Chapter 17

 

Carol took her time serving the four university students in the corner booth. She owed Patrick an apology, but she wasn’t going to fawn over him.

Finally, flipping to a fresh page on the order pad, she moved to his table. “I’m glad I didn’t chase you away. Sorry about last week. You were only trying to help.”

Cool green eyes met hers, with no trace of resentment. “Consider it forgiven. I regret being the one to bring bad news.”

Heat crept up the back of Carol’s neck. “Tonight’s soup is chunky chicken vegetable, if you’re feeling the dampness.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

The mealtime rhythm kept Carol moving and awake. The rain held the crowd down a bit, a blessing on a night when they were short a server.

When she brought Patrick his coffee and a fruit cup, he studied her face. “Is everything all right?”

Carol blinked scratchy eyelids and darted a glance around the room. The nearest tables were empty, but she lowered her voice anyway. “Someone broke into my apartment yesterday. I tossed and turned all night.” And listened to Joey’s show but didn’t call.

His brows came together. “Were you at home?”

“Luckily, no. Or maybe it wasn’t luck. I think someone was watching. They didn’t take anything, but they attacked our dog. Keith’s dog.” Carol’s voice broke.

Patrick’s face set as still as stone. “Was the dog badly hurt?”

“He took a nasty blow to the head. The vet wants to keep him a few days for observation, but I’m picking him up tomorrow.”

“Allow me to pay the bill. It’s not charity. I know what the dog means to you, and I can afford to keep him at the vet’s long enough for a proper assessment.” Patrick’s lips twisted. “Consider it my vote of friendship.”

“That’s very generous, Patrick, but he’ll be happier at home.”

“Will you at least think about it? You don’t want to lose him.”

“Thank you.” Carol left him to his coffee and set to work clearing the corner table. One of the students had left a folded paper with his tip. She opened it. You looked worried tonight. We prayed for you before we left. God loves you, and He can help.

Sliding the note into her pocket, Carol scanned the room. Was it that obvious? Patrick met her eyes and smiled, but the few other diners didn’t glance her way.

God loves you. Right. He can help. Right. Just like He helped with Keith.

Maybe it wasn’t fair to blame God for Keith. Carol stacked spaghetti-streaked plates and piled the cutlery on top. But couldn’t God have kept her son alive until help came? Or given her some kind of premonition to go home?

She carried her load into the kitchen and returned with a tray for the rest and a hot, wet cloth to wipe the tabletop. These boys were sweet to care about her. Maybe she could slip them some cookies next time.

They came every Tuesday, sometimes with a few more, laughing and carrying on but not troublesome or loud. They always seemed to have fun. Not her idea of Christians at all.

Carol’s shift ended at seven. She hurried from the kitchen, zipping her jacket, and saw Patrick still at his table. He rose to meet her. “Will your son be home?”

“No, why?”

“I was thinking of you walking into your apartment unprotected. Would you like some moral support? Just to confirm it’s safe?”

“I’ll be fine, but thank you.” For once she’d been glad to hear Paul was going to Barry’s for supper. Surely they wouldn’t come back the very next night, but if they did, and he was home alone...

If they had returned, what would she find? Carol nibbled her upper lip. “On second thought I’d appreciate the company, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did.” Patrick slid his phone from his pocket and swiped a finger across the screen. He looked up. “In case we get separated in traffic, what’s your address?”

Patrick walked Carol to her car under cover of his umbrella, then hurried to his own. She waited until his headlights came on to pull out. It’d feel safer to not walk through that door alone.

As she threaded through the back streets to her apartment, Carol wondered what Patrick thought of the neighbourhood. The homes were simple, but well maintained and more expensive than her dented Toyota would lead him to expect.

The Johnstones were her friend Jackie’s ex-in-laws — “out-laws” Jackie called them now — and they’d given her a break on rent at Jackie’s plea. It was still a stretch, hence no cable or Internet, but it put Paul into a safer, better school.

Carol signalled and pulled into the driveway. By the time she parked behind the house, Patrick had left his car on the street. He walked along the driveway toward her.

She glanced at the apartment door. “Everything looks okay, but it did yesterday too.”

As they approached the door, a light came on above them and hinges squeaked. “Carol? Is that you, dear?”

“Yes, Cecilia. I brought a friend with me to make sure it’s safe.”

“Basil could have come down.”

“No need to drag him away from Wheel of Fortune. Besides, the rain’s not good for his joints. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, dear.”

Carol’s new key unlocked both deadbolt and door handle. Patrick laid a hand on her arm. “Allow me, just in case.”

She reached for the light switch and let him pass, then followed him into the kitchen. Everything looked fine. She inhaled. Everything smelled fine. The radio played quietly. She hadn’t needed to leave it on with Chance gone, but the thought of coming home to silence was too much.

Patrick stood his umbrella on the boot tray and took off his shoes. “Shall I do a proper check?”

“We’ll go together.” At least after her weekend cleaning frenzy she didn’t have to worry what he’d see.

They hung their dripping coats on the pegs and went into the living room. Patrick glanced around. “Nice Monet.”

“Thanks. It’s just a print from a yard sale.”

“If you’d had an original, your intruders would have left a bare patch on the wall.” Patrick started down the hallway. “Your landlady sounds protective.”

“They’ve been very good to me. They weren’t sure about taking a single mother and teenager, but now they treat us like family. Paul has no grandparents, so that’s a bonus.”

Both bedrooms and the bathroom checked out, and Carol felt her tension slip from her shoulders. She led the way back to the kitchen. “Thank you, Patrick. I didn’t realize how nervous I was. Do you have time for another coffee?”

He checked his watch. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“I need a tea anyway.”

“In that case, yes, please.” He pulled a chair from the table as Carol filled the kettle.

“I’m sorry for the duct tape. It’s —”

“Please don’t compare our homes. The chair is sturdy, and your neighbourhood seems safe. That’s what’s important.”

“Thanks.” Carol set two floral porcelain mugs on a tray and filled a plate with peanut butter cookies. Patrick might not want one, but her nerves said she did. She spooned coffee into the single-cup filter and dropped a mint teabag into her cup. No-name coffee, for a man who ground his own beans. But it was all Carol had.

“I like living here. Sometimes Cecilia mothers me too much, but that’s a small price.” When she’d made their drinks, she picked up the tray. “I’ve spent most of the day in a kitchen. The living room’s more comfortable.”

Carol settled on one end of the couch, feet tucked up beside her for warmth. Somehow she couldn’t put on her scruffy slippers with Patrick here. She took a cookie, and rested her tea mug on her leg.

Patrick glanced around. “You’ve made this a cozy room.”

“I try. My mother was a genius at creating atmosphere with no budget. It’s amazing what paint, fabric and a few thrift store finds can do.”

“That crescent table and mirror didn’t come from a thrift store.”

“Neither did the bookcase, nor the desk in Paul’s room. They were Mom’s. Gran’papa was a carpenter.” Remembered sawdust and sunshine drew a wistful smile. “We didn’t visit often. They were French Catholics, and Mom married an English Protestant.”

“Ah, the dark ages.”

Carol’s happy childhood had been church-free except on those visits. Until her mother “found Jesus” at a tent meeting and it tore their family apart. Carol bit into her cookie. Peanut butter muddied the taste of her tea, but tonight she needed both sugar and mint.

Patrick turned to study the Monet above their heads. “Rita and I viewed some of his originals in Paris. The Water Garden is amazing.”

“No one can take away the special memories.” Not that Carol had a lot of those, herself.

“Speaking of taking, you found nothing missing at all?”

Carol pushed her bangs off her forehead, stifling a sigh. “There’s not much worth taking, but no. And no vandalism. Except for Chance, it was more like a prank. They turned the painting upside-down on its wire, changed my radio, and helped themselves to my food.”

A line appeared between Patrick’s eyebrows. “Do you remember what I said, about unscrupulous people wondering if Silver had shared his wealth?”

“If he hid some, I wouldn’t know where to look. I haven’t spoken to him since he was arrested. The first time.”

“Odd, that he’d be recaptured like that.”

“Or justice.” Justice would have been a fatal car accident or an explosion.

Patrick held her gaze. “Silver won’t be out of your life while this man is threatening you.”

“But it may have nothing to do with Harry.” Although Detective Garraway thought it did.

Patrick tapped his fingers on one leg. “I could be your go-between. Contact Silver so you don’t have to, ask him if there is any money someone would be after. Get it for you.”

“No. But thank you.”

His lips thinned. “You don’t trust me.”

“Trust isn’t easy.” Joey’s lopsided grin flashed in Carol’s mind. She looked away from Patrick, biting her lip.

He touched her arm. “You can’t trust indiscriminately, but there are a number of respected citizens who can vouch for my integrity. I’m what’s known as a safe bet.”

“It’s not really about trust, Patrick, and I’m not questioning your integrity.” Carol met his eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, but I can’t let someone else wear my danger.”

“You have a son. I have no one.” Patrick raised his hands as she opened her mouth to protest. “But why would it come to that? I collect the sack of gold, if there is one, your caller asks for it and I give it to him. Mission accomplished, and he leaves you alone. Your danger is in defying him.”

The last mouthful of tea went down cold. Carol set her mug on the tray and rose. “I need time to think about it.”

Patrick stood too. “I’ve taken more of your evening than I intended. Thank you for the coffee and conversation.”

Over Carol’s protests, he carried the tray to the kitchen. A gentleman, even if a bit reserved. Classic looks, nice build, financially secure. Carol caught herself eyeing the graceful line of his hips with the same detached appreciation she’d feel for a fine sculpture, and she shook her head.

The outside door opened as Patrick shrugged into his coat, and Paul stepped in, dripping rain. Carol introduced them, and the assessing once-over Paul gave her guest made her smile. Testosterone and defence of territory. Welcome to manhood, son.

Paul hung his jacket on a peg but stayed in the kitchen, setting out hot chocolate powder and a mug, while Patrick fastened his coat.

Umbrella in hand, Patrick held Carol’s gaze. He kept his voice low. “Please consider what I said. I find myself... concerned... for you.” An unreadable light flickered in his eyes and tight lines bracketed his lips.

Carol double-locked the door behind him. Even though that hadn’t stopped the intruders the last time.