The Inn at Dead Man's Point (19 page)

“Yes, she is, and I dated her a couple times, but it didn’t work out. I’m not Angelo, and she’s not Teresa.”

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Mattie got a big package in the mail. The aide helped her open it and hang her new clothes in the closet. She’d never had this many new things all at once in her entire life. They said her niece bought them for her. Jenna surely didn’t intend for her to pay for all this, did she? She could have asked before she ordered clothes. What if they didn’t fit, and what if the colors were all wrong? But she liked everything she saw, and the sizes were correct.

She tried calling the inn several times to ask who was paying the bill, but there was no answer. Wasn’t anyone there?

She called again the next day and somebody answered, but it wasn’t the young man who’d bought the inn, and it wasn’t Jenna. The woman identified herself as Sophia Donatelli, the young man’s mother. “I came to take care of the cats while Alessandro and Jenna are in California.”

“What on earth are they doing there?”

“It’s business. Alessandro is an architect, and Jenna is working for Cara. You remember Cara? She was at the Sunday dinner we had at the inn, the day Katie got stuck on the hill.”

What Mattie remembered was a whole bunch of people she didn’t know and didn’t want to know, and there were kids everywhere. Who in their right mind would have that many kids?

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That afternoon, Jenna worked in the big library on the main floor with Cara, gathering last minute information for her meeting at the foundation office in the city. The meetings would take most of the day tomorrow, and Cara expected Jenna to go with her.

“Tomorrow morning we’ll be meeting to discuss estate business, and in the afternoon we’ll meet with Mary Margaret to figure out which of these projects to take on in the next few months.”

“I thought you’d have thousands of requests.”

“We had thousands in the beginning. Now it’s in the hundreds. Mary Margaret sifts through them first and eliminates most of them. She sends some to other organizations who are better equipped to handle them, and her assistant sends letters to the ones we reject outright. I’m not interested in paying the rent for people down on their luck or paying their credit card bills because they got behind. If we start doing that, we’ll end up supporting half the country. I’m more interested in funding projects that will help kids and families who can’t help themselves. Last quarter we paid for a kid’s bone marrow transplant because the insurance company had balked so long the boy’s life was in danger. Then the foundation’s attorney went after the insurance company. There’s no excuse for that kind of negligence.”

“Does Gerry take care of the foundation?”

“No. Gerry is my personal attorney. The estate had another attorney, and he’s also on the board for the foundation. He’ll be at both meetings tomorrow.”

From what Jenna could gather, Cara ran the Andrews estate as if it was a business, and the Monica Andrews Foundation was one leg of that business. The John Andrews Art Museum was another leg of that business.

It was late afternoon when Jenna went upstairs to check on the kids. Johnny was up from his nap and Katie was getting fussy. Sophie didn’t take a nap, so Katie didn’t want to take one either. Jenna took her into the other room and closed the drapes. She sat in the big chair in the corner and held Katie on her lap. Alessandro came in and sat on the side of the bed. He wore a white polo shirt that stretched over his muscled arms and shoulders. Alessandro had the build of a natural athlete. They shared a long, smoky look, and she knew they wouldn’t need two rooms tonight. They’d be sharing one room and one bed.

Katie’s breathing deepened in sleep.

“She’s had a big day,” Jenna said quietly. She pulled her daughter’s shoes off and Alessandro turned down the covers on the bed. He lifted Katie from her mother’s lap, kissed her on the forehead, and tucked her in bed.

“Does Mommy need a nap, too?” he whispered.

“A nap won’t do it for me. I want the whole night.”

He laughed softly, a deep, sexy sound that sent tingles through her entire body.

How she loved this man.

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After the kids were put to bed that evening and Cara excused herself to go upstairs and call home, Jenna sat at the piano in the living room and ran her hands over the polished ivory keys. She settled into a classical piece she’d learned when she was ten.

Alessandro leaned on the baby grand and listened to her play.

“I miss my mother’s piano,” she said when she stopped playing. “I used to play at least an hour every day, but Aunt Mattie said there was no place for a piano at the inn, and my parents put it in storage with their other furniture. I don’t know what Uncle Charlie did with it after my parents died.”

She should tell him what Gerry had found, but she didn’t want it coming between them. It wasn’t Alessandro’s fault that Uncle Charlie had taken money for half-ownership in the inn and then not given it to Jenna.

“What else can you play, Jenna?”

She ran her hands up and down the keys, doing the scales she used to practice, and then, playing by ear, she settled into
Santa Baby
, the Christmas song Madonna had recorded a few years ago. She sang along for awhile and then, still singing, she stood and danced to Alessandro’s side. “I’ve been an awful good girl,” she sang, and he laughed.

Every day she spent with him drew them closer, so close it frightened her a little. What if this was just a fling for him? What if he didn’t love her like she loved him? If he went back to the pretty doctor, she’d die inside.

She wanted to tell him she loved him, because she did, but if he wasn’t ready to hear it, she might lose him. It was a chance she didn’t want to take.

Al took her upstairs to his room and made slow, sweet love to her. She was generous with her body and her affections, and as he held her in the aftermath, he wanted to keep her in his arms forever. She snuggled closer and he stroked her silky hair. His heart was so full it felt like it would overflow.

Was this what it felt like to be in love?

They fell asleep together and early the next morning, when she was still warm and soft and sleepy, he curled his body around her back and reached around to fondle her breasts. She settled back against him, one leg over his, so it took little effort to push inside her. It was a tighter fit this way, more erotic, especially without a condom.

She moaned and grabbed his hand, and then she started to move, riding him while he held her breasts and belly.

“Alessandro,” she whispered. “Oh, God, what you do to me.”

Nuzzling in her neck, he wanted to tell her he loved her, but he couldn’t say the words. What if she was playing games with him like she did in high school? He had to be sure before he told her how he felt.

Jenna peeked in on the sleeping kids and then took a long, hot shower. The meetings today were important to her. She wanted to prove that Cara hadn’t made a mistake in hiring her.

The boss at her last job was a royal jerk, always making suggestive remarks when nobody else was around to hear them. She’d gone to the personnel director and asked what her options were, because it was clearly sexual harassment, and he told her to document each instance. She’d started to do that and then the layoffs began. Her list went in the bottom drawer when the desks around hers began to empty. She could deal with the suggestive remarks if she could keep her job. But it was not to be. She and her manager were both laid off. There wasn’t a thing she could do about it except look for another job, but the only jobs she could find were clerical jobs. Each time she applied for work, the manager said she was overqualified.

She’d begun to think she didn’t fit in anywhere when the nurse at the hospital called about Aunt Mattie. And then she’d begun to dream about opening the inn.
Her
inn. What a mistake that was. Even if she owned it, she couldn’t open it in the shape it was in. Most of the beds and bedding needed to be replaced, you could hear the old plumbing rattle all over the inn, the living room furniture and drapes were worn out, and there was no air-conditioning, which people expected these days. It would take time and money before anyone could open that place for business again, and she had neither.

And she didn’t own the inn.

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Right after Cara and Jenna left for their meeting, Gerry called looking for Jenna. “They already left,” said Al. “Do you want to leave a message?”

“Tell her I have the information from her parents’ 401K accounts. The money was all withdrawn after Jenna’s parents died. No checks like the other account.”

“You mean no other checks to the inn?” It was a guess. Jenna hadn’t told him anything.

“That’s right. I’m glad she talked it over with you, Al. I told her if she wanted to explore her legal options, she’d have to find another attorney. I can’t represent her because it would be a conflict of interest, since I also represent you.”

“How much of the inn did they buy?”

“Half. Apparently they didn’t get what they paid for, because I checked the county records, and their name was never put on the deed. Neither was Jenna’s.”

Was she stringing him along while she hired another attorney? Would she do that? Why wouldn’t she? That was what she’d wanted all along.

The inn.

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Jenna and Cara left the estate at eight for the hour-long ride into the estate offices, where Cara’s meetings would be held. Jenna wore a dark gray suit with a pale pink shell and pearl earrings. It was the best business outfit she owned. Cara looked elegant in dark green, which brought out the red in her hair. On the ride into the city, while Cara reviewed her notes for the first meeting, Jenna admired the elegance of the Bentley, their transportation for the day. A guard rode in the front seat beside the driver, another reminder of the need to protect Cara and her family from people like Brian and his parents. Money brought out the worst in people. Brian wouldn’t have nagged at Nick to have dinner with his parents if not for Cara’s money, and he wouldn’t have tried to sue Alessandro.

The Bentley pulled into a parking garage under an office building in San Francisco, and Jenna rode the elevator upstairs with Cara and her guard. As soon as they were in the offices, the guard disappeared.

Marge, the receptionist, showed them into a conference room and poured them both a cup of coffee. There were four other people in the room. Cara introduced the man at the head of the table as Bart Cantrell, the man who handled her investments and managed the office. Barbara Billings was the estate’s accountant, and Jefferson Parish served as the attorney. Mary Margaret McMillen, who ran the Monica Andrews Foundation, was also present. Each place at the table had a folder, and there was one empty chair. As soon as they all got settled and exchanged pleasantries, the other person arrived. He was an older gentleman with a goatee. Cara introduced him as Malcolm Moore, who ran the John Andrews Museum.

Bart Cantrell opened the meeting, and as they discussed various companies that the estate invested in, Cara asked questions about things that had nothing to do with how much money they were making. She wanted to know if they were responsible employers, if they paid attention to environmental issues, and if their products were safe for their intended users. Interesting questions, although Jenna couldn’t picture a businessman asking them, especially someone like Bruce Baxter.

After a short break, they moved on to the second part of the meeting, the proposed investments and the estate’s financial statement for the second quarter.

Jenna was bored out of her mind. She not only knew nothing about investing and accounting, she didn’t understand most of the terminology. Her mind wandered to Alessandro and Katie, to the inn, and to Aunt Mattie and her new clothes.

Finally, the morning meeting was over, and Marge pushed a cart in with salads, sandwiches, cold drinks, and a fresh pot of coffee. Everyone stood and stretched and walked around, and Cara quietly asked Jenna if she’d managed to stay awake all morning.

“Barely. Are all your meetings like this?”

“No. The meeting this afternoon should be more interesting, and tomorrow, we’ll visit the museum. I always enjoy that part of it.”

They sat with the others and ate lunch, and then Mary Margaret talked about the foundation’s ongoing projects and the new ones they’d taken on during the past quarter. She gave a progress report on each one, including slides she showed on the paneled wall. The little boy who’d had the bone marrow transplant was shown before and after.

Cara leaned close to Jenna. “This is what it’s all about.”

“How is he doing now?” Jenna asked.

Mary Margaret replied, “He’s back in school and thriving. The transplant worked beautifully. The insurance company reimbursed us for the cost and apologized for their inattention to the matter.”

“Makes you wonder how many people have died because of their ‘inattention.’”

They moved on to a project in Oakland, another one in New York City, and still another in Los Angeles. Some projects were highly visible in the communities and some weren’t so public, like the scholarship programs for kids in poor, one-parent homes. They could qualify for government help, but it wasn’t enough to cover their living expenses.