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“Why is the movement of water so mesmerizing?” she asked him.
“I don’t know.” He turned to look at her, eyes hooded. “Maybe something in us wants to return to the sea.”
There was a sense of danger in his gaze that disturbed her and she looked back toward the water.
“When I was a little girl,” she told him after a moment of silence, “I loved The Little Mermaid movie. I would wander around, leaning against the furniture and looking lovesick, singing the Ariel song until everyone around me went mad with it.” She laughed softly, remembering. “They were threatening to tape my mouth shut if I didn’t cease and desist.”
He grinned, looking at her sideways. He remembered hearing her singing in the old days. That must have been why she’d sounded so familiar when she’d sung in the fog. “Don’t tell me you actually caved in.”
She gave him a look of pure cheek. “What? You think I’m a complete narcissist?”
“No. I think you’re stubborn as hell though.”
She laughed and turned toward him, but he was frowning as he studied her face. “You know, I’m starting to remember more about you,” he said. “You were around more than I remembered at first.”
“Or more than you noticed at the time.”
“Was that it?” He shrugged as though he wasn’t convinced. “I know one thing. When I reached down for you at the cliff, and you took my hand and vaulted up in front of me on the horse, I suddenly realized we’d done that before.”
Her eyes widened. Now he was bringing up things she’d forgotten herself. “Oh. Yes! That time I was walking home from the village...”
“And you found a lost dog—a little white one.”
“With the sweetest little black nose.” She grinned. “I was trying to carry him back with me but I had a bag of groceries I’d picked up for my mother and I kept dropping things.”
He nodded, his blue eyes filled with humor. “I must have been about sixteen.”
“And I was about eleven.”
“I was riding Brown Sugar, my favorite Indian pony. I passed you and I think I said ‘hi.’”
“Hah!” She gave him a mock glare. “You didn’t say a word.”
He frowned. “I must have said ‘hey.’”
“No you didn’t. You were much too cool to deign to speak to a little girl like I was.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. “I think you’re wrong,” he said, slightly grumpy. “Anyway, I looked back and you dropped your brown paper sack and macaroni noodles went into the air like a bomb had been set off, and the little dog jumped out of your arms and began to bark its head off.”
She winced. Some memories were just too painful. The sense of humiliation she’d felt that day came back to her in a wave.
“So I turned around. By the time I got back to you, you had it all back in your arms, but you looked like you were going to drop everything again any minute. I told you to give me the dog and the groceries.”
“And I thought you were going to ride off with them and leave me there.”
“But I didn’t. I stashed the groceries in my pack and the little dog in my shirt, and then I reached down for your hand.”
She laughed softly, staring off at the blue horizon. “And I felt like Cinderella,” she said.
She remembered that feeling. As though the prince had asked her to dance. She’d been on cloud nine all the way home, even though she knew he wasn’t exactly enjoying it as much as she was. Still, the most handsome boy she’d ever seen was being nice to her—for the moment. It made her whole summer brighter.
“I named him Snowcone,” she mused. “I loved that little dog.”
“Whatever happened to him?”
Her face clouded. “My father insisted on sending a notice to the paper and the real owners showed up three days later.” She shook her head. “I begged him not to do it, but you know what my father was like. Strictly by the rules.”
Marc looked at her speculatively and she raised her chin. She knew it sounded as though she was feeding him her vision of her father’s character, but she didn’t care. It was the truth. He might not know it, so she might as well let him in on it.
“Yeah,” he said, then looked around to where they’d tied the horse. “I guess we ought to get going.”
She nodded and followed him, still amazed and gratified that he’d remembered so much. There hadn’t been many incidents between the two of them but what there were still shone like gold in her memory. She pulled her way up to ride in front of him again, wishing they could just head on down the beach. She closed her eyes and felt Marc’s arm tighten around her.
But the ride slowed and finally came to a stop.
“We’re here,” he said, close to her ear, and she sat up straight and looked around.
The village had an old-fashioned, quaint look. Red-tile-roofed cottages were scattered all up and down the hills, most with flower gardens overflowing with blooms. Boats filled the small marina, many apparently working fishing trawlers. The business district boasted a coffee shop, a small market with bait shop, a real estate office and a rustic tavern with a wooden statue of an ancient mariner out front. The place looked about as it must have looked in the 1920s when it began as a tiny beach resort.
“You ready?” he asked her.
“Ready for what?” she asked, still floating in the mellow nature of the sunny day and only half interested in anything else.
“Ready to talk to Griswold.”
She turned to look back at him. “Who?”
“Griswold. Don’t you remember him? The chauffeur. He was there when it all went bad.”
“Oh.” She shivered and steadied herself. “Oh!” Griswold. Of course. He might have some answers. He was just exactly who she needed to talk to. She turned and smiled at Marc.
“Perfect,” she said, starting to get excited. Then she looked at him in wonder. He really was going to help her. “Thanks. This is...really cool.”
He laughed softly and shook his head, still holding her against himself as though he really didn’t want to let her go. “Let’s go see him before you get too appreciative,” he warned. “You never know.”
“Of course.” She set her shoulders and tried to get tough. This was important. She couldn’t be getting all silly over Marc and expect to maintain the sharp edge she was going to need if she was going to get anywhere.
They pulled in closer to the front of the tavern and dismounted. Marc tied the horse to a post at the entryway.
“Where did you get this nice horse?” she asked, stroking its velvet nose and getting a snuffle in return. She knew that Shangri-La didn’t have any horses these days, though they’d had a well-stocked stable when she’d lived there before.
“I went down to visit with an old rancher down the road,” he said, stopping to give the animal a pat as well. “Both his sons were friends of mine in high school and now they’re both in the military. He’s having trouble keeping his livestock exercised, so I volunteered to take this little lady out for a spin.”
“She’s a beauty,” Torie agreed.
Two girls in tiny bikinis with beach towels thrown over their shoulders strolled by on their way to the sandy shore. They gave Marc the eye with youthful enthusiasm, making Torie laugh.
“Girls always did like you, didn’t they?” she noted as they gave him a backwards look and disappeared around a corner.
He glared at her. “You think that’s funny?” he challenged. “You try living with it. They’re everywhere and they’re a pain in the neck.”
She laughed harder. “Poor baby. Such a burden.”
He turned and glared at her, then paused as though really seeing her for the first time. A slow smile crept into his eyes. “I’m sure you get your share,” he said.
Her laughter faded and she was suddenly uncomfortable. “Not me,” she said, trying for a light tone that didn’t quite work. “I’m not the type.”
“Baloney.”
A new warmth had come into his gaze and it was heating up her cheeks.
“You’re not very self-aware, are you?” he said as he finished up securing the horse.
Now she was embarrassed and blushing crimson—but not in a bad way. She’d never considered herself a beauty and she knew in her heart of hearts that she wasn’t. At least she never had been before. She was pretty enough on a good day. But she didn’t have a face that turned heads. And yet something in Marc’s eyes was telling her that she did, and suddenly, she was walking on air.
He smiled and gestured toward the tavern. “Shall we go in?”
She turned looked at the door, just a bit hesitant. “How do you know Griswold is in here?”
“From what they tell me, he’s always in here.”
He took her hand in his and she took a deep breath. This could be it. This could be where she finally learned the truth of what had happened all that time ago. She looked up at Marc. He gave her a wink and she smiled. Time to face her father’s past as if it were her own. She lifted her chin and walked in.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#uce04502b-fed4-565b-a065-cf556c391e3e)
MARC let Torie go ahead and followed a few steps behind. This was her show, her quest. He wasn’t even sure why he was supporting her this way. She said she was here to find out what really happened fifteen years ago, whether her father was unfairly accused, whether he shouldn’t have been fired. If that was true, if that was really her goal, she was basically trying to prove his family’s actions wrong—maybe even illegitimate.
And where would that take them all? Did she think she could find the truth—or maybe even the treasure—somewhere and show them all her father had been slandered?
Not likely. Insurance investigators and the police had both taken their turns at searching for the gold. And then, through the years, treasure hunters had come sneaking onto the property to try their own methods. No one had found anything yet. As far as he was concerned, that treasure was at the bottom of the sea. His father’s goodbye note had said that was what he was going to do with it. Why did everyone keep trying to find something that just wasn’t there?
Torie was only the latest, and she said her search had a new twist. Was she lying? Was the treasure really all she wanted, just like everybody else? He was pretty sure that was what Carl was after. And she’d come with the man, so it all fit together.
And yet, he didn’t want to believe she was lying to him.
He groaned softly, hearing himself and hating his own weakness. He knew all about lying and being lied to. He’d been through it often enough to consider it a normal part of human relationships. Why would Torie be any different?
As they walked into the dimly lit tavern, he glanced about the room. People were scattered around at tables and along the bar, mostly men. There was one stocky, blond young man who waved, but he didn’t recognize him. There didn’t seem to be anyone there that he knew.
Torie was still flushed from his compliments a few minutes earlier and looking prettier than ever. He had to grin as he noticed one man after another stealing a glance her way. And true to form, she didn’t see it at all.
And then he saw the man they were after, sitting at a corner table, looking as if he’d staked a claim to it long ago and wasn’t going to give it up for love or money. He pointed him out to Torie and they made their way there.
Griswold was drunk. There was no getting around it. He was a pale, boney shadow of the dapper man he’d once been. He gazed up at Torie with bleary eyes and didn’t have a clue who she was, even after she told him. Jarvis Sands was a name that seemed to spark some recognition.
“Jarvis? Jarvis? You mean, the butler at Shangri-La? Sure. What about him?”
“Do you remember him? Do you remember what happened?”
He frowned at her. “I should have had his job, you know. They only made me chauffeur because the lady wanted to swan around in front of her friends. They didn’t need me. All I did was wash cars all day.” He shook his head. “No. I don’t remember nothin’.”
“How about the Don Carlos Treasure disappearing? You must remember that.”
He was frowning and it wasn’t apparent whether he had actually heard her question. “He told me not to go, but I went anyway,” he said sadly. “I went and he was right. I shouldn’t have gone.”
“Who? My father?”
He looked around as though he felt trapped and Marc reached out to pull her away.
“It’s not much use,” he said quietly. “He’s in no shape to talk. From what I hear, he never is. If he ever knew anything at all, it’s probably lost to history by now.”
She nodded reluctantly. She was bitterly frustrated. Somehow she’d been counting on finding employees from those days and now that she’d found one, he was useless.
“You know, its sort of crazy,” she said to Marc as they were leaving. “Almost everyone from that generation is either dead or ruined in some way. It doesn’t seem right.”
“Anecdotal,” he muttered as he led her out. “Don’t let life depress you. There are plenty of good things to think about.”
She looked up into his face and shook her head, still disappointed, but vaguely amused. “You’re giving happy-talk advice? Now I’ve seen everything.”
“I have my happy moments,” he protested. “I even get optimistic sometimes.”
“But not for long, I’ll bet,” she said dryly.
They were outside by now and they both noticed the blond man from inside the tavern had come out and was leaning against a huge black Harley. He waved as they approached, then straightened and came toward them.
“You don’t remember me?” he said, smiling in a friendly fashion.
Torie gasped. “Is it Billy Darnell?” she cried.
He nodded. “You got it.”
Torie reached out and grasped his hand in hers. “You remember Billy,” she said over her shoulder to Marc. “Alice was his mother. The cook at the estate back in our younger days.”
“That’s me,” Billy said, looking pleased.
“It’s so good to see you! How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine. She lives down in LA now. She likes being close to my sister and her family.”
“Of course.” Torie thought quickly, going over the past. Billy was a year younger than she was. Being children of the Shangri-La staff, they’d spent some time together, though they’d never been particularly close. But when you were eleven and twelve and there was no one else around to hang with, you made do.
“Billy and I used to go on day-long mineral-collecting trips with your father,” she told Marc. “We would trek out along the cliff at dawn, backpacks full of drinks, snacks and lunches, and your father would lead us to the most interesting places, nooks and crannies that you would never think existed if you just drove by them. And he’d find some quartz or some rocks with hornblende or muscovite and he’d use his rock hammer to break specimen-sized pieces out of the rock. Then Billy and I would wrap them in paper and pack them away in canvas bags and then tote the bags home for him.” She grinned at Billy. “We had a glorious time.”
“That we did,” Billy said, grinning right back.
Marc nodded at the reminder and listened to them reminisce, but the whole thing created a bit of an empty feeling in his soul. He’d known his father was interested in rock collecting, but he’d never really paid much attention. He’d only listened with impatience whenever his father tried to talk to him about it. Which might have been why he never got invited along on any of these expeditions. Probably because he was too old when the hobby began to appeal to his dad. He’d been seventeen when Torie was twelve.
Still, he wished he’d known, wished he’d participated. It seemed more and more that there was a whole side to his father that he had known nothing about. He would have been a good man to get to know.
