Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance (21 page)

“If you are a spinster, it’s only because the right man didn’t
come along until now.”

“He hasn’t?” Marjorie prodded.

“No. You’ve only met Robert a short time ago.”

“Yes,” she replied. What she had expected Creighton to say, she
hadn’t the faintest idea. She only knew that she was inexplicably
disappointed. “What about you and Vanessa? You make a very nice
couple.”

“Vanessa and I have always gotten along rather well,” he chuckled. “I suppose that’s why we’ve remained friends all this time. We
seldom argue or bicker. There are times when we don’t see eye to
eye, but we’ve never lost our tempers with each other. Not like you
and me.”

Marjorie feigned a laugh. “True. We have had our moments,
haven’t we?”

“Moments? My dear, Marjorie, if ever there were two people
who were destined to eternally butt heads, it’s you and I”

She felt her face grow warm. “I wouldn’t go that far-”

“Far? Please, Marjorie,” Creighton chuckled. “We are the essence
of incompatibility.”

“No we aren’t. We don’t argue that often, and when we do, it’s
not for very long. Nor do we fight when we’re working. When we’re
working toward a common goal, we get along well. Extremely well,
in fact. You can’t deny that!”

“Working? Is that what you call what we do? I thought it was
more like you and Jameson making eyes at each other while I tagged
along,” he shook his head. “If that’s your idea of work-”

Marjorie stopped dead in her tracks. “What about the books?
Surely you can’t-”

“We haven’t written a book together, Marjorie. You’ve given me
some snippets to review. I’ve given my opinion and you’ve gone ahead and done whatever you wanted to do anyway. That’s about
the extent of `our’ book writing.”

“What about the Van Allen case? And this case, so far? We think
alike, don’t we? And we have fun, or at least I thought we did.”

“Yes, visiting you in the hospital for three weeks after the Van
Allen case was a laugh a minute.”

“Aside from that,” she argued. “What about Mal, that silly little
dog? And Gloria Van Allen’s party? Our day at the fair? Those are
good memories.”

“Oh, yes. Wonderful. Of course, all those occasions ended with
death or someone being pretty darned near close to it so they were,
indeed, quite memorable, but not particularly enjoyable.” He shook
his head. “No, I’m afraid those things may be fun for you and
Jameson. I, however, am the quiet type. I enjoy my wine collection
and library. But, now you and Jameson are going to be married. He
can chase after and worry about you, and listen to your tales of intrigue, while I seek out a bit of peace and relaxation.”

Marjorie stared at him in disbelief. This was the man Robert
and Vanessa had claimed was in love with her? “Well, I’m sure you’ll
find relaxation with Vanessa. Did she accept your proposal?”

Creighton’s jaw dropped and the color drained from his face.
Marjorie wanted to take back the question as soon as she said it,
but it was too late now.

“So you heard that, did you? I thought you might have from
the way you acted the next morning. As a matter of fact, she did,
Marjorie. She did accept.”

Marjorie felt the tears well up in her eyes. She had accepted. She
had!

“Not that it matters to you;” Creighton continued. “You’re right.
Gloria Van Allen’s party was memorable. It was memorable because it was then that I realized that all you were concerned with
was your own pride. You’re crying now-not because I’ve proposed
to Vanessa, not because she accepted. My engagement doesn’t mean
a damn to you except that it shows I’m not sitting around, pining
away with unrequited love, like all the other stooges you bat your
eyes at. That’s why you’re crying, Marjorie. You don’t actually want
me-you just want me to want you!”

Marjorie, her tears having subsided and now replaced with
righteous indignation, hauled off and slapped the Englishman hard
across the face. “You’re right, I don’t want you! How could I? You
come across as so sweet and charming, but underneath it all, you’re
conceited and arrogant and just plain mean! How could I want
you? How could I ever possibly want you?” Sobbing, she removed
his jacket from her shoulders and threw it on the ground before
running across Louisburg Square and into the gathering darkness.

MARJORIE AND JAMESON ARRIVED back in Ridgebury some time
around eleven o’clock. After being deposited at her front doorstep,
Marjorie waited until the police car was out of view then ran diagonally, across the village green, to the other side of Ridgebury
Road. She had noticed, as she and Robert drove into town, that the
lights in Mrs. Patterson’s house were on, signifying that the elderly
woman was still awake.

Breathlessly, Marjorie sprinted up the steps to the gingerbreaded
porch of the blue Victorian dwelling and knocked on the frame of
the old storm door. She listened patiently to the sound of approaching footsteps drifting through the open windows of the house.
Within seconds, the white-haired woman appeared in the doorway,
wearing a pink seersucker dressing gown. “Marjorie, dear.” Mrs. Patterson swung open the screen door to allow the younger woman admittance. “You didn’t have to come over. Creighton has been keeping me posted. He told me he’s driving the car back, oh, and about
your dinner tonight.”

Marjorie stepped over the threshold and into Mrs. Patterson’s
front parlor. Regardless of what might be happening in the world
around her, she always felt safe within these walls. “I didn’t come
about that. I thought maybe we could talk. That is if you’re not going to bed.”

“No, I already tried to sleep but it’s too warm upstairs. There’s
a nice breeze outside but this old house gets so stuffy. I considered
lying out on the porch swing, but at my age, I’m not too sure I’d
be able to get out of it in the morning.” She chuckled and shuffled
off toward the kitchen. “Come along, I was just boiling some water
for tea.”

Tea was Mrs. Patterson’s panacea and she served it, highly sweetened and piping hot, no matter the season. Marjorie recalled the
night, five years ago, when she discovered her father, dead of a stroke,
crumpled on the living room floor of their cottage. She had stayed
with Mrs. Patterson that night, and finding it impossible to sleep,
had staggered downstairs to the kitchen where the rosy-cheeked old
lady sat up with her until the wee hours of the morning, dispensing
cup after cup of the steaming beverage, wiping her tears and holding her hand.

Like she had done that night years ago, Marjorie extracted two
jade green cups and saucers from one of the kitchen cabinets and
then settled down at the green-and-white-striped cloth-covered
table to watch Mrs. Patterson perform the familiar ritual of measuring loose tea leaves into the earthenware pot. “Creighton told
me Detective Jameson took you to meet his parents last night.”

“Yes,” Marjorie sighed.

“You don’t sound very happy about it. Did something go
wrong?”

“No, not `wrong’ per se. It was a lovely evening. Robert’s parents are very nice people.”

“Why do I sense a `but’ coming?” Mrs. Patterson quipped.

“No. No `but,” Marjorie denied. “They were both quite kind.
Robert’s father and I got along famously. However, his mother seems
a bit worried. I sense she doesn’t like the fact I’m a writer.”

“After meeting Robert, I half-expected that. He’s quite old fashioned in his ways, so I imagined his mother wouldn’t be very forward thinking.” She chuckled. “She’s a mother, so she’s concerned
about her son’s happiness. But once she gets to know you better,
and sees how well you two get along, she shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I suppose not.”

“Is there something else?” Mrs. Patterson quizzed as she measured the tea by the rounded teaspoon.

“I just-I just want to ask you something and I need an honest
answer.

“Of course, dear. What is it?”

“You speak with Creighton on a regular basis,” she prefaced.
“Has he ever told you how he feels about me?”

Mrs. Patterson stopped what she was doing and looked up from
the teapot. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I know he and I are friends, but has he ever eluded
to you that his feelings for me might be deeper than that?”

The woman was nonplussed by Marjorie’s question. She gazed
at Marjorie for a moment then turned her attention back to the teapot. “I don’t know where I left off now.” She emptied the tea leaves
from the pot back into the tin and started the measuring process
again.

Marjorie waited until the elderly woman was finished counting
before pressing her for an answer. “So?”

Mrs. Patterson brought the kettle from the stove and began filling the teapot with boiling water. “I think you’re asking the wrong
person. If you want to know how Creighton feels, ask Creighton.”
She returned the kettle to the stove and brought the teapot to the
table to steep. “What makes you so interested in Creighton’s feelings all of a sudden?”

“Oh, Mrs. Patterson,” Marjorie started to cry. “I don’t know
where to begin.”

The elderly woman handed her a crocheted handkerchief and
sat beside her. Holding her with one arm and patting her back
with the other, she soothed, “Shhhh. There, there, child.”

Marjorie blew her nose in the handkerchief with a resounding
honk.

“Now, tell me exactly what happened,” Mrs. Patterson instructed.

“It started with Robert. We were on the way to see his parents
and he told me that Creighton had resigned as my editor.”

“Did he say why?”

“Yes. He said it wasn’t proper because-because Creighton is
in love with me.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed with a hint of surprise in her voice. “Go
on.

“I tried to forget about the whole thing. We had dinner with
Robert’s parents and everything went … well, I told you about his
mother.”

Mrs. Patterson nodded.

“Robert dropped me back at Vanessa’s house. It was quiet and
dark and I thought everyone had gone to bed. And then I heard it. Creighton and Vanessa were in the library and he … and he proposed to Vanessa.” She burst into sobs. “He asked her to marry him.”
“

“How did she respond?”

I didn’t stay long enough to hear. I went up to bed, and I didn’t
come downstairs until morning, until I was sure Robert would be
there. We left shortly afterward and came back to Ridgebury. But
then, later in the day, Robert and I got a lead on the case. I called
Creighton. I don’t know why, but I called him and told him to meet
us at the police station. I suppose I wanted things to be the way they
had been last time-Creighton and I questioning suspects and gathering clues.”

“But they weren’t?” Mrs. Patterson assumed.

“They were at first. Then we went back to Vanessa’s for dinner.
That’s when she told me…”

“Who told you what?”

“Vanessa,” Marjorie answered quietly. “Vanessa told me that
Creighton was in love with me. She said that he had been keeping
his distance because the sight of Robert and me together tore him
apart.”

“What did you say? What did you do?”

“Nothing right away. Dinner was ready and I didn’t want Jameson
to find out what Vanessa and I had been discussing. Not that way;
not yet. After dinner, however, Vanessa sent Creighton and I out for a
walk and-” Marjorie’s voice broke into sobs.

The older woman held her tightly. “It’s all right, Marjorie. Go
on.

“Creighton was downright mean. I tried to be nice to him. I really tried! I tried to give him a chance to tell me how he feels. I told
him that I had a good time solving crimes with him and he-he acted as though it didn’t matter, that it never mattered. He said that
he needed a life of peace and quiet, and that he was going to marry
Vanessa”

Mrs. Patterson, appeared surprised. “He told you that she accepted his proposal?”

“Yes. And then it got worse. He-he said that I didn’t care about
him. He said that all I cared about was my pride and that I was more
upset by the fact that he wasn’t pining away for me, than whether or
not he cared in the first place.”

“What did you do?”

“I slapped him.”

Mrs. Patterson’s mouth formed a small `o’ “You shouldn’t have
done that.”

“I couldn’t help it. He makes me so angry sometimes. I went
back to the house and made a silly excuse for being upset. I said I
fell and twisted my ankle and that Creighton had gone back to look
for one of my earrings. He came back shortly afterward and I filled
him in about the story. He played along and we spent the rest of the
evening pretending nothing happened. However, I could think of
nothing else. I’m sorry I slapped him, but he really knows how to
drive me crazy!”

“Yes, I believe that. You’re both stubborn, pigheaded people. I
wouldn’t want to face either of you in an argument, that’s for certain.”

“It’s not just that. Here everyone keeps telling me that Creighton loves me. But first he gets engaged to Vanessa and then he goes
and acts so rotten! I just don’t know what to think anymore.”