Eloise watched as all three men disappeared down the hallway. Did Bruce mean to hide their relationship for the rest of his life? It would have been awkward to acknowledge an illegitimate child while his wife was alive, but Laura Riesel Garrett had died twenty years ago, so why did it still matter? She twirled her coffee cup, wondering what it would be like to have a real family.
Emil and the other bodyguards began conversing in Bulgarian. She met Moose’s gaze across the table. Moose was from Quebec and his native language was French, so neither of them could join in.
“Would you please speak in English?” she asked the Bulgarians.
“Sorry about that, Eloise,” Emil said. “We were just talking a little business. Didn’t think you’d be interested.”
More likely they were discussing the rough justice they’d been dispensing in the labor camp this morning.
She pushed her coffee cup away and turned to Emil. “Why does Bruce only hire foreigners here at the house?”
Emil shrugged. “You should probably ask him that.”
“I have. He never answers.” Bruce was cagey and defensive whenever she asked questions along those lines.
“Well, I suppose it’s because foreigners are loyal,” Emil finally said. “Not like those people down in Duval Springs whose first loyalty is always to their family. All of us came here on a ship with nothing but what we could carry. No family. No divided loyalty. And Garrett has always treated us decently. Why shouldn’t we be loyal?”
“What about the Russians?” Moose said.
“What Russians?” she asked, and Emil answered.
“Garrett brought in a bunch of Russians fresh off the boat to work at the quarry during the strike. They were willing to work for pennies, but it only lasted a few months. They left, and that was the straw that broke the strike.”
“They were lousy workers,” Moose said. “None of them had worked in a quarry before, and it took weeks to get them trained. Production slowed, contracts were canceled. Then they up and quit. We never did see those Russians again.”
Eloise sighed. Why couldn’t decent people get along with each other? She liked and respected almost everyone she’d met in the valley, and yet mistrust and old hostility seemed to haunt so many relationships. And those old grudges might very well have prompted someone to take a shot at her last night.
Her thoughts were so worrisome that after breakfast she sought escape in a favorite novel, following the rollicking tale of Jim Hawkins in Treasure Island. She found a cozy chair in Bruce’s study to await his return. She had read Treasure Island countless times, yet she still loved the grand adventure.
It was nearing lunchtime when Bruce returned, and she was still waiting for him. He looked tired as he strode into the study.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Fine.” She closed the book and hugged it against her chest. “I’d like to continue the discussion we started this morning before the Riesels arrived.”
He sighed. “Not that again.”
“Yes, that.” It hurt too much to even state the problem. “Do you intend to hide it forever? I need to know.”
Bruce was silent as he pulled out his desk chair and sat. He steepled his fingers and took a deep breath. “I intend to formally recognize you as my daughter, but I want to get Riesel’s signature on some contracts first. The quarry and the cement factory are tightly linked, and we’ve got ironclad trusts that dictate how things are done. We agreed from the outset that when we die, the assets would be divided equally between our living children. If one of us had no children, the entire lot would go to whoever did.”
The puzzle pieces were falling into place. Theodore Riesel was a widower with one son, so Jack Riesel had probably come of age believing he would someday inherit everything.
“Were you really intending to leave me out in the cold?” she asked.
Bruce snorted. “You would hate running a limestone quarry,” he pointed out. It was true, but it still seemed a little uncaring. “I’ll see that you get your fair share, but Jack is a hardworking young man who has been fully engaged in the business. He’s the right man to run the cement factory and the quarry. Acknowledging you as my daughter will complicate things. Let me work with my lawyers to figure out an equitable distribution of the assets before upsetting the applecart by acknowledging you.”
“I understand,” she said softly. Corporate agreements could be a complex nightmare to untangle, but she still wished she meant more to Bruce than an applecart.
Who shot Eloise?
The question plagued Alex incessantly throughout the next day. Hercules’s friend in Garrett’s stable reported that Eloise felt well enough to go downstairs for breakfast that morning, so she must be getting along okay.
That didn’t mean she was all right. She’d been petrified when he found her in the woods, and knowing Eloise, she’d locked that anguish beneath an ivory mask while pretending to be cool as a cucumber. He needed to see her for himself, but knocking on Garrett’s front door and asking for a visit was out of the question.
Which was why he was cutting through the woods to Garrett’s mansion at two o’clock in the morning. His breath turned into white puffs in the chilly night air, but he was grateful for the thin moonlight that illuminated the stone wall surrounding the estate. He grinned as he found footholds in the roughly hewn stone and hoisted himself up and over. It was going to be a challenge to get into the mansion, but this sort of danger thrilled his blood.
He waited for a cloud to cover the moon before crouching low and darting toward the house. He hadn’t indulged in this sort of escapade since his army days, and it stoked a long-dormant craving for adventure.
As much as he wanted to see Eloise, he had a secondary motive. The municipal bond needed to get posted. Visiting a woman on her sickbed to get her cracking on town business was a little callous, but it had to be done.
He dashed up the staircase that led to the balcony spanning the entire back of the house. Eloise’s room was in the turret, which surely had all sorts of symbolic irony attached to it. He cupped his hands against the French doors leading to her bedroom and peered inside. There was the telescope Eloise had told him about, and even from here he could see her braid of long red hair on the coverlet. It didn’t take long to pick the lock and push the door open, but he winced at the metallic squeak of the hinges. He left the door open and crept to her bedside.
“Eloise,” he whispered as he hunkered down beside the bed. “Eloise, wake up.”
She didn’t. If the doctor had given her something to sleep, it would be a problem. He needed her to be alert when they discussed the bond. He glanced at the bedside table, but there were no signs of any medicines, only a single book. He tilted it to see the cover.
Treasure Island, with the label of the Duval Springs Public Library still affixed to the spine. A surge of old memories welled. Hercules had said that after Alex was run out of town, the librarian came looking for the book, but since Alex had loaned it to Eloise, there was no sign of it. Hercules paid the fee long ago, but it delighted Alex that she still had it.
After a few more futile attempts to wake her with a whisper, he reached out to jostle the mattress. She jolted awake with a gasping, half-strangled shriek.
“Shh! It’s only me.”
She clutched the bedsheets to her chin and gaped at him, barely able to speak. “What are you doing here? Are you insane?”
“Maybe,” he agreed with a grin as he reached inside his coat pocket. “Here. Maple candy. You missed the festival, so I saved you some. How are you feeling?”
“I’m furious,” she said in a harsh whisper. “You need to leave before Bruce finds you here and kills us both.”
“Let’s not exaggerate. He might kill me, but never you.” Her breathing was ragged in the dark, and he felt a little guilty for scaring her. “I’m sorry for startling you.”
“I’m not going to say it’s all right, if that’s what you’re hoping.”
<
br /> All he hoped was that she had recovered from the fright of the previous evening. Not knowing what happened after she disappeared behind those gates had been killing him. He pulled a chair to her bedside and sat.
“You were brave in the woods last night. I was proud of you.”
She shook her head. “I was scared out of my wits.”
“You can be brave and scared at the same time. A little fear is a good idea when people are shooting at you.” He held up the copy of Treasure Island. “Filching library books? As mayor, I feel duty-bound to report you to the authorities.”
“You are the authorities,” she said, trying to repress the hint of laughter in her voice. “And I’m not giving it back. I took that book to the convent with me and had to hide it from the nuns. For a while it was my lifeline.”
“And then what happened?”
“Then I grew up and put childish adventure stories behind me.”
“And yet there it sits.”
“But at least now I understand the distinction between a novel and real life.”
He grinned. “Please, Miss Certified Public Accountant, characterize the last twenty-four hours of your life. Did it involve dodging bullets, moonlit flights in the dark, and infiltrating bear-infested caves?”
“Yes, it did,” she said in exasperation. “I’ve now had enough adventure to last a lifetime. I want nothing more than to return to my boring accounting ledgers.”
He tried to affect a casual tone. “Speaking of which, how is the bond coming along?”
“I got shot, Alex. I haven’t done a single thing.”
“Which is why I’m here to offer my services. Do you need me to deliver paperwork to New York? Make some telephone calls? Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it done.”
“The documents are in the top bureau drawer. The name and address of the securities company are on the second page. All that’s needed is to deliver the paperwork with a notarized copy of the election results, and they will offer it for sale.”
He retrieved the paperwork, tilting it toward the weak glow of moonlight to verify everything was as she said, and his knees went weak with gratitude that this was actually happening. He glanced at her from across the room, where she watched him with a guarded look. He didn’t understand what launching a municipal bond required, but it looked complicated and riddled with charts, codes, and regulations. For Eloise to be so comfortable navigating this mathematical quagmire made his respect for her soar.
“You should be very proud of this,” he whispered as he held the papers aloft.
“Thank you. Now you need to go.”
“What if I want to stay?” And he did. Everything in him longed to indulge the growing bond between them. When they were younger, they had lain on the grass and daydreamed about what life could be. Now they were living it. They’d rolled up their sleeves to work in tandem on a daring, desperate quest, and there was no one he’d rather have beside him.
“I have a reputation to maintain, and if anyone finds you here, it will be ruined.” It was impossible to miss the panic in her voice, and his nascent fantasies crumbled, for Eloise already had someone else in her life.
“Who’s the guy?”
Eloise knew exactly what he meant. “He’s someone I respect and who respects me. I can’t have you here. Now please go.”
It was the answer he dreaded, but the first step in any battle was to figure out your enemy. “Did he come visit you? After you were shot?”
Her look turned stony. Still, he wouldn’t get far without respecting her wishes. Before he left, he glanced at the battered old copy of Treasure Island on her bedside table. Buccaneers, buried gold, and derring-do. She wasn’t quite so prim as she pretended. He still had hope.
He held up the paperwork. “Thanks for this,” he whispered as he tucked it into his coat pocket, then stepped through the French doors into the cold night air. He held his palm over the squeaky hinge to muffle the noise as he closed the door, then turned to leave.
“Hello, varmint.”
Bruce Garrett stood five feet away with a pistol aimed at Alex’s chest.
Alex stuck both hands in the air. “I didn’t touch her.”
“If you had, you’d be dead right now.” Garrett’s voice was calm, so perhaps he could be reasoned with. Garrett would be idiotic to shoot him only yards away from Eloise. If Garrett meant real harm, he was going to force Alex away from this terrace to someplace where he could do the dirty work in private.
“What are you going to do now?” Alex asked, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.
“I want you to stay away from Eloise. She has a good man in New York City.”
The easiest thing would be to agree. Or even lie. He could always back out later, because promises made at the point of a gun weren’t worth much. But he was in this for the long term, and that meant he had to play the game a little differently. He rolled the dice and tackled the problem head on.
“Then where is he? The good man from New York? She’s been shot. What in New York City is more important than rushing to her bedside?”
A series of emotions flitted across Garrett’s face. It seemed to take forever but was probably only a few seconds before Garret spoke.
“That may be the first intelligent thing you’ve ever said.”
Garrett lowered his pistol and casually strolled toward Alex. Every instinct urged Alex to kick the pistol away and make a quick escape into the darkness, but he stood his ground. Garrett stood only inches from him. When he spoke, his voice was eerily calm.
“If I ever catch you sneaking around my daughter’s bedroom again, you’ll have a bullet between your eyes. Now get out of here.”
Chapter
Fourteen
Eloise was in trouble. Over the next three days while she recuperated at Bruce’s house, she could do little but remember the thrill of Alex’s midnight visit. It was as if the past twelve years had rolled away and they were once again two lovers trading secrets and daydreams in clandestine meetings. His dead-of-night visit was such classic Alex—irreverent, dangerous, and fun. It stirred a treasure trove of old memories that were better left behind. Youthful romantic flings were a thing of the past. It was time to buckle down, get her work done, and return to New York City, where she might kindle a relationship with a man of character and rectitude.
Four days after the incident in the woods, it was time to return to work. Moose drove the buckboard with the four members of the demolition team squeezed onto the two benches.
“What on earth is that?” Eloise gasped as the wagon rolled toward the town square. A monstrous shed looked incongruous in the middle of the charming village green.
“It’s a pole barn to shelter the oxen they bought to help with the move,” Enzo said.
“It’s an eyesore,” Claude added. “And those animals stink.”
Eloise didn’t think so. Six lumbering oxen, their coats a shiny black, grazed on the sparse grass of the village green. The scent of the animals and newly cut hay was earthy but nice.
The oxen weren’t the only change. A railbed cut through the center of town, and half a dozen men unloaded supplies outside the stables. As Moose navigated the buckboard around a mound of gravel, a couple of workers straightened, dropped their shovels, and began applauding.
“Welcome back!” they hollered.
Were they talking to her? She wasn’t the sort of person to garner attention, but they were all looking at her and smiling as they clapped.
“The mayor has been talking you up,” Enzo said. “He keeps reminding everyone of the heroic work you did in launching the bond.”
Rebecca Wiggin from the creamery came scurrying toward her with a bouquet of daisies. “We’ve all been praying for you!” she said. “Alex said none of this would have happened without you.”
The man who ran the Main Street café joined in. “Coffee and cake is on the house for the rest of your stay in Duval Springs,” he called out. “I doubt yo
u’ll pay for another meal in this town ever again!”
Eloise was baffled and amazed. Being feted like this was strange and overwhelming. What was she supposed to do with these flowers? She’d never been given flowers in her entire life, and a sheen of tears began to form in her eyes. She battled it back. She’d die of mortification if Claude saw her getting weepy, but oh, this was wonderful.
Moose pulled the wagon to a halt outside the Gilmore Inn, where her first appointment of the day was to appraise the grandest building in the village. She walked inside, the daisies balanced atop her accounting forms so they wouldn’t get crushed.
There was no sign of Willard, but Kasper Nagy was at his station, hunched over the telegraph machine as it rattled away. He flagged her down as she entered the foyer.
“A telegram arrived for you just a few minutes ago,” he said as he extended the card to her. The message was from Fletcher.
Best wishes for a speedy recovery. FJ
That was all? It had taken Fletcher four days to send a message, and it was so succinct it could be written on a postage stamp. Then again, it was far more proper than a midnight ambush in her bedroom, so she shouldn’t mind. And Fletcher’s thrift had always appealed to her. He hadn’t squandered money on a single extra letter on this message, not even to spell out his name.
“Want to send a response?” Kasper asked with one ear still cocked to the incoming beeps from the telegraph sounder.
“Aren’t you in the middle of receiving a message?”
He shrugged. “Just eavesdropping on gossip. All I have to do is open the sounder, and I can hear what people are wiring all along this line. And apparently . . .” He paused to listen to the cascade of beeps. A curious range of expressions flashed across his face as the message rattled on for over a minute. When the beeps finally stopped, Kasper leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially. “Apparently the manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers is in a salary dispute with the team’s owner. Very nasty. You should hear the language that just crossed that wire.”
Eloise fiddled with the daisies. “Don’t you feel guilty, eavesdropping like that?”
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