Town Square, The (6 page)

“You’re giving me your notice now? Like
this?
I told you before that I’d help you with whatever you’re running from. You can trust me, Harriet.”

Her lip started to tremble, and he could see how vulnerable she was now. Her fear reached out to him.

“I can’t,” she whispered, and then she rose on her tiptoes and crushed her mouth to his.

He didn’t take their kiss any further for a moment, but then she gasped, and he knew that sound for what it was. Proof that she
was
attracted to him, just like she’d said, confirming his hunch about those few powerful moments in the office when he’d felt her watching him before she pretended otherwise and turned away to file.

Succumbing to the feel of her in his arms was the most natural thing in the world. He bent his head so their lips could meet more easily. God, her body was all soft and curvy and more sensual than he’d ever imagined. Her hyacinth fragrance curled around him like fog as he took her lips in a deeper kiss, changing the angle of his mouth. When his tongue parted her lips, she went rigid in his arms, like she hadn’t kissed too many men. Which is what he’d thought from the start. This was no experienced sexpot. This was a deeply conservative lady. The realization brought him back to his senses.

“Enough,” he said and gently pushed her away, his hands on her shoulders, the bones small and delicate under his touch. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but you’re not this kind of woman. Tell me right now that you’ve been with a man before, and remember that if we make love, I’ll damn well know.”

Her eyes flickered back and forth like she was thinking. “Fine, I haven’t been with a man before, but I want to be with you.”

He thought about touching her intimately to test her words, but that would be crude. His hands lowered to his side. “No, you don’t want to be with me. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m not going to be part of the biggest mistake of your life. And mine. Did you even consider pregnancy? For cripes sake.”

Her eyes widened, and he fought the urge to curse something really shocking. “Get dressed. I’ve stayed a little too long for this time of night, but we can stick to the cover story you’ve so conveniently spun. I’m going to get Charlie from across the street and
pretend
to have him help me catch the squirrel I saw in your attic. When I knock on that door downstairs, you’d better be dressed. Do you hear me?”

His voice was gruff, but he didn’t care. He was aroused and being lied to by a woman he cared about, one he was attracted to, pissed him off.

“Don’t you want me?” she finally said, crossing her arms over her chest as if suddenly ashamed of herself.

“I would think that’s fairly obvious. Now, I’m going to get Charlie. You have about two minutes to get dressed and get your butt downstairs.”

Then he turned around and rushed down the squeaky steps. As he walked across the street to Charlie’s house, the curtain fluttered. Yeah, the old bachelor had been watching Harriet’s house all right. He knocked on the door. Charlie opened it slowly, his eyes disapproving.

As Arthur went through the story about the squirrel, which Charlie probably knew about from listening in on the party line, the old man started to relax, laughing right along with him about the animal’s made–up antics. He even slapped Arthur on the back as they walked across the street.

“Thanks for the help, Charlie. Harriet’s all woman when it comes to vermin, so she’s no help.”

“Glad her sister’s not here to be worried. She left earlier today. Denver, she said.”

“Harriet mentioned that,” Arthur commented, thinking about how well she’d laid her trap. The party line listeners would have been enough to spread the gossip, and his late night visit would have been all the more damning since the neighbors knew her sister was out of town. He was dealing with a calculating Black Widow gowned in nothing but a lacy black slip, and he didn’t like the web she was weaving for him. No, not one bit.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring my BB gun?” Charlie asked.

“Nah,” he said, wanting to roll his eyes at this charade. “We can catch it in a bed sheet and knock it on the head with Harriet’s rolling pin.”

As they walked up to the door, he prayed Harriet was dressed and ready to put on a show. She knew how to act, that was for sure.

When he knocked, he heard the hardwood squeak and braced himself. Surely she’d have enough respect to come to the door dressed. She’d be a branded woman for sure if she answered the door in that black slip.

“Come back in, Arthur,” she said when she opened the door, dressed like she was receiving guests for a late supper. “And Charlie. Thanks so much for coming to a lady’s aide. Arthur said you would be the perfect person to help. But before you head up to the attic, would you like a piece of pie or a cup of coffee? I just brewed some for Arthur since it’s cold up there, but I hadn’t served the pie yet. It’s banana cream.”

Her smile was picture perfect. As were the lies spewing out of her mouth.

He met her gaze. Oh, he was going to get to the bottom of this, all right. He would find out who she really was, why she was here, the whole shebang. That was for damn sure. No holds barred.

“Pie would be nice,” Arthur said, and stepped inside like the fly to the spider web.

Chapter 6

H
arriet didn’t come to work the next morning.

Not really a surprise.

He called in her license plate number to an old source from his days at
The New York Times
and discovered it was registered to a Warren Perkins from Loveland, Colorado, age twenty–one. Maybe a friend of theirs? He didn’t doubt that a man would give his car to the pretty sisters if they batted those rust–colored eyelashes just right.

His friend hadn’t found a Harriet Jenkins with a Colorado driver’s license, which meant she wasn’t a resident, just like he’d thought. So, he’d need to get a look at her license. He wouldn’t have looked in her purse before, but last night had helped him overcome his scruples.

Since it was too early to pay a social call to her house, he headed over to Kemstead’s Bakery. Over coffee and a donut with Herman and a few of his old school chums, he recounted the fake story about the squirrel in Harriet’s attic, telling them about how it had eluded him and Charlie. Everyone had suggestions on how to trap the critter. He told people Harriet was feeling poorly today, likely due to her fear of the squirrel, and that he was taking her a Bavarian cream pastry to cheer her up. And check on that darn squirrel again.

For cripes sake.

As he drove to her house, he realized he’d just lied for her, and that didn’t exactly sit well. Elvis sang “Heartbreak Hotel” on the radio, which seemed fitting. Charlie was at work at the gas station when he arrived, but Harriet’s other neighbors were home. Likely watching the show from their kitchen windows.

Coming here twice in less than twenty–four hours looked strange, but he hoped the story he’d planted at the bakery would be believed. People already thought something was going on, what with them both working such long hours.

And she’d confirmed it by calling him to help her last night.

A few of his friends had given him a knowing wink. A couple of guys had said she was a stunning broad, so who could blame him? Even if she wasn’t from around these parts.

He’d tried to set the record straight every time it had come up, but his assurances had fallen on deaf ears. Since he wasn’t keeping the company of any women right now, people weren’t inclined to listen.

The sidewalk leading to the sagging white porch was covered with a thin layer of snow that had fallen during the night. Someone hadn’t shoveled it yet, and he wondered if they had to do it themselves or if old Mrs. Kennion’s son had hired someone to take care of it. Shoveling snow could be back–breaking work when there was a lot of it, which there often was. Then he realized he was worrying about Harriet and her sister and put a lid on that.

He knocked on the door, holding the white pastry bag. Realized he should have bought two pastries when her sister opened the door.

The car must be in the garage. “Hi, Maybelline.” They had met briefly a couple of times when she came to pick Harriet up from the office. “You’re back from Denver?”

“Yes, I got an early start,” she replied.

Her red hair was a lighter shade than her sister’s, and she had blue eyes, not green ones, but it was easy to see the resemblance in the wide mouth and patrician nose.

“Ah, did Harriet, forget to call you? She wasn’t feeling… Ah, she had an…errand to run today and won’t be able to come in.”

Right.

“Well, then, it’s your lucky day. You can have her Bavarian cream while we have a cup of coffee and visit.”

He handed her the bag, which she reluctantly took. And she had no choice but to step back when he crossed the threshold.

No need to delay his investigation. He could already tell that Harriet’s sister would be an easier nut to crack. If nothing else, he could search her purse.

“So, did Harriet tell you about calling me about the squirrel in the attic after nine o’clock last night?” he asked, wanting to see if her sister had made herself scarce last night on purpose.

Her face muscles tensed. “No, ah…she didn’t mention it.”

He decided to probe. “It was rather late, but she sounded scared, so I came by. She’s new to town, so perhaps she didn’t realize it wasn’t the smartest thing to call a single man over to her house so late—even over a critter.”

The hands pouring the coffee into the cups jerked, and the brown liquid spilled over the counter.

“Here,” he said, taking pity on her. “Why don’t you let me help?”

The pink dishrag looked like it was one of Mrs. Kennion’s old hand towels, cut up for rags when it was too worn to put out for company. He mopped the mess up and poured the coffee.

She took over after smoothing her hair back. “Here. I’ll bring them over. Please, take a seat.”

The white table in the breakfast nook had a few cigarette burns on it, but otherwise, it was clean. She sat stiffly across the table from him, not touching her coffee.

He gestured to the pastry bag she’d left on the counter. “Please, have the Bavarian. Mr. and Mrs. Kemstead make the best pastries in town.”

“Thank you. I had a big breakfast, but I’ll save it for later.”

Horseshit
, he thought, not smelling any eggs or bacon in the kitchen or seeing any dishes drying on the rack.

With her hands folded in her lap, he couldn’t see if they were shaking, but her pulse drummed in her neck, and she couldn’t meet his gaze. He’d interviewed enough people to know when he could go with the direct approach.

“So, I expect you know why I’m here,” he began.

Well, that brought the eye contact he wanted. The whites of her eyes made him think of Tandy, the frightened horse they’d had on the ranch growing up.

“No, I…”

“I’m here to find out why you and your sister are really in town. I know when a woman is out to get me. Last night was proof of that. What I don’t know is why.”

Maybelline reached out for her cigarettes and fumbled with the package until she could take one out. Harriet didn’t smoke, he knew, since she’d turned down Herman’s offer of a cigarette, saying it made her cough. Arthur drew out his lighter and lit it for her, seeing the telltale shake in her hands. She took a long drag, as if it would give her the fortitude she would need for their conversation. People who had something to hide always smoked when he interviewed them. He didn’t join her. Just bided his time.

“I suspect Jenkins isn’t your real name,” he began, even though he didn’t know for sure.

Her eyes went wide, and the cigarette ash fell in a zigzag when her hands shook.

“That car you have is registered to a Warren Perkins from Loveland. I know you pay cash for everything in town and don’t have a bank account here, which is odd. After seeing what Harriet is willing to do to herself and me, the gloves are off. I
will
find out why you’re here, but since you’re her sister, and you love her, I’m going to ask you straight out to tell me. I don’t want to get the law involved or embarrass you both.”

He let the threat hang in the air.

She tapped her cigarette in the ashtray. “Calling in the law would embarrass you too, and you strike me as a prideful man, Mr. Hale.”

So she had spine like her sister. And her animosity was as clear as a summer day in Sardine Canyon. Just like Harriet’s had been.

“I came here planning to search your purse when you were out of the room, but I don’t want to do anything like that now. Just tell me the truth.”

“Why not peek? Isn’t that how you usually conduct yourself as a journalist?” she said, her tone as bitter as the smoke wafting between them.

The way she said “journalist,” she might as well have been drinking poison, not coffee.

“You don’t like me, do you?” he asked.

Instead of answering, she took another long drag. Then she stood. “After what I suspect Harriet tried last night, we won’t be staying in Dare much longer, so let me show you what you were planning to steal a look at.”

He followed her into the family room. An expensive blue handbag was tucked away on the brown side chair in the corner. She picked it up and brought it over to him.

“Here. I don’t want to stop you from being nefarious.”

Pursing his lips, he studied her. Somehow her giving him access to her purse made him feel like a jerk.

“Fine,” he finally said, remembering Harriet’s fake seduction scene last night. Answers were the only way he would understand what the hell was going on with these two.

He grabbed her pocketbook and opened it, drawing out her license. Maybelline Wentworth. Massachusetts.

Wentworth.

Oh shit.

He’d never met her father in person, but he’d seen pictures of him. Dr. Ashley Wentworth. Given those pictures to his editor along with his series of articles about what the man had done. The nose was the same. And then he remembered the scientist had two daughters, both college age.