Asking For Trouble. Millie Criswell
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Ms. Randall. Can I help you?” she asked, and it was then she noticed the young girl standing next to him. The dislike in her pretty blue eyes gave Beth pause. Most people waited until after they’d spoken to her before deciding they disliked her.
“I hope so. I’m Bradley Donovan.”
She held out her hand. “Welcome to the Two Sisters, Mr. Donovan.” When he clasped her hand, she looked up to find that hundred-watt, hundred-thousand-dollar smile shining down on her and felt its warmth.
“Actually, it’s Dr. Donovan. I’ve left several messages on your answering machine regarding my father, Robert Donovan. He was a guest here some weeks back and now he’s missing.”
Beth’s heart began to pound. She remembered Robert Donovan. He’d played cards with her aunts on several occasions. She swallowed. Two gentlemen who’d been in contact with her aunts were now missing? She didn’t like the odds.
“When I didn’t get a response I decided to come in person to see if you could shed any light as to my father’s whereabouts. My daughter and I are very worried about him.”
Preoccupied with Mr. Pickens’s visit, Beth hadn’t had time to return his calls. “I’m afraid I can’t be of much help, Dr. Donovan. I remember your father, but I have no idea where he’s gone.”
“I’m not worried about Gramps,” Stacy Donovan blurted. “Just you are, Dad. I figure Gramps has gone off to visit some stupid battlefield. You worry too much. Chill, okay?”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Beth said, holding out her hand to the girl who responded by smacking her gum loudly, a sound only slightly less irritating than fingernails raking a blackboard. “I’m Beth. And you are?”
The girl hesitated a moment. “Stacy Donovan. My dad made me come here. I didn’t want to. This place smells really old, like dead people live here or something.”
The kid had a good nose; she’d give her that.
“Apologize to Ms. Randall at once, Stacy.”
“That’s okay. It’s not—”
“Sorry.” The young girl’s apology lacked conviction.
“Come in,” Beth said, remembering her manners and leading them into the front parlor. It was a cozy room, decorated in rose-and-green-floral chintz; the walls were painted a warm buttery yellow, with pretty lace curtains hanging at the double-hung windows.
“Actually, Stacy, this house is really old, over a century old, as a matter of fact. And the smell you’re referring to is probably the incense my aunt is burning upstairs. I’ll speak to her about it. I’m not crazy about the smell, either.”
Her gaze lifted to the girl’s father, and Beth had the strangest sense of coming home as she stared into Bradley Donovan’s warm, comforting eyes. She shook her head to dispel the notion. “I’m very sorry about not returning your phone calls, Dr. Donovan. I’m not usually so inconsiderate, but I had several pressing business matters to attend to and forgot to check my answering machine.” Not to mention, there’s a pile of buried bones in my basement, which may or may not belong to Lyle McMurtry. And for all I know, your father might be down there, too.
Seating himself on the colorful sofa, Bradley Donovan yanked his daughter down beside him. “My father left our home in Charlottesville about six weeks ago. I know he stopped here because I received this postcard.” He removed the card from his pocket, handing it to her; she recognized it at once.
“We give these postcards to the guests. They’re in all the rooms. But I can’t recall anything unusual about your father’s departure. Perhaps my aunts know something. They may have spent some time with him. I really can’t be sure. I was just on my way upstairs to visit them when you arrived. I’d be happy to ask.”
Momentarily appeased, he nodded, and then went on to talk about the attractiveness of the inn, the traffic he’d encountered on the interstate, and the weather. Though she did her best to listen intently, nodding at the appropriate times, she found herself oddly mesmerized by the color of his blue eyes. Beth had met many men since her divorce and had never given a hoot about the color of their eyes, or any other part of their anatomy, for that matter. Her relationships hadn’t lasted long enough to find out if size really mattered.
Unfortunately, Stacy Donovan’s eyes were shooting daggers at her. If looks could kill, Beth would have been buried in the cellar, right next to whoever was down there.
“The woman thinks you’re hot, Dad. Let’s get outta here.”
Brad flashed his daughter an annoyed look. “That’s enough, Stacy! What’s gotten into you today?”
“I do not!” Beth shook her head in denial, her cheeks flaming bright red. “That never entered my mind.” Nor would it. Fool me once was her motto.
The doctor looked amused by her discomfort, and his dimpled grin made her eyes widen. “I’m sure it didn’t, Ms. Randall.”
Assuming a businesslike posture, she folded her hands primly in her lap. “Will you need to book a room, Dr. Donovan? I have several vacancies at the moment and can accommodate you.”
He nodded. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be here. I need to make inquiries about my father, talk to the local authorities, that sort of thing.”
The authorities! Beth swallowed her fear and forced a smile. “I can put you and your daughter in a lovely twin-bedded room on the second floor. It has a view of the pond.”
“That’ll be just fine. And call me Brad.”
“Hope our room’s not next to yours!” Stacy told Beth, her pert nose wrinkling in disgust. “I don’t want you bothering my dad. He doesn’t like women.”
Beth’s right eyebrow arched, her attention shooting to the doctor, whose face was turning all sorts of interesting colors. “Oh? Well, I—”
“Stacy doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” His daughter opened her mouth to say something else, but he cut her off. “Go out to the car and get your bag. Now!”
The girl heaved a dramatic sigh and sulked off. Beth wasn’t sorry to see her go. She didn’t have a great deal of patience when it came to children, especially mouthy, gum-smacking teenagers.
Unlike most women, Beth had no desire to have children. Her childhood had been so unhappy, her marriage such a disaster that she didn’t feel qualified to dispense motherly advice. She enjoyed being an independent businesswoman with no husband to dictate and no children to tie her down.
“Don’t pay any attention to Stacy, Ms. Randall. My wife died four years ago, and she hasn’t adjusted very well. My daughter sees every woman I meet as a threat.”
Beth smiled in understanding. “No problem—and it’s Beth. I was twelve once, much to everyone’s horror.” And she’d grown up without a father since the age of ten, so she understood the girl’s need to keep her dad close.
Their eyes locked and held for a brief moment, making Beth’s heartbeat quicken, then the front door opened and Brad’s daughter returned, breaking the spell, which relieved her to no end. She was already up to her armpits in complications; she didn’t need another one, especially a handsome doctor with a missing father!
As she ushered Brad and his daughter up the stairs to their room, Beth wondered what she was going to tell the man about his father’s disappearance. Obviously, her suspicions about the bones in her basement would not—could not—be a topic of discussion, not if she wanted to keep her aunts safe.
She felt the weight of the locket burning into her flesh, a painful reminder of gruesome possibilities.
Despite her best efforts not to, Beth found Bradley Donovan quite likable. He seemed kind and caring, and she couldn’t help but notice how muscular his body was, how blue his eyes were. Of course, Greg was handsome, too, and he’d turned out to be the