Abby, Get Your Groom!

by Victoria Pade

  “It looks as if, when there was something brewing somewhere that could turn into a headache for some part of the business, my great-grandfather—H.J. Camden—had a few chosen men he sent in to...well, to do whatever it took to contain things before they got out of hand.”

  Dylan didn’t seem proud of that because he was again talking quietly. “I guess you could say they were his...enforcers.” That word came out more under his breath than out loud. “We have a lot of production factories. A supervisor in one of those factories was trying to unionize.”

  “And you didn’t want it,” Abby guessed.

  “I was five, going on six—what I wanted was probably cookies and candy and to play outside. But no, H.J.—along with my grandfather and my dad and my uncle, who all ran the Superstores together—didn’t want unions in the factories.” Dylan’s eyebrows arched toward his hairline in reluctance to say what he was going to say. “They wanted the labor leaders discouraged—”

  “And Gus Glassman—my father—was the discourager?”

  “Yeah. But that discouragement got pretty heated. It turned into an all-out fight between Gus and the supervisor, and in the course of that fight the supervisor fell back, hit his head and died.”

  “So my father was a thug? He was your family’s bully or henchman or something, and he killed someone?” The fantasy of learning about her family had never included that and Abby was beginning to feel slightly knocked for a loop by the reality.

  “I don’t know that your father was a thug or a bully or a henchman,” he said as if those terms were too harsh. “But he was involved in a bad situation, following orders that he probably shouldn’t have been given. We—my grandmother, my siblings, my cousins and I—read about it in my great-grandfather’s journal. We checked to see if the supervisor had left family or someone we should compensate—he hadn’t. But when it came to Gus Glassman—”

  “He was nothing but the guy who did your family’s dirty work?”

  It wasn’t as if Abby felt any kind of affection for the man Dylan Camden kept calling her father, but she had too much experience being in positions where she’d been looked at as a nothing herself and he’d touched a nerve.

  “No. What I was going to say was that when it came to Gus, we could contact him directly. So that was what we did—GiGi wrote to him, asking if there was anything we could do for him and if he’d left anyone behind who he might like us to reach out to.”

  “And he didn’t say me,” Abby said quietly.

  “He didn’t answer the letter at all. So GiGi found his attorney, who said that Gus had been a widower with no kids so we shouldn’t worry about it. I guess not even the attorney knew about you.”

  Because she’d been a nothing even to her own father?

  That thought didn’t boost her spirits.

  More and more feelings were coming at her but they were all jumbled and indecipherable as Dylan continued. “Like I said, telling the chaplain was the first time he’d so much as spoken of you since the supervisor’s death. He told the chaplain that that was because he wanted to spare you having to grow up with the disgrace of a dad who had taken another person’s life, who was convicted of manslaughter and sent to prison. He didn’t want that following you around. The chaplain said your father was ashamed of what he’d done, that he’d never forgiven himself and that he didn’t want to pass that shame on to you. He thought that you’d be better off just left somewhere—somewhere safe, because he knew you’d be taken care of in a hospital—without a last name or any information that could link you back to him.”

  So he had cared about her? He had thought about her welfare in whatever skewed fashion?

  More feelings came, bringing with them more confusion.

  It must have shown on her face because out of nowhere Dylan said, “I know it’s kind of hard to reconcile things that don’t seem to go together. I loved my great-grandfather, my grandfather, my dad and my uncle. They were unfailingly good to me. But I can’t say I’m proud of all the things they did outside of the family. It’s something we’re all having to come to grips with. For us, we never forget that those same men who didn’t always behave honorably were still people we loved, who loved us, so we have to separate things. And it seems like—in spite of what your dad went to jail for doing—he really did care about you. Maybe that’s something to hang on to.”

  “Maybe...” she parroted, struggling with it all. Struggling, too, with the fact that this was so completely different than any of the romanticized thoughts she’d always entertained about where and who she’d come from, about why she’d been left.

  But here she was, with Dylan Camden at the moment and she wasn’t sure where this was supposed to go.

  So she asked. “I guess, then, you’ll tell me where to find the lockbox and that’s it?”

  “Well, if you’ll let me, I’d like to help you piece together what we can of your background,” Dylan said. “Figure out more about where you came from and the kind of man Gus Glassman was—because I have hope that he might have been a loving dad to you, despite what he did. Maybe we can figure out who your mom was, what happened to her and any family she might have had. It just seems like you should know as much as you can from here.”

  Should she? Abby wondered.

  She wasn’t sure.

  In some ways she wanted to deny that this could actually be her background and step away from it as if it wasn’t really hers.

  It had been difficult enough growing up a foster kid. She’d been vigilant about being a good girl in order to live down preconceived notions about what that might mean.

  And now to learn that she really was what some people had assumed—if not bad herself, then at least the child of a criminal? The daughter of someone who had killed someone else? Someone who had died in prison?

  A part of her did not want to embrace it.

  But it didn’t seem as though that was possible.

  “How would we do those things you said?” she asked, buying herself more time to think while her head was swimming.

  Dylan nodded toward the key on the table again. “Gus told the chaplain that the lockbox that that key opens is hidden in the store—meaning one of our Superstores. We’re trying to figure out which one he might have worked out of and locate the box. Hopefully that will give us more to go on. Plus, I run the security department for the Camden Superstores, and part of my job is to do background checks on people we hire. I have full access to our employee files, even the ones from before my time. If Gus was married to your mother I can find record of it and get your mother’s maiden name—that would give us a starting point to looking into that side of your family.”

  “What about the chaplain? Where did he go in all of this?” Abby asked.

  “He’s from the prison in Canon City so he went back there. When GiGi heard what he had to say, she swore to him that we would take care of this.”

  “By hiring me to fix your sister’s hair for her wedding?” Abby asked because she was trying to fit the pieces together.

  “No. This and the wedding are not connected. Your reputation for your work preceded you. Or, at least, the work of the special occasions team from Beauty By Design preceded you. Then it just happened that the same name GiGi finally put to Gus Glassman’s daughter was one of the names included on that team.”

  “So it’s only a coincidence?”

  “It honestly is. My haircut today was my chance to meet you, but even if you had turned down the wedding, you and I would still be here right now and I’d still be asking you to let me help you find out about your family. The fact that you agreed to do what you’re doing for Lindie—on such short notice—is a whole separate thing.” Under his breath, he muttered, “One that I’m hoping will get me some much-needed brownie points.”

  She didn’t know what that meant so she didn’t comme
nt.

  Then he said, “So, what do you think? I’m sorry I haven’t brought you a happier story, but will you let me help you, anyway?”

  Abby merely sat there looking at him, trying hard to absorb all he’d told her, trying to deal with it, considering what he was asking.

  Did she want to know more if it was as sordid as what she’d just learned? Because this was not the fairy tale she’d always envisioned. And what if what went with it was worse?

  But there was that key on the table between them and the knowledge she already had. And after a lifetime of not knowing anything, she knew she couldn’t just ignore the chance to find out whatever more she could, good or bad.

  “I’ll be right by your side every step of the way,” Dylan said then, as if he was reading her mind.

  And Abby found that assurance that she wouldn’t be alone in the process of uncovering her history somehow comforting.

  Which was all the more confusing because she prided herself on standing on her own two feet to face whatever she had to face. The most support she’d ever had had been from China and this wasn’t China. This was a stranger she’d just met today.

  But here was this guy offering to help her and stick by her, and it made the whole delving-into-her-history thing more palatable.

  It had been a really strange day...

  “Okay, I guess,” she heard herself say without any conviction whatsoever.

  “Great!” he decreed. “I already have people looking for the lockbox, so that—and my digging through old marriage records—is where we’ll start.”

  Abby nodded, feeling slightly shell-shocked.

  “And in the meantime, Lindie’s wedding is pulling a lot of attention from newshounds and I also have to keep a handle on that. Is there any chance that you and I can take an after-hours look through your salon so I can get a feel for how I can make sure the test run can be kept private?”

  He’d moved on. It took Abby a moment to realize that and switch gears, too.

  But she did.

  “We don’t do the special occasions work at the salon,” she informed him. “The owner—Sheila—has two salons and there’s a third location midway between the two where we only do the special occasions work. It makes it so our brides and their wedding parties—or whoever else we’re working with for a special event—can spread out and get a little pampered without regular clients around.”

  “Then can you give me a tour of that place so I can check it out? The sooner the better.”

  He was really expecting a lot of her in her befuddled state. But she tried to think about work and scheduling and finally came up with an answer. “I guess I could meet you there tomorrow night—I know it’s Saturday night but I’m booked from early tomorrow morning until closing at the shop so that would be the soonest... I know it’s probably a date night for you with your girlfriend or wife or whatever, but—”

  “There’s no girlfriend or wife or date night or whatever. Would meeting with me be messing with any of that for you?”

  “Me?” she said as if that was unthinkable. “No. There’s none of that for me right now, either.”

  “Then we can do it tomorrow night?”

  “I’ll text you the address and directions. I can probably be there by seven.”

  “Seven it is, then,” he agreed. “Now, how about that burger place over there? Can I buy you dinner?” He pointed his sculpted chin in the direction of a small redbrick building that housed two restaurants just in front of the old Victorian house where Abby rented a studio apartment.

  Clearly he had no idea how overwhelmed she was if he thought there was any way she could be good company right now. She declined the invitation with the polite excuse that she’d promised to eat with China tonight.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” Dylan said without seeming to take any offense from the rejection.

  They both stood and as he did, he picked up the key from the picnic table. “I think you should hang on to this.”

  This time Abby took it from him, her fingers brushing his as she did and making her oddly aware of some kind of heat passing between them.

  “Are you okay?” he asked then, as if he’d just noticed that she was a little dazed.

  “I’m fine. There’s just been a lot that came at me all of a sudden...”

  “Why don’t you at least let me drive you home.”

  Abby took a deep breath of the evening air to clear her mind and shook her head. “I’m only a block away. The walk will do me good.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked skeptically.

  “I am,” she said, wondering if she should thank him or something.

  But she didn’t feel altogether grateful for what she’d learned tonight, so instead she just said goodbye and headed back the way she’d come.

  It was only as she walked home that she recalled feeling somehow strengthened by the thought of picking through her past with him by her side.

  Why would that have happened? she asked herself when it struck her as weird all over again.

  It certainly couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that he was fabulous looking—even though she suddenly found herself happy to think that she’d be seeing him again tomorrow night.

  Maybe it was just because he was a big, strong guy who gave the impression that he could handle himself and anything thrown at him.

  Except that whatever got thrown would be thrown at her...and so far, he’d been the one doing all the throwing.

  But still, that must be it, she decided.

  Because after all, what else could it be?

  Certainly not that she was attracted to him.

  They were worlds apart and she knew better than to try crossing over from her world to anyone else’s.

  Chapter Three

  “So... Dylan Camden didn’t come to tell you you’re the secret, illegitimate daughter of a high-society socialite.”

  Like Abby, China fantasized a lot of scenarios for her friend that had extravagant happy endings.

  It was early Saturday morning. After years of sharing an apartment to make ends meet when they’d aged out of foster care, Abby and China now had their own studio apartments across the hall from each other in a north Denver Victorian house that had been converted into an apartment building.

  China had been on a date on Friday night and had come home too late for Abby to tell her about the meeting with Dylan. But the minute China woke up this morning she’d padded across the hall in her pajamas and bare feet to hear what Abby had learned.

  Abby had told her the whole thing over coffee and cereal at her small pedestaled kitchen table.

  “What do you think is in the lockbox?” China asked then. “A million dollars in gold coins? Another key and the number of a safety deposit box full of diamonds? A will that makes you—”

  “Queen of a small country?” Abby finished with a laugh. “Somehow I don’t think being the abandoned daughter of someone who rich people used to strong-arm their employees leads to stuff like that.” And she didn’t want to entertain any more hopes for anything. Not after suffering the kind of crash she’d had last night when it finally sank in that the real story of her past was so much seedier than she’d ever imagined.

  She turned her open laptop so China could see the screen. “I looked up old newspaper articles on Gus Glassman last night. Here’s his picture.”

  “Oh, well, no wonder you’re gorgeous—you came from good genes,” China said the minute she saw the photograph. “But you didn’t get your dark eyes or dark curly hair from him—his eyes are lighter and the hair is straight and sandy brown. You have his nose and mouth, though. Anything about him look familiar?”

  Abby shook her head. “Other than that little bit of resemblance, no. There were no flashes of looking up
at him from my crib.”

  “He has nice eyes. I wouldn’t be afraid to date him if I met him somewhere. He doesn’t look like someone who could kill someone else,” China said.

  Abby knew her friend was searching for the positive side. But the facts didn’t seem to bear that out.

  “The articles back up what Dylan told me,” she said. “Except that Dylan made it sound more like an accident and the articles don’t. Gus had threatened the supervisor before—often enough that the supervisor had gone to the police about him because he was worried about his safety.”

  “If the cops didn’t do anything they must not have thought your father was too scary.”

  “The police told the supervisor there was nothing they could do but file a report. But there was one article that said the police were on the side of the Camdens so they wouldn’t do anything because the Camdens were involved—like the police were in their pocket or something.”

  “They are rich and powerful...” China said over her coffee cup.

  “The supervisor’s factory was taking a vote that day about whether or not to unionize. If that factory had voted to do it, it seemed like the workers in the other factories would, too. Gus—”

  “He’s your father, you know? You could call him that.”

  “It just doesn’t seem like it,” Abby admitted. Despite all the years she’d thought about someone coming to claim her, now she wasn’t sure she wanted to claim him.

  But she didn’t tell China that. When China was seven years old she’d found her mother dead from a drug overdose on the kitchen floor. With no idea who her father was and no other family, China had gone into the system. But she remembered her mother and the time they’d had together. She loved her mother in spite of the addiction that had killed her and put China in situations that China still had nightmares about. Through it all, China still claimed her.

  Given that, it made Abby feel a little ashamed to admit that she wasn’t eager to do the same with Gus Glassman, that she didn’t feel much other than shame for what she’d come from.