Asking For Trouble

“I see.”

“No, you don’t! You don’t know what it’s like to lose a mom, so don’t say you do.”

Rising to her feet, Beth dusted off her jeans and tried hard to keep her temper in check. The child was like a wounded animal, striking out at everything she came in contact with, and she had to keep reminding herself of that.

“You’re right. My mom’s still alive and living in San Francisco, but my dad left when I was ten, so I think I know a little something about losing a loved one.”

The child’s expression softened momentarily. “Did he die?”

She shook her head. “My parents got divorced. But my dad may as well have died because I haven’t seen him in many years.” Her mother had chased the man away with vile invectives and threats of public humiliation. And even if her father had deserved Margaret Shaw’s wrath, Beth still blamed the woman for forcing him out of her life.

But she blamed her father even more for never contacting her or making the effort to see her. She considered his behavior cowardly and unjustified. Beth had often wondered if her father had remarried and started a new family, if he had other children to bestow his love and affection on. The notion had bothered her a lot at first, but now she’d grown indifferent, though there were times, if she allowed herself to think about it, it still hurt.

She had given her heart to two men, and they had both crushed it before abandoning her. She didn’t intend to make that same mistake again.

Stacy scoffed. “That’s not the same. My mom’s never coming back. You’ve got a shot at seeing your dad again.”

Beth thought that highly unlikely but chose not to argue the point. “You miss your mom a lot, don’t you? Your dad said—”

Blue eyes flashing angrily, Stacy balled her hands into fists. “You stay away from my dad! He’s not going to marry anyone, so don’t get any ideas. A lot of women have tried to get him, but he loves my mom and no one else.”

“I can assure you, Stacy,” she began, taking a deep, calming breath, “I have no desire to marry your dad, or anyone else, for that matter. I was married. I’m divorced now. It was a painful experience and not one I wish to repeat.”

“I can see why your husband left. You’re not very pretty, or smart.”

As if slapped, Beth rocked back on her heels, not knowing how to respond. She’d been plagued with self-doubt for years, and the mean-spirited comment hit a little too close to home. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re not very nice?”

Looking somewhat stunned, the child stood there, her face expressionless, except for the red blush staining her cheeks, making Beth wonder if she was sorry for what she’d said. “Don’t tell my dad what I said, okay? He’ll be mad, and I’ll get grounded.”

“I’ll think about it. But only if you promise to think before you speak from now on. Words can be as painful as bullets. I’m sure you know that.” Junior high and high school had a way of humbling even the most brazen, outspoken child. There was always someone bigger, meaner and mouthier to bring you down to size. Stacy was going to find that out the hard way, if she hadn’t already.

Running the toe of her white leather Nike back and forth in the dirt, Stacy finally nodded, agreeing in a small voice, “All right.”

“Speaking of your dad, does he know where you are?”

“I told him I was going for a walk. Besides, he’s busy right now and doesn’t want me around.”

“I doubt that. What’s he doing?”

“He’s sitting on the front porch talking to your aunts. He thinks they might know something about Gramps’s disappearance.”

A panicked feeling swamped Beth, and she swallowed. “Really?” The last thing she needed was for Brad Donovan to interrogate her aunts. There was no telling what the old ladies would say, or if they would incriminate themselves about what was down in the cellar.

Why did Bradley Donovan have to come into her life right now? It was very inconvenient, and not just because of the probing questions he asked about his father’s whereabouts. Brad was making her feel things she had no desire to feel. Sexual attraction, physical awareness, giddiness and stupidity were feelings she couldn’t allow herself to experience right now. Would never allow herself, she amended. She had too much at stake.

“I’d better go check on my guests. And I do need to get that porch decorated.”

“Can Buster come with me on my walk? I won’t go far.”

Buster, who was wagging his tail and running circles around Stacy, seemed overjoyed with the idea; though Beth knew he wasn’t likely to hang with the child long. When it came to adventure the dog had a mind of his own.

“All right. Just make sure he doesn’t go into the pond. Buster loves the water, but it’s too cold this time of year, and he might get sick.”

As soon as both girl and dog took off across the field, Beth grabbed her basket and made a beeline for the front porch, praying Iris and Ivy were behaving themselves.

What were the chances?

She broke into a run.

“WOULD YOU CARE for more apple cider, Dr. Donovan?” Iris asked. “Our niece makes the best hot cider in the world. She uses real cinnamon sticks, not the powdered stuff.”

Brad smiled at the two women, who were seated in the white porch rockers on either side of him, looking as if they’d just stepped out of a flower garden. Iris’s dress was adorned with pink cabbage roses, while Ivy sported blue forget-me-nots. Their snow-white hair reminded him of tufts of soft cotton. They were sweet, if not a bit odd.

“No, thanks. It was good, but I think I’ve had my fill. Umm, I was wondering if you ladies would mind answering a few questions about my father. I’m really quite concerned about him. He’s been missing for several weeks and it’s not like him not to contact me.” Brad had called his service for messages and checked his voice mail at home, but there had been no word from his father.

Exchanging a weighted look with her sister, Iris took a moment to consider, before asking, “What kind of questions, Dr. Donovan? As I told my niece, we didn’t know your father well. He wasn’t here that long, if memory serves.”

“Sister has the worst memory,” Ivy explained with an embarrassed smile, making Brad wonder if he was ever going to get any information out of the two old ladies. He’d been sitting on the porch with them for twenty-five minutes. They had discussed everything under the sun except his father’s whereabouts. He couldn’t help thinking they knew more than they were saying. And that went for their niece, too. Every question he asked had been dodged, dismissed or just plain ignored.

The old ladies weren’t very good liars, and neither was Beth. Everything she thought was reflected on her pretty face. He was certain, especially after her abrupt departure last evening, that she was covering up something, for someone.

“How did my father seem when you spoke to him? Was he upset, angry, confused? It would help if I knew his state of mind.” He prayed his dad hadn’t been despondent. That was the one thing he worried about.

Before leaving for his trip, Robert Donovan had been depressed. And though Brad had suggested that he seek professional help, perhaps get a prescription for antidepressants, his father had flatly refused, claiming there was nothing wrong with him that fresh air and a change of scenery couldn’t cure.

“I found Robert to be terribly unhappy,” Ivy confessed, confirming Brad’s worst fear. “After talking to the poor dear, Iris and I were determined to help him solve his problems in the kindest way we knew how.”

“Ivy!” Shaking her head, Iris shot her sister a warning look, then pasted on a smile when Brad glanced over at her with a questioning, almost frightened look.

“I’m afraid Ivy is prone to exaggeration, Dr. Donovan. You must excuse her.”

“What do you mean, the kindest way?” he asked. “You’d better explain what you mean,” he said, staring at them intently and watching as the two sisters squirmed restlessly in their seats. It didn’t look good. The more the old ladies talked, the more off-kilter they seemed, which was a nice way of saying they were a few slices short of a loaf of nut bread.

“My niece has conversations with herself. Did you know that, Dr. Donovan?” Iris asked, handing him a plate of scones. “Care for another?” She smiled sweetly.

“No, thanks. Now, about my father—”

“We’re worried Beth will never find another husband,” Ivy added. “She’s always reading those romantic novels and watching old movies. She simply adores Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn. She lives in a fantasy world, if you ask me.” She tutted. “Not good. Not good, at all.”

Distracted by the woman’s comments, Brad took a moment to digest the information. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that about her. I mean, I knew Beth liked old films, but she seems very well grounded. I’ve never heard her talk to herself. Does she do that often?”

“Oh, yes,” Iris offered, “all the time. And sometimes she answers herself.”

Brad’s eyes widened. Did insanity run—gallop?—in the family?

“My niece suffered an unhappy marriage. I think she’s looking for a knight in shining armor to whisk her away.” Ivy placed two scones on her napkin before continuing. “Most young women these days aren’t prepared for the harsh realties of life.”

“Now, Ivy, I think you’re being unfair,” her sister said “Beth does a wonderful job of running this inn.”