Chapter 15 #2
Sam pursed his lips. “He tries.”
“So are you,” she offered. “Learn it in school?”
“Our fathers taught us,” he said, “with help from a different, far more terrifying uncle.”
“That’s an interesting thing to be involved in.” She glanced at him casually. “Living history groups?”
“Something like that. And now that you know how much family I have, you see why we buy red string by the cone.”
She searched his expression for the same lightness she heard in his tone but didn’t see it. “You seemed surprised to see Maryanne and her husband,” she said carefully. “If I could make that observation.”
“When Theo and I moved to London, we lost touch with a few cousins,” he said just as carefully. “Jackson apparently thought it was time to find us, though seeing Maryanne and Zachary yesterday was simply good fortune.”
“At least she didn’t punch you.”
“Only because she was holding her daughter. She certainly would have otherwise.”
She imagined that wasn’t the case, but she’d seen the tears in Maryanne’s eyes. She wasn’t going to pry further there, but she thought perhaps she could at least be a good sounding board for something else.
“Is he okay, do you think?” she asked. “Theo, I mean.”
“Right to the heart of it, I see,” he said faintly.
“I would be worried if he were my brother.” She supposed there was no reason not to be blunt. “Where is he, really?”
Sam sighed deeply. “He went off to attend to a bit of an emergency with a different, distant cousin. He felt responsible for the situation, so he wanted to be the one to see to putting it right.”
“He couldn’t have just picked up the phone to do that?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Do you think he had an accident?”
“That is a possibility,” he conceded.
“What are we going to do about it?”
He shot her a look. “We are going to carry on for the next pair of days here in lovely Bradford-Next-the-Stow, then you will remain safely with your parents whilst I go all on my own to track him down and beat sense into him.”
She was about to tell him she wasn’t going to be left behind, but she had the feeling there was no point. Perhaps avoiding the discussion for the moment was the best strategy. She studied the fire for a moment, contemplating other things that bothered her, then looked at him.
“Why were those swords so sharp?”
He sighed, looked heavenward for a moment, then at her. “Jackson has a vile sense of jest?”
“I’m serious, Sam,” she said quietly. “And I’m still unnerved.”
He smiled. “Say that again.”
“’I’m still unnerved’?”
He shook his head. “My name.”
She would have given him the warning look he so richly deserved, but she couldn’t bring herself to. “I’m serious, Samuel,” she said, settling for his full name instead. “And unnerved. Still.”
“I think you’re chilled,” he said. “Why don’t you come a bit closer and be warm.”
She couldn’t think of anything un-comradely about that, so she ignored the fact that she was blushing and moved to sit closer to him.
She hadn’t run afoul of steel and fists earlier in the day so she didn’t have any trouble pulling her feet up onto the couch with her instead of violating the coffee table with them as he was doing. She shifted so she could look at him.
“I have more questions.”
“I think you’re well past the single one I agreed to.”
“I can’t help it,” she admitted.
“I never thought to meet someone who puts me to shame in that, yet here you are.”
“It’s because you’re such a mystery.”
He chewed on his words for a moment or two. “Can you trust me for a bit longer?”
“I would trust you more if you went and put on my dad’s pjs.”
He scowled at her. “You’re trying to throw me off-balance.”
“I thought you’d enjoy being there with me. Besides, you can go comb the rest of the garden leavings out of your hair so they don’t spoil my view.”
He laughed a little, heaved himself to his feet with a groan, then stretched uncomfortably for a moment.
He picked up her father’s things, shot her a look that made her smile, then walked off to the downstairs bathroom, muttering what she was entirely certain were curses in French not quite under his breath.
She made herself comfortable and forced herself to simply sit there without worrying.
That was definitely difficult when she was haunted by visions of cousins and business associates and Maryanne de Piaget who had looked at Sam with tears in her eyes, as if she’d missed him dearly.
None of it was her business, of course, but she couldn’t help but wonder all the same.
She heard the bathroom door open and looked up in time to watch the biggest mystery of all walk into the great room.
He was wearing the aforementioned Union Flag t-shirt topping off a pair of red-and-white striped pajama bottoms that were substantially too big around the waist while equally too short.
She considered, then decided there was no hope for it.
She laughed.
He scowled at her, then stomped over to the couch and sat down, propping his feet back up on the coffee table.
“You forced me to do this,” he grumbled. “Am I unbalanced enough to suit you?”
She nodded, fighting her smile. She started to reach out and brush his hair away from his damaged eye, but caught herself just in time.
Unfortunately for her peace of mind, he caught her hand before she could casually pretend she’d been rearranging something near him, say the throw over the back of the sofa.
“You don’t need to stop,” he said.
“How do you know I wasn’t going to finish the job your cousin started?”
He smiled, a small, charming little smile that she imagined had won him more than one fat part on stage.
“Because you have too tender a heart for that.”
She couldn’t deny that was true, though for a change she didn’t feel the need to defend herself because of it.
She studied him briefly, then went to work.
She didn’t dare touch the cuts, but she did brush his hair completely out of his eyes and peer at his wounds.
Short of a trip to a pharmacy or getting up to look for ice, she supposed he would just have to survive for a bit.
She reached for the pen and her notebook that she’d set down on the side table next to her, then realized he was watching her uneasily.
“What?” she asked.
“I beg you not to put these nightclothes in your notes.”
“I’ll leave it as something to enjoy privately. Besides, I haven’t started my new list yet. I was going to just remake my old one, but I think I may need to scrap that one entirely and start something with all these unexpected things.”
He held out his hand. “Would milady permit me to be her scribe?”
“Why, genteel knight, I believe I would.”
He looked at her in surprise, then winced and touched the corner of his mouth. “I am definitely going to kill Jackson the next time I see him. Give me the goods, woman, and let me distract myself from murderous thoughts before they get me into trouble.”
She handed him her notebook and pen, then watched him flip the cover and settle in for a proper bit of dictation.
“Mysterious things about Samuel de Piaget,” she said mercilessly. She looked at him. “Go ahead and put that down.”
He pursed his lips and turned another handful of pages before he settled for one and wrote that down. “We’ll keep that cleverly hidden back here.” He looked at her expectantly. “And?”
“Why are people following you?” she asked without hesitation.
“Well, not Jackson and Oliver, but that other guy? Why did a man in Stratford who might or might not have been the same guy as the one in London have that sign with Samuel McKinnon is out of time written on it and why doesn’t that alarm you more?
Did you steal someone’s lunch money in school and they’re out for revenge now?
And if they’re different guys, do they know you’re you or do they think you’re Theo and why does that matter? Can they just not tell you apart?”
He took a deep breath. “I’ve wondered about that final thing, to be honest.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think I don’t want you to be involved in this.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Any of it?”
“The dangerous part,” he amended. “The writing part and the non-gory investigations, perhaps, but not the dangerous part.”
“Why would you be involved in anything dangerous?”
He started to speak, then shut his mouth. “That sounds daft, doesn’t it?”
“Well, we did see ghosts in your kitchen, and that seems pretty out there. Is it worse than that?”
He smiled. “Most likely not.”
“Then let’s make a list of the non-dangerous places you go the most and the people you know there.
We could also do the same for your brother and see if anything crosses over, and maybe also a list of your family that might be out for a little payback—and how old were you when you interrupted Jackson on his honeymoon? Aren’t you older than he is?”
Sam was obviously suffering from the aftereffects of a little rough-housing with his cousin which was surely the only reason he looked as winded if she’d slugged him in the solar plexus and re-abused a tender spot.
“Um,” he said, looking around himself as if he hoped to find a useful answer or two lurking behind a piece of furniture.
She reached out and tapped the notebook. “Focus, my faithful scribe. Let’s start with your family. I won’t embarrass you by telling you again that you were too old to be hassling your cousin on the morning after his wedding.”
Sam glanced at her uneasily once more, then started a list of de Piaget family members and accompanying acquaintances.
She watched him and was actually a little surprised by his lovely handwriting.
Then again, her own scrawls were worse than her neurosurgeon brother’s, so she might not have been the best one to judge.
She peered over his arm to look at the list. “All those people want to do you in?”
“Possibly,” he admitted, “though I’m sure there are a few we could cross off.”