Hide in Plain Sight Page 15

  “None of it is very logical.” He had to get a handle on some aspect of the situation. He might have a better chance of doing that if his heart didn’t perform such peculiar acrobatics whenever he looked at Andrea.

  “There’s still nothing to take to the police. I can just imagine their reaction to my story of being followed coming back from the Zook farm.”

  “They wouldn’t be impressed, I’m afraid.” They’d be polite, of course, but what could they do? It wasn’t as if she’d been attacked. That thought sent a coldness settling deep inside him. The incident with the stove was an attack, but he couldn’t prove it, or that she had been the target.

  Andrea glanced at her watch and then shot to her feet. “Look at the time. I have to get home before Grams. I can’t let her see me like this.”

  “You look pretty good to me.” He pushed away from the mantel. “Sort of casually disheveled.”

  “I look as if I’ve been dragged through a knothole,” she said tartly. She started for the door.

  He followed her. “I’ll walk you back.”

  “You don’t need—”

  “I’ll walk you back,” he repeated firmly, opening the door. “No more wandering around alone, okay?”

  He thought she’d flare up at that, but she just nodded. “I’ll take the dog with me everywhere I go. He might not be the brightest of creatures, but at least he’ll make noise.”

  He wanted to offer himself instead of the dog, but that wouldn’t be wise, not when just being within six feet of her made him want to kiss her. Like now.

  He yanked the door open. The rain had subsided to a faint drizzle. “You’re right. We’d better go.”

  Before he gave in to the powerful need to have her in his arms.

  “Just grate the cheese.” Laughter filled Rachel’s voice as she sat in her wheelchair in the kitchen, the table pushed aside to give her more room. “Go on, use the grater. It won’t bite you.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Andrea gingerly lifted the metal grater, wary of its sharp teeth. Still, anything that had Rachel laughing had to be good.

  Afternoon sun streamed through the kitchen windows, but she was making a breakfast frittata. At least, she was attempting to. She began grating the cheese into the earthenware bowl Rachel had chosen, trying to keep her fingers out of reach of the grater’s teeth.

  “You really think I can prepare a breakfast that will satisfy the guests.” She frowned. “Make that three breakfasts, if Emma doesn’t come back until next week.”

  “Look at it this way,” Rachel said. “You’re not so much cooking as being my hands. I’m really cooking. You’re following directions.”

  The cheese stuck on the grater, and she gave it a shove. The bowl tipped, the grater flew up, and cheese sprinkled like snowflakes over the tile floor.

  She looked at Rachel. “Your hands just made a mess.”

  Rachel’s lips twitched. Then, as if she couldn’t hold it back, she began to laugh.

  Andrea glared, but an irrepressible chuckle rose in her throat.

  “Go ahead, laugh. I never claimed to be able to cook. That’s your department. I eat out or open a frozen dinner, and my cheese comes already grated in a bag.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rachel’s green eyes, so like her own, brimmed with laughter. “It’s just that you’re so competent on the computer and all thumbs in the kitchen.”

  “It’s a good thing there’s one area of my life that’s under control.”

  But was it? The computer represented the business world to her, and how could she know what was happening back at the office when she was stuck here? E-mailing her assistant wasn’t the same as being there, especially when that assistant had her eyes on Andrea’s job.

  “I’d be just as out of place in your office,” Rachel said. “Here, hand me the bowl. Maybe I can set it in my lap and do the grating.”

  “No, I’m determined now. I will learn how to do this.” She began again, careful to keep the bowl steady. “After all, you’ll have to learn how to keep the reservations on the computer after I leave. I’ll get to laugh at you then.”

  “Did you really get all that computerized?” Rachel shook her head. “I kept putting off trying, because it looked so hard.”

  “It’ll be much easier once you get used to it. Much of your traffic will come from the Web site I started, especially when we get some more pictures up. Right now I just have the basics.” That was one good thing accomplished, and the computer really would make running the inn easier, if she could get Rachel in the habit of using it.

  “I’m astonished. You’ve done more in two weeks than I did in six months.”

  She must be getting more sensitive, because she detected immediately the note in Rachel’s voice that said she was comparing herself unfavorably with her big sister.

  “That’s nonsense,” she said firmly. “The renovations are all credited to you, and as for the garden…” She glanced out the kitchen window at the borders filled with color. “The guests will love looking at that while they have their breakfast. Always assuming I manage to make anything edible.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Rachel said. “You just have to do one main hot dish for each day. We’ll serve fresh fruit cups, that special Amish-recipe granola that Grams gets from the farmer’s market, and the breads and coffee cakes that Nancy offered to make. It’ll be fine.”

  “Thank goodness for Nancy. She promised us Moravian Sugar Cakes for the first morning. I’ll gain a pound just smelling them.” She looked down in surprise, realizing she’d actually grated the entire block of cheese without getting any bloody knuckles. “We have to remember to bring flowers in to put on the tables, too.”

  Rachel nodded, turning the chair so that she could see out the screen door toward the garden. “I wish I’d been able to get the gazebo moved. That was one thing I intended that I didn’t get to.”

  “Move the gazebo?” Andrea glanced out at the white wooden structure with its lacy gingerbread trim. “Why?”

  Rachel shook her head. “You really don’t have an eye for a garden, do you? It’s in quite the wrong place, where it doesn’t have a view. It makes the garden look crowded, instead of serving as an accent piece.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” She wiped her hands on a tea towel. “What do I do next?”

  Before Rachel could answer, the telephone rang.

  Rachel picked it up. “Three Sisters Inn,” she said, a note of pride in her voice. But a moment later her face had paled, and she looked at Andrea with panic in her eyes.

  “Just a moment, please.” She covered the receiver with her hand. “It’s Mr. Elliot—has a reservation for the weekend, an anniversary surprise for his wife. He claims he received an e-mail from us, canceling, saying we aren’t going to be open yet. You didn’t—”

  “Of course not.” For a moment she stared at her sister, speculations running wildly through her mind. Then she reached for the phone. Redeem the situation first, if she could, and figure out where the blame lay later.

  “Mr. Elliot?” It was her businesswoman voice, calm, assured, in control. “I’m terribly sorry about this misunderstanding, but we certainly didn’t cancel your reservation.”

  “You didn’t send this e-mail?” He sounded suspicious.

  “No, sir, we didn’t. My sister has been hospitalized, and perhaps something went out without our knowledge.” That made it sound as if they had a vast staff capable of making such an error.

  “Seems a sloppy way to run an inn,” he muttered, but the anger had gone out of his voice. “So we’re still on for the weekend.”

  “Yes, indeed.” She infused her voice with warmth, even as her mind seethed with possibilities. “And we’ll provide a very special anniversary cake to surprise your wife. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  When she finally hung up, her hand was shaking.

  Rachel stared at her. “They’re still coming?”

  “Yes. But it’s a good thing he was angry enough to w
ant to blow up at us, or we’d never have known.”

  “The other guests—” Rachel’s eyes darkened with concern.

  “I’ll get the list and call them right away.” She hurried into the library, headed for the computer, hearing the wheels of Rachel’s chair behind her.

  “Maybe we can reach them before they have a chance to make other plans.” Rachel sounded as if she were clinging hard to hope.

  “Cross your fingers.” Andrea paused. “The person who planned this overreached herself. If she’d waited until the last minute, we’d probably have been sitting high and dry with no guests.”

  “She?”

  “She. I can’t prove it, but I know perfectly well who did this.”

  “It had to be Margaret. She was in the library the other day with access to the computer. She even said something to me Sunday about hearing we wouldn’t be able to open in time. But what can I do? There’s no way to prove it.”

  Andrea had spotted Cal making his nightly rounds with a flashlight and called him in. Grams and Rachel had gone to bed early, and the house was quiet.

  They sat on the sofa in the old summer kitchen that still bore remnants of the playroom it had been when she and her sisters had lived in the house. Games were stacked on the shelves to the right of the fireplace, and if she opened the closet, she’d find a few toys that Grams hadn’t wanted to give away.

  Cal frowned, staring absently at the cavernous fire-place. “You could bring a civil suit against her, but that would be using a bazooka to rid the house of mosquitoes.”

  “Not worthwhile, obviously, but I hate letting her get away with it. And the nerve of her—she just walked in the library when we were upstairs, calmly accessed the reservation records on my computer, and sent the e-mails.”

  He glanced at her. “The computer was on?”

  “Don’t remind me of how easy I made it for her. I not only had it on, it was open to the reservations. Well, it’s password protected now, but it certainly got us off to a bad start.”

  “Did you lose any of the reservations?”

  “Only one. The others consented to rebook after I’d groveled a bit.”

  That surprised a smile out of him. “I didn’t think you knew how to do that.”

  “That’s a lesson I learned early in my career. If there’s a problem, don’t waste time defending yourself. Just fix it.”

  “Not a bad philosophy. I’ll bet you didn’t know running a B and B would have so much in common with your real life.”

  His words were a reminder that her time here was coming to an end. She fought to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Anyway, I’m absolutely certain Margaret’s guilty of monkeying with the computer, but would she prowl around at night or dress up in Amish clothes to stand out in the rain? I don’t think so.”

  “Anyone with such a fund of insincerity can’t be trusted, but I’m inclined to agree with you about that. She’d be afraid of being caught in an embarrassing position.”

  “I’d like to catch her at something.” She shook her head. “That sounds vengeful, doesn’t it? Grams would be ashamed of me. It’s just that we’ve all worked so hard—”

  “I know.” He squeezed her hand. “Are you ready for guests to arrive on Saturday?”

  “I think we’re in good shape, but I’m certainly glad Grams didn’t tell them they could arrive Friday night. Rachel’s been walking me through cooking the breakfast meals. We actually ate my artichoke and sausage frittata for supper, and it wasn’t half-bad. And Nancy Zook is providing all the baked goods we need.”

  He nodded. “I heard from Eli that she’s agreed to help out some, at least until Rachel’s on her feet again.”

  “I expect I’ll be coming back on weekends, at least through the busy season.”

  Did that sound as if she were asking for something—some hint of where they stood? She hated having things unresolved.

  “I’m glad we’ll still get to see you.” His tone was as neutral and friendly as if he spoke to Eli Zook.

  Maybe that answered the question in her mind. Cal recognized, as she did, that the differences between them were too fundamental. The hole in her midsection seemed to deepen.

  Ridiculous. She’d only known him for weeks. But when she looked at him, she realized that wasn’t true. Maybe in chronological terms they hadn’t known each other long, but she’d met him at a time when her emotions were stretched to the limit and her normal barriers suspended.

  And since then she’d relied on him in a way that startled her when she looked at it rationally. Did she have anyone else, even back in Philadelphia, that she would turn to for help as naturally as she’d turned to him?

  No. She didn’t. And that was a sad commentary on the quality of her life.

  Cal apparently wasn’t engaging in any deep thoughts over the prospect of her leaving. He was frowning toward the small window in the side wall.

  “Shouldn’t we be able to see the reflection of the garden lights from here?”

  She followed the direction of his gaze, vague unease stirring. “Yes. I’m sure I could see the glow the last time I looked that way.”

  Cal rose, walking quickly toward the hallway and the back door. She followed. They stopped at the door, peering out at the garden, which was perfectly dark.

  “Something’s happened to the lights.” She couldn’t erase the apprehension in her voice.

  “It may not be anything major.” Cal opened the door, switching on his flashlight. “I connected the new lights to the fuse box in the toolshed. Could have blown a fuse, I guess. I’ll go check.” He stepped out onto the patio.

  “Be careful.”

  Already at the edge of the patio, he turned to smile at her. “I always am.” He lifted the flashlight in a little salute, and then stepped off the flagstones. In an instant he was swallowed up by the dark.

  She clutched the door frame, hands cold. Irrational, to be worried over something so simple, but then, plenty of irrational things had been happening. She yanked open the door and stepped outside, driven by some inner compulsion.

  The beam of his flashlight was the only clue to Cal’s location, halfway to the toolshed. She should have gone with him. She could have held the light while he checked the fuses.

  The stillness was shattered by an engine’s roar. Lights blazed, slicing through the darkness. She whirled. Something barreled from behind the garage—something that surged across the grass, sound and light paralyzing her.

  Cal. Cal was pinned in the powerful twin headlight beams. Before she could move the massive shape rocketed across the garden, straight toward Cal.

  Screaming his name, she darted forward. The vehicle cut between them with a deafening roar. She couldn’t see—the light from Cal’s torch was gone. Where was he?

  THIRTEEN

  Cal dived away from the oncoming lights, instinct taking over from thought. The roar of the motor deafened him. Something struck his head, and he slammed into the ground.

  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, facedown in the damp grass. He gasped in a gulp of cool air, shaking his head and wincing at the pain.

  Think. Look. Try to identify the car.

  No, truck—a four-by-four, by the sound of it. He shoved up onto his knees. The vehicle careened through the garden, ripping up flower beds, smashing the birdbath.

  He forced his brain to work. It would be gone in an instant. He had to try and identify it. No license plate to be seen—the rear lights were blacked out. He fought the urge to sink back down on the grass, trying to clear his head. It didn’t seem to work. Someone was shouting his name.

  Andrea. She flew toward him, barreled into him. He winced and would have toppled over but for the hard grasp of her hands.

  “You’re all right—I thought you were hit.” Her fingers clutched at him, and her voice caught on a sob.

  He touched his forehead and felt the stickiness of blood, warm on his palm. He leaned on her, aware of the roar
of the truck’s engine. If he could get a good look at it before it disappeared around the building…

  The dark shape had reached the pond. It turned, wheels spinning in the mud left from yesterday’s rain. He could make out the shape, not the color. The driver would cut off down the lane….

  He didn’t. He spun, straightened, and bucketed straight toward them.

  He clutched Andrea. Closest shelter, no time—

  “Run! The patio—”

  Clutching each other, stumbling a little, they ran toward the patio. He forced his feet to slog as if through quicksand, the truck was coming fast, they weren’t going to make it, Andrea—

  He shoved her with every bit of strength, flinging her toward the stone patio wall. Threw himself forward, the truck so close he felt the breath of the engine. Landed hard again, pain ricocheting through his body.

  Metal shrieked as the truck sideswiped the patio wall, scattering stones. He struggled, trying to get to his feet, dazed, left wrist throbbing. Strength knocked out of him. If the truck came back, he was a sitting duck….

  Then Andrea grabbed him, pulling him onto the patio, dragging him to safety. The truck made a last defiant pass through the flower beds, charged past the garage, clipping it, and roared off down the dark country road, disappearing into the trees.

  Andrea clutched him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Are you hurt?”

  He shook his head, wincing at the pain. “You…”

  It was more important than anything to know that she was safe, but he couldn’t seem to form a question.

  He tried to focus on her face, white and strained in the circle of light from the door. Katherine stood in the doorway, saying something he couldn’t make out, Rachel behind her in the chair.

  He had to reassure them. He staggered a step toward them and collapsed onto the flagstones.

  “I’m not going to the hospital. I’m fine.” Cal might look pale and shaken, but his voice was as firm as always.