Not What It Seems (Escape to Alaska Trilogy)

by Brenda Sinclair

  “Your actions stated how top-rated you believed me to be.” Cassidy stood, fuming. “Let Jonathan Ward defend the damn citizens of Chicago.”

  “Cassidy, be reasonable…”

  At that moment, Clayton dashed across the parking lot. “Cassidy, are you okay? What the hell are you doing out here?”

  “Having a heated discussion with my father. He mistakenly believed I would be leaving with him. I’m not!” Cassidy stepped around her father and strode back into the bar. Clayton and her father followed on her heels.

  “This conversation is not finished,” shouted Theodore.

  “Yes it is!” Cassidy rounded on her father. “Just go away! Leave me alone!” She turned away, headed over to the bar and loaded up her tray with the drinks she’d ordered before rushing to the staff room to change her soaked blouse.

  Clayton stepped up beside Cassidy and motioned her toward the staff room. “Sherry will deliver those drinks to your table. Your shift just ended. Go cool off. I’ll see you back here tomorrow at six.”

  Cassidy glared at her father and then met Clayton’s eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  Clayton kissed her forehead, and then nodded his head in her father’s direction. “No harm done. This gentleman was just leaving.”

  Cassidy turned on her heel and charged into the staff room.

  *

  Theodore Donahue stormed across the plank floor and perched on a barstool. The fellow Cassidy had called Clayton followed him. He must be the manager he’d talked with this afternoon. The young fellow wore cowboy boots, jeans, plaid shirt, leather vest and a black suede Stetson. Shaggy brunette hair almost touched his shoulders. A haircut was long overdue to Theodore’s way of thinking, but he refrained from sharing this opinion.

  “I can legally serve liquor for another few minutes. Appears you could use a stiff drink.”

  “No thank you.” Theodore shifted on the uncomfortable stool and glared at the bartender. “But I’d appreciate a bit of information regarding my daughter.”

  “Ah, Miss Cassidy Du Pont.” The bartender poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Maiden name,” muttered Theodore, recognizing his wife’s maiden name. Very clever Cassidy, he thought. She’d planned for him to never find her, obviously serious about this starting over nonsense. Theodore wondered what other information he could extract from the bartender.

  “Clayton Morrison, manager. I believe we talked this afternoon. Or maybe not,” he added and then pushed the Stetson back on his head and widened his stance.

  “We talked. That cat’s out of the bag now. I’d love a cup of coffee, and I’d appreciate answers to a few questions.” He stuck out his hand and softened his expression. “Theodore Donahue.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir.” Clayton set his mug on the counter and shook hands. He reached for the coffee pot behind him on the warmer, and filled another mug displaying the Gold Diggers logo. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Just black, thank you.” Theodore gestured toward a square table situated beside the front windows. “Mind if we move over there? Barstools really aren’t my style.”

  Clayton slid the mug of steaming brew across the counter. “No problem, sir.”

  Both men grabbed their mugs, strode over to the table, and then settled in for a lengthy conversation. Theodore saluted the bartender with his mug, and took a sip. “Good coffee, Mr. Morrison.”

  “Thank you. Please call me Clayton.” The bartender returned the toasting gesture and drank.

  “I apologize for the scene with Cassidy. I’m absolutely flabbergasted by her resistance to my appearance here. You may have guessed from our conversation…shouting match, we’re slightly estranged at the moment.”

  “Slightly?” Clayton’s eyebrows rose. “If that’s slightly, please don’t patronize Gold Diggers if total estrangement settles in. Another couple minutes, Cassidy would have started throwing the glassware at you.”

  “Yes, well. Again, I apologize for the commotion.”

  “Actually, the two of you provided more entertainment than the stupid band. I most certainly won’t be hiring that untalented crew again.”

  Theodore sipped his coffee, and then cleared his throat. “Clayton, how long has my daughter been employed here?”

  “Cassidy started a few months ago. Worst excuse for a cocktail waitress I’d seen in ages. No offence intended.”

  “None taken,” replied Theodore.

  “I threatened to fire her, but the head waitress wouldn’t hear of it. Assured me Cassidy would return to form in no time, and Sherry was right. By the next night she chatted up customers to maximize business, and within a week Cassidy excelled at remembering even the most complex orders. She hasn’t so much as chipped a glass. Obviously, she’d worked in the service industry before and just required a bit of time for everything to come back to her.”

  Theodore shook his head. He couldn’t believe Clayton was talking about his Cassidy. She’d never worked as a cocktail waitress, at least not to his knowledge. The very thought of his princess strutting around in a skimpy outfit, displaying every attribute God gave her, selling liquor to a bunch of drunken louts sickened him.

  “I have to admit she’s one of the best waitresses working here.” Clayton crossed one leg over his knee and clasped his ankle with his left hand.

  Theodore grimaced. All her life, Cassidy had pursued every endeavor until she’d perfected it. Merit badges earned as a Girl Scout, straight A’s in school, including college, and her successful record at the law firm proved the theory. But excelling at waitressing in a western bar stretched the imagination to a point his mind would never comprehend.

  He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Tell me about your clientele.”

  *

  “White collar happy hour, tourists in summer, and mostly locals during the winter. A few rowdy oilfield workers, but that big guy working the door tonight keeps most situations from getting out of hand. Terry Wilson’s a high school buddy of mine from Seattle.” Clayton hadn’t intended to spill that bit of information. Dammit, he chastised himself. He’d become too comfortable sitting here shooting the breeze. “So, where do you hail from, Mr. Donahue?”

  “Chicago. Own a successful law firm.” Theodore upended his coffee mug, set it on the table, and met Clayton’s eyes. “Just one more question. Cassidy mentioned new friends. Is my daughter dating anyone?”

  Clayton recalled Cassidy’s naked body beneath him in his king-sized bed, remembered slipping inside her and her writhing in ecstasy with her legs wrapped around his waist, matching him thrust for thrust. His body immediately reacted to the pleasant memory, and he felt himself redden. Fortunately, he was sitting down. “Actually, I’m dating Cassidy.” That was the understatement of the decade.

  “Is she dating anyone else?”

  She better the hell not be dating anyone else, thought Clayton. Not the way she’s dating me, anyway. “She dated Randy Rock, once. He entertains here as a singer a couple times a week.” Clayton hoped Mr. Donahue didn’t detect the annoyance in his voice. He suspected Cassidy only dated Rock to annoy him, and it had worked. Would her father arrive at the same conclusion?

  Clayton’s mind drifted again to his dinner date with Cassidy at his house. More specifically, how the evening had ended. And they’d spent the entire following day together, both in bed and out. He couldn’t make sense of their attraction to each other; they fought like cats and dogs. She could still push his buttons, but he couldn’t forget their time together. The relationship had cooled slightly; he didn’t totally trust her for some reason. But he still felt protective of her. Maybe he felt even more, if he would allow himself to admit it.

  Theodore stood and stuck out his hand. “I’m not certain how long I’ll be staying in town. Or what I’ll do about Cassidy, but thank you for answering my questions.”

  “No problem. Goodnight, sir.” Clayton shook his hand and then added, “Cassidy loves working here. She’s r
emarkably talented with people; the customers and staff love her. She’s exceptionally competent as a waitress, but she informed me she’s only working here long enough to raise tuition for college. Whatever career she chooses to pursue in life, she’s going to excel at it. The cream always rises to the top.”

  Theodore nodded and then strode out the door.

  Clayton watched the man disappear through the front entrance, and then he strode across the floor and stepped behind the bar. Her father’s custom-tailored suit, silk tie, and Italian shoes told him Cassidy hailed from a privileged background. Why would she be slinging drinks to earn money for college tuition? Clayton suspected Theodore Donahue would willingly finance his little darling’s college education, and probably spring for graduate school as well. If he hadn’t done so already. Recalling how her well-worded speech had put him in his place the night she dated Rock, Clayton wondered if possibly Cassidy had earned a law degree already.

  Clayton had missed most of their argument outside. Terry had stopped to supervise an arm wrestling match on his way to inform him something was going down between Cassidy and her father out in the parking lot. By the time he raced outside, he’d only caught the last few heated words.

  Something didn’t add up here. Cassidy either flat out lied to him, or at the very least, withheld the truth about every aspect of her life: who she was, where she came from, and most importantly, what possessed her to move to Anchorage. Too many questions remained unanswered or avoided. She’d mastered changing the subject. But considering the direction in which their lives were moving, he felt justified in searching for answers to his questions.

  Clayton rammed their dirty coffee mugs into the dishwasher rack and lugged it to the kitchen. And why was Cassidy’s surname Du Pont, and her father was Donahue? Was she married? Divorced? Was she a war widow like Sherry? Had Cassidy’s husband been killed in Iraq or Afghanistan? Had she fled Chicago, leaving behind her home and family, to mend a shattered heart?

  Clayton wandered back out to the bar and rested his hand on the counter. No. Cassidy had pursued an active dating life soon after starting work here. Hell, she’d even brazenly flirted with him, suggested they share dinner to initiate a friendship, perhaps even a relationship. And she’d coerced a dinner date out of Randy Rock. She’d dated both men. And she’d slept with him on their first date, admitted that it had been awhile. A grieving recent war widow she wasn’t.

  Clayton stepped behind the bar, rang up a customer’s payment, and handed the fellow his change. “Come again,” he muttered from habit.

  “Will do,” called the man, waving one arm as he headed for the door.

  Clayton locked the door behind his last customer and then stuffed his hands in his pockets as he ambled back behind the bar. Perhaps Cassidy was divorced? In his experience, most recent divorcees had sworn off men. But Cassidy flagrantly pursued a relationship, at least a friendship with both Randy and himself.

  What the hell was going on with her?

  The damn woman had gotten under his skin, and it annoyed him to no end. She was definitely up to something. He just couldn’t figure out what that something was. But he damn well intended to find out.

  The next morning, Clayton stormed into his office, grabbed the phone and placed a call to his brother-in-law, a Seattle cop. His oldest sister loved the guy, but Clayton considered Richard Williams a red-necked jerk. Having a contact in the Seattle police department, however, had its advantages. Especially when your brother-in-law owed you a favor and you needed some information on a couple of people.

  “Hey, Richard. I’m calling in that favor you owe me.”

  ****

  Early the next day, Theodore Donahue initiated a little investigation of his own. Seated at the hotel suite’s small desk, he fired up his laptop. He searched Clayton Morrison and found more guys named Clayton Morrison than you could shake a stick at. But not one of them was his guy. Then he searched Gold Diggers and discovered it was owned by a numbered company. No help there either.

  This called for a professional.

  Theodore grabbed his cell phone and called his college roommate. He occasionally utilized his contact with the F.B.I. on particularly difficult legal cases. Today, he hoped his contact would help with a personal matter. After all, Cassidy was Bobbie’s goddaughter.

  “Special Agent Robert Spencer.”

  The familiar voice meant business. “Hi Bobbie, Ted here. I need your help with something that involves Cassidy. And I needed the information yesterday.”

  “Say no more. What do you need to know, Ted?”

  Theodore visualized Special Agent Spencer sitting a little taller in his chair at the mention of Cassidy’s name. The guy loved his goddaughter. In hindsight, Theodore kicked himself for not enlisting Bobbie’s help in tracking down Cassidy. Could Bobbie have found his goddaughter in Anchorage weeks ago?

  Theodore shared everything he’d learned so far with Bobbie. And then itemized everything he still wanted to know. He hung up the phone and whispered a silent prayer that the investigative gods were on his side.

  Theodore’s mind reeled with everything he’d learned at the bar. When questioned, Clayton had responded that his daughter excelled at her waitressing job and enjoyed every minute of it. And Cassidy’s fiery temper when he insisted she return home shocked him. She was no longer the professional, agreeable young woman he knew and loved.

  Theodore had never felt so helpless concerning his daughter’s well-being. Every aspect of her life had slipped out of his control. Could Cassidy’s priorities have changed so radically in only a few weeks?

  Denying Cassidy that partnership, promoting Jonathan instead, voicing his disappointment that she’d turned down Jonathan’s marriage proposal had triggered her resignation from the firm. Theodore felt sick with the realization that he was solely responsible for driving his daughter away.

  And those decisions were the worst mistakes of his life, for many reasons, he now knew.

  What could he say, what could he do to convince his daughter that she belonged in Chicago? He would willingly appoint her partner in the firm if she’d return. Cassidy had turned on him so viciously last night he hadn’t time to inform her how right she’d been about Mr. Ward. Theodore prayed his daughter would let bygones be bygones when she heard what Jonathan had done.

  Within an hour, Bobbie returned his call.

  “The guy’s real name is Clayton Michael Edwards.”

  Chapter 14

  Theodore Donahue’s heart almost stopped.

  This Clayton character used an alias? Who had Cassidy gotten herself involved with? Was he a criminal? Was he dangerous? He’d been worried about his daughter. Should he fear for her life?

  “Ted, are you still there?”

  “Yes, Bobbie, yes, I’m here.” Theodore took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Please, continue.”

  “Like I said…his real name is Clayton Edwards. His mother’s maiden name is Morrison. Clayton is thirty five. His parents are Mitchell and Emily. They operate a successful accounting and investment firm in Seattle. He has one younger brother, Hunter, and two younger sisters, Susan and June. Hunter is single and works with his parents in the family business. Susan is married to a Seattle cop named Richard Williams. They have one son and another baby on the way. June is gay and lives with a female co-worker from the city library.”

  “Wow.” Theodore scratched his head.

  “Mitchell was gifted with, and also purchased, shares in a certain Seattle software company in the fledgling years; he’s a lifelong friend of the most well-known co-founder’s father. Mitchell made millions and distributed the wealth between all the family members. Your pal Clayton is capital L loaded.”

  “Define loaded.” Theodore flopped onto the bed, astounded at everything he was learning.

  “His portfolio could choke that horse we all hear about. He owns real estate in Seattle and in Anchorage. He owns a thriving Anchorage bar, Gold Diggers, and two equally successful restaurants in
downtown Anchorage, Precious Gems and Endless Nights. And he still holds shares in his parents’ Seattle accounting firm, where he was employed until about three years ago, utilizing his Masters Degree in Finance.”

  “Holy shit!” Theodore leapt to his feet, heard his buddy’s guffaw on the other end of the line.

  “If Cassidy is interested in this guy, you’d better encourage her to marry him. I hate to break it to you, buddy, but this guy is wealthier than you are.”

  Theodore almost dropped the phone.

  “Clayton’s got money in the stock market, poor guy, but he has millions safely sitting in the bank, too. He owns several toys—a Porsche, a BMW, a Ford Ranger and a boat he stores in Seattle that I’d commit murder to own. You never heard that here,” added Bobbie, chuckling. “He currently resides in an executive log home he had custom-built a few miles outside of Anchorage. Including contents, it’s rumored to be worth several million. Need anything more?”

  “No, I don’t. And I commend you on your investigative skills, Special Agent.” Theodore smiled while pacing the floor of his hotel suite.

  “Oh, stop it. You’ll swell my head with such praise.” Bobbie chuckled.

  “I can’t thank you enough, man. Drinks are on me next time we get together with the family.”

  “I’m holding you to it.” Bobbie chuckled again. “Remember to invite me to Cassidy and Clayton’s wedding.”

  Theodore ignored Bobbie’s remark. “Give my love to Cindy and your boys.”

  “Say hello to Madeline and Cassidy, Ted. Talk to you soon.” Bobbie cut the connection.

  Theodore lowered himself onto the bed, stared at the ceiling, and contemplated what he’d learned. Clayton was a multimillionaire with a Masters in Finance, but pretended he managed a western bar and worked as a bartender. Cassidy had earned a law degree and worked until recently as a successful defense attorney. Now she pretended to be a down-on-her-luck student, employed as a waitress.