Loveknot

The stairway was a new addition, narrow and utilitarian, but safer and more convenient than the hidden staircase in Margaret Ingalls’s room, the only other access to the attic space. Edward would have to remember to tell Devon about it.

“For a few weeks over Christmas,” Devon went on. “If there isn’t anything else to do.” He grinned wickedly. “And if I can get the time off from my slave driver of a boss.” He started climbing the stairs.

“It might be arranged. If,” Edward went on, emphasizing the word slightly, “negotiations for Ingalls F and M are on schedule.”

“That’s a big if,” Devon said, arriving at the top of the steep flight of steps. “Maybe I’ll have a nervous collapse, so mother can whisk me away for some R and R on the slopes.”

“Don’t count on it,” Edward warned.

Devon laughed. “I won’t. Okay. Where do I start?”

“Good question.” Edward surveyed the flotsam and jetsam of three generations of Ingallses, their friends and relatives, piled along the walls and on the floor of the big, low-ceilinged room. “I believe those boxes and trunks over there—” he pointed across the way “—belonged to Margaret. At least that’s where the investigators spent most of their time.”

“We probably won’t find anything there,” Devon said thoughtfully. He roamed around the room, head bent slightly to accommodate the low ceiling, switching on the single bulbs that hung at intervals from the central beam as he went. “And this stuff? Kids’ toys and a tricycle, and this white-painted bedroom furniture? Do you think it was Alyssa’s?”

“Probably,” Edward said. “I was only the gardener’s son, you know. I don’t remember ever being allowed in any of the bedrooms.”

“I think I’m going to start here,” Devon said, making up his mind quickly, the way his mother so often did. “I bet this other dresser and chest of drawers belonged to Margaret, too. They don’t match the set, but they’re all together. I think if we’re going to find anything useful it would be in Margaret’s personal things, not the lodge files.”

“What makes you think that?”

Devon shrugged broad shoulders. “Just a hunch. Like I said, she sounds like Mom in a lot of ways. She loves to keep track of personal things, all her social triumphs and romantic conquests, as much as she hates keeping any other type of records. You know that.”

“I guess that’s as much of a reason to start looking over there as any. Good hunting,” Edward said as he prepared to head back downstairs.

“Thanks.” Devon pulled on a drawer that had swollen shut with moisture. “I’m going to need it.”

Edward closed the attic door behind him and headed across the lounge, back toward his office. He was surprised Devon had even considered not joining his mother in Switzerland for the ski season. He usually jumped at the chance to travel abroad. He was obviously more content in Tyler than Edward had ever thought possible for a child raised in Nikki and Arthur Addison’s milieu. But Devon had grown into a smart, savvy young man. He knew his own mind and used it. He wasn’t dazzled by the glitter of his mother’s crowd of seminoble European hangers-on. And he wasn’t fooled by Tyler’s sleepy, placid exterior, either. Below the glittering surface, his mother’s existence was essentially empty and sterile, while Tyler teemed with life.

Over all the years and throughout his travels, Edward had maintained a strong awareness of his roots. He hadn’t always been happy in Tyler as a boy, but he’d been a part of the greater whole, for better or worse. He wanted to be part of that community spirit once again. That was one of the reasons he was determined to control Ingalls F and M, although no one, not even Devon, knew it. There were other, more pressing reasons for attempting to buy Judson Ingalls’s failing company. Boyhood sentimentality need not be listed as one of them.

She was waiting for him when he walked into the lounge, and a part of him, deep down inside, was not surprised by her appearance.

“Alyssa,” he said, smiling automatically, a reflex learned in a hundred boardrooms over the past thirty years. “How nice to see you.”

“I’m not here to exchange pleasantries, Edward,” she said, not smiling at all, her blue eyes fierce with suppressed anger. “I want to talk. Business.”

“Fine,” he said, picking up the seriousness of her mood, and the animosity, as well. “But let’s do it over a drink or a cup of tea. Out here in the lounge. I’m not about to get into a shouting match with you in my office.” He smiled again. “Besides, it’s not big enough. It used to be a linen closet, I think.”

Alyssa almost smiled back. “What makes you think I won’t start shouting at you right here in the middle of the lounge?”

He looked down at her from the several-inch difference in heir heights. “Alyssa Ingalls Baron? Raise her voice in anger in a public place? I’ll never see it in my lifetime.”

This time she did smile, but reluctantly, as though she couldn’t help herself. “You’d be surprised what I might do these days, Edward Wocheck. Times have changed.”

“Why don’t you call me Eddie?” he asked, catching her off guard, as he hoped to do. “Everyone else from the old days does.”

Her smile faded away. She caught her lower lip between her teeth in the same nervous gesture he’d seen Liza use once or twice. “Because you aren’t Eddie Wocheck anymore.”

He didn’t want to talk about their past. They had been children then. They were adults now. “C’mon,” he said, taking her elbow in a grip she couldn’t break without drawing attention to the act. “I need a drink.” He steered her toward a small table tucked away in a shadowy corner beneath the massive staircase leading up to the second floor. “And we need to talk.”

“Business. Nothing else,” she said stubbornly, but with an undercurrent of real distress in her voice that he knew she didn’t want him to hear. Confronting him in this place was difficult enough for her, he suspected, without dealing with “what might have been” as well.

“Strictly business.” His voice was gruff. He couldn’t do anything about it. “Sit down,” he said, before she could take advantage of his letting go of her arm to run away. “What do you want to drink?”

“Tea,” she said automatically.

He caught himself almost smiling again. “Nothing stronger?”

She gave him back look for look. “Not if I’m going to have to match wits with you. You’ve got enough of an advantage already.”

He leaned both hands on the table, towering over her, dominating the small space around them. He inhaled deeply, her scent, the fragrance of her hair, the smell of cold, clean air that still lingered about her. “You underestimate yourself, Alyssa. You always did. I’ll give you one free piece of advice—don’t fall into that trap now. Your company is at stake.”

She had to tilt back her head to meet his eyes, and nodded very slightly. “I intend to do just that. But I still want just a cup of tea.” She folded her hands primly in front of her, the pale coral polish on her nails contrasting erotically with the creamy white linen of the tablecloth. Edward jerked upright, burying the wayward thought. He signaled to the barman. “My usual, Todd. And tea with sugar for the lady.” He sat down.

“Could I suggest the mulled cider instead, Mrs. Baron?” the barman asked, coming over to them. The bar was almost empty in the afternoon lull between lunch and the cocktail hour. “It’s excellent. The cider’s fresh-pressed, from the Hansen farm. And the spices are my special secret.”

“That does sound nice,” Alyssa said graciously. “I’ll have the cider.”

“I’ll still have Scotch,” Edward said. “See that we’re not disturbed, will you, Todd?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Wocheck.” The young man smiled at Alyssa and hurried away to do their bidding.

“You made his day.”

“Your staff is very well trained.”

“I know. How is your father?” he asked, catching her off guard once more with the personal query.

“He’s…not doing well. The trial was very hard on him. The verdict…wasn’t what he wished for.”

“Amanda did a hell of a job getting him off. Ethan Trask’s case was just about as foolproof as you could get when all you’ve got to go on is circumstantial evidence.”

“I’m aware of that,” Alyssa said. He saw a slight shudder pass through her, and he realized once more how important it was to all of them that they find out exactly what had transpired in this building the night of Margaret Ingalls’s murder.

“I couldn’t be prouder of Amanda,” Alyssa went on. Her face lightened for a moment, regained the luminous quality of her youth, and Edward felt his heart rate accelerate yet again. She looked up at the bartender, still smiling as he set a mug of steaming cider in front of her. “Thank you, Todd.” She remained silent for several moments after he left, and Edward watched as she lifted the cinnamon stick out of her drink and laid it on the coaster. She had lovely hands, made to hold a flower, soothe a child, make love to a man.

“I didn’t expect to see you here again so soon.” He took another swallow of Scotch, waiting for Alyssa to bring up the reason she’d sought him out.

She squared her shoulders. Her hands tightened around the glass mug and she lifted her blue eyes to his. Her lips firmed into a straight line. “I’m here to ask you, as an old friend—” she stumbled slightly on the last phrase “—to ask you to withdraw DEVCHECK’s offer to buy Ingalls F and M.”

“I can’t do that, Lyssa.”

“What do you mean, you can’t do that?” She was angry all over again. “You own the company. You can do anything you want.”

He shook his head, wishing he had another swallow of Scotch in his glass. Not for the alcohol content, but for the few moments’ delay it would give him in answering. What he said next would determine the course of the negotiations for the plant. Alyssa was a far more formidable opponent than her inexperience in the business world might lead a man to believe. Edward couldn’t help wondering what it would be like crossing swords with her in an all-out takeover battle. But he didn’t dare risk finding out. The last thing he wanted was an acrimonious business relationship with the woman he’d once loved more than anyone else in the world.

“It doesn’t work that way, Lyssa,” he said cautiously, feeling his way. She refused to look away, although her lower lip trembled slightly and her voice was husky with suppressed emotion.