Loveknot. Marisa Carroll
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not giving him anything more to worry about. I’ve managed to hold off Nitaka these past months.” Her voice took on a note of challenge. “I can do the same with DEVCHECK. I told your stepson this morning and I’ll tell you now, to your face—Ingalls F and M is not for sale.”
Edward leaned his hands on the table. “Dammit, Lyssa. How in hell have you managed to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes the past forty years? Sweet, shy Alyssa. The truth is, next to your father, you’re the most bullheaded person I know.” He still couldn’t decide whether he was more angered or aroused by her stubborn insistence on going her own way.
One or two more people wandered into the bar area. Edward noticed them from the corner of his eye. It was time to leave. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said. He stepped back from the table, straightening the cuffs of his charcoal-gray jacket. “Someplace else. More private.”
“No,” Alyssa said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” he said, holding her blue eyes steady with his own. “Private. And alone.”
* * *
“MRS. BARON. We meet again.”
Alyssa was still standing as if rooted to the spot. She watched Edward disappear through the French doors that led to his suite and wondered how in heaven’s name she had gotten herself into such an untenable position with him. Had his last words been a threat or an invitation?
“Mrs. Baron?”
Alyssa turned her head, blinking to focus on the man standing beside her. “Mr. Grover. How nice to see you again,” she said politely, her thoughts light-years removed from her surroundings.
What had ever made her think she could come out ahead in a duel of wits with Edward Wocheck? He’d sent her heart and her body into an uproar since she’d first become aware of him when they were both fourteen. Then they had been Eddie and Lyssa, Tyler High freshmen. He had been the gardener’s son and she’d been the pampered, sheltered daughter of the town’s most influential citizen. Today he was Edward Wocheck of the Addison Hotel chain, DEVCHECK and God knew how many other entities. And she was Alyssa Baron, widow, grandmother, professional volunteer, who’d suddenly been thrust into the front office of her father’s crippled business, where she had no desire to be. It wouldn’t be a duel, she thought with macabre humor as she forced herself to pay attention to Robert Grover’s meandering conversation. It would be a massacre, of Ingalls F and M and of her heart.
“Would you like another mug of cider?” Robert was asking, the frown between his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows suggesting it wasn’t the first time he’d asked. “It’s not half-bad. Had one myself an hour or so ago, before I took my walk. It’d be better with a shot of rum in it, mind you, but my doctor said no alcohol. Or at least nothing but a glass or so of red wine a day, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the same as none at all.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Grover,” she said, suddenly desperate to get away before Phil, or Edward’s stepson, or anyone else she knew, saw her there. “I really must be getting back to my office.”
“Oh.” The old man looked disappointed. “I was hoping you might have a few minutes to talk. About Timberlake,” he said with his toothy grin. “It’s sure changed, but a lot’s stayed the same. The fireplace, of course,” he went on, as if she hadn’t refused his offer. “And the view down to the lake. Furniture’s different, naturally, except for those big chairs out on the lawn.” He looked up and over his shoulder at the huge light fixture made of varnished deer, elk and moose antlers. “That chandelier wasn’t here in your mother’s day.”
Alyssa’s attention was finally caught. “No,” she said hesitantly, tempted by his tantalizing glimpses of Timberlake’s past, and remembering, reluctantly, her promise to Liza to talk to her mother’s old acquaintance if the opportunity arose. “It’s brand-new. I believe it was installed only a week or so ago.”
Robert waved her back to her seat at the table, and before she could object, signaled the barman for two more mugs of cider. “Your mother hated killing things,” he said. “She never came out here, she told me, if your father had a hunting party planned.”
“No. Mother liked music and dancing and lots of happy people around her. Not guns—” her voice wavered “—and killing. I do remember that.”
“She was a marvelous dancer. I’d just gotten out of the service when I first came here. Didn’t have a dime to my name. I was really out of my league with her crowd, but that didn’t seem to bother Margaret…” He was silent for a moment, then began talking again. “What times. What parties. The visits I made here that summer before your mother died—were some of the happiest of my life.”
“I remember very little,” Alyssa said. “I was quite small.”
“And your mother sent you to bed early in the evening. You didn’t like to go.” He laughed out loud. “I remember that about you, but I’m afraid not very much more.”
“That’s okay,” Alyssa said, smiling in response to his laughter. “I don’t remember you at all.”
“Why should you? Your mother had so many… friends.” His tone of voice was as jovial as before, but Alyssa felt a cold breath of uneasiness skate across her nerve endings. Too close, it warned, don’t get too close.
There was nothing but that momentary hesitation in his words to make Alyssa wonder if he meant more than he said, but she was afraid to ask. Her own internal barriers had dropped into place like steel bars across the doors of her mind. He kept on talking.
“Why, I remember once she decided everyone should go swimming in the lake. We were all wearing evening clothes—everyone dressed for dinner at Timberlake in those days. It didn’t matter to your mother. Everyone went into the water straight from the party. I remember I had borrowed a tuxedo. There was no way I could afford to replace it, but your mother pushed me off the dock herself. I went in arse over ears. If I remember right, I was voted the trophy for the biggest splash. I tried to be a good sport about it, but I worried all night about how in hell I was going to get enough money to replace the tuxedo. I shouldn’t have worried. The next afternoon, when I got back from playing tennis, there was my trophy. And with it a brand new tux, a gift from your mother. Yep,” he said, lifting one of the mugs of cider Alyssa hadn’t even noticed had been placed before them, “those were the days. Now drink up,” he ordered. “I know you’re busy. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
“No,” Alyssa said, taking a sip as he’d instructed her to do. “Please go on. I like hearing about the happy times you had out here. I—I like hearing about my mother.” She knew she ought to go, but remained captive to the twin bonds of curiosity about her mother’s life and her need to learn everything she could about her death.
Robert Grover didn’t have to be asked twice. He launched into another anecdote about Timberlake’s halcyon days, and Alyssa hung on his every word.
This was what she wanted and needed to hear—stories about happy days and happy times, not about death and desertion and unsolved mysteries. But strangely enough, his lighthearted memories didn’t soothe her misgivings about the past. Instead, oddly, they made her more confused and upset than before.
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