Authors: Patti Berg
“I wish there were some way I could comfort you, Alex. I wish I could hug you and let you know how sorry I am for everything that’s happened to you.”
He looked at her then, tears—that seemed impossible—
fresh on his cheeks. “Maybe I could just ... no, never mind.”
“Just what, Alex?”
“Could you hug me for just a little while?”
“I don’t know how.”
“Just pretend. Please?”
Elizabeth smiled, and Alex wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder. She felt his sobs, she heard his cries. Slowly she reached out, putting her arms about him and pretended he was real, that he had substance and form, two things he wanted, two things he could never have.
“Thank you,” he said, when his tears had subsided. He walked away, across the room, and sat on the edge of an old and dusty steamer trunk.
Elizabeth followed him and sat at his side. “I wish you could feel what’s in my heart when you cry.”
“I haven’t felt anything but anger in a very long time. But just now, when I held you, I let my imagination wander and remembered what it was like to be held and to hold someone back. I remembered the warmth and the heartbeats and the whisper of a sigh against my cheek. And I remembered the feel of tears falling from Amanda’s eyes to mine.”
Alex wove his fingers through Elizabeth’s. “I remember holding her hand as we sat on the porch in the moonlight, the softness of her kiss, and the sweet taste of her mouth. Even if you can’t help me get out of here, Ellie, at least you’ve helped me remember those things.”
“I
will
get you out of here, Alex. And somehow, I’ll get you back into Amanda’s arms again.”
He took a deep brea
th and a wicked grin replaced the sadness. “So maybe now you’ll tell me what else you found out from those lily-livered buzzards.”
“One
lily-livered buzzard,” Elizabeth corrected, holding her index finger in front of his face. “One lily-livered buzzard who appears to know a lot more than he wants to admit. But he
did
mention two things last night that I found rather interesting.”
“Such as?”
“What do you know about the saloon owner who died shortly after Luke went to work for him?”
“Tim Drummond?” Alex asked, his eyes narrowing as if he couldn’t understand what a saloon owner had to do with Amanda.
“Matt didn’t give me a name, just a story.”
“Don’t know that Winchester fellow’s story, but the one I heard was that old man Drummond was having a gay old time with sweet little Rosie, the nicest strumpet to work the town of Sapphire in close to a decade.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. “You knew her well, did you?”
“I knew a lot of women well before Amanda came into my life, but quit interrupting me or I’ll never finish this tale.” Alex grinned and tossed Elizabeth a wink. “Seems somebody heard Rosie scream late one night, and they found Drummond lying like a whale on top of her. Man must have weighed close to three hundred pounds, even had a special chair to sit in ’cause nothing else would hold him. Crushed Rosie’s ribs when he up and
died on her. Put her out of commission for better than a month, which sure upset a lot of men in town.”
“You included?”
“Suffice it to say, I was a pretty enterprising fellow until Amanda came along. Funny thing, though. Drummond never was one to spend time with the ladies—his or anyone else’s. Didn’t seem quite right for him to expire in the throes of passion.”
“Did anyone think he might have been murdered?”
“Murdered?”
“It’s just a wild hunch, Alex. Was there an investigation of any kind?”
“I don’t rightly know. The sheriff and I weren’t the best of friends since he had a tendency to associate with the likes of Luke Winchester, which didn’t set too well with me. In fact, the two of them got awfully chummy right after Luke came to town. Seemed to be even better friends after Luke became owner of the saloon. If you ask me, Drummond’s death was awfully suspicious. But, where’s the proof?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I doubt there is any—not on Drummond’s death, not on Phoebe’s romantic escapades. Definitely not on your murder. I doubt there’s any documentation anywhere that’s going to help us out.”
Alex laughed. “I doubt Luke Winchester kept a diary of his actions, either.”
Diary! How could she have forgotten about that? “Matt made another comment, too
. Something about Phoebe keeping a diary. Do you
remember seeing her writing in anything? Maybe she knew what Luke was up to.”
“The woman looked like Medusa and acted like a shrew. I stayed far away from her except when Luke Winchester was around.”
“Why?”
“Because they talked about Amanda. They might have laughed at her behind her back and said wicked things, but it was the closest connection I had with her.”
“Well, if Phoebe
did
keep a diary, maybe it’s hidden around here somewhere.”
“You think I haven’t looked? I’ve combed every square inch of this place for something that might get me out of here, but I’ve found nothing.”
“Have you pulled boards from the walls?”
“No.”
“Have you looked up the chimney, or for hidden panels?”
“No. But maybe we should look now rather than you going off like a madwoman, hollerin’ at me for things I should have done but didn’t.”
Elizabeth’s laughter was interrupted by a loud knock at the door below. Alex disappeared in a flash and returned before she made a move. “It’s that big galoot who kept you out all night. You’ve got to get rid of him so we can find that diary.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She might be more than willing to help Alexander, but she wasn’t about to lose Jon in the process. “He can help us look.”
“You mean, you plan on telling him about me?”
“He could help, Alex.”
“Absolutely not! I don’t want him helping, and I don’t want him knowing I’m here.”
“Then keep out of sight and let me deal with it.”
Alex seemed to think about it. “I’ll stay out of sight, but I won’t be far away.” In half a heartbeat he disappeared.
Elizabeth heard boots on the stairs. Jon’s boots, the sound of his unmistakable gait as he came closer and closer.
Suddenly he appeared in the doorway, his shoulders nearly touching the jambs, his head bent so he could enter the room. Oh, Lord, but he looked good.
“You sure wear some of the oddest get-ups, Ellie,” he said, moving in close. “Is this a look I should get used to?” He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her against him, then tugged one end of the towel she wore about her head.
“It’s a fresh-out-of-the-shower look.”
“Then I approve,” he said, dropping the towel to the floor. “On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“That you let me step out of the shower with you before you get into this outfit.”
“I think that could be arranged.”
H
is hands drifted to her bottom and a flood of last night’s memories hit her. She couldn’t think of too many places that he hadn’t touched, that he hadn’t kissed, and she wished with all her heart that she was back at Dalton House once again.
He lowered his head and tenderly kissed her cheek, her ear, trailing kisses down to the soft hollow at the base of her neck. She could hardly
breathe from the intensity of the desire he was raising. He felt so good, so right, and she wanted him again.
Right this very moment.
“Is this the personal and private stuff you wouldn’t talk about?”
Elizabeth’s eyes popped open when she heard Alex’s voice. He stood right there in front of her, but apparently Jon hadn’t heard him, and obviously didn’t know a ghost was hovering nearby.
Alex stood in the doorway, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. Elizabeth couldn’t think of a more unpleasant and unwelcome sight. How could she possibly have forgotten about Alex the moment Jon had stepped into the room? It was easy, she told herself: Jon took up nearly every spare inch of her heart, her mind, and her soul, and there was very little left over for a ghost.
Jon eased away, weaving his fingers through damp strands of hair, trailing them tenderly over her terrycloth-covered breasts, which seemed to be heaving more heavily than they should. She had to back away. He was too hot, too passionate, and in the same room as Alex. That would never work at all.
“I got to thinking about something Matt told me last night,” she said in a rush, pushing out of Jon’s arms and backing a good two feet away. “It’s been bothering me all morning.”
“I honestly can’t see anything important coming out of
Matt’s mouth,” Jon said, moving close again and taking the ties of her robe into his fingers.
“He told me Phoebe Carruthers kept a diary.”
“Phoebe Carruthers has been dead at least eighty years.” He moved his fingers from the tie to the knot at her waist.
She stepped back another foot and bumped into
a steamer trunk. “Yes, I realize she’s been dead eighty years, but you know how interested I am in history, and, well...”
He yanked on the tie and pulled her hard against his chest. He looked down at her with that lopsided grin. “Well, what?”
“Well,” she said, zigzagging her index finger in and out of the buttons running down his shirt. “I thought you could help me look for Phoebe’s diary today, instead of tearing down wallpaper and stripping wood.”
“Hunting for missing diaries doesn’t fall within our regular payment plan for my handyman services. You’re going to have to pay a little extra.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Can I pay you tonight?”
He tilted his head down and whispered in her ear, “I charge double for diary hunting.”
“Only double?” Elizabeth asked, as he nibbled ever so nicely on her ear. “I was thinking triple was a little more appropriate.”
“You think I’m worth it?”
“Oh, Jon... you’re worth that and a whole lot more.”
oOo
Jon sat down on the edge of Elizabeth’s bed and watched the crazy woman walk over every square inch of floor, testing for loose boards. Not one thing in half a dozen rooms had escaped her scrutiny in her quest to find the secret hiding place where Phoebe Carruthers might have stashed a diary. “I don’t think it exists, Ellie,” he said, wishing they could move on to more creative endeavors, like going back to Dalton House, collecting at least part
of his fee for services rendered, and adding a new room to his list of favorite places.
“It does exist,” she insisted, looking at Jon in annoyance, “and in case you haven’t figured it out by now, when I get an idea into my head, I don’t let it drop until I’m successful.”
“Yeah, I figured that out a while back.”
A board creaked. Elizabeth looked up at Jon and grinned. “Success—I think.” She lifted her foot, then pressed it down again into the floor, adding a little more weight.
It creaked again.
“Try this one,” she said, standing back to give Jon room to perform the services she was going to pay him quite nicely for.
He pushed off the bed, claw hammer in hand, and knelt down by her legs.
“You’re sure?” he asked, using his vantage point to slowly
gaze
at the long length of calf and knee and thigh, before he moved further up her anatomy and caught a glimpse of her eyes.
She nodded, but her smile was mixed with hesitance. “We’ve torn up about two dozen. What’s one more ripped-up board?”
“That’s my girl.” He winked and watched her grit her teeth as he wedged the claw into a minuscule crack between two boards. She had so much hope in her eyes, so much need, as if finding the diary meant the difference between life and death. He wanted to tell her to give up, to get back to the job of restoring the hotel rather than tearing it down board by board, but he couldn’t do anything but help her out when he saw the look in her amber eyes.
Sometime in the middle of the night, when he’d lain awake and looked at her, he realized he’d do anything to make her happy.
“Relax, Ellie,” he said. “I think this is definitely going to be your lucky board.”
He wrenched the hammer in
the crack.
The wood crackled and the board popped out of the floor and into the air.
Jon lost his balance and tumbled back onto Elizabeth’s legs.
She stumbled and smacked into the lovers’ statue, grabbing on to marble body parts to keep her balance.
But the statue toppled, taking Elizabeth down with it.
The sculpture cracked, and bits and pieces of pink and white faux marble scattered about the room.
Jon pushed himself up from the floor and offered a hand to Elizabeth. “Well, so much for your valuable piece of art.”
“I hated the thing anyway. I should have let you haul it off to the dump weeks ago.”
‘“I’ll get rid of it now and we can get back to our treasure hunt.”
“Why? It’s useless,” Elizabeth said, defeat ringing out in her voice, as she began picking up scraps of plaster. “I’m sure Phoebe’s diary is just another rumor.”