Heart of the Matter (13 page)

“I don’t doubt it.” She smiled, thinking how alike C.J.’s grandmother and Miz Callie were under the skin. Miz Callie would do that, too, if she thought one of her grand-kids needed it.

“She sent this for you.” C.J. put a paper bag in Amanda’s hands. “She said don’t you give me no arguments about takin’ it, either.”

Even without unwrapping it, Amanda knew by the touch what it was. A sweetgrass basket. She opened the bag and pulled it out, her breath catching.

Not just a sweetgrass basket, a work of art. It was an egg basket, the delicate oval shape complemented by striations, layering dark against light in an endless spiral.

“It’s beautiful.” She knew better than to try to return it. That would be an insult to the woman and to C.J. “I don’t know how to thank her. I’ll cherish this.”

“I guess that’s all the thanks she’d want.” C.J.’s eyes were suspiciously bright. “She said to tell you something else. She said to remind you that strong women have the courage to do what’s right.”

Amanda turned the words over in her mind as she turned the basket over in her hands. C.J.’s grandmother had echoed her own words back at her, with a twist. Was she that kind of strong woman? She wasn’t sure, but it was time she started acting as if she was.

Chapter Thirteen

T
he rain had stopped by the time Amanda arrived on Isle of Palms that afternoon to cover the festival the newspaper was cosponsoring to benefit the elementary school that served the two barrier islands. Cyrus’s philanthropy could be erratic. It was hard to tell what worthy cause would catch his fancy, but he regularly used the newspaper to sponsor events that needed a bit of help.

She moved among the crowds along Front Street, past the Windjammer Café and rows of shops. The street was lined with booths of all sorts, many of them featuring local delicacies or handcrafted items. Beyond the buildings, the dunes ran down to the sea, gray and angry-looking today. Somewhere out there the slow-moving tropical storm had stalled, a situation that made coastal dwellers edgy.

She had more than the weather or the festival in mind at the moment, though. Daddy was off duty today, she’d learned by a phone call to her mother. He’d announced his plan to stop by the festival, even though Mamma couldn’t come because it was her day to volunteer at the hospital; everybody knew that, and she couldn’t possibly disappoint folks who were counting on her.

Assuring her mother that she understood, Amanda had gotten off the phone. Mamma didn’t know why it was so important to Amanda to catch up to Daddy today, and Amanda surely didn’t plan to tell her.

She had to confront Daddy and find out what was going on between him and Ross. She hadn’t had much success with Ross, but she certainly could manage her own father better than that.

And there he was. Not giving her nerves a chance to fail, Amanda hurried her steps, catching up with him in front of a fishing game booth, where small children were dipping with their nets in pursuit of colorful plastic fish.

“You plannin’ on going fishing, Daddy?” She slid her arm in his.

He jerked around, nearly throwing her off balance. “Manda. What on earth are you doing here?”

Keeping her smile fixed with an effort, she gestured to the camera slung around her neck. “I’m covering the event for the newspaper. Didn’t you know we were a cosponsor?”

What was going on with Daddy? He’d jerked around like a…like a criminal, feeling the hand of the law on his shoulder. She shoved the thought away.

“No, no, can’t say I did.” He sounded distracted. “I just figured one of us ought to come and support the school, and your mamma was tied up at the hospital today.” He loosened her grip on his arm. “Well, I’ll let you get on with your work. I’m fixin’ to pick up a shrimp burger for my lunch and see if I can find some little somethin’ to take to your mamma.”

She caught his arm again. “Not so fast, Daddy. I need to talk to you.”

“If you’re working—” he began, but she cut him off.

“Daddy, I have to know. What’s going on between you and Ross Lockhart?”

There was the faintest hesitation, and then he was shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, child.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” She wanted to shake him. “For goodness’ sake, I even had Adam coming by the office to tell me to stay away from the man because of it, whatever it is.”

Daddy scowled, his square face flushing. “Adam ought to know enough to hold his tongue.”

“Adam is worried about me. I think he’s afraid I’m going to get squashed like a bug between the two of you. And I’m worried about you.” There, it was a relief to say the words. “Everyone’s stumbling around in the dark. Just tell me.”

Her father’s color deepened. “You ought to know that there’s some things I can’t talk to you about, Amanda. Can’t even talk to your mamma, for that matter, and I tell her everything.”

She felt it slipping away from her, and she tried to hang on with both hands. “Ross Lockhart is my boss. That means I’m involved, whether I want to be or not. Why does Adam think I need protecting? Why did you and Ross act like you were old enemies the first time you met? What were you hiding from him?”

“Hush up.” Daddy darted a quick look around, but no one was close enough to hear their low voices. “I can’t talk about it, Amanda. If you want to know something about your boss, you’d better ask him.”

“I have.” She met his gaze steadily.
Oh, Daddy. I trust you. Just don’t shut me out.

Daddy’s face tightened. “What did he say?”

“He said the innocent don’t need to worry about publicity.”

She expected him to explode at that. Expected, but didn’t get it. Instead, her father seemed to be looking at someone or something over her shoulder. His muscles had gone tight, and his expression actually scared her.

“I can’t talk anymore right now.” He gave her a little shove. “Take yourself and your cameras off, and forget I’m here.”

“Daddy—”

“I mean it, Amanda.” It was his tone of command, the one she’d never disobeyed in her life. “I’ll talk to you later. Right now, just go.”

There was no arguing with that. She turned, tears blurring her eyes. What on earth was her father mixed up in?

Ross ducked behind an ice cream stand when Amanda turned to look in his direction. If she saw him, she’d think he didn’t trust her to cover the event.

The truth was far from that, but he didn’t intend to enlighten her. He’d had another tip, and this time he’d realized that the informant had to work for Cliff Winchell, the contractor who’d been so evasive each time Ross had called.

He couldn’t make too much of that fact. Plenty of innocent people didn’t want to talk to the press. But Winchell was also the man whose company seemed to get more than its share of contracts from the Coast Guard base.

According to the informant, Winchell was meeting today at the festival with his contact from the base. And sure enough, there the man was, working his way from booth to booth as if he had nothing better to do with himself today but buy a candy apple.

Ross stationed himself by the ice cream stand, to the annoyance of the vendor, and casually watched the man. Still, he couldn’t keep himself from glancing at Amanda from time to time.

She moved, and he was able to see who she was talking to. His stomach jolted. Amanda turned, walking away from her father, the distress on her face plain even from this distance.

Her pain caught at his heart, turning it cold. He should never have let things go as far as they had between them. She was going to be hurt—was already hurting, and he’d probably make it worse before he was done.

But how could he have resisted her? He’d come from a situation where everyone he knew and trusted had turned against him. Even the rescue Cyrus offered had been conditional.

But Amanda—there was nothing conditional about Amanda. Interest in everyone whose life she touched poured from her like a welcome stream in the desert. She had a good heart. His grandmother would have said those simple words in the highest of praise.

Winchell started moving oh so casually, along the row of buildings that lined the street. Ross followed, cutting through the crowd at an angle that would keep him well away from Amanda.

He could avoid encountering her, but he couldn’t dismiss her from his mind that easily. That talk they’d had about faith—he hadn’t been able to stop the flow of memories that had loosened.

He’d drifted far from the faith to which his grandmother had led him, maybe too far to go back. After her death, he’d gone along with the people who were his friends at school—high achievers who focused on success and achievement. Faith seemed to have little to do with that.

Winchell was walking along the sidewalk, stopping to stare at a restaurant menu posted in a window. Looking at that, or using the plate glass to see if he was being followed? Ross kept back, well out of range of the glass.

Amanda had admitted drifting, too, when she went away to school. Probably a lot of people did. But she’d come back to the faith of her childhood. Back to the center of her life, she’d implied.

He didn’t have that. Maybe she didn’t, either, his cynical mind retorted. Maybe she just thought she did, under the influence of the family she loved. How could she know?

Winchell, apparently satisfied no one was watching him, slipped between the buildings and disappeared. Ross elbowed his way through a group of teenagers blocking the sidewalk and narrowly escaped being hit by the swinging camera of a sunburned tourist.

He reached the place where the man vanished. A narrow passageway ran between the buildings. At the end of it, he could glimpse dunes and sea oats. Nothing else, but Winchell had gone this way, so he would, too.

When he neared the end of the passageway, he slowed, moving cautiously, and peered around the corner. There was his quarry, perhaps twenty yards away in the dunes, gesticulating wildly, facing another man. Amanda’s father.

Oddly, there was no satisfaction at seeing a difficult case come together. Just sorrow and anger at what the man was inflicting on his family. On Amanda. Brett Bodine would hurt so many innocent people with his duplicity.

Pain had a grip on his throat, but he pulled the small camera from his pocket. This time he wouldn’t be caught by faked photos. He’d provide the proof himself, and no one would be able to question it.

If she concentrated hard enough on her job, Amanda decided, she just might be able to ignore that unsatisfying conversation with her father. Or pretend to.

She’d interviewed one of the organizers of the event and picked up a quote from a teacher at the school. A few grinning students had been happy to have their picture taken. They’d been enjoying the festival as much for the fun it provided on an uncharacteristically gray July day as for the money it would raise for their school.

Still, that was okay. It was their engaging grins she’d been after.

What else might Cyrus think was important to her report? Since he was a sponsor, he’d cast a particularly critical eye on whatever she brought in. It was a wonder he wasn’t here in person, supervising.

She rounded the corner of a white-elephant stand, run by the ladies of one of the island’s churches, and spotted the one person she definitely hadn’t expected to see here. Ross.

He hadn’t noticed her yet. She could slip back around the stand and avoid another awkward conversation.

Then she noticed the camera he carried, and annoyance swept away any other consideration. She walked up to him with quick strides. As if he sensed her approach, he swung around to face her.

“Amanda.” He looked almost startled to see her, as if he didn’t remember sending her.

“Amanda,” she agreed. “The person you sent to cover this event.” Disappointment that he so obviously still didn’t have confidence in her lent an edge to her voice. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you trust me to do this? You even brought your own camera.”

He seemed to give himself a mental shake, and he slid the camera into his pocket. “Don’t be ridiculous.” His tone was just as sharp as hers had been. “If I didn’t think you could handle the assignment, I assure you, you wouldn’t be here.”

That she almost believed. When it came to work, Ross didn’t know the meaning of the word
tact.

“I see. Then do you mind my asking why you’re here, too?”

He shrugged, glancing away from her as if fascinated by the daily specials chalked on a board in front of the nearest restaurant. “Cyrus thought a representative from the paper should be here all day. He’s tied up in a meeting at the moment, so I’m his deputy.”

It was perfectly plausible, knowing Cyrus. She’d buy the story if she didn’t know him so well. He wasn’t meeting her eyes.

“Have you met with the organizers yet?” she asked, sure she knew the answer.

“Not yet. I’ll do it.” He gave her a baffled, irritated look. “If you have what you came for, you can head on back to the office.”

“It sounds as if you want to be rid of me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing except that I don’t want you to waste any more of the
Bugle’
s time.”

She almost wished she couldn’t read him so easily. This connection between them was going to be difficult enough to end without that.

She’d come to know him so well in such a short time—had gone from disliking him to grudging admiration to caring to love. And now it was over.

The angry glance he directed at her didn’t bother her, because she could see something else lurking in the depths of his brown eyes. Something that might almost be pity.

Her heart lurched. Why would Ross be looking at her as if he felt sorry for her?

“Amanda.”

The curt voice had her spinning to face her father. He looked—frozen. Bleak. And suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

“Daddy, what is it?” Who is it? That was the question. Who is hurt, or worse, to make you look that way?

“I need you to go out to the beach house to stay with your grandmother.”

She nodded, trying to find the words to ask.

“A fishing boat swamped.” He jerked his head toward the gray ocean, seeming to force the words out. “Win went after a survivor. He’s missing.” He held up his hand to still her questions. “I don’t know anything else. I’m headed for the post. I’ll call you at the beach house as soon as I have anything.”

Anything. Like whether her laughing, loving, daredevil of a cousin was alive or dead.

Daddy drew her close for a quick, hard hug. She resisted the urge to cling to him. He didn’t need that now.

“I’ll take care of Miz Callie. It’s okay. I’ll call the others. Just go.” Her voice choked, in spite of her effort to keep it level. “I love you, Daddy.”