Patricia Potter (42 page)

“What about the other times?”

“I’m…making arrangements.”

Frustrated, he settled his elbows on the table and placed his chin on folded hands, looking at Meara intently. “I love her, you know.”

“I suspected as much.”

“Then don’t you think I have a right to know more.”

“I wish I could tell you, Kelly. But it’s not my secret alone. Other people are affected.”

“And all I can do is help watch her?”

“For the time being.”

“Damn it, Meara.”

Meara saw a tall figure being led toward the back, where she’d suggested he request a table. She saw his eyes search each table, then find her. He said something to the hostess, then turned her way.

When he reached them, he reached out a hand to Meara. “Mrs. Evans. It’s been a long time. I heard about Sanders. I’m sorry.”

Meara turned to Kelly. “This is Chris Chandler, an…acquaintance of my husband’s.” Turning back to Chris, she continued, “This is Kellen Tabor, our attorney and friend.”

Kelly stood and shook hands, but there was no invitation in his brief greeting. He was, Meara, suspected, still too preoccupied in what she had been saying. She was grateful for Chris’s timing, for she knew Kelly had been preparing more questions in his mind.

“Are you alone, Mr. Chandler?” Meara’s question was cool.

“I’m afraid so,” he said.

“Why don’t you join us then?” she said, feeling Kelly’s frustration across the table. She was effectively blocking any more questions, and he was aware of it.

Chris looked toward Kelly, who had no choice but to echo the invitation.

“Thank you,” Chris said. “It gets lonely eating alone.”

“Are you from this area?” Kelly asked politely, although he doubted it. There was nothing southern about the clipped accent, the severe business suit, and Kelly knew most of the movers and shakers in the southeast Georgia area. This man definitely fell into that category. There was a hard and businesslike quality about him, an air of success that was difficult to feign.

“No,” Chandler said. “I’m here on business.”

“What is your business?” Kelly asked out of courtesy more than curiosity.

“Lumber,” Chandler replied, but the shortness of the answer was offset with a quick, charming smile that completely changed the austere face and made one want to smile back.

Kelly’s gaze moved to Meara. Although she had invited the man, she was keeping her eyes from him. Her face was frozen, and he didn’t know whether it was because of the conversation they had been having or the arrival of the newcomer.

“Looking for more lumber?”

“Not exactly. We want to expand. I’m looking for a small to medium size company we can buy on this coast,” the newcomer said easily as the smile moved up to strikingly blue eyes.

Kelly would have asked more, but the waiter was back, bringing their food and taking Chandler’s order. Instead, Kelly took the opportunity to watch Meara and the tension that had invaded her body since Chandler sat down. Her hands were under the table, and he would wager his next case that they were clutching each other.

As Chandler gave his order for a seafood salad, Kelly studied him closely. Chandler was Sanders’s age, late forties or early fifties, he guessed. In many ways, he looked younger except for the lines around his eyes and the slight hint of gray in his hair. Something about the man pricked at him, but he couldn’t put a name to it and he wondered why. Chandler had the kind of face you remembered, the type of strong features and vivid eyes you wouldn’t easily forget.

“Have you been to the Georgia coast before?” he asked.

Meara felt her blood run cold. It was all she could do to keep from flinching.

“No, I met Sanders and Meara in Washington,” Chris said, and Meara thought how easily he lied. But then he was an expert at it. She couldn’t, shouldn’t, forget that.

“Are you going to be here long?”

“A month possibly. I’m combining vacation with business, and I was told about the island. I was going to stay at the Cloister, but it was filled because of the Economic Conference, and I rented a house on Jekyll.”

“Where?” Kelly said with growing interest.

Chris told him, and Kelly looked sharply at Meara, as if guessing there was more to the meeting than chance. Chris also saw it.

“I was hoping to run into Sanders and Meara, but then I heard about Sanders, and, well, I was going to call.”

Nicely done, Meara thought bitterly. She resented how well he lied, even in behalf of her daughter.

They talked about small things for a while as if, for Meara’s sake, Kelly and Chris were taking the conversation as far as possible away from the subject of her husband’s death. By the time they had a cup of coffee, the two men were talking as if they were old friends.

“I might need some legal work if anything works out,” Chris said. “Would you be available?”

Kelly nodded. “Why don’t you come to a Rotary meeting with me? I can introduce you around. You might hear of something interesting.”

“Sounds great. When?”

“Friday.”

Chris nodded. “In the meantime, I wonder if you might have a little time, give me some suggestions as to whom I should see.”

“Be glad to. I’m tied up today. What about dinner tomorrow night at my house? Mother will be delighted to see a new face.”

Chris grinned. “A home-cooked meal is always welcome.”

“Good.”

Chris insisted on paying the bill despite Kelly’s protestations, and the three left together, Chris for his rental car. Kelly escorted Meara to her car. “We need to talk some more.”

“I know,” Meara replied. “But in the meantime—”

“I’ll keep an eye on her. But I have to know more.”

“It’s more a feeling than anything else.”

“I’m taking her to the movies tonight. But tomorrow afternoon, before dinner, I want to talk to you. Down on the beach. Around five.”

“There’s nothing more to talk about.”

“Yes, there is. Please.”

Meara saw the anxiety in his eyes and knew he wouldn’t stop where she had left off. How much more could she tell him? She didn’t know.

“All right,” she said.

He opened the door for her, and she stepped inside the steaming car. She sat there until he left, and she saw his car drive away. And she continued to sit there.

He loved Lisa. He had the right to know more. Or did he?

Everything was unraveling around her.

She slowly started the car and drove away.

Chapter Twenty-Two

H
IS INSIDES TWISTED
into knots, Chris paced the living room of his rented house. At this rate, he decided dryly, he would have to replace the carpet at the end of his stay.

But patience had never been his strong point, and his natural instinct to do something, anything but wait, ate at him.

He thought painfully of Meara. Her exuberance, her zest for life, were gone, replaced by a remoteness, an untouchable quality, that hurt him to the quick. He sensed her deep love for her daughter, for
their
daughter, but even that was outwardly restrained as if she were afraid to show too much emotion. He had destroyed the part of her he’d loved most, the openness and laughter, and he would willingly give his life to bring those two qualities back again.

And to hold her one more time.

But she had made quite clear the terms of accepting his help. He knew she still didn’t trust him. He had seen the suspicion in her eyes and he understood it, for she had no reason to trust him. None at all. It was likely, in her mind, he knew, that he was somehow after Lisa, that he had planted suspicion on the German so he could worm himself into their lives, Meara’s and Lisa’s. She had more reason to distrust him than she did to distrust Weimer. Thank God, she had listened at all.

He could expect little else, however, and he knew it.

A knock came at the door and he hurried to answer it, finding, as he expected, a man and a woman, both nondescript-looking, who identified themselves as investigators for Ben Markham and Associates. Kate Ross and Matt Byers.

Chris assessed the woman carefully. He knew and respected Matt, who had done much of the background work on Meara and on several companies he had thought about acquiring. The woman was in her mid-thirties with steady brown eyes that didn’t waver under his inspection and a strong handshake that translated confidence and competence. But then Markham had a reputation for the best.

He guided them to a table and invited them to sit before handing them both a copy of a photograph of Kurt Weimer that had been in the Brunswick newspaper. Matt’s eyes widened perceptibly, but the woman showed no reaction at all, and Chris’s initial satisfaction increased.

“I want you to keep an eye on Weimer,” he said, “particularly when and if he is seeing this young lady.” He picked up a photo of Lisa, and the woman studied it carefully. Matt didn’t have to; he had taken it a year earlier.

“Is there anything in particular we should look for,” Matt said cautiously, knowing from past experience that Chris Chandler relayed what he wanted others to know, nothing else. This client, a highly valued one, had not appreciated questions. He didn’t know why Chandler had commissioned the investigation of the Evans’s family, and the one time he had indicated the slightest curiosity, Chandler had leveled him with a cold stare.

Matt half expected the same thing this time, and he was surprised when Chris answered with an angry intensity that Matt knew he didn’t ever want directed at him. “Mrs. Evans is a friend. I have reason to believe that Kurt Weimer means to harm her daughter.” He hesitated a moment to allow that statement to impact. Then he continued slowly, emphasizing every word. “When he is with Lisa Evans, I don’t want them out of your sight, not for a minute. If they go into his cottage for more than several minutes, make an excuse to interrupt and get her out of there. I don’t care how you do it. But do it. Understood?”

They did. They didn’t ask why their client didn’t call the police. It wasn’t their business.

“When he’s not with her?” Matt asked.

“Keep him in sight.” Chris hesitated. “And I want his room wired.”

Matt raised one eyebrow. “That’s illegal.”

“Only if it’s discovered,” Chris answered cynically.

“I’ll have to check with Ben.”

“I’ll talk to him again today,” Chris said. “In the meantime, keep a close eye on Weimer. He’s staying at the Cloister on Sea Island. One of the cottages. He’ll probably be in meetings much of the time. I know, however, that he’s taking Lisa Evans to a banquet Saturday night and plans to spend the day with her Sunday. Stay with them.”

“Yes, sir,” the woman said. “We’ll do it in relays so he won’t spot us.”

“He has no reason to expect he’s being watched,” Chris said. “If you’re careful, he won’t. I want you to report to me each night, and every few hours when he’s with her.”

They nodded. “Anything else?”

Chris hesitated. “I want you to meet Mrs. Evans so she’ll know who you are.” He picked up the phone and dialed the number he had quickly memorized. “Can you come over?” he said without preamble.

There was a hesitancy on the other side of the line. “Why?” The voice was cautious.

“I want you to meet the detectives I’ve hired.”

There was another silence at the other end. “All right,” she said finally. “I’ll be there in a few moments.” There was no good-bye as she hung up.

“Coffee?” he asked the two detectives, and Matt nodded. Chris had barely poured cups from the constantly renewed pot when he heard her at the door.

She stood there stiffly, dressed in a pair of gray shorts which showed still shapely legs to perfection, and a green blouse which emphasized the emerald color of her eyes. She wore no makeup and her hair was tousled, curling around her face in uncombed tendrils. She seemed tired, her eyes dull.

He had to ball his hand in a fist to keep from reaching out to her. She looked so damned vulnerable. Hell, she was vulnerable. He smiled reassuringly. “Come in.”

She followed him in and stood hesitantly as the two strangers stood and were introduced. They both exuded a confidence she couldn’t seem to find.

“I just wanted you to know who they were in case you saw them,” he said gently. “I didn’t want you to be worried.”

“Worried? Me?” She raised one of her eyebrows, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of humor. But this time it was dry and ironic, nothing like the old bubbling happiness. “Why should I be worried?”

He held back a smile. The spirit was there. The old spirit that had stubbornly loved him, that had made her fight back that last night in the power house. She had been uncommonly brave then. She was the same today. Doing what she had to do to protect those she loved.

He had never loved her as much as he did now. And she had never been further away.

Matt and Kate took their leave. Kate hesitated a moment, and then went over to Meara, offering her hand. “We’ll take good care of her,” she said.