Loveknot

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The stairway was a new addition, narrow and utilitarian, but safer and more convenient than the hidden staircase in Margaret Ingalls’s room, the only other access to the attic space. Edward would have to remember to tell Devon about it.

“For a few weeks over Christmas,” Devon went on. “If there isn’t anything else to do.” He grinned wickedly. “And if I can get the time off from my slave driver of a boss.” He started climbing the stairs.

“It might be arranged. If,” Edward went on, emphasizing the word slightly, “negotiations for Ingalls F and M are on schedule.”

“That’s a big if,” Devon said, arriving at the top of the steep flight of steps. “Maybe I’ll have a nervous collapse, so mother can whisk me away for some R and R on the slopes.”

“Don’t count on it,” Edward warned.

Devon laughed. “I won’t. Okay. Where do I start?”

“Good question.” Edward surveyed the flotsam and jetsam of three generations of Ingallses, their friends and relatives, piled along the walls and on the floor of the big, low-ceilinged room. “I believe those boxes and trunks over there—” he pointed across the way “—belonged to Margaret. At least that’s where the investigators spent most of their time.”

“We probably won’t find anything there,” Devon said thoughtfully. He roamed around the room, head bent slightly to accommodate the low ceiling, switching on the single bulbs that hung at intervals from the central beam as he went. “And this stuff? Kids’ toys and a tricycle, and this white-painted bedroom furniture? Do you think it was Alyssa’s?”

“Probably,” Edward said. “I was only the gardener’s son, you know. I don’t remember ever being allowed in any of the bedrooms.”

“I think I’m going to start here,” Devon said, making up his mind quickly, the way his mother so often did. “I bet this other dresser and chest of drawers belonged to Margaret, too. They don’t match the set, but they’re all together. I think if we’re going to find anything useful it would be in Margaret’s personal things, not the lodge files.”

“What makes you think that?”

Devon shrugged broad shoulders. “Just a hunch. Like I said, she sounds like Mom in a lot of ways. She loves to keep track of personal things, all her social triumphs and romantic conquests, as much as she hates keeping any other type of records. You know that.”

“I guess that’s as much of a reason to start looking over there as any. Good hunting,” Edward said as he prepared to head back downstairs.

“Thanks.” Devon pulled on a drawer that had swollen shut with moisture. “I’m going to need it.”

Edward closed the attic door behind him and headed across the lounge, back toward his office. He was surprised Devon had even considered not joining his mother in Switzerland for the ski season. He usually jumped at the chance to travel abroad. He was obviously more content in Tyler than Edward had ever thought possible for a child raised in Nikki and Arthur Addison’s milieu. But Devon had grown into a smart, savvy young man. He knew his own mind and used it. He wasn’t dazzled by the glitter of his mother’s crowd of seminoble European hangers-on. And he wasn’t fooled by Tyler’s sleepy, placid exterior, either. Below the glittering surface, his mother’s existence was essentially empty and sterile, while Tyler teemed with life.

Over all the years and throughout his travels, Edward had maintained a strong awareness of his roots. He hadn’t always been happy in Tyler as a boy, but he’d been a part of the greater whole, for better or worse. He wanted to be part of that community spirit once again. That was one of the reasons he was determined to control Ingalls F and M, although no one, not even Devon, knew it. There were other, more pressing reasons for attempting to buy Judson Ingalls’s failing company. Boyhood sentimentality need not be listed as one of them.

She was waiting for him when he walked into the lounge, and a part of him, deep down inside, was not surprised by her appearance.

“Alyssa,” he said, smiling automatically, a reflex learned in a hundred boardrooms over the past thirty years. “How nice to see you.”

“I’m not here to exchange pleasantries, Edward,” she said, not smiling at all, her blue eyes fierce with suppressed anger. “I want to talk. Business.”

“Fine,” he said, picking up the seriousness of her mood, and the animosity, as well. “But let’s do it over a drink or a cup of tea. Out here in the lounge. I’m not about to get into a shouting match with you in my office.” He smiled again. “Besides, it’s not big enough. It used to be a linen closet, I think.”

Alyssa almost smiled back. “What makes you think I won’t start shouting at you right here in the middle of the lounge?”

He looked down at her from the several-inch difference in heir heights. “Alyssa Ingalls Baron? Raise her voice in anger in a public place? I’ll never see it in my lifetime.”

This time she did smile, but reluctantly, as though she couldn’t help herself. “You’d be surprised what I might do these days, Edward Wocheck. Times have changed.”

“Why don’t you call me Eddie?” he asked, catching her off guard, as he hoped to do. “Everyone else from the old days does.”

Her smile faded away. She caught her lower lip between her teeth in the same nervous gesture he’d seen Liza use once or twice. “Because you aren’t Eddie Wocheck anymore.”

He didn’t want to talk about their past. They had been children then. They were adults now. “C’mon,” he said, taking her elbow in a grip she couldn’t break without drawing attention to the act. “I need a drink.” He steered her toward a small table tucked away in a shadowy corner beneath the massive staircase leading up to the second floor. “And we need to talk.”

“Business. Nothing else,” she said stubbornly, but with an undercurrent of real distress in her voice that he knew she didn’t want him to hear. Confronting him in this place was difficult enough for her, he suspected, without dealing with “what might have been” as well.

“Strictly business.” His voice was gruff. He couldn’t do anything about it. “Sit down,” he said, before she could take advantage of his letting go of her arm to run away. “What do you want to drink?”

“Tea,” she said automatically.

He caught himself almost smiling again. “Nothing stronger?”

She gave him back look for look. “Not if I’m going to have to match wits with you. You’ve got enough of an advantage already.”

He leaned both hands on the table, towering over her, dominating the small space around them. He inhaled deeply, her scent, the fragrance of her hair, the smell of cold, clean air that still lingered about her. “You underestimate yourself, Alyssa. You always did. I’ll give you one free piece of advice—don’t fall into that trap now. Your company is at stake.”

She had to tilt back her head to meet his eyes, and nodded very slightly. “I intend to do just that. But I still want just a cup of tea.” She folded her hands primly in front of her, the pale coral polish on her nails contrasting erotically with the creamy white linen of the tablecloth. Edward jerked upright, burying the wayward thought. He signaled to the barman. “My usual, Todd. And tea with sugar for the lady.” He sat down.

“Could I suggest the mulled cider instead, Mrs. Baron?” the barman asked, coming over to them. The bar was almost empty in the afternoon lull between lunch and the cocktail hour. “It’s excellent. The cider’s fresh-pressed, from the Hansen farm. And the spices are my special secret.”

“That does sound nice,” Alyssa said graciously. “I’ll have the cider.”

“I’ll still have Scotch,” Edward said. “See that we’re not disturbed, will you, Todd?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Wocheck.” The young man smiled at Alyssa and hurried away to do their bidding.

“You made his day.”

“Your staff is very well trained.”

“I know. How is your father?” he asked, catching her off guard once more with the personal query.

“He’s…not doing well. The trial was very hard on him. The verdict…wasn’t what he wished for.”

“Amanda did a hell of a job getting him off. Ethan Trask’s case was just about as foolproof as you could get when all you’ve got to go on is circumstantial evidence.”

“I’m aware of that,” Alyssa said. He saw a slight shudder pass through her, and he realized once more how important it was to all of them that they find out exactly what had transpired in this building the night of Margaret Ingalls’s murder.

“I couldn’t be prouder of Amanda,” Alyssa went on. Her face lightened for a moment, regained the luminous quality of her youth, and Edward felt his heart rate accelerate yet again. She looked up at the bartender, still smiling as he set a mug of steaming cider in front of her. “Thank you, Todd.” She remained silent for several moments after he left, and Edward watched as she lifted the cinnamon stick out of her drink and laid it on the coaster. She had lovely hands, made to hold a flower, soothe a child, make love to a man.

“I didn’t expect to see you here again so soon.” He took another swallow of Scotch, waiting for Alyssa to bring up the reason she’d sought him out.

She squared her shoulders. Her hands tightened around the glass mug and she lifted her blue eyes to his. Her lips firmed into a straight line. “I’m here to ask you, as an old friend—” she stumbled slightly on the last phrase “—to ask you to withdraw DEVCHECK’s offer to buy Ingalls F and M.”

“I can’t do that, Lyssa.”

“What do you mean, you can’t do that?” She was angry all over again. “You own the company. You can do anything you want.”

He shook his head, wishing he had another swallow of Scotch in his glass. Not for the alcohol content, but for the few moments’ delay it would give him in answering. What he said next would determine the course of the negotiations for the plant. Alyssa was a far more formidable opponent than her inexperience in the business world might lead a man to believe. Edward couldn’t help wondering what it would be like crossing swords with her in an all-out takeover battle. But he didn’t dare risk finding out. The last thing he wanted was an acrimonious business relationship with the woman he’d once loved more than anyone else in the world.

“It doesn’t work that way, Lyssa,” he said cautiously, feeling his way. She refused to look away, although her lower lip trembled slightly and her voice was husky with suppressed emotion.

“I’m not very good at this. You’ll have to explain it to me.”

Edward’s mind was suddenly blank. The only thing he could concentrate on was the curve of Alyssa’s mouth. He could remember nothing but the velvety softness of her lips, the taste of her skin, the scent of her hair when he’d kissed her under the mistletoe last Christmas. He wanted to kiss her again. Here and now. And that was the last thing he could afford to do.

It was Edward’s turn to be angry. Anger was an emotion he could control, that could be turned to his advantage. And it helped keep his mind off wanting Alyssa Ingalls Baron’s body far more than he wanted her father’s company.

“It’s cold, hard reality, Lyssa,” he said, standing up, asserting his dominance, both physically and mentally. “Ingalls F and M needs an infusion of capital. It needs a lot of money and it needs it now.”

“I’m well aware of that,” she said, refusing to give ground. “I made the mistake of asking you for a loan just a few days ago.”

“It was a mistake,” he agreed bluntly. “It would only postpone the inevitable and increase your liabilities. Waste my money and leave you so far in debt you’d never get out. What Ingalls needs to survive is clout. There’s no way you can get that on your own.”

“We’re doing business the way my father has for more than fifty years.”

“It isn’t the way to do business now,” he said, not pulling his punches. “The days of small, independent concerns like Ingalls F and M are gone, Lyssa, even if your father refuses to recognize the fact. I want to see the plant stay in Tyler. If Nitaka buys you out, they’ll move it south lock, stock and barrel. If DEVCHECK buys you out, the work and the jobs will stay here. I want to see a strong economic base in Tyler as much as you do. I want a labor pool of well-educated, stable residents to draw on for Timberlake.”

“But what’s in it for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What does DEVCHECK want with the F and M?”

“The same thing Nitaka does—a chance to get into the agriculture market, quickly and quietly. Ingalls isn’t the only small agri-manufacturer we’re looking at. But it’s the one I’m most interested in at the moment.”

“Some of your ideas make sense,” she admitted reluctantly, standing as well. “But they don’t make any difference.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I mean my father’s health and well-being are more important to me than anything else. And right now that means not giving him anything more to worry about. I’ve managed to hold off Nitaka these past months.” Her voice took on a note of challenge. “I can do the same with DEVCHECK. I told your stepson this morning and I’ll tell you now, to your face—Ingalls F and M is not for sale.”

Edward leaned his hands on the table. “Dammit, Lyssa. How in hell have you managed to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes the past forty years? Sweet, shy Alyssa. The truth is, next to your father, you’re the most bullheaded person I know.” He still couldn’t decide whether he was more angered or aroused by her stubborn insistence on going her own way.

One or two more people wandered into the bar area. Edward noticed them from the corner of his eye. It was time to leave. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said. He stepped back from the table, straightening the cuffs of his charcoal-gray jacket. “Someplace else. More private.”

“No,” Alyssa said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he said, holding her blue eyes steady with his own. “Private. And alone.”

* * *

“MRS. BARON. We meet again.”

Alyssa was still standing as if rooted to the spot. She watched Edward disappear through the French doors that led to his suite and wondered how in heaven’s name she had gotten herself into such an untenable position with him. Had his last words been a threat or an invitation?

“Mrs. Baron?”

Alyssa turned her head, blinking to focus on the man standing beside her. “Mr. Grover. How nice to see you again,” she said politely, her thoughts light-years removed from her surroundings.

What had ever made her think she could come out ahead in a duel of wits with Edward Wocheck? He’d sent her heart and her body into an uproar since she’d first become aware of him when they were both fourteen. Then they had been Eddie and Lyssa, Tyler High freshmen. He had been the gardener’s son and she’d been the pampered, sheltered daughter of the town’s most influential citizen. Today he was Edward Wocheck of the Addison Hotel chain, DEVCHECK and God knew how many other entities. And she was Alyssa Baron, widow, grandmother, professional volunteer, who’d suddenly been thrust into the front office of her father’s crippled business, where she had no desire to be. It wouldn’t be a duel, she thought with macabre humor as she forced herself to pay attention to Robert Grover’s meandering conversation. It would be a massacre, of Ingalls F and M and of her heart.

“Would you like another mug of cider?” Robert was asking, the frown between his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows suggesting it wasn’t the first time he’d asked. “It’s not half-bad. Had one myself an hour or so ago, before I took my walk. It’d be better with a shot of rum in it, mind you, but my doctor said no alcohol. Or at least nothing but a glass or so of red wine a day, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the same as none at all.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Grover,” she said, suddenly desperate to get away before Phil, or Edward’s stepson, or anyone else she knew, saw her there. “I really must be getting back to my office.”

“Oh.” The old man looked disappointed. “I was hoping you might have a few minutes to talk. About Timberlake,” he said with his toothy grin. “It’s sure changed, but a lot’s stayed the same. The fireplace, of course,” he went on, as if she hadn’t refused his offer. “And the view down to the lake. Furniture’s different, naturally, except for those big chairs out on the lawn.” He looked up and over his shoulder at the huge light fixture made of varnished deer, elk and moose antlers. “That chandelier wasn’t here in your mother’s day.”

Alyssa’s attention was finally caught. “No,” she said hesitantly, tempted by his tantalizing glimpses of Timberlake’s past, and remembering, reluctantly, her promise to Liza to talk to her mother’s old acquaintance if the opportunity arose. “It’s brand-new. I believe it was installed only a week or so ago.”

Robert waved her back to her seat at the table, and before she could object, signaled the barman for two more mugs of cider. “Your mother hated killing things,” he said. “She never came out here, she told me, if your father had a hunting party planned.”

“No. Mother liked music and dancing and lots of happy people around her. Not guns—” her voice wavered “—and killing. I do remember that.”

“She was a marvelous dancer. I’d just gotten out of the service when I first came here. Didn’t have a dime to my name. I was really out of my league with her crowd, but that didn’t seem to bother Margaret…” He was silent for a moment, then began talking again. “What times. What parties. The visits I made here that summer before your mother died—were some of the happiest of my life.”

“I remember very little,” Alyssa said. “I was quite small.”

“And your mother sent you to bed early in the evening. You didn’t like to go.” He laughed out loud. “I remember that about you, but I’m afraid not very much more.”

“That’s okay,” Alyssa said, smiling in response to his laughter. “I don’t remember you at all.”

“Why should you? Your mother had so many… friends.” His tone of voice was as jovial as before, but Alyssa felt a cold breath of uneasiness skate across her nerve endings. Too close, it warned, don’t get too close.

There was nothing but that momentary hesitation in his words to make Alyssa wonder if he meant more than he said, but she was afraid to ask. Her own internal barriers had dropped into place like steel bars across the doors of her mind. He kept on talking.

“Why, I remember once she decided everyone should go swimming in the lake. We were all wearing evening clothes—everyone dressed for dinner at Timberlake in those days. It didn’t matter to your mother. Everyone went into the water straight from the party. I remember I had borrowed a tuxedo. There was no way I could afford to replace it, but your mother pushed me off the dock herself. I went in arse over ears. If I remember right, I was voted the trophy for the biggest splash. I tried to be a good sport about it, but I worried all night about how in hell I was going to get enough money to replace the tuxedo. I shouldn’t have worried. The next afternoon, when I got back from playing tennis, there was my trophy. And with it a brand new tux, a gift from your mother. Yep,” he said, lifting one of the mugs of cider Alyssa hadn’t even noticed had been placed before them, “those were the days. Now drink up,” he ordered. “I know you’re busy. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“No,” Alyssa said, taking a sip as he’d instructed her to do. “Please go on. I like hearing about the happy times you had out here. I—I like hearing about my mother.” She knew she ought to go, but remained captive to the twin bonds of curiosity about her mother’s life and her need to learn everything she could about her death.

Robert Grover didn’t have to be asked twice. He launched into another anecdote about Timberlake’s halcyon days, and Alyssa hung on his every word.

This was what she wanted and needed to hear—stories about happy days and happy times, not about death and desertion and unsolved mysteries. But strangely enough, his lighthearted memories didn’t soothe her misgivings about the past. Instead, oddly, they made her more confused and upset than before.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_4d23a2b7-5967-5554-ba80-e50d545aae88)

“I’M SORRY, MOM. I’ve gone over these figures again and again. They just don’t come out any other way. The plant is in major trouble.” Amanda Baron dropped the sheaf of computer paper she’d been holding onto Alyssa’s desk. She shut the cover of a large black ledger with a snap. “I know how much you hate to hear this, but I think you’re going to have to entertain one or the other of the two offers you’ve received to sell out.”

Alyssa turned away from the window where she’d been standing, staring out at the chilly, rain-swept November day. The weather exactly matched her mood. “I know,” she said wearily. “I just wanted to hear you confirm it.”

“I’ve finished going over the offer from DEVCHECK,” Amanda went on, swiveling slightly in her grandfather’s big old chair. Her voice and the creak of the chair’s springs were the only other sounds, as it was Saturday and the assembly lines weren’t running. Amanda and Alyssa had come to the plant to talk without being overheard by Judson.

“And?”

“They aren’t doing us any favors, either,” she admitted, twirling a pencil between slender fingers. “But it’s by far the more attractive of the two offers.”

“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.” Alyssa turned back to the dreary scene beyond the window. “Is there any way we could recapitalize on our own?” She was clutching at straws and they both knew it.