See No Evil (13 page)

“You still miss him?”

I shook my head. “I miss what I thought I had with him,
but not him. I'm not dumb enough to miss a guy who was an unfaithful wretch.” Honesty forced me to add, “Though it took me a while to get to this point.”

“Yeah, I would think so.” His voice was gentle, and it made me wonder.

“How about you? Is there some girl mad at me because you have to play bodyguard all weekend?”

“No, no one.”

“But there was.” I made it a statement.

He gave a little puff of bitter laughter. “There was.” He fell silent.

“Hey, I confessed my humiliating story. It's your turn. What was her name?”

“Becky. She gave me my ring back about three years ago. ‘Here, Gray. I don't want it any more.'”

“Because?” I prodded when it seemed that was all I was going to get.

“Because she said I spent all my time working.”

Now there was a surprise. “How long were you engaged?”

“Three years.”

I stared at him. “Three years? You're kidding!”

“What's wrong with that?” he asked defensively. “Is there a rule no one ever bothered to tell me about the accepted length of engagements?”

“For a man who grew up with four sisters, you didn't learn much about women, did you?”

“Look, a man's got to establish himself.”

“I say you didn't love her enough, sort of like Glenn didn't love me enough. He turned to Mae, you turned to work.”

“I thought your degree was in art, not psychology.”

“Well, you do like to work,” I said, ignoring the edge in his voice. “I see you sneaking peeks at your PDA and cell all the time. I should hide your laptop for the weekend and make
you have fun.” I wished I had the courage to follow through on my threat.

Apparently he gave me more credit for guts than I gave myself. He turned to me, eyes flashing. “What is it with women, always knowing what's right for everyone.”

I blinked, taken aback by his genuine anger. He saw my reaction, seemed to hear himself, and muttered, “Sorry.”

Talk about not meaning what you say. “Right.” I knew his reaction was as much or more about Becky than me, but it still stung.

We didn't talk for some time. I fumed; he fumed. I knew we were being stupid, acting like a pair of six-year-olds. Besides, starting the weekend off mad at each other wouldn't ruin it only for us, but for the others as well. I decided I would show Gray how I could be mature and magnanimous. Maybe he could learn from my example.

My cell phone rang while I sought just the right words.

“Anna? It's Natalie Schumann. I've got good news!”

“I could use some good news,” I blurted, looking at Gray. His brows arched in question.

Natalie's voice became muffled as she apparently covered the phone and called to someone near her, “Yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming.” Her voice came clearly again. “We've got him.”

“What? Him? Already?” I couldn't believe it.

“They got the man in black?” Gray looked as surprised as I felt. “How? Where?”

I waved him quiet as Natalie continued, “They picked him up in his car just a couple of minutes ago.”

Through the phone I heard music swell and a voice call, “Natalie, you're up.”

“I gotta go,” Natalie said unnecessarily. “It's my turn to walk down the aisle with a bouquet of ribbons from one of
the many showers. Corny but fun. Not that they need me. There are seven bridesmaids, can you believe it? And that's not counting the maid of honor. But, man, do I partner with a gorgeous guy. Makes wearing the puce gown bearable. I just hope the marriage lasts as long as the wedding, though I have my doubts. See ya.”

“Wait, Nat—” But the line was already dead. With my head spinning slightly at this very different Natalie from the professional cop Natalie I'd previously known, I started smiling. “They got him!” My voice bounced around in the truck cab. Rocky barked his pleasure. “They got him!”

I looked at the ceiling and spread my hands. “Thank You, God. Thank You.”

Gray grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I am so glad for you!”

I felt light, as flyaway as a tuft of dandelion fluff floating on a warm breeze. Once again Skip Schumann was the worst thing to blight my life. I couldn't stop smiling. Gray's smile was as broad as mine.

We turned off the Garden State Parkway and drove through Somer's Point and across the Ninth Street Causeway into Seaside. I glanced at Gray. By this time his smile had turned wry. “I guess my services aren't needed after all, are they?”

Uh-oh. I'd been so busy rejoicing that I hadn't thought about his original reluctance to come with me. Now he was trapped at the shore for the weekend with no purpose but to have fun, relax and lie in the sun. Poor man.

“Your services might not be needed,” I said carefully, “but you are.” I pointed at him and became the voice of a million TV giveaways. “You, Gray Edwards, are about to receive an all-expenses-paid vacation at the beautiful Jersey shore, courtesy of James Stoner, millionaire. Included in this
exciting package are gourmet meals served on the deck of the millionaire's beach-side mansion, exciting nights walking and shopping on the historic Seaside boardwalk, and unlimited use of the Atlantic Ocean and the wide sandy Seaside beaches as your own personal playground.”

He looked as pained as my father when he suffered acute indigestion.

I sighed. Such a party pooper. That Becky was one smart girl to run while the running was good, but idiot that I am, I didn't want to run. I wanted to save him from himself. How delusional was that?

“At least spend the night, Gray.” I pointed to the dashboard clock that read five after ten. “It's too late to drive all the way home now.” It wasn't as if he really wanted to go, but I couldn't think of any other argument.

He grunted, a noise I took for assent. My spirits rose, and I grinned.

“Wait until you see James's house. It's amazing, all glass and glorious views of the sea. There's nothing like breakfast on the deck overlooking the beach and the water. Everything tastes like a gourmet restaurant. Turn right here.”

He turned. “I'm sure it's lovely.”

Can you say noncommittal? At least he wasn't negative. I thought that was hopeful.

“I don't know who designed it—not Hal Reddick, I'm sure—but he did a wonderful job.”

“Hal's not an architect. He's a contractor.”

“See? I was right. He didn't do it.”

We stopped at a traffic light and Gray turned to me. He was almost smiling. “You are something else.”

I fluttered my lashes at him. “Is that good or bad?”

“Neither. It just is,” he said as we drove the last block. We were smiling at each other when we pulled between the
pilings onto the cement slab that was the parking area under James's house.

We climbed out and gathered our stuff. Rocky pulled at my arm, determined to shed his leash and run. A couple of hours in the car had increased his already near-manic need for movement.

James, six feet, skinny, with the family's red hair—though on him it was more a rust than a red—met us at the door. I could never decide if this streetside door was the front door or the back door since the house was built to focus toward the ocean. James gave me a quick hug and shook Gray's hand, then stepped back to look Rocky over.

“Hey, handsome.” He held out a hand, and Rocky slobbered happily over it.

“I think you're supposed to offer a paw, buddy,” Gray said.

Rocky grinned, clueless. I didn't need a crystal ball to see canine obedience class in my future.

We walked down the hall toward the living room, a now-leashless Rocky galloping happily ahead. He ran right up to and into the floor-to-ceiling glass which looked out at the water. With a shake of his head to clear the effects of the collision, he sat and stared with longing at the stretch of beach that called his name.

The house, two rooms wide but quite deep, had six bedrooms and six baths on two floors, which were really the second and third floors since the first was the parking slab under the house. The open slab was designed for the sea to flow through if a hurricane or severe nor'easter hit. The theory was that the house itself would therefore escape damage. That premise had yet to be tested.

I hurried upstairs and dropped my things in the bedroom that was “mine”. Lucy and Meg had rooms across the hall.
The ocean side of the top floor was a great office with more floor to ceiling glass and glorious views. James wrote and worked there, though I always wondered how he could concentrate on anything but the seething sea. Gray was given a room on the main floor across the hall from James's.

“Lucy and Meg are out on the deck.” James slid a door open, and Rocky charged out to slobber a happy greeting to the girls. I managed to grab him and click on his leash. I stuck the end of it under the leg of my chair. He looked disappointed that he couldn't run wild through the sand.

James and Gray seemed to click, especially when the two pizzas James had ordered arrived, all hot and cheesy with onions, green peppers and sausage.

“Ah,” Gray observed, giving me a sideways glance. “The gourmet meals I was promised.”

I made believe I didn't hear. Besides, I could tell he was glad to be here, even if he'd never admit it. The house alone was enough to fascinate an architect/contractor. Maybe he'd stay the whole weekend after all.

The five of us sat on the deck, enjoying the food and the sea breeze that kept the mosquitoes away. Meg and Lucy were delighted with the news about the man in black, and James was properly appalled at the whole story. The susurration of the sea was a gentle rhythm that pulled tension from my shoulders as effectively as the ministrations of a masseuse. By the time we all called it a night, I was ready to sleep for the first time in several days, and Gray seemed at least resigned to trying to have fun.

I slept well with Rocky at my feet, wakening to a warm, sunny day, perfect for the beach. What fun it would be to have Gray diving under the waves with me, walking with me along the water's edge, throwing his PDA to the fishes while I applauded as the dying waves washed around my ankles and my
feet sank into the sand. Alive with optimism, I walked into the kitchen to see him at the counter, brow furrowed as he typed away on his laptop. Both his phone and his PDA were clipped to his swim trunks like little tumors. Even Rocky's drooling dewlaps resting on the man's thigh didn't distract him.

Aurgh!

“W
hat do you want on your omelet, Anna?” Lucy asked from her place at the stove. “Gray?”

Somehow Gray heard. “Cheese and onions.” He didn't look up.

“Me, too.” I grabbed knives, spoons and forks, napkins and dishes, glasses and cups from James's very well-supplied kitchen. I began setting the table around Gray, taking care to make as much noise as possible.

He looked up now. “I thought we were going to have breakfast on the deck.” His expression was way too innocent.

“You could work on the deck,” I countered, knowing he couldn't.

He shook his head. “Can't see the screen in the bright sunlight.”

I smirked. What a shame!

“I'll just go work in the living room.” He stood, preparing to gather his things for the move.

Curses. Foiled again.

“Hey, Gray.” Meg gave me a sly glance, then turned an innocent face to him. “Help us carry the table stuff outside?” She thrust a tray into his midsection so that he had no option but to take it. She and I loaded it with all the paraphernalia
for the meal and followed him to the deck where we became enamored of the sea until he started to set the tray on the table.

“Oh, no, don't put it down,” Meg said. “Just hold it while we work.”

We very slowly set the table while he continued to hold the tray. By the time we were finished, Lucy had breakfast ready, and Gray had been away from his toys for almost twenty minutes. And he wasn't even foaming at the mouth. It gave me great hope about his workaholism.

As usual Lucy had done a magnificent job with the omelets and fresh cinnamon rolls. Rocky sat, his leash attached to a porch post, watching every bite we took.

“You did feed him, didn't you, Anna?” Lucy asked. “I feel as if a starving kid from a third-world country is staring at me.”

“He's eaten. He just hasn't learned yet that it's impolite to stare.”

A few minutes later Gray sat back, a contented look on his face. “That was great, Lucy. I usually have cold cereal. Thanks.”

Meg rose and started collecting dishes. I rose to help. The deal here, as at home, was that Lucy cooked because she loved to, and the rest of us cleaned up. Well, Meg and I did. We let James off the hook because he gave us all these free weekends.

Gray rose and started for the kitchen and his trusty laptop. Granted he was carrying his dirty dishes, but I feared breakfast had been only a momentary reprieve. My thoughts were confirmed when he looked at his cell phone, still clipped to the waist of his swimming trunks.

“Gotta call back,” he muttered.

I saw my dream beach day dissolving like a sand castle in the incoming tide.

James got to his feet. “Hey, Gray, let the girls worry about
the dishes. Why don't you help me set up the volleyball net? I put one up on the sand every weekend.”

Usually Meg, Lucy and I helped with setup, but I didn't mind one bit being passed over in favor of Gray.

I watched him turn from setting his dishes on the kitchen counter to look with longing at his laptop.

Don't be dumb! He's your host and he's asking a favor. Do it!

Apparently Gray agreed with me. “Let me close things down and jettison my phone.” He put his computer on hibernate and set his cell on the table beside his laptop.

“Your PDA.” I rinsed a dish as if it didn't matter to me in the least whether he wore it or left it. “Sand will ruin it.”

“Thanks.” He dropped it on the table beside his laptop and cell and went off with James to hammer poles into the sand.

After we women finished loading the dishwasher, Lucy and Meg went to supervise the volleyball-net project. I dried my hands on a paper towel and turned to go upstairs to get my beach towel. As I walked past the table, Gray's phone rang. I stared at it. Should I answer it for him or let his messaging service take over? If I was in someone's house and their land line rang and they weren't in the house, I'd answer for them and take a message. Was etiquette any different for a cell phone?

Besides, much as I hated to admit it, there might be a work emergency.

I picked up the phone and hit Send. “Hello?”

There was a little silence. Then a woman said, “I must have the wrong number.”

“You probably don't. This is Gray Edwards's phone. May I take a message?”

“Is he nearby? I'd like to speak with him. This is his mother.”

“Oh, Mrs. Edwards. Hi. I'm Anna Volente. I'm the one who saw the murderer and fell on Gray.”

This time the silence was longer, and I felt my face glow red. Why had I thought that Gray would tell his mother about me and my problems?

“You saw a murderer?” She sounded appalled when she finally spoke. “And Gray did too?”

“Yes, at Freedom's Chase. Me, not Gray. But he was with me when I fell off my ladder and gave him a bloody nose. That was because the murderer shot at me. Then Gray and I found the body.”

“My goodness, Anna! And I thought all he did was work.”

I didn't comment. It's just not polite to say unkind things about a man to his mother.

“So tell me all about this adventure of yours. All the details. It's the weekend, and I've got unlimited minutes.”

I took a seat and told her everything, ending with, “So Gray's here at the shore pretty much against his will, but he's being polite about it. He's helping James—that's Lucy's brother—we're staying at his house—put up a volleyball net on the beach.” I walked to the windows and looked out. “In fact he's playing volleyball at the moment.”

I hoped his mother couldn't deduce the cause of my sudden breathlessness as I watched him dive for a ball and smile in triumph when he made the save. Wow! His smile was gorgeous.

“Do you know what an answer to prayer you are?” Mrs. Edwards asked.

“Me?” I think my voice squeaked.

“Mm. I've been praying for him for years to have some kind of personal life. I think it's wonderful that he loves his work, but no one's life should be only work.”

“That's just what I tried to tell him, but he didn't take it very well.” I remembered his sudden anger last evening.

“Stubborn cuss, isn't he?” his mother said happily. “Can you keep him there for the entire weekend?”

I shrugged. “I think so. I'll do my best.”

“That's all I ask. Tell him I called and ask him to return the call when he can.” I was laughing when I hung up. There was a woman I could appreciate.

I was smiling as I went upstairs and collected my sunscreen, beach towel, and book. I found Gray and told him his mom had called. Then I joined Lucy and Meg who had staked a claim on the soft sand above the tide line. We read and chatted and enjoyed relaxing. About one o'clock we went to the house and made some sandwiches. James and Gray joined us on the deck as we ate. Gray seemed to have had a wonderful time all morning. When he wasn't playing volleyball, which he did with great enthusiasm, he was in the water or playing handball on the tide-packed sand. It was very obvious that the man couldn't sit still.

“Want a book to read?” I asked as we prepared to go back to the beach for the afternoon. “James has a great collection of mysteries.” Not surprising since he wrote them.

Gray squinted at me like he'd never heard of a book. “Let's take a walk instead.”

We headed south toward the far end of the island that was Seaside. The water was a warm seventy-five degrees, and we walked in the small waves slurping onto the beach.

“So you don't read much?” I felt as though I was stating the obvious.

He shrugged. “I'm a doer. Reading is just sitting. Sort of like architecture.”

“Like architecture?”

“Yeah. All you do is sit at your computer or your drawing board. Sit, sit, sit.”

“You're a licensed architect?”

He nodded. “A Drexel grad. Two years with a Philadelphia firm was more than enough. Dress slacks, oxford-cloth shirts, neckties.” He shuddered. “Becoming a contractor was one of the smartest things I ever did. Now I'm in on the projects in a real way. I get to wear jeans, I get to drive a pickup and I get my hands nice and dirty.”

Yup, this was a man who loved his job. He told me how he talked his father and several of his cronies into investing in Edwards Inc., and that none of them had any reason to complain about their return.

“He must be very proud of you. You've done very well.”

“I hope he would be.” Gray's voice was soft. “He died three years ago.”

“Oh, Gray, I'm sorry.” I laid a hand on his arm, patting him a couple of times. “I know how painful it is to lose a parent.” I told him about my mother, and before I realized it, I was telling him about The Promise. As I heard myself talk, I marveled at the level of trust I was putting in a man I barely knew.

“So I was an art major at Kutztown University, and now I teach art.”

“And you sew. How does that fit with The Promise?”

“It doesn't, really. I started doing it to help put myself through college. Remember I'm the last of five, and Dad was really sweating by the time my bills came due.”

“So it's your painting that keeps The Promise?”

“Yeah.”

He studied me a moment. “You don't seem very happy about it.”

How did I explain my ambivalent feelings? “I'm not unhappy,” I said carefully as I watched the water lapping around my calves.

He stopped, took my hand, and turned me to face him. “But?”

“But I'm not really any good.”

“Are you sure you're not being too hard on yourself? The picture in your kitchen is very nice, very good.”

I made a face.
“Nice. Good.
They're just kind synonyms for mediocre.”

Gray nodded, not disagreeing. I sighed. We resumed our walk, our hands still linked.

After a few minutes of silence he asked, “So what do you really enjoy doing?”

I didn't even have to think about my answer. “Making my fabric mosaics.”

“Making what?”

“You know those strips of material you saw?” And I was off.

By the time I finally ran down, Gray had stopped walking again. When I turned to him, I knew I probably wore a goofy grin.

“Have you ever thought that your mother asked more of you than she should have?”

My grin vanished. “Gray!” How could he challenge The Promise? It was sacrosanct. Not even Dad could budge me on it.

He held up a hand. “Wait a minute before you decide to eviscerate me. Do you think your mother would want you to be unhappy?”

I scowled. Stupid question. “Of course not. She even said that being an artist would give me joy.”

“Were you making your mosaics back then?”

I shook my head.

“So she didn't know where your artistic talent would take you, did she?”

Again I shook my head.

“Did she make you promise to be a painter?”

“No,” I managed to whisper. “An artist, but she meant painter.”

“Only because that's all you had done to that point, Anna. But there are different kinds of art.”

“You don't understand!” I was trembling. I knew he was only saying what my father had been saying for as long as I could remember, but I didn't have years of resisting his words as I did Dad's.

“Oh, I understand better than you think. When I decided to leave my job at the architectural firm and begin Edwards, Inc., my dad was not a happy man. ‘You mean I spent all that money on your education, and you're throwing it away so you can hammer nails and chuck your necktie? Just because you worked construction in the summers doesn't mean you can start a business and make a go of it. You just stay put, boy!'”

I was fascinated. “Obviously you resolved your differences if he invested in Edwards, Inc.”

“We did, but only after I agreed to take a master's in business.”

“Great compromise.”

He grinned. “It was and it worked.”

We turned and began walking back toward James's.

He bent and caught a child's float that had gotten away from its owner and was riding the waves to shore. He handed it to the chubby girl chasing it. She grabbed it and rushed back into the water.

“Thank you,” I called after her.

“Yeah,” she yelled back over her shoulder.

Gray tugged on my hand. “Listen to me, Anna. What I'm trying to say is that sometimes parents don't know what's best for their kids.”

Stated baldly like that, I couldn't help but agree. But a
dying promise had a special cachet, didn't it, even when it was an albatross about your neck?