Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series) (19 page)

During the tasting she’d seen how Ian condescended to the wait staff and over-talked the caterer when she tried to explain her viewpoint on aspects of their affair. She’d watched Hannah’s face at Ian’s behavior. Sarah had found her unreadable, without affect, good or bad. That bothered her.

“The food’s going to be fabulous,” Sarah offered into the stillness of the car.

“I know,” Hannah said softly, eyes on the road ahead of her. “I think we did a good job making our selections.”

Ian remained quiet in the back seat. Sarah craned her neck a quarter turn, saw that his head was back against the headrest, eyes closed. She faced forward. “I think Ian’s asleep,” she whispered.

Hannah peered back. “Yup.”

“He seemed to be pleased with the caterer.”

“Absolutely,” Hannah made a little clicking sound with her tongue. “If he wasn’t, trust me, we’d know.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence, but the wheels were turning in Sarah’s head. Her mind flashed to the way Hannah had thrilled over the finds from the basement, memories of her high school and college days. She remembered her daughter cradling the opal necklace in her hand like a fine treasure, more valuable than any price tag would have said it was.

She went upstairs, leaving Hannah and Ian to take residence for the night in one of the guest suites. They would catch the train into the City tomorrow morning.

She slipped into pajamas and slippers and went into the kitchen to make a pot of chamomile.

Hannah appeared in the doorway. “He’s out for the night.” She came into the room and took a seat at the small marble table Sarah used as a center island. She had changed into PJ’s, a cute tap pant set, very unlike the baggy, old cotton tees she often wore.

“What kind?” Hannah asked motioning her head in the direction of the teapot.

“Chamomile.”

“Oh, good.” She got up and grabbed herself a mug from the cabinet. “It’ll help me conk out. I want to sleep like a rock, no dreams, nothing.”

Sarah prepared the tea convinced that there was a message in her daughter’s comment.
Maybe though,
she thought,
I’m just looking for a message where there is none. Maybe Hannah’s just exhausted.

The phone rang and Sarah looked over at the wall clock. Ten-thirty. “Hello?”

“Sarah, it’s Benny.”

She bit her lip. “Hi.”

“Is it too late to call?”

“Uh, no, is something wrong?”

“I need to talk with you. Can I come over?”

“Now?” She looked down at her nightclothes.

“It’s important.”

Her heart stuttered. Considering he’d come into her life simply to damage it, she couldn’t fathom why her instinct said yes. “I’ll meet you by the front door. Don’t ring the bell, though. My almost-son-in-law is asleep downstairs.”

After she hung up the phone she flew to her bedroom calling over her shoulder to Hannah. “I have to get dressed.”

“Who was that? Is something wrong?”

“No,” she tried to keep her voice casual. “Uh, Benny’s stopping by.”

“It’s kind of late isn’t it?” There was suspicion in her daughter’s tone, and Sarah hated it.

Now that the truth had been revealed about the permit issue, would Hannah start second-guessing her? This was Benny’s fault, too. Why the hell had she said yes?

Sarah peeked her head out from the doorway of her room. “I have no idea what he wants to talk to me about. But, it’s not
that
late.”

She went back in to her closet, pulled out her warm-up suit, and yanked off her pajamas. She tugged on the suit, then trotted into her bathroom, switching on the light above the mirror. She looked ghastly.

She’d already washed off the little bit of makeup she’d been wearing. Her face was white like an undercooked pancake. The smattering of freckles resembled cinnamon sprinkled in an unappetizing way. She dabbed on a slick of lip gloss and ran a comb through her hair.

In the mirror she saw Hannah come into the room and lean against the bathroom’s door-jam. Her arms were folded, her eyes assessing. “He seems nice.” Her words dangled like a worm from a hook.

Sarah put her brush down and turned to face her daughter. “Okay, stop right there, my dear. First you’re trying to match me up with poor Norman the mailman, and now you’re
fishing
around about Benny. Go drink your chamomile.”

“Let me just make this little observation, Mother.” The girl eyed her strategically, leaning closer. “I saw the way you two looked at each other. He watches you, and you watch him. Mom, I know for whatever reason, you’re dead set against dating anybody, but you have to admit you’ve noticed him. And,” she flashed a winning smile, “that, to me, is a good sign.”

Sarah snapped off the light and stepped around her daughter.

“No comment?”

“It doesn’t deserve one. He’s just an acquaintance. Nobody.”

“Okay,” Hannah let the word drag off her tongue. “You put on lipstick for him. Just another observation.” She tilted her teacup to her lips. “I’m going to bed. Talk to you in the morning, Mom.”

After Hannah had retreated downstairs to the room she would share with Ian for the night, Sarah slipped on her sneakers and padded down to the foyer to wait for Benny. She did her best to ignore the remnants of Hannah’s words.

She peered out the side panes of the front door. The beveling distorted the view into a wavy blur, turning the scene outside into a Monet. In a couple of minutes Benny’s shadowy figure approached. As she watched him walk up the sidewalk her heart quickened with each step.

Even in the distortion of the glass she could tell that his shirt fit him well and, again, the man was in faded jeans. Her heart shimmied as he ascended the porch stairs.

Hannah’s words filtered back into the front of her mind and she pushed them away.

As she opened the door she heard a familiar crumpling sound and felt the door tug against what she knew had to be wedged beneath the door. Another note.

She bent to pull it into her hands hearing it tear in the release. When she stood again her eyes found Benny’s dark gaze. She displayed the wrinkled envelope. “Another one.”

“To match mine.” He produced a note of his own.

Chapter Fourteen

Sarah whispered a barely audible, but clearly stern “Be quiet.” She motioned Benny inside.

He followed her up the staircase to her apartment, finding it ridiculous that he suddenly felt like a school kid sneaking into his girlfriend’s house while her parents slept. Maybe it had something to do with his eyes seeking to focus on the sight of her backside as she maneuvered the stairs.

The gray sweats fit snugly, revealing the appealing contour of her body. Thankfully, she’d climbed fast, like his heartbeats.

The wallpapered living room walls and the cozy furniture positioned around the wooden trunk substituting for a table made a nice, homey space. It felt lived in, real, honest.

He followed her into the smallish kitchen with a single large window on one wall. She had hung a stained glass light-catcher in front of the pane; a floral pattern that he guessed looked pretty nice in sunlight.

“How about some chamomile?” she asked, pouring a bit more into the mug she already had.

Why not? “
Sure, thanks.” He looked at her fully. Her sweat suit’s zipper was down enough in front to reveal a hint of the contour of her breasts.
Oh man, stop.
He looked away.

The wrought iron stool set at the little marble island squeaked when he lowered his weight onto it and he wondered if it was meant to hold a man. She sat opposite him.

He cast his eyes around the entirely feminine kitchen. The yellow and white checked wallpaper, broad white-painted molding, and pots of ivy on the sill all created a welcoming effect.

And yet, he felt like an intruder. He closed his eyes against everything and took a breath. “Here’s the note I found tonight on my front stoop when I got back from my jog.” He put the note on the marble table, smoothed out the page, and angled it in her direction.

Her gaze fell to the text and she recited it aloud. “Please don’t involve yourself in what’s not your business.”

“A
polite
little coward, huh?” Benny commented, refolding the note.

Sarah opened her own note, her long, tapered fingers slightly trembling in the task. She unfolded the page, the same paper on which his had been written. She read silently, her intent eyes scanning from left to right as she absorbed the message. She looked up with questioning eyes and handed him the paper.

“
Friday night. I’ll explain,” he recited.

“Now what?” she asked.

“I think we should contact the police.” Benny said. “At least that way they can keep an eye on the place in case this guy’s nuts enough to come here.”

“I don’t like this,” she said.

“Me neither. Not one bit.”

****

The next morning, Sarah was still shaky. The idea of Benny getting a note, too, was disturbing.

She wondered if her trembling fingers, as she buttoned her shirt now, might have something to do with Benny himself. She shook the thought and filled her lungs with a deep, cleansing breath.

It was no use pondering what-ifs. Maybe in another place and another time she’d have given the idea of Benny a realistic thought, but for now she had a job to do.

She finished dressing, grabbed a hard-cooked egg from the bowl in the refrigerator, and headed downstairs. Hannah and Ian had already left for the City and she was just as glad not to have to make small talk.

Locking the door behind her, she double-checked it before heading back to town hall to talk with the police.

She and Benny had agreed to meet at ten. He was right on time, and for a change he was not in blue jeans. His black training suit, with the white piping running down the side of the legs and the arms of the jacket, fit him well. She felt dismayed in the truth that it wasn’t simply his jeans she’d noticed. Apparently, it was the man.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

Her face flushed, making her feel stupid, pathetic really. His question had nothing to do with her dreaming of him—a sultry, shadowy memory she hadn’t allowed herself to rehash. Until now.

She reached up and squeezed the bridge of her nose as though the pinch could magically erase the images floating in her head like a swipe over chalk on a blackboard.

“Sarah?” He stepped close. His cologne wafted to her nose. That wooing scent snaked around, and choked her resolve to not look him the eye.

“You okay?”

Sarah cleared her throat. “Yes, yes, fine.” She shook her head and gave her bangs that whack she’d come to use as a poke to her sensibility. “Just anxious to speak to someone about this.” She held up her latest note.

They were seated again in front of Officer Carr. He studied the two new notes, Benny’s and hers, looking from one to the other. “Any ideas yet on who’s behind this?”

“No,” they said in unison and shared a look. Benny gave her a little grin and her stomach cha-cha-ed.

Okay,
I might have a psycho on my hands, yet I’m sitting here thinking about how appealing it is that his eye tooth crowds over the one next to it.
She flipped her bangs. Twice.

The officer fingered the photocopies he’d previously made. “Somebody’s seriously not happy about this wedding taking place and your inn’s preparation for it. We’re still waiting on the forensics. But, even my naked eye can see the handwriting is identical to the others.”

He looked at Sarah. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do besides send a patrol car to keep an eye on your inn. Not park there, mind you, but he’ll be in the vicinity at intervals.”

He waited for a reaction but Sarah had none. It was as if she was in a dream or in a TV show episode, the kind that usually ended with a corpse, a shootout, or some other lousy outcome.

“We don’t have the manpower to station somebody for hours at a time. But, we’ll be a presence.” He smiled. “How far away is the wedding again?”

“Now? Four weeks,” she said. She shot Benny a look. “Permits allowing.” A sinking glob of reality zoomed to her belly.

“You haven’t received your permit yet, Mrs. Grayson?”

She glanced over for Benny’s reaction. His head remained facing forward and she saw his Adam’s apple bob up, then down.

“Not yet. I’m a bit panicked, as I’m sure you can understand. The carpenters are anxious to do their work but it’s on hold for now until I have a permit in my hand.”

Officer Carr nodded. After making photocopies of each of the notes, he added them to his file and handed the originals back to them. “We’ll be in touch as soon as we get the handwriting analysis back. But, I would ask that you both contact us if you receive additional notes or if anything else occurs. Meanwhile, we’ll continue to surveil Tidewater Way.”

“Is somebody keeping an eye on Clyde Stone?” Benny asked.

The officer’s eyebrow quirked. “He’s not suspected of anything.”

“Yet.”

****

Outside the building, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, Benny stared at the ground. The sad fact was that he couldn’t look at Sarah.