To Have and To Hold (21 page)

Mr. Morley's lips drooped into a heavy frown while deep creases cut across his brow, aging the dapper gentleman by at least ten years. He cast a weary gaze upon Marshall and then pointed to Frank Baker. “I want to talk to both of you back at the house.”

When they arrived at Bridal Fair a short time later, Mr. Morley led them into the parlor. “I'm going to want a full explanation as to what caused this disaster.”

Marshall nodded. “An inspection is needed, but from what I could see during the time I was up there, it appears there may have been some sort of explosive involved.” He looked at the other two men. “You heard that blast before the first beams collapsed, didn't you?”

Frank shook his head. “The only crash I heard was that lumber falling and the men screaming.” He pointed a thumb in Marshall's direction. “You just ask around, Mr. Morley. I think you'll find it's your project manager that's the problem. Word is that he's been ordering inferior lumber and materials in Biscayne and forcing the men to use them in the construction. My men can vouch for the problems they've had trying to work with the likes of him. You just ask 'em. They'll speak the truth.” Frank's lips curled in an evil grin.

Marshall's jaw went slack, but it would serve no purpose to deny Frank's claims—at least not now. The foreman would parade his men in front of Mr. Morley, and the workers would repeat whatever they'd been instructed to say. Besides, his nerves were on edge, and they were all exhausted from the day's events. He would wait until he could speak to Mr. Morley in private.

When Marshall didn't protest, Frank nudged Mr. Morley in a surprisingly familiar way. The investor shot a warning look in Frank's direction and took a backward step.

“Sorry, sir. I didn't mean any disrespect.”

Mr. Morley motioned toward the stairs. “I think we'll all do better after a good night of sleep.”

Marshall had hoped to speak to Mr. Morley before retiring, but the older man immediately headed for the stairs, obviously intent upon getting some rest before morning. Would Mr. Morley interpret his silence as guilt? Marshall chided himself. He should have spoken up when he had the opportunity. He glanced into the kitchen. With a bit of good fortune, he might be able to locate Audrey.

His hopes plummeted when he spotted Thora sitting alone at the small worktable. She looked up as he entered the room. “Sorry to see me, are you?”

Marshall stiffened at her astute observation. “Did I say I was unhappy to see you?”

She cackled and tapped her index finger alongside her right eye. “No, but any fool could see it in your eyes. Is it Audrey or Irene you was hoping to find?”

He did his best to appear indifferent. “I wanted to borrow a bottle of ink. I used the last of mine and would like to write a note this evening.”

“Likely story,” Thora muttered, pushing up from the table. “Audrey tells me things is a mess down there at the clubhouse. I'm mighty sorry about the injured men, but not so much about that monstrosity of a place. Gonna be an eyesore, for sure. You think the investors might change their mind and move somewhere else?” Marshall shook his head as she made a wide circle around him and headed toward the parlor. “More's the pity. We'd be better off without it,” she muttered. After a glance over her shoulder, she stopped and perched her fist on one hip. “Well, you coming or not? Thought you wanted some ink.” He stammered his response and followed close on her heels. “Don't need to get so close. If I stop, you're gonna plow me over.”

Marshall raked his fingers through his hair. There was no pleasing the woman. The moment she handed him the bottle of ink, he thanked her, exited the room, and marched upstairs, glad to be away from her watchful eye. He penned a quick note, telling Mr. Morley he would like to speak to him privately after breakfast. Careful to avoid any creaking floorboards, Marshall tiptoed down the hall and slipped the note under the investor's door. Come morning, he hoped this matter would be resolved in his favor. If not, he'd have to break his promise to Boyd. Though he'd made a promise, remaining on the island would be impossible if Mr. Morley considered him an inadequate project manager.

After a restless night, Marshall was relieved when the sun began its ascent in the eastern sky. He wanted to state his case and clear the air with Mr. Morley. Weariness and worry etched the faces of all the men surrounding the breakfast table—all except Frank Baker, who appeared curiously relaxed. A fact that caused Marshall no small amount of unease. Was Frank already confident Mr. Morley believed what he'd told him the previous evening? Marshall shoved a final bite of biscuit and jelly into his mouth. He hoped Mr. Morley hadn't prejudged him.

When the men departed for the work site, Mr. Morley motioned for Marshall to wait a few minutes. “If you want some privacy while we talk, we best follow at a distance.” As they walked, Marshall explained that he was certain some sort of explosive had been used to cause the disaster.

The older man shook his head. “I can't imagine anyone doing such a thing, Marshall. You really believe this?”

“Unfortunately, I do. Even worse, I'm thinking Frank may have played a part in this.”

Mr. Morley stopped in his tracks. “I can't believe Frank would do such a thing. Besides, I don't think he's smart enough to think up such a complex plan.” Mr. Morley's eyebrows dipped low on his forehead. “Both you and Frank are pointing the finger at each other. You think Frank set some sort of explosive, and Frank thinks your choice of inferior lumber is the cause.”

“I don't like to call anyone a liar, but I won't take the blame for what happened. I've never used inferior products on any construction job. I wouldn't consider such a thing.” Marshall glanced at the older man. “I know many of the workers are friends with Frank and will likely take his side, but I've done nothing to compromise that structure. I hope I can find something in the rubble to convince you of that.”

Mr. Morley took long strides as they continued down the path. “Frank has been known to be difficult to work with from time to time. I don't doubt your word, Marshall. I understand that he has caused you problems in the past. Still, if we can prove you weren't at fault, it will make this much easier to explain—especially to Frank's uncle. Before blame is placed on anyone, we must be certain of the facts.” He rested a fist on each hip and stared at the clubhouse. “Let's see what we find in all of that rubble.”

Marshall headed up to the third floor, still worried he hadn't won the older man's confidence. It didn't take long for him to locate the place where some sort of explosive had been lodged into trusses beneath the floorboards of the third floor. Why the person had chosen one of the upper floors remained a mystery. To avoid being seen was Marshall's best guess. He also surmised that either the person who'd set the charge was inexperienced or the powder had somehow gotten wet. Otherwise, the explosion would have caused a fire and further damage. Pushing aside the rubble for a better view into the corner, he caught sight of a metal object. After rubbing it on his pant leg, he held it toward the daylight for closer inspection. What once had been a filigreed silver money clip was now a blackened and twisted piece of metal. Marshall stared at the object and tried to make out the initial at the center. It appeared to be a scripted
P
or perhaps an
R
: he couldn't be certain. Other than Mr. Morley, he didn't know anyone who carried a money clip.

“Find anything up there, Marshall?” Mr. Morley's question drifted up the stairs.

“I believe I did. I'll be right down.”

Moments later the two of them weighed the importance of Marshall's find. Mr. Morley paced back and forth as he stared at the item in his palm. “This looks like something that would be owned by a man of wealth, not a laborer. I think there's more to this than meets the eye. I'm beginning to think it's going to take some cautious investigating to unearth the truth.”

Marshall wasn't as convinced. “I'm not sure I'm following you on this. Care to give me a hint?”

“I may be grasping at air, but we now know this wasn't an accident, and we also know someone who carried an expensive money clip is somehow involved. I don't like to think the investors on Jekyl would sabotage us.” He gazed into the distance. “I always want to think the best of my fellowman, especially those with whom I socialize and do business. However, there's something malicious about this building collapse.” He held up the money clip, as if to reinforce his idea.

Marshall thought Frank might have had some assistance, but what he thought didn't matter. Not unless he had some sort of proof.

Several days passed, but no further clues were discovered in the rubble or around the building. Marshall's aggravation reached new levels as he calculated the time that would be lost rebuilding the destroyed portions of the clubhouse. He pushed away from the table after breakfast and walked to the parlor with Mr. Morley. “I'm going into Biscayne this afternoon for some building supplies. Anything you need?”

“Not that I can think of, but I'll keep an eye on things down at the construction site. You've told Frank you'll be gone?”

“I mentioned it to him yesterday and told him I wanted the men to concentrate on rebuilding the third floor before anyone starts trim work on the lower floors.”

Mr. Morley nodded. “Have a good trip.” He tipped his head closer. “I understand Audrey is going over to Biscayne to complete some shopping, as well.”

“I'll be sure to lend her a hand,” he said. He'd been hoping for an opportunity to speak to her about Dr. Wahler's proposal. With all of the chaos over the past days, he'd had no chance to question her about it.

Audrey arched her brows when Marshall announced that he would be accompanying her to Biscayne. “I assumed you would be far too busy to accompany me on a shopping excursion, but I'm pleased you'll be coming along.”

Her comment surprised him. “Really?”

She reached forward and rested her hand atop his sleeve. “Surely you know that since my father's death, I've come to trust you more than anyone. I know I can depend upon your advice and help.”

The moment Marshall glanced at his arm, Audrey lifted her hand. He missed the warmth and longed for the return of her touch. “You have a strange way of showing your trust.”

“I thought you understood that I'd come to trust you,” she said softly. “After all, I know Mr. Morley esteems you, and my father had nothing but good to say whenever he spoke of you. And though the men make it difficult, I've watched as you've attempted to keep peace among them.” She sighed. “I would be honored to have you at my side when I go to Biscayne.”

His shoulders relaxed at her soft and convincing tone. “It will be my great pleasure.” He longed to hear her say she would be honored to have him by her side for the rest of her life. Perhaps that would come in time. For now, he would escort her to Biscayne and hope to convince her she shouldn't make any quick decisions—at least none that included Dr. Wahler.