Текст книги "Daring Dylan "

Автор книги: Jacie Floyd

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-four

“You mentioned hearing a boat engine, so I had my deputies run a check on boaters in the area. Today, tourists are arriving by the boatload. But yesterday was pretty quiet. Stewart called docks up and down the coast, when damned if he didn’t hear about a kid who’d rented a skiff in Portsmouth yesterday. When the idiot brought it back after dark with no lights on, he rammed the dock.”

“You’re kidding.” Dylan bit back a smile.

“A deputy ran a routine check on Lenny Carter, the name he’d used to rent the boat. The name turned up zilch. He ran some prints, and wouldn’t you know? Turns out the kid is Leonard Castellano, convicted arsonist.”

The name didn’t ring any bells. “Where is he now?”

Fleming heaved an exasperated sigh. “Don’t know. The marina in Portsmouth didn’t know when the accident occurred that we’d have reason to look for him. He paid for the damage with a wad of cash, and they let him go. There’s an APB on him, but he hasn’t turned up yet.”

Dylan scratched his head. “Somebody hired him to torch my place?”

“Probably. Or maybe there’s some connection or history between the two of you. Does the name Sal Eversol sound familiar?”

“Sure.” A shiver of alarm ran down Dylan’s spine. “Anyone from Hartford would recognize that one.”

“What do you know about him?”

Anything Dylan knew about Sal was speculation or general knowledge. He figured the police chief had to know more about the crime boss than Dylan did. “He’s bad business. A powerful, dangerous man. Nobody wants to cross him.”

Fleming’s study of Dylan sharpened to intense scrutiny. “Did you ever cross him?”

“Not that I know of.” Dylan’s grandfather might have gone toe-to-toe with Sal in the old days. But Dylan had never been involved in any business that wasn’t strictly legal, and Sal was barely involved in any that were.

Women? Nah. Again, the old guy was from a different generation.

Money? He didn’t think so. “Our areas of interest don’t overlap much.”

“Well, you must have done something to cross him,” the police chief said. “Or you crossed his nephew, Leonard Castellano, anyway.”

That’s when Dylan began to sweat.

“A double scoop of chocolate chip.”

“Coming right up.” Gracie shoved the hair off her forehead with the back of her wrist and turned to fill her umpteenth order of the night. She pushed the dish of ice cream through the window. “That’ll be four dollars.”

“Thanks, Gracie.”

“You’re welcome—” She looked up to put a name with her gratitude. “Henry! Good to see you!”

“Me?” The former Old Maine security guard pointed an index finger toward a scrawny chest above a potbelly. After her eager nod, his expression evolved into a leer. He let his gaze rake over her. “I’m flattered.”

She held onto her smile with an effort. “Are you going to be around a while? I’ll be done here in about twenty minutes.”

“Sure, I’ll be around. Where do you want to meet?”

Twenty minutes later, Gracie hustled through the crowd to the gazebo in the town square. As she wound her way down the street, she spotted Dylan coming toward her with festival food in hand. Fitting right in, he smiled and greeted people who called out to him as he passed.

“Did you see whoever it was you wanted to catch up with earlier?” she asked as he fell into step beside her and looped his arm around her shoulders.

“No.” He offered her a bite of his crab cake. When she refused with a head shake, he popped the remainder into his mouth and tossed the wrapper into a trash bin. “I thought I spotted Karen Hammonds, my father’s old publicist, but I must have been wrong. Whoever it was slipped away.” He stopped and scratched his chin. “And it doesn’t make any sense for her to be here.”

“Well, I managed to locate Henry Stillberg.” She couldn’t keep a touch of smugness out of her voice. “I’m on my way to meet him now. Want to come?”

“Almost as much as I want to kiss you, but I’m not risking that again with media stalkers in town waiting to shoot us.” He stared at her mouth with such longing that Gracie warmed, feeling as if she had been kissed.

“Later then.” She brushed her fingers lightly across her lips and then his.

Tugging on Dylan’s hand, she towed him toward the gazebo.

They’d reached the barricade marking the end of the official festival grounds. Just a half block past the blockaded area, the crowd and noise thinned and the temperature dropped a few degrees. “How’d you run into Henry?” Dylan asked.

“He came to the booth.”

“That was lucky.” He pulled her closer. “What does he look like?”

“Like someone who’s been living in Florida for the past twenty-five years.” She wrinkled her nose. “His skin’s as tough as shoe leather, his thinning hair’s brassy from the sun, and he’s dressed a little too tropical for East Langden.” She suppressed a little shudder remembering Henry’s leer.

“Not a fan of Aloha shirts?”

“It’s not that.” She bit her lip and hesitated. “More the way he looked at me.”

“What way?”

“Like a dirty old man.”

“Did he say or do something? I’ll pound him into the ground if you’d like.” The look of outrage and the clenched fist he theatrically punched into his other palm made her laugh.

“Don’t bother. I’m sure he’s harmless. When I asked to meet him here, he probably thought I was coming on to him.”

“He should be so lucky.”

She shushed him as she spotted the old security guard waiting for her on a bench inside the gazebo. “Let me do the talking.”

“Since when do I have a choice?”

Henry stood and jerked his chin at Dylan. “What’s he doing here?”

She ignored the question. “Did you hear that Lana Harris’ body was found at the Bradford cabin this morning?”

“Not so much a body, was it? More like a bag of bones, I heard.”

“I’ve been wondering about other events that occurred about the same time as Lana’s disappearance. Granddad mentioned something interesting the other day.”

“Chester’s still alive? I figured that old fart had kicked the bucket by now.” Henry took a step closer, into the circle of light.

“He recently broke his hip, but he’ll be fine,” she said, determined not to let him sidetrack her. “Did you know Lana very well, Henry?”

“Some.”

“Do you remember the night she disappeared?”

His eyes shifted from side to side as if considering the question from various angles. “I might.”

“Granddad said he went to the factory that night and saw Dylan’s father driving away. You were on duty, weren’t you?”

A flash of interest sharpened his ratty features. “Are you thinking the senator was involved in her disappearance?”

“No.” She shot Dylan a cautionary look as he stiffened beside her.

The old man chuckled, a hard rasping sound, and smoothed his greasy hair off his forehead. A diamond pinky ring winked under the glow of a street lamp. “What if I saw him and Lana together that night? What if I remember several other interesting, maybe even incriminating, facts? What would that be worth to you?”

“Not a damn thing.” Dylan’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “Did you see my father that night or not?”

“Well, now, I’ll have to think about that one.” Henry rubbed his liver-spotted hand back and forth across his chin until something across the way distracted him. His weaselly eyes narrowed and he slunk into the shadows. “I’ll get back to you. Maybe tomorrow. You think about how bad you want to know whatever I remember." He disappeared down the steps and around the corner.

"For an old man, he sure moves fast," Gracie said. "Do you want to follow him?"

"No." Dylan took a seat on the bench and pulled her down beside him, draping an arm around her shoulder. "I’m not sure I believe it’s important anymore if Dad was there or not the night Lana disappeared. We know he didn't kill her."

“Coincidences like that hardly ever happen.”

“No, but as Grandfather used to say, ‘You can’t make a chicken lay an egg before she’s ready.”’

Gracie laughed and leaned away. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’ve done all we can for tonight and might as well have some fun.” He drew her close, nuzzling the side of her neck.

“Your grandfather had a handy expression for a lot of things. What else did he say?”

“Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.”

“Wasn’t it Bear Bryant who used to say that?”

“What people don’t know is that Bear was quoting Grandfather.” Dylan nibbled on her earlobe. “What do you want to do now?”

“Did you get enough to eat?”

“I got enough of standing in food lines.” His breath wafted warm and enticing against her neck.

“I can get you some ice cream via the back door.”

“I’ll take it.” He inched aside the edge of her sweatshirt with a finger and dropped a kiss on her exposed collarbone. She eased closer to him. “But after that,” he said, “we’re going home to bed.”

“Home? Bed?” Just hearing the two words uttered in one sentence sent spirals of pleasure down her spine. “Already?”

“We didn’t get much sleep last night.” He stretched with an exaggerated yawn. “I’m tired.”

“By all means, let’s go home so you can rest.” She jumped to her feet. “But I want to check on David first. I also want to see about Clay. I’m afraid he stayed at home moping.”

Returning to the festival, Dylan’s urgency to get home lessened. He stopped at every other booth to look at or buy something. Gracie decided to relax and enjoy his company. They had the whole night ahead of them.

Jostled by a juggling street performer, Dylan bumped into a couple kissing on a street corner.

“Hey!” Clay objected, separating from Tanya.

“He’s not moping,” Dylan stage whispered, and Gracie nudged him in the ribs.

Tanya laughed and looped her arm around Clay’s waist. “Hi, you two. Rumors are spreading like wildfire about your behavior here tonight.”

Thrilled, but stunned to find her two best friends lip-locked in public, Gracie’s attention bounced back and forth between them. “Ours? What are you—I mean, are you two—?” She laughed at her confusion. “You know what I mean. Explain.”

“Tanya came by to talk to me about Mom, and we finally worked things out between us.” Clay’s chin jutted out in true Bradford fashion. “We’re here together.” He eyed Gracie warily. “I’m sorry I acted like a blind fool these last few years. Are you okay with this?” He waggled his hand between him and Tanya.

“Okay? I think it’s great!” Gracie hugged them both. “And it’s about time.”

“I think so, too,” Tanya chimed in.

“I want to hear all about it,” Gracie said.

“But not tonight.” Tanya’s smile rivaled the bright festival lights. “This is our first date. I plan to make the most of it.”

“Go for it,” Gracie agreed. “Be sure and call me tomorrow. Let’s get together for lunch.” Her head practically whirled like a carnival ride from all the events of the past twenty-four hours. Remembering one of them, she sobered and asked Clay, “How’s David?”

“He was tired and unsteady when I was home a couple of hours ago. Ethel came back to stay with him for a while, but we’re on our way to check on him now.”

“I’ll check on him, Clay. You and Tanya have a good time. You deserve it.”

It took some coaxing by both women, but Clay finally agreed. After he and Tanya moved on, Gracie told Dylan, “If you want to stay here, I can meet you in the parking lot later.”

“Huh-unh, I’m not letting go of you again.” His arm clamped around her shoulder. “This is our first date, too, you know.”

“Is it?” The first and only or the first of many?

As they arrived at David’s street, an elegantly suited man with silver hair approached them and hailed Dylan in a booming voice. They certainly hadn’t seen anyone else at the festival in a suit and tie.

A startled expression crossed Dylan’s face. “Uncle Arthur! What are you doing here?”

The Bradford resemblance was striking, and the elder family member beamed at Dylan like a proud papa. “I was worried about what was going on up here and wanted to see if I could lend a hand. That’s quite a shiner you’ve got there. Remnants of the fire?”

“No.” Dylan grinned at Gracie. “I ran into a brick wall with a clenched fist.”

“I suppose that’s another story I’ll need to hear about. Where are you headed?”

“Gracie’s stepfather, David Collier, has been sick. We’re going to see how he’s doing,” Dylan said, drawing her near. “But first, let me introduce you. Gracie O’Donnell, this is my uncle, Arthur Bradford.”

“An honor to meet you, Senator,” Gracie said while Dylan kept a possessive hand on her elbow. She prided herself on not normally being star-struck. But faced with such a distinguished and charismatic presence, she had to admit she groped for something more to say.

“A pleasure to meet you, young lady. Dylan said you were with him when the fire broke out last night.”

On the surface, the comment sounded perfectly sympathetic. But something about its delivery implied a breach of conduct on Gracie’s part, as if being in the wrong place at the wrong time placed her under suspicion. “That’s right.”

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you had to go through such an ordeal on Bradford property.” His voice deepened with sincerity, and Gracie chided herself for pinning her own insecurities onto his original comment. “It was a terrible loss, but not a tragedy, thank God, since the two of you got out in time.”

“You should have seen Gracie swing out of a second-floor window onto a tree branch,” Dylan chuckled. “She’s amazingly resourceful.”

“She must be that and more, if she’s caught your eye.”

Gracie reddened at the compliment and the senator’s seeming acceptance. She’d expected the patriarch of Dylan’s family to object to his affection—his attachment—his whatever it was that he felt for her.

She only wished she knew what to call it.

Chapter Twenty-five

After the bright, cheerful air of the festival, Dylan kept having the urge to check over his shoulder for a menacing presence. Following Gracie, he noticed an oppressive atmosphere blanketing David Collier’s house like a shroud. He expected his uncle to make excuses and leave. Gracie switched on the foyer light, spreading illumination over the gloom.

The bulldog nurse Dylan had met in David’s office lumbered down the hallway.

“How’s he doing?” Gracie asked.

The woman’s jowls shook when she wagged her head. “Not so good, I’m afraid.”

“What is it? What’s the matter?” Gracie flew toward the room in the back, but Ethel pulled her to a stop.

“He’s had his medication, but he’s talking out of his head most of the time.”

Gracie cast a worried glance down the hall but halted long enough to give the starchy woman a warm hug. “Thanks for the help, Ethel. I’ll stay until Clay comes in. You go join your family. I saw Harold down at the shooting gallery, winning a stuffed Barney for your grandson.”

“Even with bifocals, Harold’s marksmanship’s still dead on.” The nurse beamed with pride at her husband’s accomplishments before turning to the two men. “Good evening to you, young man. And Senator. I’m Ethel Brady. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Uncle Arthur had remained in the background, but once Ethel took the initiative, he moved forward with his crowd-winning smile. “It’s my pleasure, Ethel.”

She shook an admonishing finger at him. “You men in Washington need to do more to fix the health care situation, you know.”

“Believe me, Ethel, we’re working on it. There just don’t seem to be any easy solutions.”

“Easy answers never work.” Her heavy jowls shifted back and forth. “Sometimes it takes some practical thinking to get the job done. I’ve got a few ideas I’ll jot down and give to Dylan to pass along to you.” She wrinkled her brow and waited for a nod from Arthur.

After the two women exchanged a muffled conversation in the other room, the nurse collected her things and waved as she sailed out the door. The two men took seats in the living room. Dylan switched on a television, surfing channels in search of a basketball score.

Before long, Arthur stood and began a restless journey around the room. While Dylan relayed most of the details about the previous night’s fire, he omitted mention of the missing cuff link. He ended with the information about Leonard Castellano.

Arthur flipped through a National Geographic. “Should I know that name?”

“Probably not, but you might know his uncle, Sal Eversol.” Dylan watched Arthur’s reaction carefully.

Arthur tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. “I know him by reputation, of course. He has the money to support the causes that interest him, but his circles are too shady to mix with mine.” He looked at Dylan and crooked his eyebrow. “Any ideas on what the connection between the three of you might be?”

“Nothing concrete.”

Arthur resumed his roaming, gravitating toward a shelf of pictures. “Have you met all these people?” He gestured to the photographs. “They were always a stalwart bunch. Some of them look familiar. Tell me who’s who in this one.”

Dylan clicked off the TV and joined him. He picked up the picture Arthur indicated. “This is David.” He pointed to the doctor. “With a young Clayton and Gracie, her grandparents, and her mother.”

“What’s he like?” Arthur moved on to another photo, one with Clayton and David flanking Gracie in a cap and gown.

Dylan considered the mixed feelings he had about the old man. “Everyone here loves him, including Gracie. Unfortunately, he’s about as hard to talk to as those fish over there in that tank.”

Arthur lifted his eyebrows. “I thought you’d spent some time with him.”

“I had dinner with him once, but he didn’t say more than five words to me and not many more than that when I went to his office the next day.” Dylan frowned, remembering the odd conversation. “He volunteered the information that Lana owned her house before she died, but I don’t know why. It seemed uncharacteristically chatty of him.”

“But if he’s trying to convince you he’s a member of the family, I thought that would involve more contact.”

Dylan rubbed his temple. “Well, he’s Gracie’s stepfather, so she thinks of him as family.”

“I meant the younger doctor,” Arthur corrected. “Clayton.”

“Oh, him.” Dylan grunted and fingered the swelling around his eye. “I’ve gotten to know him better than I’d like.”

“So that’s the story behind the black eye.” Arthur chuckled. “You and Clayton Harris have been mixing it up, hmmm? Interesting. It’s been years since you resorted to physical violence to get your way, but I assume the other guy looks at least as bad.”

“Definitely,” Dylan said with satisfaction.

Arthur picked up a more recent photo where Clayton stood tall and stiff-shouldered next to a glowing Gracie. But then, Gracie carried a constant glow around with her.

“How well do those two get along?” Arthur asked.

“Gracie and Clayton?”

“Clayton and David Collier.”

“David is very protective of him. And Clayton worships David. He followed him into the medical profession, and then came back here to help when David became ill. Before that, according to Gracie, he was all set to join a big practice in Hartford. Did you know David from the factory?”

Arthur tugged on his earlobe. “We met a few times. As the doctor of record, he reported to Matt and they became friendly. They went fishing once or twice, if I recall correctly.”

Dylan hadn’t known that. David certainly hadn’t mentioned it. “He’s the one who found Dad the day he died.”

“That’s right, he did. I’d forgotten. This place sure brings back the memories, doesn’t it?” Arthur pulled on his cuff and adjusted one of his cuff links. He was wearing the Bradford set, accounting for both of his.

That should make it easy to cross him off Dylan’s mental list of suspects, but it didn’t.

“Do you know what happened to Uncle Tommy’s cuff links?” Dylan asked.

Arthur tore his gaze from the pictures and turned to face Dylan. “Why?”

He shrugged, reluctant even now to mention his father and Lana’s death in the same breath. He took an end run instead. “I noticed a couple of weeks ago that one of Dad’s is missing. I wondered where some of the other sets are.”

“We gave Tommy’s to Gerard.” He paused with an awkward hesitation, as frequently happened when Arthur mentioned his brother’s partner. “Tommy left him some money, but Gerard asked for a few personal mementos as well. You have your own pair, don’t you? Did you need your father’s for some reason?”

News about the cuff link uncovered this morning would soon become common knowledge, but some niggling caution kept Dylan from mentioning it. “Just curious.”

“You’re curious about a lot of things these days, aren’t you?”

His head reeled thinking about all of it. “Life has taken some unusual turns lately.”

Arthur set down the picture he’d been holding, placed his hand on Dylan’s shoulder, and led him back to the sofa. “What about your young lady? She’s very striking. How serious is it between you?”

“More serious than anything I’ve ever felt before.” Dylan surprised himself with the admission.

“Well, that doesn’t say much.” Arthur chuckled. “I’ve always wondered why no one has held your interest for long.”

“It was never the right time before, or the right person. Although, why it seems like this might be the right time and Gracie might be the right person, I don’t know.”

“Love doesn’t strike according to anybody’s schedule or preconceived notions. I thought you knew that.”

“Lo—lo—love!” Dylan choked, coughed, and sputtered over the single-syllable word. “I didn’t say anything about love.”

He tried out the picture of Gracie as a permanent fixture in his life and it just wouldn’t compute. Not that he couldn’t picture Gracie as a wife and mother. He couldn’t picture her as his wife or his children’s mother. He tried to remember his vision of that mythical woman.

Cool, calm, capable. Yep, Gracie had all that. With style, sophistication, and good taste. Someone who would fit seamlessly into his life. Cater to his whims. Not exactly Gracie’s style. That sounded more like Linc’s cousin. What was her name again? Valerie? Veronica?

Arthur resumed the ear-pulling thing and studied Dylan long enough to make him squirm. “If you aren’t thinking of her in terms of love or marriage, what are we talking about?”

All of his affectionate, protective, admiring, passionate, amorous, and amorphous feelings for Gracie welled up inside him and nearly gushed out. They would have if he could have defined them with a single word and assigned them to a permanent, convenient place, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He’d only known her—what? All of four days? “I don’t know. This is all happening so fast. I want to be a husband and father eventually, but I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“What part frightens you?”

He hadn’t expected to have a man-to-man conversation with his uncle tonight, but maybe Arthur was the perfect person to share his doubts with. “I’m freaking terrified that I’m incapable of the f-word.”

Shock crossed his uncle’s features, and he shifted uncomfortably. “Why, Dylan, I’m sorry. I had no idea. If it’s a physical problem or you need counseling, there are doctors...”

“Not the four-letter f-word.” Dylan laughed. “I meant the big one. The long one. The hard one. Fidelity. There are a lot of gorgeous women out there, and contrary to tabloid opinion, I haven’t slept with all of them. I like variety, and I can’t imagine waking up with the same person for the rest of my life. Never having the freedom to have sex with anyone else.” Although making love with Gracie every day for the rest of life sounded more than just doable. Satisfying and exhilarating, too. Still... “I always wanted the kind of marriage Dad and Mom had, but Gracie’s nothing like Mom, and I may be too much like Dad. Lately, I’ve wondered if they really had it as good as it seemed.”

“Marriage is about a lot more than monogamy. Sex is one part of it, but not even the most important part. Don’t let worries like that keep you from forming a relationship with a woman you can’t live without.” Arthur rested his elbows on his knees and contemplated the weave of the carpet before he lifted his head and looked Dylan in the eye. “Whatever the whole truth was behind your parents’ marriage, they shared a deep love and respect for one another. They were as happy together as any two people I’ve ever known.”

“You and Aunt Delia have that kind of marriage, too.”

His uncle mused a moment, rubbed a hand over his jaw, then shrugged. “We’ve been lucky.”

A grandfather clock bonged the hour from the foyer. They’d been waiting for Gracie for almost an hour. He would’ve expected her to report on David’s condition by now.

“Is it really ten o’clock?” Arthur said. “I called in a favor, and I’m staying at Drew Johnston’s guest house over in Wallingford. I guess I should be heading over there. Are you going to be here much longer?”

“Gracie said she’d stay until Clay came home. Do you want to say good-bye to her?”

“I don’t want to intrude. Perhaps she can leave the patient for a moment?”

Dylan went in search of Gracie. In the hall outside a bedroom, he heard her speak in low, soothing tones while David’s deeper, agitated voice rumbled over hers. Dylan tapped on the door and opened it a crack. Gracie sat in a chair beside her stepfather’s bed, holding his hand. She glanced up and motioned for him to wait.

In just two days’ time, David’s flesh seemed to have withered on his bones. His jerky movements and listlessness proclaimed a state of agitated exhaustion.

He clutched Gracie’s hand and spoke urgently. “It wasn’t my fault. He deserved it, but I didn’t mean to kill him.”

She flicked an anxious look Dylan’s way and back to the patient. “I’m sure you could never hurt anyone.”

His eyes sharpened with a moment of clarity. “I just wanted to talk to him, get him to admit where she was.”

“But he wouldn’t tell you.” Gracie’s weary response sounded as if they’d covered this ground before.

“That’s right!” His voice slipped back into a fevered recitation. “He said he didn’t know, but he did know. He had to. He killed her.”