by Marta Perry
Mac’s relief hadn’t been up to Nick’s, but still, it was good to see that Mac’s instincts told him Allison was innocent. He’d do his job regardless of instincts, of course. At least now there was a good reason for searching out other options.
Nick headed toward the quilt shop, his step lighter than it had been all day. Allison needed to hear this news. He opened the shop door, hearing the bell jingle, and Hector jumped down from the display window to weave around his legs, no doubt depositing orange fur on his jeans.
“What’s this? Did you finally decide you like me?” He bent to run his hand down the cat’s back, feeling it arch against his palm. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but where’s Allison?”
“She’s not here just now.” The voice belonged to Sarah, of course, not the cat. She came out from behind the counter, her forehead wrinkled. “It’s been a trying morning with all the nosy gawkers, and then Emily came in crying, saying she couldn’t take it and was going home. I think Allison needed a break, so she went up to the office.”
“That was probably a smart idea. If she’s not here, they can’t stare at her.” He hesitated, wondering at the degree of worry in Sarah’s blue eyes. “Look, if it’s bothering you, I’ll see if Mac won’t send a patrolman over to warn people off.”
“No, don’t do that. It might make things worse.” Sarah rubbed her forehead. “Anyway, I’m more concerned about Thomas Blackburn. He went up to see Allison a while ago. I’m sure he was putting pressure on her to agree to his deal.”
“She wouldn’t.” He tried to sound confident, but doubt reared its head. Could he be sure what Allison would do?
“I hope not. But you know what Thomas is like. He came down just a few minutes ago, looking around as if he owned the place and didn’t like what he saw.”
“He always looks like that. Anyway, even if worse came to worst, the quilt shop would still be yours. That’s how Evelyn left it, right?”
She nodded. “I’d rather have Allison for my partner. And anyway, that’s just the shop, not the property. If Blackburn owned the building, he could still put me out, ain’t so?”
Nick wanted to comfort her, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. He’d like to say that everything would be all right, but would it?
“Look, I’m on my way to see Allison. I have some news I think will encourage her.” And he’d sound her out on Blackburn. People were depending on Allison. She couldn’t let them down.
And then there was the fact that he wanted her to stay for reasons that had nothing to do with the business. He wasn’t sure he was ready to bring that factor into the equation yet.
Nick went up the stairs quickly, trying to deny that he was eager to see her. He’d be cautious about bringing anyone into his and Jamie’s lives in any event, but the current circumstances made it even more important to move slowly. His brain was logical, but his heart and his body seemed to be out of sync with it.
He’d nearly reached the office when his phone buzzed. Mom was calling. He answered, leaning against the wall, his back to the office door. “What’s up, Mom?”
“Okay if I drop Jamie off with you for about an hour while I run some errands? I can swing by and drop him—”
“No, don’t do that.” His reaction was immediate and instinctive. “I have to be here a while longer, and I think it’s best if Jamie’s not here.”
He could almost hear his mother’s surprise. “Why? Surely you don’t think Blackburn House is dangerous? I thought you were more sensible than that.”
“Well, maybe I’m not,” he said, irritated that she seemed to see right through him. “I just don’t want Jamie anywhere near Blackburn House right now, okay?”
“Right, okay.” Now she sounded as if she were indulging his whim. “I’ll take him with me. Talk later. Bye.” She rang off before he could respond.
Maybe his feeling wasn’t logical, but he had a right... He turned and saw Allison standing in the office doorway, watching him.
Nick made an effort to ignore the probability that she’d overheard him. “Allison, good. I was just coming to see you. I’ve seen Mac.” He glanced around, aware that someone could come out of one of the offices at any moment. “Let’s go in the apartment.”
“Fine.” But she didn’t sound fine. She sounded frozen, almost, as if the word were an ice cube dropped from her lips.
The apartment door was locked, which meant Dad had left. Probably just as well. This ought to be a private conversation. He opened the door, and they stepped inside.
He’d expected her to look around in appreciation at the nearly finished remodel, but she didn’t. She zeroed in on him. “You said you had some news.”
“Right. I spoke to Mac, and he said the DA now agrees with him that it’s too soon to limit the investigation in any way. There’s the money to be explained, and the fact that they haven’t yet found the murder weapon.” He paused, expecting a response, and got none. “You understand, don’t you? This takes the focus off you.”
“For how long?” Her jaw tightened, and she shook her head. “I’m glad, don’t get me wrong. But this has been such a roller coaster that it’s hard to feel any relief when I know other people are looking at me and wondering.”
“You mean like Thomas Blackburn?” He was fishing, trying to get at the reason behind her attitude. “Sarah told me he’d been up to see you. What did he want?”
Allison shrugged. “To renew his offer. What else?”
“You’re not seriously thinking of taking it, are you? It’s a fraction of what the building is worth.” And besides, I don’t want you to leave.
“Maybe I should. Business is off—you’ve seen that, haven’t you? People are complaining and threatening to move out.” She flung out her hands. “And what about this apartment? What chance will I have of renting it with the shadow of murder hanging over the building?”
He stared at her, not liking what he was hearing. “I thought you were happy here. You’re not going to let Blackburn scare you away, are you? You have friends here, people who care about you.”
The anger flared in her face as she swung on him, but he could see pain there, as well. “Do I? I heard you on the phone. You don’t want your son anywhere near this place. Anywhere near me, in other words.”
“That’s not true. I don’t—” He stopped, not sure where the line was between the truth and his feelings for her. “Look, you don’t understand. Jamie’s my son. It’s my job to protect him—”
“From a woman who might be involved in a murder.” She finished for him.
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Isn’t it?” Her eyes were stormy. “That’s not all, is it? You want to protect him from a woman you think is too much like your ex-wife to be safe. That’s what’s been going on all along with you.”
Nick stared at her. He wanted to deny it. But before he could find the words, she spun and stalked out.
* * *
ALLISON HAD REACHED the bottom of the stairs before she realized she didn’t know where she was going. Anywhere, so long as it was away from Nick Whiting.
She headed for the outside door but stopped in the act of pushing it open. Much as she’d love to walk as fast as possible with her sore ankle until her ire had burned itself out, she’d have to go through the cluster of people at the gate to do so.
Glaring at them didn’t seem to help. What on earth did they think they were going to see? Blackburn House looked the same as it always did. Still, observing Thomas Blackburn arrive and depart had no doubt given them something to chatter about.
Blackburn had made his desire to acquire the building clear. What did he expect to do with the place if and when it belonged to him? The quilt shop, the bookstore, the cabinetry—would they still be here if Thomas Blackburn were in charge?
All
ison had no idea whether his wealth was large enough to permit him to buy the building and turn it back to the home it had once been. If he was obsessed enough, it could probably be done. The bones of the building were still there, and the renovation had been carried out with consideration to preserving the original charm as much as possible.
If that was Blackburn’s intent— Her train of thought made an abrupt halt at the sound of footsteps in the upstairs hallway. Panic ripped through her at the idea that it was Nick coming after her. Refusing to glance in the direction of the footsteps, she darted into the quilt shop. Sarah was measuring a bolt of cloth at the cutting table, and she looked up, startled.
“If Nick asks for me, you don’t know where I am.” Flinging out the words, she dashed into the back room and closed the door, leaning against it, her breath coming as if she’d been running.
Pressing her ear to the door, she listened, aware all the time of how foolish she must appear if anyone watched. Nothing. No heavy male footsteps, no jangle of the bell over the door. Breathing a little easier, she moved to the rocker and sat down, trying to focus her thoughts and control her anger.
A tap on the door, and then it opened and Sarah came in. She studied Allison’s face for a moment before she spoke. “Nick didn’t come near the shop. Didn’t even look. He marched straight out the door with a face like a black cloud with a storm coming on.”
She could breathe again. “Thanks, Sarah.” Realizing she’d actually asked Sarah to lie to an old and valued friend for her, she considered apologizing but decided the least said, the better.
Closing her eyes, Allison rested her head against the padded chair. When she opened them a moment later, Sarah was sitting opposite her, wearing a look of expectation.
“Well?” she said.
“Well what?” Allison attempted a smile.
“Was ist letz? And in case you’ve forgotten, that means what’s wrong?” Sarah settled herself, looking prepared to stay there all day if necessary.
“Nothing.” Allison’s heart winced at the word. “I’m fine.”
Sarah’s eyebrows lifted. “So, this nothing happened in the past hour or so since I’ve seen you. That means it wasn’t Ralph’s death or the trouble with the property.”
“Why not? Isn’t that enough to upset anyone?” It occurred to her that she sounded like a petulant child.
“That’s certain sure. But you wouldn’t be hiding from Nick because of that. You had words with him, ain’t so?”
It was no use trying to hide the facts from Sarah. She knew too much to be fooled. “‘Had words’ is putting it mildly.” The hurtful thing burst out of her before she could contain it. “He doesn’t think I’m a suitable person to be around his son.”
Sarah looked aghast. “Nick never said such a thing.”
“He did.” Honesty compelled her to add a qualifier. “Well, not in so many words.”
“Just because he said something stupid—” Sarah began.
“I heard him,” Allison said, fingers gripping the curved wooden arms of the rocker. “He was talking to his mother on the phone. She must have wanted to bring Jamie over, because he said he didn’t want his son anywhere near this place. In other words, near me.”
“Maybe he didn’t mean you, exactly.” Sarah, expression troubled, seemed to try to be fair.
“Didn’t he? I haven’t seen Jamie since all this trouble started. That speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”
“Ach, Allison, you have to understand. Nick is like a hen with one chick. He’s always overreacting where that boy is concerned. It doesn’t mean anything about you.”
Allison shook her head. She knew better. It meant everything about her. “When he looks at me, it’s like all he can think of is how much I’m like his ex-wife. When he forgets for a minute, he kisses me, and then he jumps away like a scalded cat.”
“Did he actually say that to you?” Sarah would obviously like to cling to the belief that it was a simple misunderstanding.
“I said it to him.” Her throat tightened at the memory. “He didn’t deny it.”
“Nicolas Whiting is an idiot where women are concerned, and I’ll tell him so the first chance I get.” Sarah was actually angry, and that was something Allison had never seen. “The idea of thinking you’re anything like that flighty creature is ridiculous, and anyone with half a brain could see it. Maybe on the outside, you’re all the things she wanted to be, but anyone who knows you surely has to figure out the woman you really are—strong and steadfast and a gut friend.”
Allison’s throat was now so tight she couldn’t even try to speak with the risk of ending up blubbering.
Sarah came to her, put her arms around her. “If Nick is so ferhoodled that he doesn’t know what you’re really like, then he deserves to be alone.”
She gave Allison a fierce hug, and the tears Allison had thought to restrain spilled over.
* * *
THE BUILDING HAD begun to get quiet around her, and Allison surfaced from the files she’d been going through and glanced at her watch. It was after five. She’d been hiding up here most of the afternoon, determined not to see Nick.
But he must have been just as eager to avoid her, because from what she could see, he’d spent the rest of the day in the workshop.
Aware of her promise to Sarah that she wouldn’t stay in the building alone, Allison stood, stretching her back. Hector, who’d been sleeping on a stack of papers on her desk, seemed to take that as a signal. He rose and stretched his back as well, although he managed to do a much more impressive arch than she had.
“Ready to go home? I am, too, but I’d better box up the files that haven’t been sorted yet, so they don’t get mixed up.” She frowned, trying to think where she’d seen some empty cardboard boxes recently. Just beyond the top of the attic stairs, wasn’t it? They’d left some extra ones there in case they needed them for the Jumble Sale, and it seemed doubtful that Fred had disposed of them.
Allison unlocked the door to the attic, and then realized how foolish it would be to open that door with Hector sitting there, his eyes pinned on it, his tail swishing. If he got up to the attic, she could be chasing him for hours.
“Time to go home,” she said cheerfully, moving away from the door. She picked up the cat carrier, set it next to him and opened it. “Home,” she repeated. “Supper.”
That was one word Hector definitely knew. He climbed into the carrier, turned around and settled himself in his favorite sphinx posture, ready for the trip to his favorite cat food.
“Good boy.” She checked the latch. “I just have to do one more thing, and I definitely don’t want your company.” She pulled open the attic door, switched on the light and started up, leaving the door open for ease in negotiating the stairs while carrying a box. Behind her, Hector complained loudly. She could only hope he was wrong in his obvious assessment that there were mice up here.
The attic stretched out around her when she reached the top, dim and shadowy beyond the reach of the single bulb at the top of the stairs. Dust motes drifted in the shaft of sunlight from the closest window. It she went to that window, she could look down at the workshop and see if Nick’s truck was still parked there.
Wrong thing to think of doing. She’d actually felt better after a bout of crying, and Sarah’s indignation at Nick had soothed her, as well. There were times when no one would do but a girlfriend.
That reminded her of Leslie, and the attorney she’d recommended. His offices were in the nearest larger town, and Leslie had said he was highly recommended by someone she knew.
But if what Nick had said was true, and the investigation no longer focused on her, maybe it wasn’t necessary. Even aside from the complicating factor of Ralph’s hidden money, which clearly had nothing to do with her, if the police hadn’t found the murder weapon after all their
searching, didn’t that mean the killer had taken it away with him? Mac and Nick could both swear that she hadn’t taken anything away from the scene of Ralph’s death.
Yanking her thoughts back to her purpose for being in the dusty attic, she peered around for the boxes. They weren’t where she’d thought. Could that mean that Fred had actually taken care of a chore without being reminded? But, no, there they were in an untidy pile, behind a stack of what seemed to be boxes of books from the bookstore.
Putting one hand on a full carton for balance and praying there weren’t any spiders, she stretched out, reaching for the box she wanted. Her fingertips barely brushed it when the box that was supporting her slid, tilting off its fellows. Off balance, Allison grabbed for it, trying to keep the books from spilling out.
One slid out, landing on her foot, and then another. She tried to right the box, shoving it back into place. Muttering, she bent to retrieve the books that had landed on the floor. They looked new, their glossy jackets unmarred, and she wiped them off carefully. Odd. They didn’t appear to be used books, but judging by the titles she recognized, they were several years old. Had Ralph intended to box them up and return them, and then forgotten about it? She should remember to tell Emily... The thought trailed off as another layer of books slid to the side, revealing an open space right in the center of the stacks of books. For an instant, Allison just stared at it. A cache, just like the spot in the box of books where Emily had discovered the box of cash. Apparently Ralph had thought he’d found a secure method of hiding things he didn’t want anyone to see.
Gingerly, Allison reached inside, her groping fingers finding a rolled-up plastic bag. She pulled it out. Not cash this time. She unrolled the bag so she could see what it contained. The only thing in the bag was a plastic pill vial, containing three or four capsules. The pharmacy prescription label carried a date three years earlier. She recognized the name of the medication—a popular brand of tranquilizer. And there was the name of the patient. She recognized that, too. Nina Blackburn. Tommy Blackburn’s late wife.