Chapter 3      

Even though it had required her to take a vacation day, Caroline Hale hadn’t even considered ignoring her uncle’s invitation for lunch at Brasserie Dare. First, Uncle Arthur rarely took a lunch. Everyone in Dare Valley knew he’d eaten a sandwich, pretzels, and a green apple at his desk for some sixty years, with red hots for dessert, as he liked to joke. Second, the only time Uncle Arthur ate lunch out with someone was either for a story or to drill some sense into a person.

Since she’d spent practically every moment of the last couple of weeks working on a new show for the art gallery she curated for in Denver, Caroline couldn’t think of any stories Uncle Arthur could wrest from her for his famous newspaper, The Western Independent. Moira had told her to keep on her toes around their uncle. They’d concluded he was planning to drill some sense into her. 

For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why. Caroline was doing great right now career-wise. Of course, there were currently no prospects in the dating department, but that could change any day. She was an eternal optimist.

Uncle Arthur was already seated at his special table when she arrived—he was the restaurant’s primary investor, after all. There was an untouched basket of steaming hot baguette in front of him, accompanied by a wad of butter in a small clay dish, reminiscent of Provence. The chef and her cousin by marriage, Brian McConnell, paid attention to details like that.

“My dear,” Uncle Arthur said, rising half out of his chair. “You honor me with your presence.”

When Uncle Arthur kicked off with bullshit like that, Caroline knew she was in trouble. Just like she and Moira had thought. Best be plain speaking about it. He’d run over her otherwise. “Honor you? Did you forget to take your medication this morning?”

He harrumphed, which made her smile as she pulled out her chair and sat down across from him.

“Why can’t I say something like that?” he asked, his white, bushy eyebrows pinched closer together with his glare. “Didn’t you drive all the way from Denver on a work day to have lunch with me?”

“You know I did,” she said. “You’re usually not so mysterious. Besides, you wouldn’t budge on shifting this to a weekend.”

He made a rude gesture with his hand. “Too much family around. Everywhere I turn on weekends, there are happy couples making goo-goo eyes at each other and babies everywhere. Even Rhett and Abbie’s new girl is being shoved in my face every time I turn around. Do I have to adopt all the children in this town as my grandchildren?”

He loved every minute of the attention, and he damn well knew it. “You’re just being ornery. And Rhett and Abbie’s little girl is the sweetest baby ever.”

“Bah! You young people say that about every baby. In my day, we just stuck them in a drawer with a blanket and told them to go to bed.”

She bit her lip. He was in a mood. “The good ol’ days before modern cribs. Have you ordered a drink yet?”

He gestured to his coffee cup. “They’re always pushing that sparkling water when I come here. Like I want fizz all over my face.”

“Well, I’m going to have a glass of wine since I’m staying over with Moira.” She and her sister had plans to watch Magic Mike for the hundredth time and drink at least one bottle of wine while consuming an entire pepperoni pizza. Bliss, to her mind. After they conferred about her mysterious meeting with Uncle Arthur, of course. Damn, but she missed having her sister in the same city.

“Be irresponsible of you to drink and drive back to Denver,” Uncle Arthur said, shoving the breadbasket her way. “Might as well have some of this fancy bread too.”

She signaled the server, who seemed to be waiting, and ordered her wine and the sparkling water just to get Uncle Arthur’s goat. He narrowed his blue eyes at her, and she tried and failed to hold back her smile.

The waiter was just walking away when Brian came striding across the restaurant toward them, the kitchen doors swinging shut behind him. “Hey, you two. Caroline, I heard you were meeting Uncle Arthur about something secret.”

“Secret?” Uncle Arthur scoffed. “Stick to cooking, kid. Journalism is safe without you pursuing stories.”

But Brian wouldn’t have used that word—secret—unless he had a reason. Did Jill, his wife, know something Caroline didn’t? Or had Moira said something? In a big family, sometimes it was hard to know.

“What do you recommend for lunch, Brian?” Caroline asked.

He hung his thumbs in his pants. “For you, I would suggest the grilled octopus with lemon tarragon sauce for an appetizer.”

“Octopus! Good Lord. What is the world coming to?”

Brian didn’t even look in Uncle Arthur’s direction, but she saw his mouth twitch. “For an entrée, I would go with the lamb chops. Grilled to perfection with a black pepper cream sauce and a side of frisée.”

“Sounds delicious.” She wanted to purr, it sounded so good.

“If you’re over your gastronomic ecstasy, Caroline, I’ll order.” Uncle Arthur rested his elbows on the table. “French onion soup and a croque-monsieur sandwich.”

Brian sighed. “Arthur, you always get that. Why not try—”

“Do I look like I’m interested in trying anything new? I’m in my final years here. The routine of life comforts me.”

Usually Caroline would have called bullshit, but there was something in his voice. Brian glanced over at her, and it was obvious he’d sensed it too. 

She reached for her uncle’s hand. “You look better than ever to me.”

“Yeah,” Brian said, rocking on his heels. “I want to be as alive and hopping as you are when I’m your age.”

The side of Uncle Arthur’s mouth tipped up before flattening out. “That’s my order. Go make it happen, Brian. You’ve been shooting the breeze with me long enough.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “All right, I’ll head back to the kitchen, but your soup is coming out with Caroline’s appetizer, Arthur. Don’t fight me on this.”

Uncle Arthur muttered to himself as Brian headed away from the table. “I hate all this pomp and circumstance.”

“Yeah, two courses is so stuffy,” Caroline teased. “You’ve been to dinners at the White House, for Pete’s sake.”

He looked down his nose at her over his glasses. “My dear, this isn’t the nation’s capital, and you aren’t the First Lady.”

“Something I’m grateful for every day,” she quipped as the server brought her wine and sparkling water. “Now are you finally going to tell me why I took a vacation day to meet you for lunch?”

“A friend of mine could use your art expertise,” he said without blinking. “I hoped you would be amenable to helping him.”

For a man who wrote succinct ledes for a major newspaper, it was a vague request. She imagined deliberately so. “Tell me more.”

“It’s for J.T. Merriam,” her uncle said, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip. “Emmits Merriam’s great-great grandson.”

“Wasn’t he the kid who threw mud at me when I was five?” she asked, recalling the scrawny older boy who’d ruined her dress when he’d missed hitting his twin brother.

“Sadly, yes,” Uncle Arthur said, scratching his jaw. “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that. Emmits would be appalled that’s all you remember of his kin.”

She didn’t doubt that he was right.

“Why does his great-great grandson need my help?” Caroline asked, picking up her wine.

“Because he wants to bring the Merriam family art collection to Dare Valley,” her uncle told her. “Emmits would be over the moon, and so am I.”

“Didn’t Emmits come to Dare Valley the same year you started The Western Independent?”

Arthur shook his head. “Good heavens no. You young people and your memories. I’ve got more brain cells firing. Emmits and his wife built a summer house here long before that. He was my mentor and my friend. Encouraged me to go to Columbia University’s journalism school and helped my career and this newspaper when I was first starting out. I owe that man a whole heck of a lot—even though Emmits always said a man makes his own fate. He’d want his art to rest here. I know it.”

His impassioned tone made her smile. “Where is he planning to display the collection?”

“He’s working with the university, of course,” her uncle said. “And that’s strictly between us, even if you choose not to help.”

“Of course. Do the Merriams have good taste in art?”

Her uncle snorted. “Impeccable. If you meet with J.T., you’ll see for yourself. Excited yet?”

She lifted her shoulder. “Sure, but I’m still not clear on why he’d want my help.” The Merriams had oil money and were richer than Croesus. She imagined J.T. could have the best of the best in the art world.

“J.T. can tell you more himself,” her uncle said as the server brought their appetizers. “As for why he wants you, I told him he does. He needs someone with your skills. Plus, you’re from Dare Valley.”

“But I live in Denver, Uncle Arthur,” she said, popping a bite of octopus into her mouth. “Delicious. Sure you don’t want a taste?”

“I stopped eating things with more than four appendages in 1962,” he replied, totally deadpan. “Can I tell J.T. that you’ll meet with him? He’s happy to set something up in Denver if that’s easier for you. He has to fly in anyway.”

“Where does he live right now?” she asked.

“Rome,” her uncle replied. “The art capital of the world to many intellectuals.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Caroline said. “What does J.T. do?”

“He’s been managing the Merriam oil and gas division in Africa and the Middle East. Lately, he’s been thinking about doing something different.”

 “Hence this art collection,” she said, sipping her wine. It was quite a shift, and that intrigued her. “All right, I’ll meet him, but I make no promises. You’re being oddly vague here, and my alarm bells are ringing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tapped the melted Swiss cheese covering his soup, and the steam escaped.

“You aren’t thinking you’ll be able to lure me back to Dare Valley like the rest of my siblings?” To her mind, there’d be no purpose. Denver wasn’t far away, and she worked at the city’s finest gallery.

“I’ll leave major life decisions to you,” Uncle Arthur said. “But it makes me happy to think about more of Emmits’ legacy returning to Dare Valley. The university is one thing, but it doesn’t reflect his heart anymore. No one had a bigger heart than that man.”

His gruff tone told Caroline he was getting choked up. She rose from her chair and went over to kiss his weathered cheek. “Except you, perhaps.”

“Bah,” he said again as she returned to her chair. “I’m just an old man who’s done the best he could with what he had. That’s all any of us can do.”

When he was like this, there was no arguing with him. “Give J.T. my number and tell him to call me.”

Her uncle gave her a radiant smile and slid two red hots across the table to her. “One for the kiss and the other for making an old man happy.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” she told him with a wink.

She’d meet with J.T. Merriam a dozen times if it would make Uncle Arthur smile like that again.