“Oh boy,” she murmured, and might have gone on to say something about male buddies, if a phone hadn’t rung. Caroline? Her eyes flew to the nightstand, heart pounding for the second time in as many minutes.
But the ringing phone was Jordan’s. Barely opening his eyes, he stretched an arm up and over Angus to retrieve it. His thumb connected the call. “Yeah,” he said. Within seconds, he was wide awake. “When?… What did he say?”
His eyes met Casey’s. She couldn’t make out the words coming from the other end, but there was no mistaking irritation.
“Yeah. I know her,” Jordan said, looking at her now with chagrin. “She might have learned some of that from me…. No, I didn’t send her there. Why would I have done that?… She did
not
know I was your son. There are tons of O’Keefes in Boston.” Propping himself up on an elbow, he listened and said, “She probably connected Jordan and Dan at the end and was embarrassed. That was my fault, not hers. What else did Darden say?… He didn’t make any threats?… Fine. Let him curse me. He’s hated me since the night Jenny hit him. I’d rather he demonize me than take off looking for her.” He listened, sighed. “Hold on, Dad. It was an innocent comment. Jenny’s dead and buried. You gotta tell Darden that. The last face I want to see at my door is his…. Will you know if he leaves town?… Can you
check
?… Yes, I’d appreciate that…. Sure…. Yeah.”
Ending the call, he lay back down and rested the phone on his stomach.
Angus had removed his paw and was sitting up, but he continued to stare at Casey.
“Jenny’s dead and buried,” Jordan murmured in self-justification. “Meg’s alive and well.”
“Is Darden making noise?” Casey asked, feeling both guilt and dread.
“Yup. He told Dad he wouldn’t put it past me to have spirited Jenny out of town and squirreled her somewhere.”
“Did he say he was going looking for her?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean he won’t.”
“If he’s obsessed, he won’t let go.”
“Tell me,” Jordan said dryly.
“Should we tell Meg?”
He thought about that for a minute. “Not yet. He won’t know how to find her. He’ll come after me first, then you.”
“Me?”
“He has your name. Probably got it in the luncheonette. Your number’s in the phone book.”
“For the condo.”
“We pray.”
Casey clutched the sheet to her chest and sat up. “I’m sorry.”
He studied her with what looked like exasperation. Then, incredibly, his face softened with a gentle smile. “I know you are. You didn’t make this problem. If any one of us— Connie, me, even Meg— had known to fill you in before you visited Walker, you would’ve held back. But you didn’t know. I can fault your act, but not your intent.” Wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, he drew her head down to his chest. Long fingers worked their way through her hair, combing, stroking, soothing.
Casey closed her eyes. The last time anyone had done this for her, it was her mother’s soothing hands and Casey had been too young to know how old she was. Between Caroline’s condition and Darden’s threat, relaxation should have been impossible. But Jordan was superseding all that. What he was doing was heaven.
She purred her satisfaction, then whispered, “Is Angus still staring?”
“Yup,” he whispered back.
“Does this bode ill?”
“Nah. He’s in here, isn’t he? Seems to me, as recently as last week he wouldn’t leave Connie’s room.”
“He’s a good cat.”
“It’s a good house.”
Casey took a deep breath. “A friend of a friend wants to buy.”
“You can’t sell.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love the garden. Someone else may not want me to tend it.”
“Is that what you are, a tender?”
“Tender’s a sissy word. I’m a gardener.”
“You’re a painter.” She loved saying that. It was still a surprise.
“I couldn’t be one without the other.”
“Not because of the money.”
“No. The inspiration.”
She was thinking that she understood that completely, when the sound of the doorbell broke into her thoughts. Angus was off the bed in a shot. Heart pounding, she bolted up. “Who is that?” she asked as she jumped out of bed.
Jordan was on his feet and pulling on his khaki shorts. “My car’s outside. That makes me nervous.”
She reached for her robe. “Would Darden know that car?”
“Sure would.” He zipped. “I’ve driven it to Walker.” He fiddled with the button at the waist. “Not in a while. But Darden wouldn’t forget.”
Casey pushed her arms into the robe. “And if he did have this address—”
“— my car here would confirm his suspicions,” Jordan finished and made for the hall.
She followed, tying the belt of the robe as she ran. “It can’t be Darden. He was talking with your dad in Walker just a little while ago.”
Jordan trotted down the stairs. “It was last night that he talked with my dad. Late. Dad tried calling me at home and figured I was out. It didn’t occur to him to try my cell number until Mom mentioned it this morning.”
Casey ran down after him, praying that it wasn’t Darden at the door. If the man came to Boston and found Jenny, his appearance would wreak havoc in her life. She was Meg now. She felt safe. To have that safety shattered would be tragic, and it would all be Casey’s fault. She would have
really
let Connie down then.
Jordan strode through the foyer. Putting one hand on the door, he looked through the sidelight.
Stopping several feet behind him, Casey held her breath.
Jordan blew his own out with a sputtered half-laugh and stepped back. “I believe it’s for you,” he said with a hint of chagrin.
Puzzled, she glanced through the sidelight. At the same time that she saw Jenna, Brianna, and Joy, they saw her. But they had also seen Jordan. They were looking alternately astonished, excited, and amused, pointing at the doorknob, telling her to open up.
She looked at Jordan. “Are you ready for this?”
“Would I ever be?” he asked, and reached for the knob. He pulled the door open, then stood with remarkable dignity while Casey’s friends looked him over, talking all the while.
“Couldn’t find a parking space in the Court,” Brianna announced.
“Had to park on West Cedar,” added Jenna.
“Good thing we didn’t give up,” Joy declared.
Brianna murmured, “Why, Casey, you little devil.” Her eyes remained on Jordan. “And I was worried?”
“You’ve been avoiding us,” scolded Jenna, but she, too, was looking at Jordan.
Same with Joy, who chided, “Not returning calls.”
“Don’t I recognize this man?” It was Brianna again, singing the question, because she certainly did recognize the man.
“Don’t
I?
” asked Jenna, though her tone was more puzzled than teasing.
All three waited, looking expectantly at Jordan.
Casey gave a resigned sigh. “Ladies, this is Jordan O’Keefe. Jordan, left to right, please meet Jenna, Brianna, and Joy, my best friends.”
Jordan nodded to each, then, fully composed, said, “I’m sorry. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have dressed.”
Jenna chuckled. Joy snickered. Brianna eyed him askance and cooed, “Excuse me, but didn’t I see you working in the garden out back last week?”
“That’s not where I saw him,” Jenna said with a look of dawning. “It was at an art show—”
“He’s an artist,” Casey confirmed. “And he’s my gardener.”
“And obviously something else, too,” put in Joy. Her gaze was on the button of Jordan’s shorts, which had never quite gotten fastened in his haste to get to the door.
Brianna turned to Casey with barely suppressed glee. “I’m sorry. I would really like to dwell on the nature of your relationship with the gardener who is an artist, but this is my moment and I’m taking it.” She stuck out a hand. It was her left one, and it wore a beautiful new diamond ring.
Casey gasped loudly. “Brianna! Omigod! You did it!” She gave Brianna a tight hug, then held her back to look at the ring. “It’s magnificent.” She hugged her again. “I’m proud of you.”
Brianna was beaming. “So am I.”
“When did you get it?”
“Friday night. I’d have told you sooner, if you’d answered your calls.”
Jordan broke in, scratching the back of his head in a sheepish gesture, “Uh, this is where I make my exit, ladies.” The implication was that he had been responsible for Casey’s unanswered calls. It was a perfect alibi, saving Casey from having to mention Maine. “Congratulations, Brianna,” he said.
“Oh, don’t leave,” Brianna cried. “We’re celebrating!” As she spoke, Joy produced a bottle of champagne, and Jenna a large bakery bag. “If Casey has orange juice, we have Sunday brunch. It may not be as good as the one Meg made, but we can pretend.”
At that very moment, as though conjured up by the sound of her name, Casey saw Meg as she turned in from West Cedar. Her head was bowed. From the distance, she looked lonely, even dejected.
Casey felt a new soft spot inside. Meg was her cousin. Her
cousin
.
“Okay, guys,” she ordered her friends, including Jordan in the group, “you all go inside. I’m going to talk to Meg and see what we can do.” Cinching her robe tighter— and not caring one whit that it was all she was wearing— she ran barefoot down the steps and along the sidewalk.
Meg looked up. Stopping short, she broke into a smile that transformed her face into something quite pretty.
Casey smiled back as she neared Meg. “I know that I’m making a total fool of myself running barefoot down the street in my bathrobe, but my friends just got here. Brianna’s engaged! Isn’t that
wild?
” She slipped an arm through Meg’s and ushered her toward the townhouse. “You could
not
have come at a better time. Can we do an impromptu celebration? They brought champagne and something from a bakery, but you’re the one who knows if we have orange juice and, after that, what we have in the fridge to scrounge up. Can you help?”
Though Meg continued to smile, Casey thought she looked a little pale. It struck her that she was simply wearing less makeup. Looking for them now, she could see the faded dots where vivid freckles had once been.
“I can help,” Meg said eagerly.
With their arms still linked, Casey put her head close. It was easy; they were much the same height. “But I have to warn you,” she said in the way of a woman-to-woman conspiracy, “Jordan’s here.”
“Jordan?”
“He spent the night.”
“Spent… the night?”
Lips pressed together to suppress a smile, Casey met her gaze.
When understanding dawned, Meg’s eyes lit. “You and Jordan?”
“Don’t you think he’s gorgeous?”
“Yeah, but he’s…
Jordan
.”
Casey knew exactly where Meg was coming from. She, on the other hand, came from a different place.
“Precisely,” she said, guiding Meg up the stairs and into the townhouse.
Within half an hour, Jordan had added a shirt to his shorts, Casey had put on cutoffs and a camisole, and Meg was serving a full breakfast for five on the table in the garden in the sun. The rhododendrons were nearly in full flower, the lilies taller, the verbena richly purple and broader. Wherever the fragrance came from, it was appropriately festive in honor of Brianna.
They were just digging into huevos rancheros when Jordan’s phone rang. Casey’s eyes flew to his, but he had already gotten up from the table. He answered the phone as he walked toward the office. Making sure to smile for Meg’s sake, she glanced regularly in his direction. When he ended the call and caught her gaze, she joined him there.
“That was my father,” he said quietly. “Darden’s car is gone.”
Casey’s heart sank. “What does ‘gone’ mean?”
“Not in the garage, not in the driveway, not in the parking lot of the church or anywhere else around town.”
Casey moaned. “How long has it been gone?”
“They don’t know. Darden could have taken off after he called Dad last night. Or he could have left early this morning.” He punched out another number. “Boston cop,” he murmured to Casey, then said into the phone, “Hey, John. Jordan O’Keefe here. Remember that situation you and I hoped would never crop up?… Yeah. Afraid so.”
Casey saw another Jordan then. Listening to his half of the conversation, she heard the consummate professional at work. Cool and levelheaded, he gave the detective on the other end as much factual information as he had on Darden, his car, and its plates. He gave the addresses of Casey’s condo in the Back Bay and his own on the hill, since both were in the phone book, and Darden might head there. He gave the address of the townhouse on Leeds Court, saying that it wouldn’t hurt to have a cruiser pass by from time to time, just in case. He also gave the address of Meg’s apartment on the flat of the hill, but with the caveat that it was simply an FYI thing.
“Darden doesn’t know the name Meg Henry,” he said as much to himself as to Casey when he ended the call, “and, anyway, her phone number’s unlisted. He won’t know where she lives unless he spots her on the street and follows her home.”
“She looks different now.”
“Not that different,” Jordan said with regret.
“Why’s he driving a Chevy, and not the Buick?”
“The Buick died long ago. The Chevy belongs to the woman he lives with. Her name’s Sharon Davies.”
“And she really has T-O-U-G-H on the plates?”
“That’s what Dad said.”
“If she’s tough, what’s she doing with Darden?”
“He has a house. Talk has it that she was moving from town to town with her two kids, staying wherever she could, spending as little money as she could. When she moved in with Darden, the deal was that she would do the cooking and cleaning in exchange for a solid roof over her head.”
“Does she know where Darden went?”
“Looks like she’s with him.”
“What about the kids?”
“They’re at the house, but they don’t know a thing. They can’t say when Darden left. They were both sleeping.”
“She left her kids alone?”
“They’re old enough. The daughter’s sixteen, the boy’s eleven.”
Casey tried to be positive. “It could be an innocent little trip,” she said, but she didn’t believe it any more than Jordan did, judging from the look on his face. So she quickly added, “Should I take Meg away?”