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Ellie stood speechless for a moment. She had never coached a sport in her life, but she did know the game, having played all through high school. Straightening, she folded her arms thoughtfully, one forefinger tapping her rounded chin.
“How many kids would I work with?”
“Nine is the minimum,” Ilene answered. “We actually have seven right now and could use a few more. Twelve is the max at this age.”
Twelve at most. Ellie looked around the room. She routinely corralled twenty-two in this small space and flattered herself that she actually taught them something worthwhile in the process. Twelve kids on an open field would be a piece of cake by comparison.
“How much time are we talking about?”
“It’s nine games and twenty practices in ten weeks, so roughly twenty-five hours.”
That was little more than a full day in total, spread out over more than two months. Besides, she’d always enjoyed soccer and could use the exercise. And hadn’t she just asked God to show her the needs of her pupils and how to meet them?
“Sounds like fun,” she decided. “Count me in.”
The girls hurrahed, bouncing up and down on their toes. Ilene Riddle reached past them to clasp Ellie’s hands with hers, silver bracelets jangling.
“Thank you so much. I’ll help every way I can, I promise. First practice is Wednesday afternoon at five-fifteen. Do you know where the field is?”
“I think so. Across the creek from the park, right?”
“Right. I’ll bring all the supplies. You just bring the expertise.”
“Deal,” Ellie said, smiling broadly.
As the trio took their leave, Ellie dropped down onto her desk chair once more. Well, it looked like she had her work cut out for her, starting tomorrow afternoon. She’d have to brush up on coaching tactics this evening. Thankfully, with all the information online, that shouldn’t be too difficult. She’d see to it tonight.
That left this afternoon to convince Asher Chatam to drop her grandfather’s case and turn his attention elsewhere.
Ellie smiled. Mondays really were her favorite day of the week.
Dropping the telephone receiver into its cradle, Asher stared at the leather-trimmed blotter on his desk. He hated Mondays. Just once, he wanted to get through a Monday without some unpleasant surprise. What, he wondered, had the aunties—and, by extension, he—gotten into? So much for settling this “routine” insurance matter and getting on with his life.
Unanswered questions about the fire at the Monroe house abounded, and Ellie Monroe had apparently done everything in her power to make certain that they remained that way. According to the adjuster, Ellie’s cell phone number was the only contact information that the company now had, and she’d come up with every excuse imaginable to prevent the adjuster from speaking with her grandfather. Most troubling of all, the Monroes had recently increased their coverage and moved their most precious belongings into storage. The adjuster had even hinted at a financial incentive. Something smelled, and it wasn’t smoke.
Asher was making notes on his computer when his secretary buzzed him. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he hit the intercom button.
“You heading home, Barb?” A fifty-something grandmother raising a grandson, Barbara was adamant about leaving the office by five.
“In a minute. There’s an Ellen Monroe here. She says it’s important that she see you but promises she’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
Asher sat back in his chair. Well, well. Ventured right into the lion’s den, had she? Reaching forward, he shut down the computer and monitor.
“Send her in. Then get out of here and have a good evening.”
“Will do. See you tomorrow.”
He tightened the knot in his gold-striped tie, spun his tan leather chair to face the door and waited, hands folded. As the sound of footsteps on the polished oak floor in the hallway grew louder, Asher’s heartbeat sped up. He told himself that it was his normal reaction, the old fire-in-the-belly response to a challenge. The instant Ellie appeared in the doorway, however, he knew that he was kidding himself.
Wearing a dark purple pantsuit over a rose-pink blouse, she looked absolutely lovely. She also looked distinctly uncomfortable. Intending to use that discomfort to his advantage, he found a smile and rose.
“Just who I wanted to see.”
“Oh?” she said in surprise, her face lighting.
Nodding, he waved her over then watched as she folded down neatly into one of the chairs before his desk. She tucked a small handbag into the space beside her.
“Why did you want to see me?” she asked.
Sitting, he regarded her steadily. “Tell me why you’re here fir—”
“You should know that we can’t pay you,” she blurted, suddenly looking hopeful and somber at the same time.
Asher paused, concerned. He didn’t like to think it, but this information could support the idea that the Monroes had a financial motive for setting fire to their house.
She sighed, gulped and sucked in a deep breath, all telltale signs of a less-than-truthful client. Which, he reminded himself, she technically was not; rather, her grandfather was his client.
“Even with the insurance money,” she said, “I can’t imagine how we’ll pay for the repairs to the house. Granddad had already sunk every penny of his savings into the renovations before the fire. I don’t know what we’ll do now.” She went on to list numerous expenses that must evidently come before his fee.
It might be true that the Monroes were strapped for cash, but he knew a convenient dodge when he saw one, and his curiosity was now piqued. Ellie Monroe was actively attempting to derail the insurance settlement, and he meant to find out why.
“My aunts have essentially asked this of me,” he told her mildly, “and when I work for family I never take—”
“But we’re not family,” Ellie protested, “and you can’t go around working for nothing! It wouldn’t be fair. You have your own bills to pay, after all. I understand that.” She bowed her head, the very picture of stoic acceptance. He didn’t buy it for an instant.
Frowning, Asher leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the edge of his desk. “There’s no need for you to worry about my bills, Ellie.”
“So you’re going to do this pro bono?” she demanded, sounding miffed. “Isn’t that for charities and such?”
“Not necessarily.”
While she sputtered about fairness and good faith and half a dozen other things he didn’t follow, he mulled his options. He could throw her out—she wasn’t his client and therefore had no say in his employment. On the other hand, her reasons for derailing the settlement could range from merely misguided to serious malfeasance. And, because she was not his client, he had no way to protect her in either case. He decided he would do his best to keep her out of trouble. She was his sister’s friend and a tenant at Chatam House, which meant that he had represented her as well as her grandfather.
His decision made, he pulled open a side drawer, took out a receipt pad and flipped it open. “If it will make you feel better,” he interrupted, “then by all means, pay me.”
“But I just told you that—”
“How much cash do you have on you?”
For a long moment, she said nothing. Asher sat back in his chair, enjoying the moment. For once, he had reduced Ellie Monroe to speechlessness.
“What?” she finally squawked.
“How much cash do you have on you?” he repeated slowly.
Frowning, she pulled her purse into her lap. “Seven or eight dollars, maybe.”
“Let’s make it a buck, then,” he said, leaning forward to scribble out the receipt. “No, two. One for you, one for your grandfather.” He made certain to write both of their names on the correct line. After tearing the receipt out of the book, he tossed the pad back into the drawer and nudged it closed.
“You can’t mean to represent us for two dollars.”
“It’s that or nothing,” he retorted with a shrug. “You’re the one who wanted to pay me. Call it a retainer, if it makes you feel better.”
Frowning, she reluctantly laid two crumpled dollar bills on the desk. He swiftly traded the receipt for them and slipped them into his shirt pocket. “That takes care of that.”
She made a face. “Look, even if your aunts did drag you into this, I don’t expect you to knock yourself out settling our little insurance claim, not for two bucks.”
He smiled. “I have a question for you.” He folded his arms atop his desk blotter. “Why are you trying to get me off this case?”
Shock flashed across her face, followed swiftly by guilt. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
“Tell me what you’re hiding.”
“What makes you think I’m h-hiding something?” she hedged, averting her gaze.
“This isn’t my first day on the job,” he pointed out, hardening himself against those suddenly woeful eyes. “And you’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying!”
“You’re stalling the insurance company,” he accused in his most lawyerly voice. “Why?”
Biting her lip, she shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
“I’m trying to, because I can’t help you if I don’t know why you’re doing this!” He leaned toward her. “Is it your goal to remain at Chatam House indefinitely?”
She broke, blurting, “I only want my grandfather and your aunt to have a chance to get together!” She quickly clapped her hand over her mouth.
“I knew it!” Asher cried, smacking a hand against the desktop. The lawyer in him crowed, even while the annoyed nephew was exasperated.
But Asher Chatam, who had known Ellie for quite some time, was worried.
He now had at least a part of the truth.
He wasn’t at all sure, though, that he wanted the rest of it. Because he wasn’t sure that he could protect her—not if her foolishness was as great as he feared.
Chapter Three
She had told him! She had told Asher of her deepest hope, despite Dallas having warned her that he would be appalled, even offended, at the very suggestion of Odelia and Kent rekindling their romance. Ellie suddenly feared what else she might tell him if he pressed hard enough.
“I need to know everything about the fire, Ellie,” he said in a soothing voice that she dared not trust, not after the grilling she’d just endured. “Tell me about that night.”
Dismay filled her, followed quickly by irritation that she’d let herself be cornered like that. She shifted in her seat, crossed her legs and hemmed and hawed before finally telling the story.
She and her grandfather had moved a quantity of furniture into storage to make room for the workmen who were renovating their seventy-year-old house. As the work progressed, they had replaced one room’s furnishings with that of the next, swapping out contents as the necessary renovations were completed.
“They did the roof first, then moved inside, starting upstairs,” she told him. “They were ready to move downstairs to the bedroom that had been my grandmother’s, so we took her antique French Empire bed suite to storage that night. It’s easily worth more than everything else in the house put together, and Grandpa takes good care of it, calls it part of my legacy.”
Asher’s brown eyes regarded her intensely. “Go on.”
Ellie took a deep breath and explained that she and her grandfather were still trying to fit the bed suite into the rented space without damaging it when Dallas had arrived. Asher’s brows rose as she repeated the story that Dallas had told her. Out jogging that evening, Dallas had stopped by the Monroe house on impulse to discuss a date Ellie had gone on the previous night. Dallas had ostensibly seen the fire through the front window. She waved down a passerby, who happened to be Garrett Willows, the gardener at Chatam House, as he drove down the street on his motorcycle.
Willows had called 911. The Fire Department had arrived within moments and put out the fire a short while later. That was apparently when Dallas remembered that Ellie and her grandfather were moving furniture into storage that night. Willows had offered to take her there so she could break the news in person. That was also when she’d called her aunts, who had immediately offered sanctuary.
“And that’s all there is to it,” Ellie said, not quite meeting his gaze.
“And how did the fire start?”
She gulped, then made herself look at him, noticing that as she did so his gaze dropped to her lips. “Apparently a can of paint remover spilled, then a hot lamp tipped over, the one we always left on when we were away from the house at night.” She shrugged and looked down at her hands. “I don’t know how it happened in an empty house. Someone said there was a loud noise, like a car backfiring nearby.”
“And you think something like that could have knocked over a can of paint remover and a lamp?” he asked skeptically.
“There could have been a collision at the track yard,” she insisted. “The switching lane is just a few hundred yards from the house. It isn’t used much, but when it is, we can feel it, almost like the ground is moving.”
“But if your theory is correct,” he mused, “then the paint remover had to be open when it tipped.”
“The workmen sometimes just set the cap on the neck and didn’t screw it down until they were done,” she told him. “They warned me about an open can more than once when I came into the room where they were.”
Asher leaned back in his chair. “Plausible,” he admitted, but his tone implied that he found it just barely so.
He stroked a fingertip over the cleft in his chin. “You, ah, mentioned going on a date the previous evening.”
Ellie blinked at the change in subject. “What about it?”
“Just wondering if you’ve broken anyone’s heart lately.”
She scoffed, laughing. “Hardly.”
“There hasn’t been anyone special then?”
“I wish,” she quipped. “What there have been are a lot of first dates, emphasis on the word first, as in not many second dates.” She wrinkled her nose. “I just don’t seem to find any keepers, if you take my meaning. Dallas says I’m too picky, but I notice that she doesn’t have a steady boyfriend, either.”
He smiled then abruptly sobered again. “By any chance, might one of those first dates have been with Garrett Willows?” he asked carefully.
Ellie blinked and frowned, shaking her head. “I never met him before that night. Why?”
“I’m just trying to understand the overall situation.”
“But I’ve told you what happened.”
“You put forward a supposition,” he pointed out, “but you’ve as good as said that you don’t really know what happened.”
She slid to the edge of her seat and laid a hand on his desktop beseechingly. “Look, however it happened, it wasn’t malicious.”
Asher beetled his brow. “And how do you—”
“It just stands to reason,” she said too quickly. “I mean, it’s not as if we have enemies.”
“Then who set the fire, Ellie?”
