Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
SUMMER
It may sound weird, but my office is one of my favorite things about Rycroft Castle. Weird because in all of the over the top glamour of Rycroft, my office was fairly spartan.
Tucked behind the kitchen and laundry room, it was barely bigger than one of the generous walk-in closets upstairs, but it was bright, cheerful, and all mine.
I suppose it had been designed as the housekeeper's office.
Much like the rest of Rycroft, the owner had spared no expense outfitting it.
White beadboard stretched floor-to-ceiling framing a built-in desk, bookshelves, and drawers.
An enormous bulletin board, also painted white, covered most of the wall behind the desk.
At the far end was a narrow window that looked out into the gardens behind Rycroft Castle.
I'd only been at Rycroft a few days, but already the office felt like home.
Probably because I'd spent hours there the night before writing up invitation after invitation.
I can't describe my sense of relief at seeing the courier depart with his box of crisp white envelopes to deliver.
One great big item checked off my to-do list.
I'd spent an hour with May going over the menu for the party. It wasn’t hard to transform the sit-down dinner May had originally planned into a light buffet and heavy appetizers. The waiters hired to handle the wedding were more than happy to take over our job as was the equipment rental company.
I scanned my list, ticking off items, deciding what I would deal with later and came to a halt at one I'd been avoiding.
—Call Mom
I love my mom. She's amazing. Fantastic. When I grow up, I want to be just like her. Minus the protests and arrest record. I'm not chaining myself to any redwoods.
She's strong. Self-assured. As far as I can see, the only mistake she ever made was sticking with my dad as long as she did, but no one's perfect. Normally, I'd love to grab the phone and spend a half an hour catching up.
The problem is, Paisley Winters knows me inside and out. She can read me like a book, one she'd written herself. It was eerie.
I'd long ago given up trying to pull anything over on her. On top of that, I’m a terrible liar. Not that I had anything to lie about, exactly. This job had me turned upside down and inside out.
Being in the same house as Evers was wearing on my nerves, even if the house was the size of a castle. My mom would hear it in my voice. I didn't want to talk about Evers. There wasn't anything to say. We had a thing that wasn't a thing, and I'd ended it. Simple. Almost nothing.
That nothing was a raw wound. Every time I saw him it opened a little more. I tried not to think of the night before. His hands working the stiffness from my fingers. His lips on mine.
I've missed you so much
He was playing me again. Why?
I couldn't think about it. Evers was one more problem than I had time for.
I stared at my phone. Mom always said do the hardest job first. Then it's over with, and everything else is downhill. It was good advice. Advice I tried to follow, usually. With a sigh, I unlocked the screen and hit her contact in my speed dial.
"Baby, I was wondering when you were going to call. How's the new job? How's Cynthia? I can't believe you're staying in a castle. You have to send me pictures," my mom said in a rush of enthusiastic affection.
Just the sound of her voice soothed. She was a fountain of energy, always excited, always full throttle. An endless source of love. My heart squeezed. For just a second, I wished desperately that she were here.
Taking a breath, I tried to force my mind into a happy place, to block out all my uncertainty, all my nerves, so she wouldn't hear them in my voice.
"Mom, you know I can't send you pictures. But Cynthia is great, and Rycroft is unbelievable. You should see the downstairs. It's an actual Roman spa, all white stone with a big blue pool and a mural of the night sky on the ceiling. It's crazy. There are five kitchens."
"Five kitchens? What does anyone need with five kitchens? Who wants to cook that much?"
"Mom, if you live in a castle I'm pretty sure you don't do your own cooking."
"Good point," she said with a giggle. "But it's good?"
"Other than Cynthia deciding at the last minute to throw a party for seventy-five next week, everything's great," I lied.
My mom let out a gasp. She knew just enough about my job to understand the insanity of a last-minute party for seventy-five.
"You're kidding. Is she nuts? What are you going to do? I don't suppose Cynthia Stevens wants a backyard barbecue."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. The thought of Cynthia at a barbecue just didn't gel.
"No, no. She invited the most upper of the upper crust of Atlanta.
I don't think they do barbecues. I got lucky, and a wedding canceled for the day after Cynthia's party, so I was able to scoop up the caterer and some of the vendors. Stayed up half the night addressing invitations, but the worst of it’s over now. "
"Is that why you sound so tired?" she asked, shrewdly.
"Probably," I said, hoping she would buy that explanation.
"How's your dad?"
"Dad?" My parents had divorced amicably, my father too relaxed—meaning perpetually stoned—to get too excited about anything. My mother wasn't angry with him, just fed up. They'd been friendly in the years since the split, but I couldn't remember the last time my mom had asked after him.
"When I talked to him he said he was headed to see you."
A chill crept over my skin. I hadn't seen my father in months. "When was that, Mom?"
"Oh, I'm not sure. A month ago? Maybe a little more? He called to—" she cut off, but she didn't have to. I knew what she was going to say. I had to give my mom credit. She had plenty to complain about with my dad, but she always tried to show me his best side.
"He called to borrow money," I finished for her.
"No, that was the weird part. He didn't ask for money, just wanted to know how I was doing, how you were doing, and said he was going to head your way and spend some time with you. I didn't say anything because I wasn't sure he'd follow through, and I didn't want to get your hopes up."
"I haven't seen him, Mom. We talked a few weeks ago, but he didn't say anything about coming to see me."
"Well, you know your father," my mom sighed. A familiar sound when she was discussing her ex-husband. "That's partly why I didn't tell you. It seemed a little unlikely he was headed your way, considering he was all the way up in Maine."
"Maine? What was Dad doing in Maine?"
"I don't know, he didn't tell me. I wouldn't have known he was there, but I recognized the area code when he called. Bobbi Jenkins, you know my friend in the Audubon Society? She lives in Bangor. Same area code, so I saw the 207 on the call and thought it was her."
"Well, he's probably off on some adventure somewhere. I'm sure he'll turn up eventually," I said.
I wasn't going to tell my mom what Evers claimed was going on with my dad. For one, I wasn't sure I believed him. Not that I thought Evers was lying, exactly. It just seemed so unlikely.
He didn't know my dad. I did. Smokey had barely stirred himself enough to come to my college graduation. The thought of him being neck deep in some complex criminal enterprise? No. No way. I didn't want to worry my mom, but I did want her to be careful. At least until we knew what was going on.
"Mom, if you hear from him, if he shows up, would you let me know? I need to talk to him about something. It's no big deal, but he's not answering his phone so—"
"Of course, sweetheart. I doubt he'll call. I don't hear from him that often. But if he gets in touch, I'll tell him you're looking for him."
"No. No, don't tell him I'm looking for him. He'll think I'm going to lecture or something. See if you can find out where he is and what he's up to, then let me know."
"Gotcha," Mom said. I knew I could trust her to do exactly as I asked. Mom was dependable. Always. I kept her on the phone a few more minutes, soaking in the sound of her voice.
When she was done telling me about her latest trip somewhere out west to protest something to do with national monuments, I realized how long we'd been on the phone.
A wave of homesickness swamped me as I ended the call. I wanted my mom. I wanted her chewy quinoa cookies that tasted like dirt and her patchouli incense. Funny the things you miss after you leave home.
All the stuff that drove me nuts when I was a teenager took on a nostalgic cast. I would have eaten a plate of those cookies just to spend the day with my mom. Maybe, when this job was over, I could carve out a week and go visit her.
Pushing my seat back, I prepared to hunt down Evers and pass on the info that Smokey had been in Maine about a month ago. I'd been avoiding him all day. I should at least have asked him how he was.
I couldn't forget the jolt of fear when I'd seen the blood on his fingers and realized he was hurt. The twist in my stomach at the bruises on his neck, the skin torn from the noose. Someone had tried to kill him. If they'd been lucky, they might have succeeded.
Maybe I should have let him explain yesterday in the wine room. Maybe I shouldn't have cut him off and walked away. But why? What would be the point? Every time I thought of the night I'd thrown him out, anger filled my heart, bitter and hot.
The anger was a smokescreen, and I knew it.
He'd lied. That wasn't okay. But he'd never made me any promises. He never said I was his girlfriend. Never said he cared about me. Never said that what we had was more than convenient, casual sex.
I was the one who read more into it. I was the one who made it complicated. As much as I wanted to blame Evers for my heartbreak, I was responsible.
I was angry at him, but more than that, I was furious with myself. I knew he was out of my league the first time he called me Winters with that irresistibly sexy smirk.