Anderson’s Market, a small family owned grocery store, provided the necessities of life to those who didn’t want to drive to the chain stores in Waterloo. Last night, she’d picked up a few items to tide her over, but now that she knew what she needed, she wanted to see if she could make a deal with them to supply some of the foodstuffs at a reasonable price. She had heard that local farmers sold their produce there, and if she could get somethings from them—maybe the ones Mabel had always gotten—she’d make an ally of Lyle and Lola Andersen. The more people she had willing to give her a chance, the easier it would be to do both of her jobs.
Several hours later, dressed in black crepe palazzo pants and a bright multicolored silk shell top with a matching jacket, Emily finished putting the final touches to her toilette. While the outfit was dressy, it wasn’t overly so, and was suitable for a friendly reunion dinner in the hotel’s restaurant. She’d asked Lisa about it earlier in the afternoon, and from what her friend had said, people tended to dress up when they went out to dinner there. The hotel had been modernized, but maintained a lot of its former glory, and the locals liked to think of it as a place to celebrate special occasions.
Once she fluffed her hair the way Quinn had showed her to, she wondered how Alex would’ve like it. He probably wouldn’t have, preferring things remain the way they always had, but he was gone—wishing, hoping, and praying wouldn’t change that fact. Images of the stranger from the bar who vaguely resembled the man she’d loved with all her heart came to mind. She couldn’t deny her attraction to him, but would it be fair to even consider a relationship with the man simply because he reminded her of Alex? She shook her head. Pipe dreams never amounted to anything. Besides, tall, dark, and Alexy, was probably married.
After applying cosmetics sparingly, and lightly spritzing herself with the new cologne she’d purchased, she inserted the dangly earrings she’d selected for the occasion, and then turned away from the mirror looking for the wedge-soled shoes she’d wear tonight. While all the scars from the plastic surgery had healed, she still wasn’t used to working with the stranger’s face that stared back at her in the mirror and wondered how long it would be before she could accept that the image staring back at her with familiar hazel eyes really was her.
Glancing down at her watch, she realized she was running late and hurried out the door, locking it behind her. Because her hip and leg socket were sore from all the walking and standing she’d done this week, she’d opted to take her cane along. Better to use it for support than to stumble and fall as she almost did Monday night. The last thing she needed was for Deputy Dunderhead to hear she’d left the place staggering. He might’ve been caught off-guard this morning, but she doubted the man would stay complacent for long. It wasn’t his style.
Driving out of the parking lot, she headed east toward the downtown area and the Worthington Arms. Since arriving in Braden, she had covertly researched the area discovering three sites that might make ideal locations for a meth kitchen. There was an abandoned machine parts factory on the far side of community. From what she’d seen, the place was in good shape, its windows intact, and still had public utility wires running to it. The other setting that had popped out at her was the deserted army base just north of town. It housed several suitable buildings that could be renovated to suit and no doubt had its own utilities in place. Added to that, there was an abandoned airfield nearby used by small, private plane owners and crop dusters, which could provide easy access in and out for supplies and finished product. Plus, it had several hangers that could also be used to manufacture meth. She would mentioned them to Mike when they had time to chat. He might’ve already checked them out as well as other sites farther outside the town. A meth lab needed a lot of water and power, and none of those locations might be able to provide it without attracting attention, although, if the right palms were greased, it might not matter.
Within twenty minutes, she pulled into the hotel parking lot. The red brick, six story hotel, complete with ballroom, pool, spa, and restaurant, had been built during World War II when Barden had been a thriving, growing community, an integral part of the American war machine. Unfortunately, for the area, after the war ended, the army base was closed down, and the factory ultimately stopped production, going out of business years ago. Officially, a historic landmark, instead of housing the myriad visitors and tourists the original owner had catered to in its heyday, the hotel did double duty as an inn and as a refuge for those left homeless by floods, tornados, and blizzards. The SPA, pool, and exercise room were considered to be part of the town’s community center. The once lavish and elegant ballroom now served as a venue for high school proms, class reunions, graduations, and wedding receptions, while the smaller conference rooms were used for local community group meetings.
Emily parked her car in the designated spot and, with the help of her cane, climbed the steps to the veranda, decorated with planters filled with flowers still in full-bloom. Avoiding the revolving door, she went in through the automated one and stopped short, transported back in time to the hotel’s by-gone era.
The beautiful marble staircase led up to a mezzanine level that housed the restaurant and the ballroom. The banister and surrounding woodwork as well as the reception desk were of rich, dark, mahogany, and gleamed under the brilliant light of a real, Austrian crystal chandelier.
To her left, the lobby opened into a lounge complete with sofas and chairs set up in conversational groupings, with magazines and newspapers in elegant disarray on adjoining coffee tables. On the far side of the salon sat a maple grand piano, a rare and beautiful instrument that had lovingly been cared for all these years. A bar stood on the wall across from the piano, and the glass doors opened onto a patio where people could enjoy their drinks outside in the warm summer air. Lisa had mentioned that the current owner’s daughter, a concert pianist, was known to entertain the locals with an impromptu recital now and again, when she was home.
In contrast to the dark wood and brass accents, the walls were painted an elegant shade of cream and served as a backdrop for the artistic endeavors of local artists, as well as those of the senior art class She noticed two in particular, beautiful landscapes that were dated two and three years ago respectively.
A young woman in a hotel uniform walked purposely toward her, the smile on her face welcoming. “Ms. Jacobson?”
“Yes,” she answered, surprised the woman knew her name.
“I’m Jennifer, the assistant manager here. Welcome to the Worthington Arms. Sheriff Hines asked me to watch for you in case you needed help. If you’ll come this way, we have an elevator up to the restaurant for those who’d prefer not to climb the stairs.”
She grinned. “That would be great. Maybe I’ll try the stairs next time, but tonight, the elevator sounds just about right.”
“Please follow me.” She led the way passed the desk and around the corner where a brass-doored elevator, stood. The metal shone with the rich patina of age. The doors slid open effortlessly and she entered. Jennifer pressed the button and pulled back before the doors closed. “Enjoy your evening.”
The lift moved up smoothly and stopped with a mild jerk. As soon as the doors parted, Emily exited and followed the sound of muted voices to the dining room.
As she neared the entrance, a hostess in a tight black dress and killer heels smiled at her. “Good evening and welcome to the Terrace. I’m Lexi. You must be Ms. Jacobson.”
Emily smiled. Just how had Calvin described me?
“Sheriff Hines and his wife are already seated. If you’ll follow me?”
Lexi led the way deeper into the beautifully appointed dining room lined with mahogany booths on each side for those who wanted intimacy. Large patio doors opened up onto the terrace after which the restaurant had been named, but tonight the doors were closed. The skies had threatened rain all day, so eating outdoors wouldn’t be a good choice. For those who didn’t want a booth, round tables covered in white damask linen, set for four,
six or eight, filled the center portion of the room. Full, the restaurant might accommodate two hundred diners, but tonight, only a handful of tables and booths were occupied. Hurricane candles on each table provided subdued lighting enhanced by the pot lights in the ceiling.
When Calvin saw her approaching, he stood. Instead of his uniform, the sheriff wore a dove gray shirt, and dark pants. “Emily, so glad you could make it. I know you won’t remember Julie. You were just a baby when she saw you last.”
The twinkle in his eye told her he’d somehow convinced his wife they’d actually met maybe thirty years ago. She shook her head slightly and grinned. “Mrs. Hines, it’s so nice to meet you again.”
“Please sit, you poor thing,” the dark-haired woman said, her eyes conveying sympathy. “Calvin was telling me all about your accident. You’re so young to have had so much tragedy to deal with.”
“It’s getting easier every day,” she answered, knowing Julie was referring to the pseudo car accident that had necessitated the artificial hip and had supposedly killed her husband. Since Emily had refused to remove her wedding ring, being widowed, which she was, was part of her alias, and the reason she’d shared the information with Quinn the previous day.
When the waiter appeared for her drink order, she selected a white wine spritzer.
Conversation sprinkled with a heavy serving of gossip was as delectable as the meal—tossed salad to start, followed by succulent prime rib, garlic mashed potatoes, and local vegetables. For dessert, she opted for a piece of brandied pecan pie, from The Triple B bakery. Merryn obviously had a monopoly on sweets in town.
Throughout the meal, she discretely checked out the other diners, surprised to see the man who’d rescued her from Deputy Dunderhead sitting in a booth, obviously alone. She didn’t think he’d recognized her, but his resemblance to Alex had imprinted itself on her mind. Where was his wife? His girlfriend? A man like that shouldn’t lack for companionship. The loneliness on his face called out to her. How many solitary meals had she suffered through, including the one on Monday night? She was about to ask who he was when Calvin stood up.
“Mike, glad you could make it,” he said as a man with freckles and dark red-hair joined them, “We’re just about to have coffee and dessert. What would you like?” He signaled the waitress.
“Pie and coffee are fine,” the newcomer answered. “I ate with Morgan over at Buddy’s.”
“Let me make the introductions,” Cal continued. “Mike Reynolds, you know Julia, and this is Emily Jacobson. She’s here for the year to implement the new Healthy Living Initiative at the high school.”
Emily held out her hand and felt her cheeks redden at Mike’s appreciative gaze. He looked a trifle familiar. She’d definitely seen the man before, but where?
“If I’d realized who you were, I’d have tried harder to stop Kevin from harassing you the other night at the bar.” He turned to Julia. “I saw Emily on Monday when she picked up her supper at Buddy’s.”
“Yes, she mentioned she’d met Kevin,” Cal said. “As usual, my deputy was less than diplomatic, but he’ll mind his p’s and q’s now.”
“The man who did come after him was quite effective, but thanks for the thought,” she said and smiled weakly, remembering seeing him there, but she could swear that hadn’t been the first time. “If we’d been introduced sooner, I might have joined you when I went inside, but…I’m getting tired of my own company.”
“Well, anytime, you want someone to talk to, I’m just a call away.” He handed her a card. To anyone watching, they were just two young people flirting. If they had people thinking they were dating, then seeing them together wouldn’t arouse suspicion, and spending time with Mike would keep her mind off her knight in shining armor.
“How are things going at the plant?” Cal asked.
“Very well,” Mike addressed Emily directly, making eye contact, the type that would help her understand what he couldn’t put into words. “I met the lab staff today, the men responsible for ensuring the ratios are correct and that the right percentage of corn is converted into fuel rather than corn liquor. Some of the boys think it’s a shame to waste good moonshine on fuel when there’s still plenty of gasoline around.”
“Are they worried about theft?” Emily asked knowing Mike would understand she was talking about lab equipment not the booze.
“They’ve got tight security. It’d be hard to sneak anything of any size out of there, but not impossible.
She nodded—it was possible but not probable. Good to know. “What do you do at the plant?” she asked, wanting to know how close he was to the workers.
“I’m an architectural engineer, so I work closely with the construction workers. I’ve gotten to know them well. Nice guys.”
Damn. That means no one he’s spoken to yet can be our man. Can Kyle be wrong? If Mike hadn’t found anyone suspicious at the plant that meant the Chef had to be one of the other strangers in town, or they’d chosen the wrong place. “I’ve done some driving around the area while I was making arrangements for local suppliers and passed some abandoned structures along the way. I didn’t notice anyone around or see any other new construction, other than the hundreds of windmills.”
“And you won’t. The new Ethanol plant is in Riveredge, about twenty miles east of here. That factory you passed hasn’t been used in years and the plumbing and wiring is so old, it’s probably a fire waiting to happen. The other place is an army base, and while it may look deserted, every now and then Uncle Sam holds training exercises there. You probably glimpsed our local airfield, used by the crop dusters, the hospital helicopter, and a few flying enthusiasts. A couple of the hangers house planes in the winter, but most are derelict, waiting for a strong wind to blow them down.”
“I see,” she said, understanding that none of them would work for the Chef.
“There are a few abandoned farms around here like those you see in the paintings.” He indicated the walls in the restaurant that not only displayed pictures of the hotel and other historic landmarks, but showed old barns, silos, and farmhouses. “Some of them are in rough shape, but others are quite sound. Maybe you’d like to try your skill at capturing them on canvas?”
“I’m not much of an artist, but I like taking photographs.”
“I’m working this weekend, but I’m off the next one. If the weather’s nice, maybe we can drive out to the country and have a picnic.”
“I’d like that.”
“Then it’s a date. Give me your number, and I’ll call you to set it all up.” He passed her a second card.
She wrote down her cell number for him. “I’m looking forward to it,” she said and jumped when someone behind her cleared his throat.
“Hello Cal, Julie,” the man said and nodded politely. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was on my way out when I noticed your dinner companion. We were never introduced the other night when I helped her. I didn’t realize she wasn’t a stranger. I’m Jackson Harris.”
Emily choked on the mouthful of coffee she’d swallowed.
“Are you okay, Emily?” Calvin and Julia asked at the same time.
“I’m fine,” she lied, hoping everyone would think the burning in her cheeks was caused by the coffee and not by the realization that she would be seeing this man possibly every day for the next ten months.
Cal smiled. “Jackson, nice to see you. You’re looking good. Meet your new nutritionist, the woman Mabel wants to tar and feather and then run out of town on a rail. I’m assuming you’re planning to do something about her?”
If she hadn’t been so mortified, by the inappropriate dreams she’d had the last couple of nights, she’d probably have been insulted by the stunned look of dismay on Jackson’s face.
“You’re E. L. Jacobson?” he asked as if he was certain he’d misheard.
“Guilty as charged,” she answered trying not to sound peevish. “I believe we have an appointment next Friday at eleven.”
He swallowed,
and redness crept over his face, making him look like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I expected you to be older,” he said sheepishly. “We do have a meeting scheduled, and I’ve invited Mabel Loucks to join us. Hopefully, once she gets to know you, she’ll understand her job isn’t in jeopardy and will give up this campaign she’s started.”
“Should I borrow a Kevlar vest from the sheriff just in case?” she asked and chuckled.
“You should be fine. Mabel’s bark is worse than her bite.”
“Luckily, I’ve had all my shots.”
Noticing the way the men were eying one another, Emily frowned. Standing at the bar together Monday night didn’t make them friends. “Do you know Mike?” she asked.
“We’ve met,” Jackson answered.
Mike nodded.
In the ensuing silence, Emily sensed an animosity between the men that didn’t make sense, but since no one else seemed to notice anything amiss, she smiled back at Jackson, who grinned displaying that dimple she loved. “How are things coming along for the school year?”
“Everything is ready except the cafeteria. I assume you’ll have supplies coming in?”
“Yes. Deliveries will start next week, with fresh produce and eggs arriving first thing Monday morning. My suppliers are familiar with the school hours, but how early can I get in?”
“Any time you like. The custodian is there by six each morning, but I’ll give you keys and the alarm code when we meet, but if you want to get in before, just drop by the school. I’ll let Mary, my secretary, know you’re coming, and she can give you everything you’ll need. I’ll introduce you to the staff as soon as I can arrange it.”
She thought he was going to say something else, but when he shook her hand, she felt the goose bumps racing up her arm.
“Well, I’d better get going. It was nice meeting you Mrs. Jacobson. Have fun on your date,” he said and turned away.
But it’s not a real date, she wanted to cry, knowing she couldn’t. It would blow her cover as well as Mike’s, and that could get them both killed. It wasn’t that Mike was unattractive, he simply didn’t affect her that way while the sight of Jackson made her stomach flip-flop, and that brought on a wave of guilt. How could she even consider that kind of a relationship with a man? It had to be his resemblance to Alex.
Secrets and Lies (Hearts Of Braden Book 4) Page 8