Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Steve Slater’s wife.
Jake stared at the newspaper clipping on his desk, the society page obituary telling only part of the story. The memories of whispered conversations at charity galas and country club luncheons filled in the gaps. Steve Slater—wealthy, connected, and from all accounts, a difficult man.
“No wonder she flinches at the word marriage,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair.
He’d been too preoccupied to pay attention when Slater died.
Murphy-Madsen had taken off and he and George had been working nonstop.
And then Ruth’s accident had happened around the same time and consumed his attention.
He remembered the frantic call from Edward, Ruth’s sled ride down the mountain that had landed her in the hospital with a concussion and a collection of bruises.
“Stubborn woman,” Jake muttered. He wasn’t sure if he was talking about Ruth or Faith. They were surely cut from the same cloth.
He pushed away from his desk and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that were the only feature he truly loved about this house.
The sleek, ultramodern structure of glass and steel had been an investment opportunity according to the real estate agent—the kind of architectural statement meant to impress rather than comfort.
For ten years, he’d lived surrounded by minimalist furniture and stark white walls, the kind of place featured in design magazines but lacking any real personality.
Unlike Faith’s Victorian with its quirky charm and storied past, his house was merely a place to sleep between projects.
The only personal touches were in Ruth’s suite—a generous wing with adjoining rooms for her and Edward, carefully designed to maintain the illusion that they didn’t share the same bed when visiting.
He’d never bothered to warm up the rest of the cavernous space, seeing little point in making a home out of something that never quite felt like one.
Jake stared out at the manicured lawn, perfectly maintained by a service he rarely saw.
The past few days had been eerily quiet.
Faith had all but disappeared since his impulsive proposal, leaving for the radio station before he arrived at the house and returning long after his crew had departed.
Their only contact had been his nightly calls to her show.
He must have been a glutton for punishment.
Because he kept making the calls and she kept taking them.
It was during those few minutes of conversation he could bear his heart and soul.
“Were you ever happy with him?” he asked the empty room. “Did you love him?”
The questions left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.
Jake’s research had painted a troubling picture—Faith Hartwell Slater portrayed in the society pages as cold and distant.
The reluctant wife who became the even more reluctant widow.
Until now, he’d never connected Steve Slater’s wife with Dr. Faith Hartwell, the radio psychologist renovating the Victorian.
He knew his parents had known Steve, moved in some of the same circles.
But it shouldn’t have surprised him. It was a small world.
“How did I miss it?” he muttered, shaking his head at his own blindness. The obituaries and articles had mentioned her returning to her maiden name after Steve’s death, but the connection had never clicked.
But the Faith he knew contradicted everything he’d read. The woman he’d come to know was warm, vibrant beneath her careful reserve. A woman who felt deeply but guarded her heart fiercely.
Maybe his grandmother could offer some insight. She stayed current on the gossip that ran rampant through high society. Perhaps she could help him understand what he was up against.
“Edward?” Jake called, making his way down the corridor toward the guest suite.
“Yes, sir.” Edward appeared from his room, dressed as impeccably as always in pressed slacks and a crisp white shirt. The man had been a fixture in Jake’s life since childhood, but Jake was beginning to understand that Edward’s loyalty extended far beyond professional duty.
“Have you seen my grandmother?”
Edward hesitated, his gaze sliding away. “I believe she’s with Ms. Hartwell this evening.”
“With Faith?” Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “And why does that have you looking like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar?”
Edward’s cheeks colored slightly. “Your grandmother mentioned something about Ms. Hartwell needing to loosen up and have a proper night of mischief. She’s been quite determined to be a bad influence.”
“That sounds like her,” Jake said, already imagining the chaos his grandmother might be orchestrating. “Any idea what they’re up to?”
“Not a clue, sir, but knowing your grandmother as well as I do, I’m sure it will be interesting. She insisted they would take an Uber, as she put it, to avoid leaving evidence.” Edward’s expression remained perfectly neutral despite the alarm his words should have inspired.
Jake regarded the older man with amused suspicion. “When are you going to make an honest woman out of my grandmother, Edward?”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I’m not sure anyone could make an honest woman out of Ruth.”
Jake roared with laughter and clapped Edward on the shoulder. “Fair point. I’d better track them down before Ruth gets Faith arrested.”
“That would be advisable, sir.”
* * *
The next morning, the sun had barely crested the horizon when Jake arrived at Faith’s Victorian. His truck was loaded with the custom cabinets that had finally arrived after weeks of delays. Finding George already there took him by surprise.
“Since when are you an early bird?” Jake asked, dropping his tool belt on a nearby sawhorse.
George Madsen straightened from the blueprints spread across a makeshift table. With his silver-streaked dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses, he looked more like a professor than a contractor. “Someone has to maintain a schedule around here.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve been distracted,” George said, his tone matter of fact rather than accusing. “Not that I blame you. This house is something special.”
“The house,” Jake repeated, his expression neutral.
“Right.” George’s mouth quirked into a knowing smile. “The house. You’ve done a good job on it. This will be quite the feather in our cap.” He handed Jake a folded note. “Dr. Hartwell left this for you. She was in a hurry.”
Jake unfolded the paper, scanning Faith’s elegant handwriting. “She’s going out of town? She didn’t mention anything about this last night.”
“Last night?”
“Ruth dragged her to some private poker game in the upstairs room of the Indigo Lounge,” Jake explained, still frowning at the note. “Apparently Faith has a remarkable poker face and came home with a good amount of money.”
George laughed. “Your grandmother is something else.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Jake tapped the note against his palm. “Faith says she has speaking engagements in Chicago and Boston, followed by a radio conference in New York. She’ll be gone at least a week.”
“Convenient timing,” George observed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hey, I listen to the radio at night just like the rest of the country. All I’m saying is that some people need space to figure things out.” George gathered up his blueprints. “Especially when someone rushes them.”
Jake shot his partner a sharp look. “I didn’t realize you’d become an expert on relationships.”
“I’ve been married twenty-three years, Jake. That makes me more qualified than you.”
“Fair point,” Jake conceded.
“Besides, I know you well. When you get an idea in your head you grab it between your teeth and it takes the jaws of life to get you to release it. It’s why the company is successful. Because you don’t take no for an answer. But that doesn’t always work well with women.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “I get it,” he said. “She needs space. Did she say when she’d be back? Mention anything at all?”
“Nope.” George studied Jake’s expression. “She did say she’d been postponing all of these things because of the house and that work had finally caught up to her.”
Jake nodded, not entirely convinced. “Well, if she’s going to catch up on work then we can too. Maybe it’ll be good for her to be out from underfoot for the week. We can finish the kitchen and the master suite this week. She’s been in that trailer long enough.”
“The kitchen’s nearly ready for appliances,” George said. “We can have it done in a week. The master bedroom will take longer with all that trim work.”
“I can do it,” he said. “I want her to have a finished space when she gets home.”
“You must be in love,” George said with a sigh. “Never seen such a pitiful thing.”
“Let’s get to work.”
* * *
Faith settled into her hotel room in New York, kicking off her heels with a sigh of relief. The radio conference had been exhausting—a full day of panels, networking, and fending off acquisition offers from media conglomerates. All she wanted was a hot bath and room service.
As she moved toward the bathroom, she noticed something on the bed that hadn’t been there when she left that morning. A rectangular gift box, wrapped in glossy black paper with a red ribbon.
Her blood ran cold. With trembling fingers, she approached the package.
After Chicago and Boston, she’d hoped the unsettling gifts would stop.
The roses delivered to her Chicago hotel.
The poetry book left in her Boston conference bag, with certain verses highlighted and annotated in precise handwriting.
“Not again,” she whispered, her voice unsteady in the silent room.
Faith untied the ribbon carefully. Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, lay a delicate diamond bracelet. She knew it was high quality and expensive just by looking at it.
Attached to the bracelet was a small card with a handwritten message:
I’ll be waiting when you return home. We belong together.
Faith dropped the bracelet as if it had burned her. She rushed to the door, checking that it was still locked and latched. Then she returned to the bed, staring at the bracelet as if it might suddenly animate.
It was time to take matters into her own hands. She sent Lucy a text to keep her up to date, and then dialed the number for Hollow Elm Police Department.
Dispatch had got her connected to Officer O’Malley.
“This is O’Malley,” he said.
Faith introduced herself and made mention of the radio show so he’d have a point of reference. “I believe I have a stalker. Someone’s been leaving gifts in my hotel rooms. I’m traveling, but they’ve followed me from Chicago to Boston, and now to New York.”
“Have there been any explicit threats?”
“No, just…unsettling messages. Implications that we have some kind of relationship. I let my producer, Lucy, know I was contacting you. She’s got the digital recordings of when he called into the station. Assuming it’s the same guy.”
“Does this happen often?” O’Malley asked.
“Not too often,” she said. “But it does happen. My number and residence aren’t listed. I try to keep my private life private because of things like this.”
O’Malley grunted. “When do you return to Hollow Elm?”
“Tomorrow.”
“We can increase patrols near your home,” he promised. “Do you have security? Cameras?”
“Yes,” she said. “They should’ve been installed while I was away this week.”
After hanging up, Faith sank onto the edge of the bed. She was supposed to be using this trip to sort through her feelings about Jake, to decide if she was ready to risk her heart again. Instead, she found herself longing for the safety she felt in his presence.
“What are you going to do, Faith?” she asked her reflection in the mirror. “Run away from him or run toward him?”