Chapter 2

“Why are the personal papers so important to you, young fella?” Olaf asked, his bushy, snowcap white eyebrows lifting up to his bald head.

Frayne’s expression blanked and then, just as quick, recovered. I don’t think anyone else noticed because it happened in an eye blink, but my lawyer spidey-sense went on hyperalert.

“Yes, what do you think they contain that the other biographers haven’t already made note of?” Clara said.

“The other books have skimmed the surface, stating the facts of the reverend’s life as much as is known. I’d like to dig deeper, get to the man himself, his thoughts, his motivations, if I can. Try to give a more balanced view of his life and history. That’s kind of my specialty.”

“You sound like one of them investigative reporters, digging up dirt anywhere they can.” Finlay Mayhew’s thin lips bent down at the corners, deepening the grooves in his face into dermal crevasses.

“You’re not working for one of them slander rags with enquiring minds, are you, boy?” Olaf asked. “ ’Cause we ain’t gonna let anyone sully the name of our town founder.”

I don’t know if it was the reference to a salacious weekly tabloid or the fact he’d been called a boy, but Frayne’s entire face changed in a nanosecond. The guarded cast in his gaze flew, replaced by a quiet mirth. His lips twisted up, and two delicious dimples developed at their corners.

Holy Christmas.

Frayne’s gaze met mine, and I swear his charming grin grew before it moved to his accuser.

“No, sir. I’m not. I can assure you I’m not a tabloid journalist, and I have no intention of writing anything salacious about the reverend. I simply want to give as accurate a portrayal of the man, the times, and his circumstances as I can. That’s the way I approach every biography I write. I want it to be as thorough and balanced a representation as possible.”

“You never mentioned who’s publishing this book, Frayne,” Gunny said. “You got one lined up?”

Frayne rattled off the name of a well-known publisher.

“How wonderful.” Clara beamed. She glanced around the table and asked, “Are there any other questions for Mr. Frayne before we vote on his request?”

I had several, but I decided to ask them in private if the opportunity presented itself.

When no one expressed any concerns, Clara said, “All those in favor of allowing Mr. Frayne access to the Heaven family’s personal papers and any other historical documentation, please raise your hand.”

Eight hands went up, Finlay Mayhew the sole holdout.

No surprise there.

Clara, in a show of uncharacteristic pique, slanted him a squinty-eyed glower, her lips pressed flat together like two squished pancakes. This, from the woman who never missed an opportunity to defer to the man’s opinion, was the most heated I’d ever seen her get toward him.

“The motion passes by a clear majority,” she announced.

Finlay’s response was to fold his arms across his midsection, his flannel shirt tugging across his ample girth with the movement.

“Thank you,” Frayne said. “I appreciate it.”

“We’ll set you up with a schedule to view the documents,” Clara told him. “Just give us your time availability.”

“All day, any day. I’m staying in town while I do my research. If you tell me where to go, I can get started as soon as possible.”

This posed a bit of a problem. I was about to tell him why, when Clara beat me to it.

“You’ll need to coordinate with Cathleen—Mrs. Mulvaney,” she said, nodding toward me. “Our current curator, Leigh James, is indisposed, otherwise she would be the proper person to help you with your research.”

“I don’t require any help.”

“Yes, well, Cathleen is in charge of the personal archives while Dr. James is on leave, and Cathleen’s a very busy woman. You two will need to put your heads together to decide on times she’s available to assist you.”

“I don’t understand.” His gaze shot from Clara to me. “All I need is access.”

“There are rules involved with viewing the personal archives. Rules you must abide by.” Clara directed a very pointed stare at me. “Maybe you should explain it, Cathy, dear.”

I nodded. “I need to get back to start my afternoon.” I rose and addressed Frayne. “Why don’t we go outside, and I’ll let you know what needs to be done?”

“Come back and join us for lunch after Cathy leaves,” Clara told Frayne.

I grabbed my purse, tossed my fellow society members a quick goodbye, and then moved from the room, Frayne following.

In the foyer, I stopped. “Sorry about that. They’re a little much to take when you don’t know what to expect.”

Frayne shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve been called boy for more than twenty years.”

I smiled.

“What did Mrs. Johnson mean about rules?”

“It’s an archaic regulation passed down from the previous society members. It’s never been challenged, and this group isn’t going to change anything in their lifetime.” I pulled my coat from the closet. “The personal archives are kept locked, and no one is allowed access to them without the curator, or the society board member in charge of overseeing the collection, present.”

“That’s you?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t just have the key?”

“Unfortunately, no.” With a sigh, I started to shrug into my coat. Frayne slipped behind me to help.

I was surprised by the gesture. It had been a long, long time since a man had done something as chivalrous as hold my coat for me. Standing behind me, he was close enough his warm breath fanned across my neck as I slipped my arms into the sleeves. As soon as my coat was on, I turned around to continue our conversation. The words died on my lips.

Frayne was still standing close to me—so close I could make out the tiny shards of ice blue competing with the light slate in his irises. Long, dark, and thick curled lashes framed his eyes, highlighting the pale colors swimming in them.

“Why unfortunately no?” He slid his hands into his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels.

“Again, it’s a society rule. I’m not allowed to give the key to anyone else. It’s required to stay in my possession at all times until my term as archive director is over.”

“So…” He tilted his head, his brows tugging together in the midline as he examined my face. A ghost of a grin slanted his lips. “You’re like, what? The keeper of the keys? Guarding the secrets of the ancient and sacred archives from dark, outside forces, like Cerberus guarding the gates of Hell?”

I laughed, and the sound echoed in the empty space around us.

“Not sacred, I assure you. But the board does regard itself as the historical protector of the past, and the Heaven family in particular. If you want entrée to the private collection and the personal documents, you need to abide by their rules.”

After a few moments, he blew out a breath. “Okay. What’s your schedule look like, then? Because I’m free, and I want to get started as soon as I can.”

“I’m tied up today until about four. I could meet you back here afterward.”

I could tell he wasn’t happy about having to wait.

“Do you need to stay with me while I do my research?”

“If you dip into the personal files, then yes. If it’s the public files, I can arrange to have a docent assist you. The files are all up to date, computerized, and catalogued in the system, but the storage space is a maze and you’ll need some guidance finding specific items. The docent can help.”

“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you after four.”

“You mentioned you’re staying in town for the time being?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“At the inn.”

“Inn Heaven?”

He smiled, and my toes curled inside my boots when those dimples appeared again.

“Yeah. Great name. I need to go check in once I’m done here. I’ve got a room booked for a month. If it looks like it’s gonna take longer, I might rent a place. The inn is good for now.”

“Better than good,” I said, no small amount of pride in my voice. “You’ll get breakfast and lunch every day, and if you want dinner, all you have to do is ask Maureen, the owner. You’re in good hands.”

“You know her?”

“We share parents.”

It took him a moment.

“Sisters.” He nodded.

“Got it in one.” I shot a finger at him. In doing so, I happened to see my watch again. “Why don’t you go have lunch, and I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”

Because it was second nature for me to do so, ground into my manners rulebook by my grandmother, I put out my hand to shake his.

When he took it with his own, I was engulfed in a cauldron of heat so consuming, my entire body stilled, reveling in the sensation.

And not only the warmth, but the actual feel of his skin against mine. Little pulses of awareness surged over my wrist and up my arm, spreading warmth to every pore it crossed. I don’t know how long we stood there, our hands together, our gazes locked. I do know when the sound of my cell phone penetrated the silent air around us, it was like a booming strike of thunder clapping directly overhead.

We both jumped, Frayne tightening his grip on my hand. I yanked on it, and when he let it go, I reached into my bag.

“It’s my office. I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go.”

Without looking back at him, I sprinted through the doors I’d walked through less than an hour before.

****

I wasn’t surprised when Frayne was seated in one of the antique sofas lining the perimeter of the marble-floored foyer when I returned hours later.

“Right on time.” He shoved his cell phone into the briefcase next to him.

When I’d run from him earlier, I’d tried to convince myself the reason I was out of sorts was because I had a great deal on my mind. Between two court cases on the docket in the next few weeks, concerns about my grandmother, the wedding I was scheduled to officiate at this weekend and for which I hadn’t yet written a word, and the thousand other issues that came up daily, it was no wonder I’d been a little unglued around Frayne. I didn’t need another responsibility like being at his beck and call when I was this busy. I’d had no say in the matter though. With Leigh James on strict bed rest until her baby arrived, I was duty bound to act on her behalf.

When Frayne stood and swiped a hand across his forehead to push back the shock of hair falling across it, I realized what a poor liar I was. I could argue and debate a cause for someone else ad infinitum, redefine facts, or reinterpret them at will. But I couldn’t lie convincingly to myself to save my life.

One look at him and all my girly parts started to tingle, like when your foot is asleep and it’s beginning to get some circulation back and waking up. Little shots of nerve-ending sizzles and pops signaling something was going on. And the something going on was pure attraction, a sensation I hadn’t experienced in a lifetime.

I shrugged out of my coat and slung it over my forearm. “Did you get all checked in?”

He told me he had and then followed me down the marble stairs to the first basement. “I met your sister. She’s young to be running an inn all by herself.”

“Don’t let her age fool you. Maureen is an amazing businesswoman. She’s been written up in a half-dozen tourist magazines over the past two years with stellar, glowing reviews of the inn, her food, and her customer service.”

“I read a few of them online when I decided to take this job.”

At the bottom of the stairs, I reached out to open the door.

Frayne stretched an arm around me and beat me to it, wrapping his hand around mine on the knob. “Sorry. Old habits. My parents drilled in me from the womb that I should always open a door for a lady.” The tops of his cheeks went a little pink with his words. “And I hear how archaic I sound,” he said, “so let me apologize again.”

I had to smile as he pulled open the door and let me go through first.

The temperature in the basement was kept at a constant sixty-eight degrees, the subbasement under it two degrees warmer since it was placed farther underground.

I explained all this as we walked into a small anteroom strewn with a few computers on worktables. “You’ll need to log into the system with a protected password of your choosing,” I told him as I tossed my belongings on one of the extra tables.

He sat at a workspace and booted up the computer.

“If you follow the prompts,” I said, “they’ll guide you through the process.”

A few minutes later he was navigating through the system like a pro.

“I think you’ve done this before.”

“The Dickinson Museum uses the same archival system. What are these numbers after each entry?” He pointed to the screen.

“The first one indicates which level the document is housed on,” I said as I leaned in closer. “One indicates this floor; two, the subbasement. The next numbers tell you the row the artifact is placed in and the shelf number where it’s housed.” When I turned, our heads were even, our faces a mere whisper from one another.

Frayne’s gaze dropped down to my mouth and lingered for a moment before slowly sweeping back up to my eyes. Awareness bolted through my body, my spine shuddering from neck to thighs with the impact.

The urge to lean in and chase away the sadness in his eyes was surprising.

“For instance—” Good Lord. I sounded like I was in dire need of an inhaler.

I cleared my throat and pointed to the screen. “Those numbers, 2-62-9-10, means the document is in the subbasement, row sixty-two, shelf nine, space ten. If you want to see the document, you’ll find it there.”

“Do I have access to get my own research materials, or do I need to ask the docent to bring them to me?”

I shook my head and stepped away from the table—and him. Where my voice had sounded like I was having an asthma attack, his was composed and smooth, the pitch and tone clear and concise.

“You can get any item from this level by yourself or ask the docent to retrieve it for you. You’ll need to log anything out on the computer if you remove it from the storage room and then log it back in again when you return it to its place. Items in the subbasement, the private files, you need me to be here for. Oh, and I should tell you, although you must already know, you can’t remove anything from the museum. Every item has to remain here.”

“I figured that. Is there a copy machine available if I need it?”

I pointed to the far side of the room.

He stood and slipped his hands into his pockets. “I’d like to get started now.”

I glanced down at my watch. “Beverly Carlisle will be here at five. She’s got docent duty until seven. The museum closes then, so whatever work you do will need to be finished by then so she can lock up.”

“I should be. You said if I want to see anything in the private collection you need to be present, correct?”

“Yes. Do you want to start there?”

With his head cocked to one side again, he said, “Can I click around the files and see what’s listed first and then tell you? You don’t need to leave right now, do you?

I didn’t need to, no, but I wanted to. A nice glass of Merlot and some leftover meatloaf waited for me at home. “I’ve got some work with me I could do until Bev arrives.”

He sat back down and got to it. While he searched, I pulled my laptop from my briefcase to start on the wedding vows I needed to write for the weekend.

In addition to my work as a lawyer, in my justice of the peace role, I officiated at marriages, many of which my wedding-planner sister, Colleen, was in charge of. The three of us, Maureen, Colleen, and I were partners in a boutique wedding business. Colleen planned them, I officiated when called upon, and the receptions were often held at Inn Heaven.

Frayne moved up and down from his computer station several times and disappeared into the storage room. At one point, I found him standing and holding a county record book. From the weathered look of the leather cover, it was one of the older volumes, filled with handwritten accounts of area births and deaths.

He’d slipped on a pair of thick black reading glasses, making him look like a middle-aged Clark Kent in need of a haircut. They perched halfway down his nose, enabling him to look over the tops to see the distance clearly. He had the record book open and was engrossed in a page as he walked. I’d put his age at late thirties, but now up close and in person, he was a few years older, maybe early to mid-forties.

Footsteps clanged down the stairs.

“Oh, you’re here. Good.” Beverly Carlisle came through the connecting door. “Dabney said he’d thought he’d seen you two head down here.” She introduced herself to Frayne. “Anything I can help with, please don’t hesitate to ask. It’s what I’m here for.”

“Thank you.” Frayne turned his attention to me. As soon as I’d heard Bev approaching, I’d started packing up. While I slipped back into my coat, he asked, “You’re leaving?”

I nodded.

“What time can I get in here in the morning?”

“The museum opens at ten.”

“When will you be available in case I need something from the private collection?”

I blew out a breath and ran through my mental schedule. “Tomorrow is tough. I’ve got to take care of a family matter first thing, and then my afternoon is booked solid.”

“What about lunch? Do you take a break then?”

“Not a long one. I can stop by and see if you need anything, though.”

He reached down and pulled his cell phone from his briefcase. “Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll text if I need you to be here. It’ll save you a trip if I don’t.”

“Good idea.” I tapped my number into his contact list. “If there’s nothing else, I really do need to get going.”

“Sure, sure. I don’t want to keep you from your family. Thanks for everything.”

“Good night. ’Night, Bev.”

“Give your darling George a hug from me,” she said, with a wink. “I miss seeing him on his walks.”

I laughed. “Will do.” With one last head bob for Frayne, I headed for home.