Where Secrets Sleep

“So, what brings the police chief here this afternoon? Looking for bad guys?” He leaned against the workbench, studying Mac’s strong-boned, impassive face.

“I talked to Allison Standish this morning,” Mac said, his straight brows lowering slightly. “She told me her version of what happened last night.”

“I don’t suppose it was much different from what I told you,” Nick observed.

The frown didn’t lift. “Look, how seriously should I take this woman? Do you think she really heard anything or was it just an overactive imagination?”

That wasn’t an option that had occurred to him. He’d taken it for granted that Allison’s account was accurate. “I doubt it,” he said slowly. “Mainly because she was really scared and angry when she ran into me. She wasn’t faking it.”

“If you say so, I’ll buy that she was scared. But what are the odds on overactive imagination? Did you actually hear anyone?”

Nick frowned, considering. “Didn’t hear anything, no. But I did find that door to the attic standing open, so it looked as if someone had been in there.”

“No reason why she couldn’t have opened it herself, is there?”

“No, but the one at the other corner of the building had been left open, too. And why would she say it if it wasn’t true?” Far be it for him to support the woman who might put him out of business, but he didn’t see any reason for Allison to make up that story.

“Imagination,” Mac said. “Not being used to the sounds an old building makes. Trying to draw attention to herself. Take your pick.”

Nick pushed down the voice that wanted to deny it heatedly. “Could be, I guess, but that doesn’t seem sufficient reason. I’d say she’s not the hysterical type. Or easily scared.”

“What about the way the building was left in Mrs. Standish’s will? I’ve been hearing rumors around town. What happens if Allison doesn’t claim the building?”

“From what I understand, it goes to Brenda Conner. That might give Brenda a reason for trying to scare Allison away, but no reason that I can see for Allison to invent such a story.” Was he really defending her?

Mac mulled that over for a couple of minutes. “Seems like there might be a lot of people with a reason to want Ms. Standish gone.”

“True. Maybe even me.”

“You? Why you?”

Nick shrugged. “I guess I might figure Brenda would be easier to deal with.”

“Pretty vague, don’t you think?” Mac spread his hands out, palms open. “The story doesn’t amount to much of anything, even so. A bunch of solid citizens aren’t likely to be prowling around to scare her, even if they aren’t happy about her ownership. But I’ll keep an eye on the place, anyway.”

Nick nodded. It might be just as well if he did the same.

* * *

ALLISON PAUSED AT the entrance to the bookshop, glancing around, caught as always by the sheer pleasure of being surrounded by books. Though she had to confess that she bought most of her books online in recent years, there was still nothing like a visit to an actual bookstore to get the juices flowing.

A display of regional history books and pamphlets attracted her attention, but before she could reach the rack she was intercepted.

“Ms. Standish!” A man came hurrying from the back between the racks of books, his white hair ruffled and his expression both eager and apprehensive. “I’ve been expecting you to stop by. I’m Ralph Mitchell.”

“Of course.” She extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Mitchell. I’m sorry I didn’t get in sooner. There’s so much to deal with...” She let that trail off, hoping it was an acceptable excuse.

“Naturally, naturally. And you must call me Ralph. Everyone does.” He pumped her hand, his eager eyes seeming to take in every detail of her appearance so intently that it was as if he memorized it.

Allison did a little noticing of her own. Mitchell looked so much like the popular concept of a bookshop owner that he was almost a caricature. Wire-rimmed glasses slid down a pink nose, and he peered anxiously over the top of them. His white hair was worn a little long, and it stood up as if his head was lost in a cloud.

“It was such a shock to all of us to lose our dear Evelyn.” His voice actually shook a little, and his hands trembled. “She was very good to us.”

“I’m sure she was.” Allison’s thoughts flickered to that loan her grandmother had made to the bookshop owner. Perhaps they had been close friends, and he was genuinely mourning her.

“You have my deepest sympathy in your loss,” he added.

She nodded, not sure what to say. The truth was that her grandmother had never been anything to her but a name, so how could she be expected to mourn her? There probably wasn’t a soul in Laurel Ridge who hadn’t known Evelyn Standish better than she had.

“You have a lovely shop here,” she said, feeling a change of subject might be the best response. “You seem to be well stocked for a small-town store.”

“We try, we try,” he said, glancing around with satisfaction. “Evelyn was a great reader, you know, and she encouraged me to branch out a little in what I carried.”

The quilt shop, the bookstore—her grandmother seemed to have had a variety of interests and had been willing to back up those interests financially.

“I hope you plan to continue as Evelyn would have wanted,” he said, his tone wistful. “It’s not easy for an independent bookshop to compete with the chains and the online stores, but Evelyn felt a bookshop was important to the community.”

“Yes, I’m sure she did.”

Mitchell was putting her on the spot, and she didn’t like it. “I really haven’t had time to gather all the information I need to make plans yet. My grandmother’s bequest came as a surprise to me, you understand.”

“Ms. Standish.” A peremptory male voice sounded from behind her. She was certainly in demand today. Allison turned.

“I’m Thomas Blackburn. I’d like to speak with you.” The man was probably about the same age as Ralph Mitchell and his hair was just as white. But there the resemblance ended. Mitchell looked like nothing so much as a slightly anxious rabbit, while Blackburn—tall, erect, faultlessly dressed—had hawk-like features with eyes that pierced and judged.

“Mr. Blackburn.” She acknowledged his words with a nod. “I’m sorry, but I was talking with Mr. Mitchell—”

“Oh, no, no,” Ralph said quickly. He stepped back, as if longing to efface himself. “We can chat another time. Really. I must...must get back to...to my inventory.”

She could have insisted, but it was obvious Mitchell preferred to slip away in the face of Blackburn’s commanding air.

“Fine.” She smiled at him and then gestured Blackburn to the stairs. “Shall we go up to my office?” It was the first time she’d referred to the office as hers, but she decided she needed a bit of bolstering with Blackburn staring at her so disapprovingly.

They went up the steps in silence. Blackburn seemed to know the way to the office as well as she did. She unlocked the door, crossed the room and sat down behind her grandmother’s desk. Blackburn took the visitor’s chair, planted his elbows on its arms and leaned forward.

“I don’t believe in mincing words, Ms. Standish. Blackburn House is Blackburn by rights. Blackburns built it, Blackburns lived in it. I want it in Blackburn family hands, where it belongs.”

Allison leaned back in the chair, feeling as if she needed to be a bit farther from the power of that commanding presence. “I understand that the building was purchased by my grandfather a number of years ago.”

“Selling was a foolish action on the part of my father.” Blackburn dismissed the sale with a wave of a large hand. “He was under a certain amount of financial stress at the time, and frankly, your grandfather took advantage of him.”

Despite the fact that she had no reason to defend the grandfather who was completely unknown to her, Allison found the comment annoying. “The sale was obviously perfectly legal. I’m not sure why you’re bringing it up now.”

Blackburn’s face twitched in an unconvincing smile. “I merely wanted to show you that I’m serious in my desire to buy Blackburn House. My son and grandson carry the Blackburn name, and it should be their legacy.”

Not yours. He didn’t say the words, but they were implied by his tone.

“Did you discuss this subject with my grandmother?” Allison wasn’t quite sure where the question came from—maybe from the fact that she was sitting in her grandmother’s chair.

Blackburn’s face tightened until it looked as if it might be carved on a monument. “I made repeated offers to Evelyn Standish. She seemed to take pleasure in thwarting my wishes.” His face reddened. “She even talked about changing the name to Standish House.”

Allison struggled to hide her amusement at this example of small-town rivalry. Somehow she could imagine her grandmother doing just that. She’d probably enjoyed clashing with Blackburn. But Allison just found the old man’s insistence disturbing, particularly when she had no choice but to say no to him.

“I’m afraid selling is not possible right now, to you or to anyone else,” she said quickly. “The terms of my grandmother’s will—”

“I know all about the will.” Blackburn looked as if he were gritting his teeth. “Evelyn enjoyed making things as difficult as possible for people. However, that’s not insurmountable.”

“I’m not going to contest the will—” she began, but he shook his head.

“No, not litigation.” He smiled slightly. “That benefits no one but the attorneys, I find. I have already spoken with Brenda Standish Conner. She is willing to sell to me.”

The arrogance of that took her breath away. “Brenda is not the owner of Blackburn House, provisional or otherwise.”

He didn’t seem impressed by the statement. “I understand that she has already made you an offer to relinquish your claim.” He held up a large hand to quell her protest. “A ridiculous offer, as I’m sure you agree, but that’s Brenda all over. Always looking for a bargain, and perfectly willing to cut off her nose to spite her face. However, I’m sure you’ll agree that staying in Laurel Ridge for a year is an onerous requirement for an ambitious young professional like yourself. As for seeking to run the place at a profit for a year—well, so many things can go wrong in managing a building like this one. Unexpected repairs could eat up your profits very quickly.”

Allison was beginning to feel her back stiffen at the automatic assumption everyone seemed to make that she didn’t belong here. And how did he know she was an ambitious young professional, anyway? “What exactly are you proposing, Mr. Blackburn?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Naturally you’d like to gain a tangible profit from your inheritance and get back to your own life. In return for your agreement to Brenda’s offer, I will increase the offer. Shall we say double?” He drew a checkbook from his breast pocket, clearly prepared to write a check here and now.

Allison had the sensation that she was being pushed toward a precipice. She shoved her chair back, rising. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Blackburn.”

“Not?” His face reddened. “Do you understand what I’m offering you, young woman?”

“I understand you’re trying to pressure me into a decision before I’m ready. As a businessman, you should understand that I need to investigate all the possibilities before taking any action.”

Blackburn stood, towering over her and looking even more like a bird of prey. “Suppose I tell you that my offer will not remain on the table indefinitely?”

Since he’d already betrayed how much he wanted to regain the property, his argument wasn’t as convincing as he might have thought.

She smiled. “I’ll pass your offer on to my attorney. You’ll be hearing from us in due course.”

He glared at her for a long moment, his face so red that she wondered just how high his blood pressure might be. “You’ll regret this, Ms. Standish.” He stalked to the door.

The best word to describe his exit was stormy, Allison decided. Once the door had slammed behind him, she took a long look at her actions.

Was she burning bridges by her refusal to act before she was ready? She didn’t think so. If Blackburn wanted the building as much as he seemed to, he wouldn’t give up that easily. Probably he’d hoped to push her into a decision before she had a chance to think it through.

She wouldn’t be pushed, but she would have to make plans for her future and the future of Blackburn House. Soon.

CHAPTER FIVE

IT WASN’T MORE than a few minutes later that Allison saw the door of her office slowly begin to open. If Blackburn had returned for another round—

But the face that peered around the corner of the door was a small one, topped by a shock of wheat-colored hair. Brown eyes surveyed her with curiosity.

She smiled. “Come in. Did you want to see me?”

The answering smile identified him beyond any doubt, since it bore an uncanny resemblance to Nick’s. This had to be Nick’s son.

“Hi. I’m Jamie.” He sidled in, darting a look around the room.

“I thought you must be.” She pushed her chair away from the desk. “I’m Allison. It’s nice to meet you.”

He nodded, as if to say he already knew that. “I’m called Jamie because my grandpa is Jim, and Grammy says it would be too confusing if I was Jimmy, ’cause sometimes she calls him that when she’s being silly.”

Allison nodded, engaged by his artless chatter. “That makes good sense. And Jamie’s a nice name.”

“It’s okay. I’m the only Jamie in first grade, anyway. Do you have a nickname?”

“My brothers always called me Ally.” She had a quick memory of Luke and Chad at that age, always exploding with energy.

Jamie’s gaze flickered around the office again. “My daddy says you have a cat. He said you hit him with it.”

She had to repress a smile at this artless confession. “I bumped him with the cat’s carrier. I didn’t mean to.” That wasn’t exactly true, but she hadn’t meant to hit Nick in particular. Just whoever had grabbed her.

Jamie stooped to look under the desk. “I thought maybe your cat would be here.”

Clearly it was Hector who was the attraction. “Hector is over at Mrs. Anderson’s house. He was taking a nap with her cat when I left, so I let him stay.”

She expected Jamie to be disappointed, but he grinned.

“He’s having a sleepover. My friend Kevin had a sleepover at my house once, but he had a bad dream in the night, and Daddy had to take him home. Daddy said he should have known better than to say yes, but Grammy said they shouldn’t say no just because it was incon...incon...”

“Inconvenient?” she supplied.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Jamie was swinging on the edge of her desk by this time, seeming sure of his welcome. “And Daddy said he was the one who had to drive back to town at one o’clock and she said it wouldn’t hurt him. And Uncle Mac said—”

Allison began to feel a bit guilty listening to all this. “Maybe the sleepover will work better the next time you try.”

“Maybe,” he said, sounding doubtful.

“So you live with your grammy and grandpa, do you?” she asked, trying to change the subject but having little idea what interested a six-year-old.

“Grammy, Grandpa, Daddy, Uncle Mac and me. And Shep, that’s the dog.”

“Sounds like a full house.” And it sounded as if Jamie was surrounded by people he loved. His parents were divorced, according to Sarah, but wasn’t his mother in the picture?

“Yep.” He came closer, leaning confidingly on the arm of her chair. “My mommy lives in Los Angeles. Sometimes she sends me presents.”

That was said very matter-of-factly, but it caused a twinge in Allison’s heart. “When I was little, my daddy lived far away, but he used to send me presents sometimes, too.”

He nodded, fixing a pair of big brown eyes on her face. “Did he sometimes send things that were too babyish for you?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “I guess he just didn’t know how much I’d grown.”

“Yeah, that must be it. Can I see your cat sometime?”

“Sure you can. Anytime.” There must be a kind of universal pattern for children who had a parent leave them behind. But Jamie seemed to be well provided for with people who cared for him, and he had plenty of confidence.

“Jamie!” The voice floated up from below. “Jamie, where are you?”

“Sounds as if we’d better tell your daddy where you are, right?” She rose, thinking she’d walk him to the door.

“Sure thing.” He grabbed her hand. “You come, too, okay?”

Since he was tugging her along, she didn’t have much choice. They reached the head of the stairs, and she glanced down, seeing Nick staring up at them, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of her with his son.

Jamie pulled her hand. “Come on, Ally.”

They started down the steps, with Jamie’s hand confidently in hers. It felt nice. He was the first person she’d met since she’d arrived in town who hadn’t wanted something from her.

Jamie seemed to feel her watching him. He looked up as they neared the bottom of the stairs. “Were you scared last night?”

“Scared?” Her mind spun. “What makes you think that?”

“I heard Uncle Mac and Daddy talking, and Daddy said somebody might be trying to scare you. And Uncle Mac said maybe you were imagining it.”

“So that’s what Uncle Mac thinks, is it?” It sounded as if her little chat with the police chief hadn’t gotten her anywhere.

“That’s what he says when I say there’s something under my bed.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s not really anything under your bed.” That had to be the right response, didn’t it? As for the Whiting brothers...

She met Nick’s eyes and realized he’d overheard.

His gaze slid away from hers, and color came up under his tan. “Jamie, it’s not polite to listen to what other people are saying.”

“But, Daddy, you’re always telling me to listen when grown-ups talk.”

Allison’s lips twitched. “I think he has you there.”

Nick’s embarrassment dissolved in a smile. “Sorry. Mac was just, well, trying to figure out the possibilities.”

“I’m sure.” She longed to ask him if he’d meant it when he said someone might be trying to scare her away, but she couldn’t say that in front of the child.

“Daddy, Ally says I can come see her cat anytime.” Jamie was tugging on Nick’s sleeve.

“She does, does she?” Nick looked down at his son, and there was suddenly so much love in his expression that her heart turned over. Nick gave her a questioning glance. “Ally?”

“That’s her nickname,” Jamie said, sounding important. “Her little brothers used to call her that.”

Nick’s brows went up. “I didn’t know you had brothers.”

There was no reason why he should. “Two of them. Half brothers, to be exact. They’re ten years younger than I am. Twins.”

“Wish I was a twin. It would be fun to have someone look just like me.”

“Two of you?” Nick ruffled his hair. “I think one is enough. Look, here’s Grammy.”

Jamie went running to the woman who’d just come in the front door. He hurled himself at her legs. “Grammy, Grammy! I got a star on my spelling homework, and Ally says I can come see her cat anytime I want.”

The woman bent to hug him. “That’s great, Jamie. Do you want to introduce me to your new friend?”

He took her hand and pulled her over. “Ally, this is Grammy.”

“Allison Standish,” Nick murmured.

“I’m Ellen Whiting.” She held out her hand to Allison with a wide smile. “Welcome to Laurel Ridge. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

They were unmistakable, Allison thought, for three generations of one family. Nick had his mother’s eyes, and Jamie her wide, happy smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ellen. Jamie has been telling me about his family.”

“Telling you all the family secrets, no doubt.” She smiled. “Not that any of them are very secret. Jamie loves to chatter, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Jamie’s grin echoed hers, and he nodded.

“Now, Allison, we have to get better acquainted. Goodness, I remember your father from when we were in elementary school together. You must come and have supper with us one night.”

“That...that’s very nice of you.” But she wasn’t sure she wanted to get any further involved with the Whiting family. They, like everyone else, had a vested interest in any decisions she made about Blackburn House.

“Good.” Ellen seemed to take that as an acceptance, though she hadn’t meant it that way. “What about tonight?”

“I’m afraid I have something else going on this evening.” She wasn’t particularly looking forward to Brenda’s cocktail party, but it was a valid excuse.

“Tomorrow night, then,” Ellen said, her tone brisk and decided. “Nick will pick you up at five o’clock. We eat early with a little guy in the house.”

“I don’t...” She wasn’t sure which to tackle first. “There’s no reason for Nick to drive me. Just give me your address and I’ll set the GPS.”

“Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. Nick will be delighted, won’t you, Nick?”

The expression on Nick’s face didn’t speak of delight, but his mother didn’t seem to notice. “You’re being bossy, Mom,” he pointed out. “Maybe she’d rather drive herself.”

So she can leave early. The words were unspoken but clear to Allison.

“Don’t be silly. We don’t want her getting lost on those back roads.” She clasped Allison’s hand. “We’re glad you’ve come home to Laurel Ridge at last, Allison.”

Allison wanted to deny that Laurel Ridge was home to her in any sense. But she couldn’t deny the warmth of Ellen Whiting’s welcome.

* * *

TWO SOCIAL INVITATIONS in such a short period of time ought to be gratifying, Allison told herself. Would be, if not for the fact that she wanted to stay detached from the residents of Laurel Ridge, given the decisions she had to make.

She stood in the center hallway of the home her father had grown up in that evening, wondering what she was doing here. Mrs. Anderson hadn’t been able to mask her surprise when Allison mentioned where she was headed, but Allison hadn’t been able to tell whether the surprise was at Allison being asked to the Standish house or at Brenda for hosting a party.

Laurel Ridge seemed to have more than its share of large Victorian homes—relics, so Sarah had told her, of the days when the town was founded and lumber barons grew rich on the virgin timber of the ridges.

The Standish place was more modest than Blackburn House, making her wonder if that was part of the obvious rivalry between the families. But her father’s home had a grace and charm of its own. Pocket doors on either side of the central hallway led on the right to a dining room where an oval cherry table carried an array of finger sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres and on the left to a formal living room. Several well-dressed women were cruising the table, while a few men gathered around a sideboard bearing wine bottles and glasses.

Allison accepted a cup of punch from a white-aproned server and moved toward the living room. She’d greet her hostess, make the rounds and slip away early, before anyone could try to persuade her—

She stopped, staring at the silver-framed photograph that stood on the ornate Victorian mantel. This, then, was her grandmother. Allison moved closer, studying the features of the woman who’d been such a mystery to her.

Evelyn Standish must have been in her seventies when the photograph was taken, but she sat with her shoulders erect and her head held high. The face was austere and fine-boned, but with a hint of softness in the eyes. Or was Allison just hoping she read there some regret? Nonsense. Evelyn Standish had made her choice clear when she’d wiped her granddaughter out of her life. It was too late to go back now.

“Allison. You’re here.” Brenda, turning away from the fireplace, sounded as if she didn’t know quite what to do with Allison now that she’d invited her. “I’m sure there are people who’d be delighted to talk with you.” She looked around as if hoping to spot someone.