John Prescott had been able to retain a lawyer as gifted as Mr. Gregory, LeRoy Baker would have been discovered, and both she and Michelle would still call Prescott home.
And for all his gruffness, his high expectations, and his earlier lack of compassion—at least toward her—Mr. Gregory actually was starting to make Olivia want to spent time with him. The man needed to have some fun.
“Esther, run ahead and wash up before you help Olivia,” Mr. Gregory ordered.
“But I didn’t find a single arrowhead.”
“We’ll look again,” Olivia promised. “And for today, you can draw one.”
And for four days, Esther refused to draw anything but arrowheads. Customers oohed and aahed and purchased quite a few. Esther charged a penny. Her proud papa, who meandered in more times than Olivia was comfortable with, listened to his daughter issue a spiel that resulted in a sale. Mr. Gregory promptly located a table and chair and set up an area behind the register where Esther kept meticulous track of her pennies.
Olivia, of course, had to teach Esther how to curb her enthusiasm.
That Sunday Mr. Gregory preached on tithing. He compared and contrasted the Old and New Testaments and finished with Second Chronicles 24:10: “All the princes and all the people rejoiced, and brought in, and cast into the chest, until they had made an end.”
Esther put a penny in the chest Mr. Gregory had used as an example and smiled smugly at Olivia.
Olivia squirmed. She hadn’t put money in the plate—ever. She put all her money aside for necessities and Baldwin-Felts.
From his stance on the porch, Mr. Gregory said, “‘Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.’”
Olivia didn’t understand it all, but she was starting to understand enough, thanks to the example of Mr. Gregory and his daughter. She reached inside her purse.
That night, after the lights went out and all sane people laid their heads on their pillows, the men got together. Between the three of them, they were keeping Olivia under close guard. Niles took breakfast setup, spot checks in the gift shop, and evening shutdown. Daniel seemed to be everywhere, but his assigned duty was watching the arriving train in the morning and inspecting it as it left in the evening. Wayne continued with the hour walk and spot checks in the gift shop and also added Mondays—Olivia’s day off. Since she had no family, so far she’d neglected to take a day off—something Niles wasn’t aware of. “Mary should have made me aware,” he grumbled.
“There’s a lot about Mary you don’t know.” Daniel’s words were nonchalant, but his look was steely.
“What do you mean?” Niles asked.
“Never meant to be a private detective and don’t intend to stay one, but you boys missed the obvious.”
“You going to tell us, or do we have to guess?” Niles asked.
“I know she’s one of your favorites …” Daniel began.
“She’s a good employee. We’ve opened five Harvey Houses together.”
“And while you were busy building your career, she was building a fantasy about your future together.”
“Nonsense,” Niles said. “Most women tend to think what’s there is more than what’s really there. Mary’s sensible. She knows I’m not the marrying kind.”
“Then why did she cut up Olivia’s clothes when she thought you might be acting a bit too friendly with our girl?”
“She didn’t!”
“She did,” Daniel said. “From early on Mary noticed that Olivia seemed to capture your interest. And consider this. Mary’s the seamstress among
the waitresses. She knew about the dresses; she owned the scissors. She moves quickly and has so many responsibilities that no one expects her to be in one place.”
“But Mary’s the one who made Olivia notify me about the dresses,” Wayne said.
“Sure she did. When Olivia didn’t report the destruction, Mary knew no action would be taken. Mary wanted Olivia transferred. She’s also the one who took the fountain pen while you were out of the office. You blamed Olivia, didn’t you?”
Wayne felt sheepish. He’d blamed Olivia, harbored a grudge even. As a lawyer, he should have remembered that one was innocent until proven guilty.
“Then you fell in love and didn’t give another thought to that fountain pen.”
Wayne shook his head. If enough people mentioned his attraction to Olivia, he’d have to do something about it.
“It’s a good match,” Daniel said gruffly. “If I didn’t like Olivia so much, I’d drag you home to meet up with one of my girls.” He turned his attention to Niles.
“Don’t even think it,” Niles said.
For the next half hour, the men did what they’d originally met to do. They pored over the hotel register, looking for someone connected to Olivia. So far no one appeared suspicious. Daniel shook his head. “I’m surprised it’s taking this long. Her signature is all that’s needed before the necessary paperwork can be filed.”
“What if someone legitimate shows up, like her father’s lawyer or the French maid she’s always writing to?” Wayne started pacing.
“Hopefully, if that happens,” Daniel said, “the accomplice won’t be far behind. After all, Olivia’s still single.”
Wayne wasn’t surprised when both men smirked at him.
Chapter 9
Wayne left the meeting and detoured to the women’s dormitory. Inside, Olivia slept, not knowing her father was dead, not knowing she might be in danger, not knowing Wayne loved her. Spending so much time with Olivia was proving to be as much a curse as a blessing. She made him miss his wife. She made him want a wife.
The Timeless Love Romance Collection Page 13