A Secret To Tell You. Roz Denny Fox
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photograph.”
April felt Quinn Santini’s breath on the back of her neck, above the rain-wet collar. It was all she could do not to shudder and spin to face him. Instead, she kept her eyes on his grandmother.
The little girl danced around on her toes. “Daddy, do I have to go upstairs? You said Gram and I could watch a DVD.”
“Please, Quinn, come in out of the rain. You’re both getting soaked.” Norma Santini beckoned her grandson and April into the house. “Ms. Trent may hold the key to a mystery that’s haunted me for years. And I…would…really like a glass of sherry while we speak.”
The man muttered, half to himself, “I don’t want dealings of any kind with anyone named Trent. If Coleman or Miles Trent sent her, she’s as likely as not to be a sneaky reporter, if not worse.”
April tossed her head. “I’m not! A reporter, that is. Cole is my father, and Miles and Roger are my brothers. I promise none of them have any inkling I found letters at my farmhouse. Well, n-not unless Eric blabbed.” It was April’s turn to stutter breathlessly as the possibility of Eric doing just that occurred to her. “Uh, that w-would be Eric Lathrop.”
“Lathrop?” Quinn hustled April none too gently inside and slammed the door. “I’m tired of being hounded by reporters. If you’re mixed up with Lathrop, I believe I’ll call the cops and have you charged with harassment.”
“Quinn! Enough!” His grandmother stood in front of a crackling blaze behind a fireplace screen. In the flickering light, she appeared pale and quite fragile. So much so, April wished she hadn’t come here at all.
“Mrs. Santini, I swear,” April said, “if the letters are yours, I want nothing—”
“Be quiet,” Quinn bellowed. “It doesn’t matter what you want. Hayley, please do as Gram asked,” he said, softening his tone as he addressed his daughter. “Go up and play with your dolls for a little bit, okay, hon? I’ll come and get you when we’re finished here and you can spend the rest of the evening with Gram.”
As the pretty blond child flounced across the room and stomped petulantly up the curved white staircase, April almost smiled. Quinn’s impatience was very evident in his daughter.
However, it was a noticeably less aggressive man who led his grandmother to a chair flanking the fireplace. He left her and crossed to a bar, pulling out a bottle of Harveys Bristol Cream and pouring a glass, which he carried over to his grandmother. He neither offered April a seat, nor a glass of the sherry.
After a bracing sip, Norma recovered sufficiently to display a steelier persona. “Quinn, perhaps you ought to cancel your meeting. Young woman,” she said, leveling April with a haughty stare, “I’m prepared to negotiate a fair price. Why don’t you start by stating how much you want? Whatever I pay will include return of the letters, and I’ll expect your complete silence regarding their contents.”
“Grandmother, we’re not paying one red cent! Will you please tell me what the hell’s going on?” Quinn stepped between the two women, his stance fully protective of his grandmother and combative toward April.
That’s it! She’d had it with this family. Regardless of how much she’d like to hear the ice queen’s answer to her grandson’s question, April resented the implication that she’d come here to shake anyone down. She felt she had every right to the indignation that propelled her out the hand-carved door. And it was definitely satisfying to slam that door hard enough to hear the leaded-glass window rattle.
It was now dark, and the trees around her were deeply shadowed. She ran down the wet, winding drive, holding her breath until she made it through the open gate and climbed into the safety of her battered pickup. She wrenched the key in the ignition, her fingers unsteady. The whole ordeal had shaken her.
Let the letters rot in Robyn’s safe for all she cared. Likewise, her friend was more than welcome to Turner County’s most eligible bachelor—the jerk.
April forgot to turn on her windshield wipers until she reached the end of Santini’s street and realized the world outside her window was one big blur.
All she could think of at the moment was that no way in hell would Quinn Santini get her vote in the November election.
Chapter 2
“Quinn, don’t let her leave. Please catch her.” His grandmother half rose from her chair. Her glass wobbled, and some of the sherry splashed over the edge, onto the long sleeve of her dress.
“Let her go, and good riddance. If I leave now, I can probably still get to Representative Hoerner’s cocktail party. I’ll bring Hayley downstairs first. We did shuffle her off without much explanation.” Quinn headed for the staircase, but his grandmother called him back.
“I really need you to go after that young woman, Quinn.” When he scrutinized her intensely, Norma averted her gaze. Her lips trembled. “The letters she mentioned…It’s important…well, suffice it to say I’d like to have them in my possession.”
“Securing the letters is more important than meeting Sam Hoerner’s handpicked supporters? I’ve got a narrow lead in today’s poll.”
“Politics.” She pursed her lips. “I begged you not to get involved, Quinn.”
“I’ve also heard your views on Dan Mattingly.” A smile altered Quinn Santini’s narrow face and stern features, displaying instead the charm gossip columnists loved to write about.
“This is personal, Quinn.” His grandmother gestured with the glass, but her clearly worried gaze focused on the dark, rain-flecked window, as if by staring she could bring April Trent back.
“I know you were never at the farm, Quinn. I loved it so much, and I hated to leave it. But your grandfather decided he needed better freeway access. Tony bought this place and moved us here, right before Brett started elementary school.” She sighed. “I’m sure by now Ms. Trent is well on her way home. Quinn, dear, you shouldn’t have any trouble finding the farm. It’s the only house at the end of Oak Grove Road. The tracts of land adjoin federally reserved forest, which is why there are so few homes on that road.”
He expelled a breath. “I might be more inclined to rush out after that woman if you’d explain why a few old letters are so vital. And a passport? It can’t be yours. I’ve seen your passport, Gram. It might be decades out of date, but it’s locked in a drawer at the office.”
Norma drained her dainty glass and carried it to the sideboard near the compact bar. “Your grandfather filed to replace my lost passport probably a year after we moved to this house. I saw no need. I never planned to travel out of the country. But he insisted and even filled out the paperwork to request a new one in my married name. The passport in Ms. Trent’s possession is in my maiden name—Marsh. It should be destroyed, Quinn.”
“I shouldn’t think that it’s urgent. Unless you’re worried about some unsavory person getting hold of it and using it to try and steal your identity. Someone even more unsavory than April Trent.”
“Quinn, it’s unlike you to be this unpleasant to anyone. Especially to an attractive young woman.”
“Attractive? It must be time for your yearly eye exam.”
“Are you talking about the lady who was just here?” Hayley Santini sat cross-legged on the upper landing and took that moment to enter the conversation. Her little face peered down at the adults through ornate banister spindles. “I wish I had curly hair like hers. If my hair curled, I wouldn’t have to sit for hours ev’ry time Ethel or Gram say I need my hair to look nice for pictures and stuff.” Ethel was Quinn and Norma’s shared housekeeper. Ethel Langford had been a middle daughter in a family of eight children, but she’d never had kids of her own. Hence the housekeeper tended to dote on six-year-old Hayley.
“Exactly how many times a year would that be, Hayley? Easter and Christmas?” Quinn asked jokingly.
“Attractive