She had dodged him repeatedly over the past twenty-four hours. He’d been forced to go by the elementary school where she taught, only to be told by a coworker of hers that she’d mentioned having dinner with her aunts. He’d decided to drop by Chatam House and corner her here. Besides, he wanted a chance to get the story from Garrett Willows, the aunties’ gardener.
“You’ll stay for dinner, of course,” Magnolia stated, exactly as Asher expected.
“Oh, say you will,” Hypatia urged before he could respond.
“Absolutely,” he agreed, noticing his little sister’s frown.
He had to judge for himself whether Dallas knew something that Ellie wasn’t telling him about the fire at the Monroe house. After all, he could not in good conscience hand off the case to another attorney until he knew what he might be handing off.
He had determined in the midst of a long, restless night that he definitely had to shed the case. And Ellie. Even if it meant paying the costs himself, though he’d make sure no one ever realized that.
The whole idea smacked of skullduggery, but he just didn’t see any other way to handle things since Ellie had made him that root beer cappuccino float and effectively laid bare his soul. He just needed enough information to make sure that he picked the right attorney to take over. Otherwise, the aunts would carve out his heart with their dainty silver teaspoons.
That wasn’t the only reason he needed to see Dallas, though. The matter of his sister’s meddling had to be addressed.
“Dallas, dear, will you tell Hilda that we need an extra plate laid at the dinner table?” Hypatia asked sweetly.
“Sure.” Leaping to her feet, Dallas tossed Asher a sour look, her short red curls bouncing.
As she left the room, he took her seat next to Magnolia, asking, “Where is everyone?”
Magnolia revealed that Odelia had taken a walk and the Monroes had gone back to their house to put out food for their cat. “They rarely come down until dinner is on the table, anyway,” she said.
Asher felt a bit of relief. He wanted to judge their reactions to his last conversation with Ellie, but he didn’t want to spend any more time with her than necessary.
“They try so hard not to impose,” Hypatia told him softly.
“And Aunt Odelia? Is she well?”
“Well enough,” Hypatia replied, glancing away.
“She’s dieting,” Mags hissed, her disapproval clear.
“You’re kidding!” he blurted out.
“Won’t even take a decent tea,” Mags told him in a low tone of voice.
Asher frowned. Could it be because of Kent Monroe? He shook his head. A younger woman might seek to lose weight in order to impress a man, but a woman of Odelia’s age? He couldn’t believe it. On the other hand, she had grown rather round in the past few years. Perhaps it was a simple matter of ill-fitting clothes.
He suddenly remembered an old photograph of Odelia in a strapless ball gown. Her chestnut hair swept up in an elegant style, diamonds at her earlobes and throat, she had worn a corsage tied about one wrist and a beaming smile. Beside her, Hypatia might have traded places with the queen of England, while Mags had resembled nothing so much as a farm girl in her mother’s Sunday best. Odelia, however, could have been a movie star to rival the likes of Ginger Rogers.
Perhaps having a young woman in the house—a woman as lovely as Ellie Monroe—had inspired Odelia to reclaim her figure.
He cleared his throat and tried to get his thoughts off Ellie, asking, “Is Garrett Willows around?”
Magnolia raised her eyebrows at him. “I expect he’s in the greenhouse. Why do you ask?”
Asher served up as much truth as he was willing to at this point. “I’ve never had the opportunity to talk to him. Just thought we might be able to connect over the dinner table.”
“Oh, no, dear. Garrett doesn’t eat with us very often now that his sister has moved out of the house,” Hypatia told him.
“I don’t know why,” Mags groused. “The boy’s not just staff now. He’s practically family!”
“Young men need time to themselves,” Hypatia told her.
Mags merely
humphed
at that. Her fondness for the fellow spoke well of him, but Asher believed in forming his own opinions, and Willows had more than the usual number of variables to assess. He forgot for the moment that Willows and the Monroes would soon be someone else’s problem.
Hypatia changed the subject to Asher’s parents, and they chatted about his father’s plans to retire at last from his practice. Surgery, Asher pointed out, was a complex matter requiring constant reeducation, and his dad had just turned sixty-nine. At sixty-one, his mother intended to continue seeing pediatric patients several days a week, but she had recently taken on a much younger partner.
“Do you think they’ll move home when your mother fully retires?” Hypatia asked hopefully.
Asher smiled. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
His parents had lived in Waco for thirty years. Though their ties to Buffalo Creek were strong, he didn’t see them moving back here anytime soon. His mother had hinted that the advent of grandchildren in their lives could change that, but Asher had told her in no uncertain terms to look to his younger siblings, none of whom were married yet. Phillip, thirty-one, lived in Seattle and pretty much kept to himself, answering phone messages with texts and the occasional email, often weeks after the fact. No one was even entirely sure what he did for a
living, though one thing was certain: like the rest of the siblings, it was not connected to the field of medicine. Petra, at twenty-five, still lived with their parents while finishing her master’s degree in hotel management. That left Dallas, who was in her second year of teaching—and her twenty-third year of meddling, which was why the Monroes were now ensconced in Chatam House and disrupting his life.
In fact, if Dallas had not purposefully set out to make the acquaintance of Kent Monroe’s granddaughter, she would not even be friends with Ellie and he would have been spared the inconvenience of…an unwanted attraction. Dallas had announced her intention to introduce herself to the Monroes on the very day that she had first arrived on campus at Buffalo Creek Bible College. As her much older brother, Asher had always taken a rather parental role with Dallas, so he hadn’t hesitated to caution his sister not to interfere in something that did not concern her, but as usual she had not listened.
Over time, Asher had relaxed about the situation somewhat. For one thing, she and Ellie seemed to have developed a genuine friendship. For another, Dallas obviously had not made much progress in her campaign to rekindle a romance that had been dead for nearly half a century. He’d known from the beginning that Dallas’s romantic obsession with their aunt’s failed engagement was going to prove catastrophic in the end; he just hadn’t anticipated that the catastrophe would somehow involve him.
Laughter suddenly echoed in the foyer. Recognition shivered through Asher. Though he was quite certain that he had never heard Ellie laugh like that, he knew it was her. He recognized her on a visceral level, as if some part of her had invaded his subconscious. Staying
where he was took every iota of his willpower. But he didn’t know if his impulse was to run away—or run toward her.
“Y
ou make fun,” Kent Monroe said, trudging into the parlor, “but I’ve always wanted a tree house, and now seems a good time to go for it.”
“I don’t think Grandmother’s French Empire bedroom suite will fit up in a tree,” Ellie noted wryly, following behind him.
Kent stopped in his tracks, sighed dramatically and slumped his shoulders. “Well, so much for that. Another dream bites the dust.”
Coming up beside him, Ellie looped her arms about his shoulders, counseling softly, “Never give up your dreams, Grandpa. It’s not too late.”
Kent smiled, patted her forearm and quoted, “Where there’s life, there’s hope.”
“Exactly.”
A throat cleared, and Ellie looked around just as Asher rose to his feet. Kent smiled and boomed a hearty welcome, but Ellie’s first feeling was dismay. How was she to keep her distance from Asher when he could pop up at Chatam House at any moment? She quickly smoothed her features and nodded in greeting.
“Any news?” Kent asked of Asher.
“Uh, no. Sorry. I’m simply here to have dinner with my aunts.”
“I thought you wanted to speak to Dallas,” Mags said.
“That, too.” He looked at Ellie. She quickly glanced away. Kent sent her toward an armless side chair before plodding over to drop down into the empty armchair next to the settee.
“And how is your pet?” Hypatia asked him as soon as he was seated.
Asher waited until Ellie sat before resuming his own seat. She smoothed the skirt of the royal blue minidress that she wore over matching leggings and flat, ankle boots.
“Still haven’t seen old Curly,” Kent said, “but at least he’s eating.”
“Or something is,” Ellie put in. “We really have no way of knowing if it’s the cat or something else. We just put out the feed, and it disappears.”
“An opossum could be eating it,” Magnolia commented, “or a skunk. “
“Mice even, maybe,” Ellie said. “We keep the cat food bag on the enclosed mud porch, and something has torn a hole in it.”
“Guess I’ll have to do a thorough search for my poor old tom,” Kent said. “He must be traumatized by all that’s happened, and it can’t help that we’re not around for him to come home to.”
Ellie sent her grandfather a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure he’s fine. He always did like to roam, you know.”
Kent nodded. Dallas appeared in the wide doorway between the foyer and the parlor just then, announcing, “Hilda says to come to the table.”
“Oh, but Odelia isn’t here,” Kent protested, glancing
around the room as if making certain that he hadn’t missed her.
“Yes, she is,” Dallas said, flashing a smile at him. “She’s waiting in the dining room.”
Kent hauled himself to his feet and swiftly lumbered into the foyer. Dallas stepped aside to let him pass, targeting Asher with a self-satisfied look. He flashed her an irritated glance, then smoothly came to his feet as Ellie and his aunts did. Ellie brushed her hands over her skirt and swiftly moved forward. It was going to be an interesting evening. She meant to keep her head down and her mouth shut; she could only hope that Dallas would do the same.
Asher stepped toward the door, hot on Ellie’s heels, only to feel a hand catch at his elbow. He looked down to find Magnolia gazing up at him, her gray braid lying upon her shoulder and brushing against the notched collar of her shirtwaist dress. Of course. How could he have forgotten, as Kent obviously had, that his very proper aunts would expect a gentleman to provide them escort to the table?
Dutifully, he offered one arm to her and the other to Hypatia. Smiling graciously, his dear old aunties flanked him, and they began a stately progression. Ahead of them, Ellie and Dallas walked close together, their heads bent in quiet conversation. As they moved toward the dining room, Asher couldn’t help comparing his sister and her friend.
Dallas looked boyish in her slender jeans and skinny black turtleneck sweater, while Ellie…well, even in her heyday Ginger Rogers had had nothing on Ellie Monroe.
Asher admitted to himself that he might have mis
stepped by coming here like this. He’d had little opportunity to speak with his sister in private thus far, and Garrett Willows seemed likewise unavailable, so all he’d really accomplished by getting himself invited to dinner was to throw himself into company with Ellie Monroe, which was the last thing he should have been doing.
Determined afresh to concentrate on the matter at hand, he glanced down at his aunties, only to find them sharing a knowing look. Asher felt his face heat. He had just been caught staring at Ellie Monroe. And for that he was going to rip his little sister to shreds. Just as soon as he managed to corner her. If she had just cooperated…but then, when had Dallas ever? Well, he could be stubborn, too.
Biding his time throughout dinner, Asher struggled to observe his sister and ignore Ellie, with little success. Though she sat on the opposite side of the long table and several seats farther down than he did, Asher couldn’t help noticing the gusto with which Ellie enjoyed her meal. And the way she constantly smiled. At everyone but him. That rankled more than it should have, and despite his better judgment he found himself purposefully engaging her.
“So, how did you find the odor at the house today, Ellie? Still overpowering?”
“We didn’t go into the house itself,” she reported with a frown. “The firemen blocked the doors.”
“Though what the holdup is on getting the blocks taken down, I can’t imagine,” Kent put in from his seat at the foot of the table. “Ah, well, makes little difference. It’s not like anything is going to change until the insurance company ponies up.” Smiling, he looked to Odelia as if expecting confirmation of his assessment. Odelia,
however, was staring at her plate with a woebegone expression.
Troubled by what her sisters had told him earlier, Asher asked, “Don’t you like the pasta, Aunt Odelia?”
She looked up in surprise. “What?”
“You’re not eating,” he pointed out. “Is the pasta not to your liking?”
“Of course it is,” she said, giving him that sweet smile before quickly forking a bite into her mouth. “Delicious.”
“It is,” Asher agreed. “One of Hilda’s best dishes, which is saying something.” He meant to let the matter end there, but instead he heard himself saying, “Ellie certainly likes it.”
She instantly dropped her fork, her face coloring. Too late, he realized how that must have sounded, as if he thought she was eating too much. And he couldn’t think of a way to smooth it over. Everything that came to mind would only make it worse.
I don’t think you’re a pig.
I like a woman with a hearty appetite.
You look great to me, so don’t even think about going on a diet.
Ellie turned to Hypatia, saying quietly, “Hilda is an excellent cook.”
“We’re very blessed to have her,” Hypatia agreed.
“This is so good that I’m quite full already,” Ellie went on softly, “so if you’ll excuse me…”
“Oh, of course, dear.” Hypatia smiled politely then glanced at Asher.
Ellie pushed her chair away from the table, stood and left the room.
Obviously, his thoughtless comment had driven her away. Mortified, Asher bent his head and continued to
eat, only to discover that his own appetite had gone with her. He put down his fork and picked up his glass of iced tea, telling himself that he should be glad she’d left the room. But he didn’t feel that way at all. Frustrated, he fought not to follow Ellie, bouncing his knee beneath the table, an old habit he’d thought mastered long ago.
Dallas stood next, saying, “No dessert for me, either. I’ll just pop into the kitchen and thank Hilda before I head out.” She started off but Magnolia hailed her.
“Dallas, dear, would you mind running out to the greenhouse? If Garrett is still there, tell him to stop what he’s doing and come in to dinner.”
Dallas smiled. “I’ll see to it.”
Doubly frustrated now, Asher once more watched Dallas leave on an errand for his aunties, while Magnolia muttered about Garrett working too hard and being stubborn. Quickly, Asher, too, excused himself.
“Isn’t anyone staying for dessert?” Hypatia asked in an exasperated tone.
“Maybe I’ll have some later,” Asher told her with an apologetic smile.
As he made for the door, Asher heard Kent declare that he was looking forward to dessert. Asher didn’t linger to hear more. Instead, he hurried after his sister, down the hall and into the sunroom at the back of the house. Weaving his way through the wicker furnishings, he let himself out the French doors onto the patio. The greenhouse stood in the distance. The glass-paned walls of the sizable structure, though lit from inside, were fogged. Still, he could see a shadowy figure moving about at the rear of the building.
Asher sprinted across the yard, dodging mulched flowerbeds devoid of blossoms and the occasional strategically placed bench. The cold of winter had yielded
to a gradual warming in past days, inspiring Asher to leave his coat in his office. The evenings remained crisp, however, leaving him grateful for the lack of wind and even the insufficient weight of his suit jacket.
Before he could reach the greenhouse door, a tall, muscular man stepped out. Wearing comfortable jeans, heavy work boots and a dark T-shirt under a denim jacket, he brushed something from his coal-black hair, hunched his shoulders and started toward the carriage house behind the mansion where the staff—Chester and his wife, Hilda, her sister, Carol, and the gardener—lived. This, then, had to be the latter.
“Willows, is it?” Asher said, picking up his speed and putting out his hand.
The man stopped, his expression inscrutable in the deep shadows of night. “And you are?” He kept his hands in his jacket pocket.
“Asher Chatam. Nephew.”
Willows withdrew a hand from a pocket and offered it for a shake, saying, “The lawyer.” The tone of his voice made it clear what he thought of that particular breed, so Asher didn’t make polite conversation but instead got straight to the point.
“I have some questions about the fire at the Monroe house and your involvement in it.”
The hand went back into the pocket. “Didn’t have any involvement in the fire. I was riding down the street on my motorcycle when this redhead in a jogging suit dashed out in front of me, waving her arms like a crazy woman. I managed not to run her down. She pointed out the fire, I phoned 911 and, since she said no one was inside, waited until they got there and put the thing out. Whole thing didn’t take twenty minutes. Then, when I realized she was a Chatam, I gave her a ride to the
storage unit. She stayed with the Monroes. I came back here. Then later, they all wound up here. No surprise in that, I guess. Every stray in town seems to wind up here sooner or later. Myself included. Most of this is in my statement to the authorities, by the way.”
Asher frowned, uncertain whether he liked or trusted this fellow. He seemed awfully flip for a convicted felon on parole. Everyone in town knew the story of how he’d gone to prison for beating his stepfather, who by all accounts had been a brutal man and murdered Garrett’s mother. No one in the family had been especially pleased when Magnolia had hired Garrett. Deciding to ignore that last statement, Asher went back to the beginning.
“So you were just riding down Charter Street, on your way where exactly?”
He felt, rather than saw, the fellow’s smirk. “Church.”
On Thursday?
Asher thought. The fire had happened on the first Thursday in February. “Which church?”
“Downtown Bible. Same as you, I imagine, though I haven’t seen you, not at the late service and not at the monthly men’s Bible study.”
Asher tried not to let his irritation show. “And you’re a regular attendee of that Bible study, are you?”
“Not yet. It just started in January, and I missed February. For obvious reasons.”
“How long have you known the Monroes?”
“Since the night of the fire.”
“And Dallas?”
“Since the night of the fire.”
“But you stopped for her anyway?”
“It was that or run over her. I almost laid down the bike as it was.”
“So you’re just the Good Samaritan in all this?”
Willows said nothing to that, just stood there, a big, silent shadow in the dark. Asher’s frown deepened. They stood about the same height, but the other man’s bulk made him seem larger, tougher—and somehow not particularly trustworthy. Still, his story pretty much jibed with Ellie’s. So far. Cold prickled Asher’s skin, but he’d have turned into a human Popsicle before he’d have let on.
“Okay. Thanks. I know where to find you if I have any more questions.”
Willows nodded but before he started off again, Asher jerked his head toward the greenhouse. “My sister in there?”
“Your sister?”
“Dallas.”
That came as an obvious surprise to the man. He took a half step back, his hands sinking farther into his pockets. “No. Ellie is, though.”
It was Asher’s turn to be surprised. “I thought my sister was supposed to be coming out here to remind you that it’s time to eat.”
“Don’t know about that,” Willows said, walking off toward the carriage house, “but like I told Ellie, I’ll eat as soon as I wash up.”
Asher stood staring at the door to the greenhouse. He warred with himself, torn between running after Dallas, who had obviously sent Ellie out here in her place, and finding out just how well Ellie Monroe had gotten to know Garrett Willows since coming to Chatam House. Or maybe they were both lying and they had known each other for some time—long enough to plan an arson, say. Asher didn’t really believe that. Then again, he didn’t know what he believed anymore.
Striding forward, he wrenched open the door. Moist,
welcome warmth flowed over him. Rows of rough wooden tables stacked with tiered shelves of potted plants in various stages of bloom lined both long walls. Larger plants, some that would decorate the patio in more sultry weather, filled the interior of the long, narrow building, including a number of small trees that seemed about to outgrow their space.
Asher came to a space enclosed in heavy plastic sheeting, split down the middle to allow access. Slipping through, he glanced around at tables laden with tiny pots of seedlings basking beneath the benevolent light of long, hooded lamps. A figure turned from a shadowy corner, a figure he would know anywhere.