To Honor and Trust (19 page)

“Fitch. And I'm not suggesting anything, Mrs. Bridgeport. I'm just stating a fact. But it does seem odd that your house would be overlooked.” He glanced around the room. “From the looks of things, this house would interest a thief, don't you think?”

“I have no idea how a thief thinks, but I do not like your attitude, sir.”

Mrs. Bridgeport's haughty tone didn't seem to bother Mr. Fitch in the least. He merely shrugged and looked at Callie.

“What about you, Miss Deboyer? Any idea why a thief wouldn't enter this house?”

“Probably because Mrs. Bridgeport's jewels are kept in a safe and because the family has live-in servants. There is someone in the house all of the time.”

Mrs. Bridgeport nodded. “I am extremely careful to place my jewels in the safe—unless I'm wearing them, of course. I know many of the families who own cottages have never installed safes because we've had little reason to worry about thieves. Have you discovered that it is only the homes without safes that have been robbed?”

The detective shook his head. “We don't give out information regarding our investigation, Mrs. Bridgeport. Word travels too quickly and can spoil our leads. I'm sure you understand.”

Mrs. Bridgeport squared her shoulders and raised her head higher. “I am not a gossip, Detective. I was merely curious if you'd considered the possibility.”

“We have, and thank you. Now, you say you have servants in the house at all times. Is that right?”

“Yes, what Callie has told you is correct. Many of the other
owners don't employ live-in servants. They either use servants hired by Mr. Crocker—he's the superintendent of Bridal Veil—”

“I know who he is,” Mr. Fitch said.

“Or they hire part-time staff that live in Biscayne and travel back and forth.” Mrs. Bridgeport turned searing eyes upon Mr. Fitch. “I might add that I do not appreciate being interrupted when I am answering your questions. We are under no obligation to speak to either of you, and if you intend to be rude, I will ask you to come back when my husband is present.”

Mr. Fitch leaned back, and Mr. Jensen scooted to the edge of the couch. “Please excuse him, Mrs. Bridgeport. We're used to dealing with hardened criminals and sometimes forget our manners.”

“Your apology is accepted. Now, what else do you wish to know?”

Mr. Jensen stretched his lanky legs in front of him. “We've spoken to the other servants alone.” He glanced at Mrs. Bridgeport. “Would you mind if we spoke to Miss Deboyer? Privately?”

“Callie isn't a servant; she's our children's tutor and considered a member of this family.” The older woman reached for Callie's hand. “Do you want me to remain while they talk to you?”

“It's not necessary.” Callie looked at the investigator. “But there's nothing I have to say to you that I wouldn't say in front of Mrs. Bridgeport.”

“I understand, but we think most people are more comfortable without others around when we're asking questions.” He looked at Mrs. Bridgeport. “So, if you don't mind, ma'am?”

From the look on the older woman's face, Callie knew
Mrs. Bridgeport did mind, but she departed without further comment.

Mr. Jensen waited until he was certain Mrs. Bridgeport was out of earshot. “Could you tell me a little more about your role in the family? I know she said you're the tutor and they consider you one of them, but I'm sure it's not really like you're one of
them
in every sense.”

Callie explained her duties and assured the man that the Bridgeports treated her quite well. “I couldn't have asked for more caring people when my grandmother died.”

“That's nice. But before you came downstairs, Mrs. Bridgeport mentioned you'd come from a wealthy family. Have you found it hard to work for her? I mean I think it would be tough to grow up in a place like this and then have the tables turned.”

Mr. Fitch agreed. “Yeah, one minute you're part of a family that's invited to fancy balls and the next minute you're on the outside looking in.” He nodded toward the doorway. “Helping someone like Mrs. Bridgeport and teaching her kids can't be what you expected from life, right?”

Callie stared at the man. Was he implying she might somehow be involved in the robberies? “I don't know if anyone can anticipate what the future holds, Mr. Jensen, but I am quite content tutoring the Bridgeport children.”

“And what kind of social life do you enjoy, Miss Deboyer? I know some of the servants frequent the horse races during their time off work, and we understand there's gambling among the servants at their card games. What about you? Do you enjoy gambling?”

Callie tried to suppress the anger rising in her chest. “I do not gamble, I do not attend the horse races, and I had nothing to do with any of these robberies. If I wanted to accumulate
wealth, I wouldn't gamble or steal to attain such a goal. I am offended by your questions.”

“Right.” Mr. Fitch twisted his thin mustache between his finger and thumb. “With your good looks, I'm sure you could convince one of these wealthy fellows to marry you.”

Callie folded her arms across her chest. “I am not interested in marriage or any of the wealthy men on this island.”

“That's strange, because Mr. Jensen was told you've been seen keeping company with one of them.” Mr. Fitch glanced at his partner. “Isn't that right, Jensen?”

The man bobbed his head. “Yep. That's what I was told.” He narrowed his eyes. “You want to change that story you just told us?”

Callie hesitated. “The only man I've been with is the golf pro. He teaches Thomas and me golf, and he's accompanied the children and me on outings to the beach and forests. He has a vast knowledge of botany and has been helping me to teach the children about the wildlife as well as—”

“And his name is?”

“Wes, Wesley. As I said, he works at the golf course.”

Mr. Fitch gave his partner a sideways glance and they both stood. “You don't want to change anything you've told us before we leave?”

Callie shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

“And everything you've told us is the truth?” Jensen leaned closer.

Uneasiness assailed her. She'd told the truth, so why did these men make her feel as though she'd been lying?

Standing, Callie gave the men a dismissive nod. “I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I know nothing that will aid you in your search. I'm afraid you'll have to find the thief on your own.”

Wes strode down the stairs of the main clubhouse and quickly surveyed the dining room. When he'd returned to the clubhouse last evening, he'd discovered a note from his father beneath the door to his room. The message was brief. “Join me for breakfast at seven o'clock tomorrow morning in the main dining room.” His father hadn't signed the note, a fact that wasn't lost on Wes. This was a command, not an invitation.

At least his father had scheduled the breakfast meeting early enough that it wouldn't interfere with his schedule at the links. However, the fact that his father wanted to meet with him had been enough to set Wes's thoughts racing. He truly did not want to begin his day with an argument.

He hoped this would only be a reprimand for his failure to connect with the family. Since taking over as golf pro, he'd been able to avoid eating in the dining room and had successfully circumvented any matchmaking plans. A fact that no doubt annoyed both of his parents.

As soon as he entered the dining room, he spotted his father. After weaving through the mostly empty tables, he pulled out
a chair and sat down. “Good morning, Father. You're looking well.”

His father snorted. “It's been so long since we've seen you, I could be dead and buried and you'd be none the wiser.”

Hoping to relieve the tension, Wes chuckled. “I think Mother would have sent word had there been such a tragedy.”

“Speaking of your mother, she's been worried about you. The least you could do is manage to eat a meal with us once a day.”

Wes removed his linen napkin from the table, shook out the folds, and placed it across his lap. “I can't leave for the noonday meal, and by the time I get done in the evening, there's not enough time to clean up and properly dress for the dining room.”

“So where do you eat?”

“There's a dining room for the employees not far from the links. I usually go there. The food is good, and I can get in and out quickly and don't have to worry about my attire.” Wes took a sip of his coffee. “Is that why you wanted to meet? To set Mother's mind at ease about my eating habits?”

“Of course not. I told your mother you wouldn't starve to death.” His father leaned back in his chair as the waiter placed breakfast in front of them. “I took the liberty of ordering for you since you're always in such a hurry. I hope it meets with your approval.”

“Bacon, eggs, toast, and fruit—how could anyone complain about such a feast?”

While his father uttered a brief prayer of thanks for the food, Wes bowed his head and silently prayed the remainder of their conversation would go well.

His father slathered a piece of toast with strawberry jam.
“Here's the thing, Wes. I've met a fellow who's very interested in making some new investments. We've talked at length. However, he isn't completely convinced he'll reap the most benefit from investing in the woolen and cotton mills.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Wes took another a bite of his scrambled eggs.

His father narrowed his eyes. “You can help.”

Wes's stomach tightened around the scrambled eggs. Instinctively he knew he didn't want to hear anything more. He longed to jump up from the table and depart, but that wouldn't solve anything.

“How is that, Father?”

His father leaned closer and lowered his voice. “This investor has a daughter.”

Wes inhaled slowly and shook his head.

His father jutted his chin and glared at him. “Hear me out, Wesley.”

Wes pushed his plate away, his appetite now ruined by his father's announcement. “I'll listen but don't expect me to agree to whatever you and Mother have contrived for me.”

“She is a lovely young woman. Perhaps not the beauty you would choose, and she may not be particularly bright, but she comes from an excellent family and very much wants to marry and have children.”

Wes stared at his father. “If you were hoping to entice me with your description, you failed. Really, Father. From what you said, I can only guess that this poor young lady is as homely as the day is long and that she doesn't have the sense to come in out of the rain.” He shook his head. “Even so, I believe you expect me to say cheerfully that I can scarcely wait to meet this ugly duckling who hasn't a brain in her head.”

With a clang, his father dropped his fork on his plate. “That is a gross exaggeration of what I told you. It would be helpful if you'd show some loyalty.”

Wes arched his brows. “For me, being loyal does not mean that I am willing to marry a woman I do not love in order to further the expansion of Townsend Mills.”

“Love can come after marriage as well as before. Do you think every man who takes a wife is smitten by love before he takes his vows?”

The scoffing tone of his father's words pained Wesley. “You didn't love Mother when you married her?”

“I didn't say any such thing. This conversation isn't about me and your mother. It is about you making a proper choice.”

Thus far his father had been successful in his efforts to see their children marry and enter the family business. Wes remained the only holdout. Since his mother hadn't joined them for breakfast, he could only hope she was opposed to his father's choice. He would like to count his mother an ally, but even if she stood with his father, Wes would not agree to such a sham.

“I don't—”

His father held up his hand. “The Dundreys have agreed to join us for dinner on Saturday evening. There is more than enough time for you to tell Mr. Nusbaum you need to leave the golf course early. And if you don't do so, I will.” Lifting his coffee cup to his lips, his father eyed him over the rim. “Have I made myself clear?”

Wesley nodded. “Very clear. I know your expectations, and I believe you know mine.” He pushed away from the table and stood. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't want to be late.”

No matter how many times his father said he would give
Wes time to make a decision, the older man continued to steam forward and push his own agenda.

His father looked up with a satisfied smile on his lips. “Then we can count on you for Saturday night?”

“I didn't say that, Father. I said I understood your expectations.” Without waiting, Wes strode from the room.

Even with family, his father used every advantage. The older man had known Wes wouldn't create a scene in public. That's why he'd ordered Wes to meet him for breakfast instead of stopping by his room. No doubt there would be a message from his mother when he returned to his room this evening. She would meet with him privately and issue a tearful plea. In addition to taking his meals in the servants' dining room, maybe he should inquire about sleeping quarters, as well.

Jumbled thoughts crossed his mind as he walked to the golf course. He was nearing the links when he was struck by what he must do. He must speak to Callie—tell her the truth about himself. Be open and honest and ask if she could ever consider him as more than a friend. If she declined, it wouldn't change his decision to refuse a marriage of convenience, but he could honestly tell his parents he cared for another woman and planned to do everything in his power to win her heart. Of course, if she accepted, they would need to consider the future. If Callie decided to go to Africa, could he accept such a decision and go with her? Or would she be willing to change her plans and support his idea of using his medical education to do research? There would be much to consider—for both of them.

Still, the realization freed him from the heavy weight that had settled on his chest. As soon as he entered the caddie shack, he checked the day's schedule. Nothing had been penciled in for him following his lesson with Thomas and Callie.

Wes waited near the live oaks leading into the forested area where he and Callie had agreed to meet. She'd been preoccupied during the golf lesson earlier in the afternoon, but when he suggested they meet and take the children to the woods later in the afternoon, she'd readily agreed. When he saw the foursome approaching, his chest tightened. He hoped he could find the right words to express himself. On his way to meet her, he'd prayed that she wouldn't be angry that he hadn't already revealed his identity and the truth of his past. His concern mounted as she drew near.

“I hope you're hungry. The children insisted on a picnic, even though we've already eaten lunch.”

He smiled. “I'm always ready for an extra meal or two.” Nodding toward the basket, he extended his hand. “I'll carry that for you.”

She handed him the basket while the three children ran ahead of them. Callie cupped her hands to her mouth. “Not too far. I want to be able to see all three of you.”

The children slowed their steps but continued through the trees, with Thomas taking the lead. Wes glanced at her. “You appear worried. The children are within sight.”

“I am worried. Not regarding the whereabouts of the children, but so much that's happened in the past weeks—and none of it good.”

Wes arched his brows. “This is supposed to be a winter retreat away from cares and worries. What has happened that's so terrible?”

“Have you heard about the jewelry thefts taking place on the island?”

He nodded. “I've heard a little about it. Why do you ask?”

“There are detectives questioning various employees about the robberies. Recently, they came to Fair Haven. There were two detectives who questioned me at length. They said it was strange that Fair Haven hadn't been robbed while most of the other cottages suffered some sort of theft. It made me feel as though they were pointing a finger at one of us.”

“That's terrible. I didn't know there were detectives investigating.”

“So they haven't talked to you?”

“No.” Wes glanced at her. “Why should they?”

She shrugged. “I don't know, but they said they had heard I'd been keeping company with a man. I said the only man I'd been with was you. They appeared to know who you were.”

“That's strange. I haven't talked to them, and none of the caddies has mentioned a visit from any detectives.”

Callie tucked a curl behind her ear. “Wesley isn't a particularly common name. Mr. Crocker probably furnished them with a list of the workers, and I suppose they recalled your name.”

“You're probably right. Since they know I'm at the golf course most of my time, they shouldn't have much trouble finding me if they want to talk.”

From what she'd said, the detectives hadn't mentioned if they knew he was a Townsend or that the family was staying at the clubhouse. And before they did, he needed to tell Callie the truth about himself. He was still considering the detectives and their behavior when Callie touched his arm.

“The other reason I'm worried is because Mr. Bridgeport has received word of flooding in Indianapolis.” She brushed aside a low-hanging branch. “There have been terrible storms
in the states adjoining Indiana. We had hoped they might subside before reaching Indianapolis, but that hasn't happened. Mr. Bridgeport received news today that the levees are sure to break, and disastrous flooding is expected to occur.”

“I'm so sorry to hear this, Callie. Do the Bridgeports fear their home will be damaged should the rains continue?”

“It's difficult to know. Indianapolis isn't well protected against flooding, but their home is further away from the river.” She sighed. “My grandmother left me a small house, and I'm sure it will be destroyed. It is situated fairly close to Fall Creek, where it will surely be inundated by the floodwaters.”

“I'm so sorry, Callie. I wish I could say or do something that would help.”

“Thank you, Wes, but there's truly nothing that anyone can do. If the house is lost, I'll be sad because it belonged to my grandmother and I shared happy times in the house with her.”

“Had you planned to live there someday?”

She gave him a wistful smile that tugged at his heart.

“I don't know. My plans for the future are uncertain. I've been considering several ideas. I've thought about returning to teach in Chicago or possibly joining my parents in Africa.”

“I know.”

“You know? How is that possible?”

“I believe you told me.” His mind raced and fear clutched his throat in a tight grip.

She shook her head. “I don't believe so.”

“Then maybe it was Thomas. I heard someone mention Africa.” He hoped she wouldn't question him further, because he suddenly remembered that it was while he'd been dancing with her at the clubhouse during the masked ball that she had mentioned Africa.

“No, the children don't know I've given thought to going. I didn't want them to worry I might leave.”

He didn't miss the quizzical look in her eyes as she shook her head.

“Miss Callie! Mr. Wes! Come quick!” Thomas was standing near Daisy, waving his arms.