Chapter 6

Sunday morning I escorted Nanny to weekly mass at our family church, Heaven on Earth, and then to a late breakfast at the inn with Maureen, Colleen, and her fiancé, Slade. There was no sign of Frayne, and I didn’t ask my sister if she knew where he was.

After dropping Nanny back at the nursing home, I spent the rest of the day preparing legal briefs, writing up a statement to deliver to the judge Monday morning for Seldrine, and snuggling with George. No texts from Frayne blew up my phone, and I was happy I didn’t have to deal with him. After his outburst, I wasn’t sure I could stand being regarded again with such scorn purely because I’d chosen law as a career. I’ll admit I was disappointed he’d been unable to look past my job and see the woman and not merely the lawyer.

For the first time in my adult life, I’d actually considered what being with a man—other than my husband—would be like. There was something intriguing about McLachlan Frayne. Sure, he was handsome in a sexy, scruffy, professorial way, all shoulders and trim waistline. Even though his hair hadn’t met a pair of scissors in a season or two, what should have turned me off was, in fact, wildly appealing. When we’d been in the subbasement antechamber, his voice teasing and erotic as he described the scenario he’d pen, my body had responded in a way I hadn’t recognized from myself.

I thought it had been desire brimming in his eyes when he’d gazed down at me. If it was there, it was surely gone now.

Oh, well.

At least I knew I could feel something for a man other than Danny. All this had me remembering the business card in my coat pocket. I pulled it from its nesting place and ran my finger over Olivia’s embossed name.

A matchmaker. Such an old-fashioned way to meet a potential…something. While I wasn’t searching for a spouse, it would be nice, as Nanny said, to have someone who wanted to spend time with me.

Before I morphed into lawyer Cathleen and debated sixty reasons why I shouldn’t and talked myself out of it, I punched in Olivia’s number on my cell.

“This is Olivia.”

“Oh, hey. It’s Cathy Mulvaney. I figured I’d get your machine since it’s Sunday.”

Her laugh mimicked the sound of champagne flutes tapping in a toast. “You know what Father Duncan always says about no rest for the wicked, Cathy.”

That brought a smile to my face and helped shake away some of my nerves.

“Fiona gave you my card?”

“She did.”

“Don’t sound like you’re walking to the gallows, sweetie. I set people up for a living, not kill them.”

This time I laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m a little nervous about this.”

“Don’t be. When I spotted Fiona at the Arms, I thought, well, why not reach out. Test the waters. See if my old high school chum is interested in meeting someone.”

Was I? I still wasn’t sure. “This is all new to me, and I’m a little, well…I knew Danny since the dawn of time.”

She laughed again. “I get it. I really do. Do you have a few minutes for me to give you my spiel?”

I told her I did and then settled down into my chair.

A half hour later, I was much more educated on the role of a modern day matchmaker and had, astoundingly, promised to attend a speed-dating event she was hosting one town over the next weekend. I wasn’t going as a participant—Heaven forbid!—but as an observer to see how meeting people had changed in the twenty-plus years I’d been out of the dating pool. In truth, I’d never swum in it. Danny was my first, last, and only boyfriend. From the moment I’d seen his smiling, front-toothless grin at eight years old, I’d known we were going to be together forever.

Monday dawned cold and windy with the promise of snow in the air. I arrived at the courthouse earlier than I needed to prepare for Seldrine’s court appearance. Lucas had already notified me Pete Bergeron wasn’t pressing charges for the hit to his eye. In all honesty, the deputy’d said, she probably hadn’t meant to hit him, she was simply too drunk to realize what she’d been doing. His resolution to let it slide would go a long way with the judge’s decision about whether to keep her locked up for thirty days or release her on her own recognizance. The custody of her children in the interim was another matter I needed to address.

At a few minutes before nine, Seldrine’s parents took their seats behind me. The room was beginning to fill, the judge’s Monday docket full, I learned, after conferring with his clerk.

Lucas and Pete walked into the courtroom, Seldrine and two others with them.

At nine a.m. sharp, Judge Asa DuPont arrived, robed and ready.

The judicial system in our little town of Heaven was a bit…different…from other places. Since we were a small, tight-knit community, our civil and legal disputes were oftentimes between people who knew one another. Judge Dupont—or as he was known to me outside the courtroom, Uncle Asa, since he was my godfather—had been a fixture in the community for decades. He and my dad were the very best of friends, and many times had sat on opposite sides of a courtroom dispute, Dad for the defense, Asa for the district attorney’s office.

Yeah, it was a little legally incestuous, but Asa was a staunch constitutionalist and the rule of law meant everything to him. I’d appeared before him many times in my career, and while I might have won more cases than I’d lost under his watchful eye, I knew I’d done it based on my abilities and the law’s merits and not because he used to toss me up in the air and make me giggle when I was baby.

The courtroom rose as a unit while Asa walked to his chair. One quick gavel thwack, and we were in session.

Three cases were heard before it was time for Seldrine’s. Piers Grouty, a boy I’d gone all through grade school with and who now worked for the county prosecutor’s office, sat across from me as the court clerk read the charges against my client.

“Mr. Grouty?”

“Your Honor, Mrs. Compton is the sole responsible parent for her four children. This act of intoxication with them at home speaks to an issue of the welfare of those children. The defendant has a history of alcohol abuse and was even placed in a treatment facility several years ago. I’ve been instructed to file charges of child endangerment against Mrs. Compton and to request she be kept incarcerated in the county jail for a minimum of thirty days, while we conduct our inquiry.”

A loud gasp blew from Seldrine’s mother.

I rose from my seat. “Your Honor, if I may?”

“Mrs. Mulvaney.”

I’d known potential incarceration and child endangerment charges would be on the plate. I also knew there was a way around them.

“While Mrs. Compton does have a history of alcohol abuse, she has diligently attended weekly AA meetings for the past three years, and until Saturday, when an inciting incident sparked her to drink, she’s been sober. In fact, she received two visits from her AA sponsor and counselor this past weekend. She has been a model parent and has even begun working toward her GED, while simultaneously working fulltime at Angelica Arms. All in addition to caring for her four young children. To file child-endangerment charges against her is not only ludicrous, it’s also cruel for the children and disruptive to the strong family unit they’ve established since my client’s husband was sent to prison.”

Asa stared down at me from his chair, his wooly eyebrows kissing in the center of his forehead. “What was the inciting incident?”

I reached over to the stack of notes I had on the table. “My client received this letter from her ex-husband, sent from the prison where he’s currently incarcerated. May I?”

Asa wagged his fingers at me to approach and sent Grouty a wave, too.

I handed Asa the letter. “Cam Compton sent this to her after he received the papers informing him of Seldrine’s petition for the dissolution of his parental rights. I’ve been working closely with my client for the past six months to legally separate him from those children so he’ll have no claim on them when he’s released. He’s used the children in the past to control my client and threatened them if she didn’t comply with whatever he wanted. As you can see”—I pointed to the letter—“he says point blank no legal document will ever keep him from his kids, and he promises to take them away from their mother. Seldrine fell apart when she read it and started drinking. Believe me, she knows she messed up by doing so.”

Asa read the letter twice, then handed it to Grouty. “Still want to press charges, son?”

“Your Honor, while I agree this letter is a more than an implicit threat, it didn’t make the defendant get drunk while she had children under her care.”

“Noted, counselor,” Asa said. “Step back, the both of you.”

Asa’s gaze fell on my client. “Young lady, stand up.”

Seldrine’s hands visibly trembled even though they were clasped together.

“Explain to me, in your own words, why you’re standing before me today.”

In a voice shaking as much as her hands, Seldrine explained about opening the letter from her ex-husband and feeling not only terrified by his intentions, but helpless against preventing them. “Taking a drink was the stupidest, most selfish thing I could ever do, Judge Dupont. I know it. At the time, well”—her emaciated shoulders lifted—“I didn’t think of what else to do. I wanted to…make it all go away. I realize now the smart thing, the correct thing, would have been to call Mrs. Mulvaney right away and let her deal with Cam.”

Asa nodded. “I’m hopeful in the future you’ll remember that before reaching for a bottle.”

He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. After a few moments, he sat forward again.

“Okay. Mr. Grouty, I’ve heard what you want. It’s Mrs. Mulvaney’s turn. And you can sit down, young lady,” he told Seldrine. “Let your lawyer do the standing and talking. It’s what you’re paying her for.”

I squeezed Seldrine’s shoulder and happened to glance toward the back of the courtroom before speaking. My breath caught when I spotted Frayne in the back row, his arms folded across his chest, his gaze squarely focused on me. His facial expression was unreadable, but his body language was screaming.

“Mrs. Mulvaney? I’m waiting.”

“Yes, Your Honor. I apologize.” I cleared my throat. “Based on the current circumstances, Mrs. Compton realizes she’s made a colossal mistake, especially in front of her children. After being sober for a number of years, she in no way thought she would ever be put in a situation such as this again. Having said that, you can’t unring a bell.”

Asa tried to hide his grin behind his hand.

“In lieu of being incarcerated, my client is willing to attend daily AA sessions for however long the court determines. She will be attending them even if the court doesn’t order them because she realizes she needs the constant positive reinforcement those sessions give her. We believe a period of no less than ninety days is warranted. Afterward, the court can reexamine my client’s progress. Mrs. Compton would like to remain at home, keep working, and attend school without any disruption to her future plans to better herself and her family situation. The children are all with my client’s parents, which is a much better arrangement than putting them into temporary foster care.”

“The parents are willing to assume responsibility for an indefinite time period?” Asa asked.

I turned to Seldrine’s parents and nodded. They both stood and said, “We are, Judge.” Before they sat down, I caught Frayne’s eye on me again.

“My client will do whatever the court instructs her to for the betterment of her family, her future, and herself.” I sat back down.

“What happens now?” Seldrine whispered to me.

“He considers both sides and rules on what he thinks is best.”

“Do you’’—she swallowed, her eyes shining with emotion—“think he’ll send me away?”

I clutched her hand and squeezed it again. “Take a breath and have some faith, Seldrine. Asa’s a good man and a fair judge. Whatever he rules, you’re going to comply with, even if it’s going to lockup for a time. Understand?”

“Cathy—”

“Understand?” I gave her my lawyer glare to show I meant business. She swallowed again, jerked her head in a few nods, then lowered her eyes.

My gaze drifted to the back of the courtroom. Frayne was still there, looking down at something in his hand. As if struck with some kind of telepathy, he lifted his head and connected with me in a heartbeat. My mouth fell open in shock at the smoldering heat staring straight at me. The hues in his pale eyes deepened to a warm mix of purple and azure, the color of the wild bluebells growing around the lake property my grandmother owned. The haunted sadness had flown, as had the anger I’d seen on Saturday, replaced now with such a well of unfathomable need, I couldn’t prevent my breath from quickening, or my heart from racing.

Seldrine touched my hand. “Cathy, what’s the matter?”

“What?” I blinked a few times, shook my head and brought her into focus. “What’s wrong?”

“You tell me,” she said. “You got lost there, for a second.”

“No. No. I’m okay. I was just—” Asa’s heavy gavel rap pulled me to a stop.

“I’ve made a decision,” he bellowed.

I rose, tugging Seldrine with me.

“Mr. Grouty, I assume your office will begin investigating the home life of Mrs. Compton and her children.”

“Yes, Your Honor. It’s standard protocol, and I’ve already notified Social Services and the Department of Child Welfare.”

“Of course you have,” Asa muttered. “Fine, then, you go ahead with your plans. In the interim”—he turned his attention to our side of the room—“I’m ordering court-mandated substance-abuse meetings for a period of ninety days, every day for the defendant, subject to tagging on more time if I think it’s warranted. The clerk will give you the paperwork. In addition, the children can continue residing with their grandparents. I’m a big believer in stability, and shoving them into foster care when they obviously have family who’ll take care of them is a waste of taxpayer money. I’m allowing the defendant to interact with her children under court-supervised visits for now, until the prosecutor’s investigation is complete.”

Seldrine turned to her parents, who nodded at her.

“In addition, since our jail is already crowded enough, I’m releasing the defendant on her own recognizance. Mrs. Mulvaney, you will be responsible for seeing to it your client attends those meetings, and if I hear she missed even a single one, we’re gonna be back in here a.s.a.p. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The defendant will also need to provide the court with copies of her school transcript and her work timetable for the next three months. No sick days and no missed classes will be tolerated. Understood, young lady?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Asa banged his gavel. “The clerk’s gonna set up another hearing in thirty days for all of you. Everybody okay with that?”

“One more thing, if you please, Your Honor?” I said before he could dismiss us.

“Counselor?”

“The issue of Mrs. Compton securing sole parental custody of the children is scheduled this week. It’s been on the docket for over a month.”

“Well, obviously it needs to be tabled until this situation is rectified,” Asa said. “We’ll revisit it when we convene again.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.”

Seldrine grabbed my hand. “Does this mean I’m not gonna get custody? Can Cam still be in their lives?”

The fear galloping in her eyes was all the proof I needed of why she’d gotten drunk. Knowing how fragile she still was, and where it could lead again if not checked, I tried my best to calm her anxiety.

“No, it doesn’t,” I said. “It means it’ll take a little longer, is all. Don’t let it worry you. Cam has another four years mandatory left on his sentence. He won’t be out tomorrow and looking for you and the kids. Put it out of your mind, do you understand me?”

Her eyes spilled over, but she bobbed her head.

The next few minutes were filled with court scheduling business.

“I need to take you to a meeting right now,” I told my client, “so say your goodbyes, and then let’s get over to the church. Father Duncan has a meeting scheduled in half an hour, and you’re going to it.”

“Can’t I go home first and shower? I’ve been locked up all weekend, and I reek.”

“Nobody will care what you look or smell like. They’ve all been in the same place you have.”

“But—”

“You want your kids back?”

Her eyes glistened, and she swiped a finger under her dripping nose. “You know I do.”

“Then no excuses. The judge has made this my responsibility, and I take it very seriously. You’re going to be ready, on time, and compliant for every meeting. Do you understand me?”

She told me she did.

“Okay, let me finish up here, and then we’re leaving.”

Frayne was no longer in the back of the courtroom.

After a tearful goodbye to her parents, I carted Seldrine over to Heaven on Earth church, parked, and walked her to the basement where the meeting was being held.

“Your parents will be here, waiting for you in an hour,” I told her as we stopped outside the rec room door. Since this was a closed meeting, I wasn’t going to break anyone’s anonymity by entering with her. My responsibility was to escort her to the meeting. It was up to her to do the rest. “Don’t screw this up, Seldrine.”

“I won’t, Cathy. I promise.”

“Good. Call me before you go to work later with your schedule for the next two weeks. We need to plan which meetings you go to, and I need to adjust my own days to bring you.”

She grabbed my hand and squeezed it with both of hers. “I’m sorry about all this, I really am. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay all your kindness.”

“By getting your life back in order.”

She threw her arms around me, and then entered the rec room.

Back at my office, Martha greeted me with a stack of files in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. She handed me both after I’d taken off my coat. “Everything go okay?”

I explained the provisions Asa had handed down, including my need to escort Seldrine to daily meetings. “She’ll call later with her work and school schedules.”

“Okay. Hey, did that writer fella find you?”

“Frayne?”

“Yeah. He showed up here at nine. I told him you were in court, and he said he’d drop by there.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“No. Did he find you?”

“He was in the back of the courtroom while Seldrine’s case was being heard, but he left before it ended.”

“Couldn’t’a been important then, cuz if it was he’d’a waited.”

I had to agree.

As I was leaving the office for the day later on, I toyed with the idea of stopping by the inn, seeing if Frayne was there, and asking him why he’d been in court today, observing me.

Observing me? Ha. Getting me all hot and bothered was what he’d really been doing. I’d never lost my concentration before like I had when I’d found those pale eyes focused on me.

It was a little discombobulating, to be sure.

I hit the remote starter on my key fob, and my car roared to life, warming the engine before I ever got to it. A quick movement from the parking lot caught my attention.

Frayne alighted from a car and walked toward me.

Since it was almost five on a January day in New Hampshire, dark had descended an hour ago. The lamps along the street were lit, throwing an eerie golden glow of light atop his bare head, haloing it. His face was mostly shadowed, but his lips were pressed tight together, his hands tucked into the pockets of his bomber jacket. He walked as if he were on a mission, with purposeful strides, body erect, eyes fixed in front of him. On me.

I waited, my briefcase in one hand, keys in the other. A flicker of expectation shimmied down my back, the unexpected jolt I kept experiencing whenever we were together making itself known. I should have been on guard against any kind of silly expectation about seeing him, since I knew his opinion of what I did for a living. Unfortunately, this was one of those times when the logical part of my brain warred with the emotional part. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, emotion usually won the battle.

“Mr. Frayne,” I said when he finally stopped in front of me. I impressed myself with my ability to keep my voice devoid of the sensations clanging around inside me.

His face was partly shadowed under the street light, but I was able to see his mouth clearly. It pulled into a straight line at my greeting. “I know you’re done for the day and want to get home to your family, but I need to speak to you about something important. Do you have a few minutes?”

The only family I had to get home to was probably asleep under the kitchen table. A few minutes more wouldn’t make much difference. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

He pulled his bare hands from his pockets and blew on them. Apparently, no one had told him how cold it gets in New England in the winter. “Can we go somewhere warmer, like up the street to the diner? They’re still open, I think.”

“The Last Supper is open until eleven every day of the year.” I shut my car off.

He tossed me another one of those confused looks, as if he missed the pun of a joke when everyone around him had gotten it. He tucked his hands back into his jacket pocket and followed me, silently, up the street.

Delicious warmth and the heavenly smell of bacon grease and percolating coffee hit us the moment Frayne held the door open for me.

“Hey, Cath.”

“Hey, Ruthie. We’re gonna take a booth, okay?”

“Ay-a. Sit wherever ya want. I’ll be right over.”

We slid into a flaming red vinyl-upholstered booth, which had been new when my parents had gotten married. Old-fashioned jukeboxes were secured to each tabletop, the tunes all from the eighties and nineties.

“I don’t think I’ve seen one of these in years,” Frayne said.

Two empty mugs were plopped down in front of us along with two glasses of ice water. “Cost you a quarter if you want to hear somethin’.”

Frayne turned his focus to the owner of the Last Supper.

“You the writer feller staying over at the inn?” Ruthie asked, eyeing him from head to chest. “My dad was talking ’bout you at breakfast th’other morning.”

“Ruthie, this is McLachlan Frayne,” I said. To Frayne, I added, “This is Ruthie Tewksburry. You met her father, Olaf, at the historical society the other day. Ruthie owns the Last Supper.”

“Own, operate, cook, and if you get outta line, I’m a second-degree black belt, and I can take you down no matter how big or stupid you are.”

Frayne’s eyes went wide. Whether it was from her blunt statement or her appearance I had no idea, but once again, he had that paralyzed deer-in-the-headlights stare, exactly as he had the first day at the museum.

Ruthie Tewksburry, all one hundred pounds of her sopping wet, stood a little over five feet, was sixty-two years old, admitted to fifty-one if asked, smoked like she invented the habit, and was universally loved by all of Heaven.

“Good to know,” Frayne said.

Ruthie winked. “Coffee for you?” she asked, and then poured him a cup before he could answer. To me she said, “Your tea is coming up, sweetie.”

That’s the benefit of living somewhere all your life: the townspeople know everything about you. Of course, it can also be a curse because, well, the townspeople know everything about you.

Frayne’s eyes tracked her as she sashayed to the counter.

“She assumes every male on the planet drinks coffee. If you’d prefer something else, ask.”

He looked down at the cup, then shook his head. “No, this is fine. She’s…” He let the sentence drag.

“Yeah, she is. Now, what did you need to talk to me about?”

He lifted his cup, took a sip, and his shoulders relaxed when the first taste hit his mouth. Ruthie breezed by and deposited a full pot of hot water and three unopened tea bags in front of me.

“You eating anything, kids?”

My stomach rumbled in answer. With a chuckle as quick and harsh as a car backfiring, Ruthie grinned. “I already know what you want,” she said. “How ’bout you, writer-man?”

“Um…”

“Meatloaf’s on special tonight. Comes with garlic mashed, green beans, and a slice of pie for dessert.”

“What kind of pie?”

A grin split her gaunt face revealing a huge gap in her front teeth. “Apple, blueberry, blackberry, lemon meringue, key lime, chocolate mousse, rhubarb, pecan, pumpkin, tollhouse, chocolate peanut butter, and orange cream.”

She rattled of the selections in a swift staccato, and I wondered if he’d actually heard all the choices.

When he ordered the chocolate mousse, I knew he had.

Ruthie’s head bobbed a couple of times, and then she left us alone.

The diner wasn’t packed as it usually was during leaf-peeping season and on any given weekend day, but it still did a fairly good business, enough so Ruthie was able to stay open seven days a week for the entire year.

While I steeped my tea, Frayne cleared his throat. “Why does she know what you want without asking?”

I took a sip, closed my eyes, and sighed. Nanny Fee had remarked many times that a good cup of tea could solve any problem, soothe any ache, heal any emotional wound. She wasn’t wrong.

When I opened my eyes, set on answering him, the words stuck in the back of my throat. As he had in the subbasement, Frayne’s stare was penetrating, as if trying to read my mind, even reach down to my soul. I needed a moment to compose the jumble of nerves tumbling through me.

When I was sure I could respond without sounding like I needed an inhaler, I said, “Because I order the same thing every time I come in here and have since I was a kid, including the three summers I waitressed for Ruthie when I was in high school. Every item on the menu is fabulous, yet I still order the same meal every time.”

“It must be good.”

I smiled at him and then repeated my earlier question.

He peered down at his coffee mug again. “I know you saw me at the back of the courtroom this morning.”

Since it wasn’t a question, I didn’t answer.

“I asked your sister where your office was, and when I got there your secretary told me you were at the courthouse. I thought I’d be able to catch you when you were done, but I got a phone call I had to take.”

“I was surprised to see you in the gallery. After our conversation the other day, I’d think the last place I’d find you was a courtroom.”

The tops of his cheeks darkened as he lifted his mug to his mouth. The mist from the hot coffee rose from its center, caressed his face, and for a moment I grew jealous of the steam. I wanted to know what it felt like to run my fingers over the hard, square line of that chiseled jaw, stroke the multicolored stubble crossing it, and drag my fingers into the crevices slipping down the sides of his mouth.

“A courtroom isn’t my favorite place on earth,” he said, then took a long chug from his mug.

From his silence on the subject, I surmised he wasn’t going to tell me why.

I repeated my question.

“I’ve come across a name in the public files and then did a search through the personal archives, and I’ve hit a dead end.”

“What do you mean?”

“The last direct surviving member of the Heaven family died about twenty years ago. I found his birth and his death certificates. He was, in all respects, the last of the reverend’s line.”

“Yes, Robert Heaven. I know. He was Josiah’s four, or maybe five times—I forget which—great-grandson. When he died, the line died with him since he never had any kids. What’s the problem?”

“He may not have had any children, but he was survived by a wife.”

A little bell rang in the back of my mind.

“And I can’t find any record of her passing, so I need help locating her. I went down to the county clerk’s office, but there’s no record of her. I thought you might be able to help me.”

He had no idea how helpful I could be.

“Why do you need to talk to her? She’s not a descendant. She wouldn’t have any information pertinent to the family.”

“You can’t know that.”

Oh yes, I could.

I swear he could read my mind. His eyebrows folded into the middle of his forehead, and he cocked his head in his familiar, pre-questioning way.

Before he could ask it, our food arrived.

“Here you go, kids. Meatloaf special for you, Mr. Writer-man. Heaven in the Morning for you, Cath. I had Alvy put on a few extra pieces of crispy bacon for you. And this”—she placed a wrapped paper bag on the seat next to me—“is a little something for George. Colleen and her handsome hunk were in here this morning, and she told me your guy isn’t doing too good. I know how much he loves Alvy’s sausage patties, and I thought this might perk him up a bit.”

“Oh, Ruthie, you’re the best.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

“Give him a kiss from me, and tell him to feel better.”

“I will.”

“Enjoy your meal, you two.”

“I’m sorry,” Frayne said when we were alone again.

“For what?”

“I’m keeping you from your family.”

I swiped my hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it.”

He took a bite of his meat while I slathered butter and syrup over the challah bread french toast, sunny-side-up eggs, and bacon Ruthie had placed before me.

“That’s what you eat every time you’re here? Breakfast?”

“Most important meal of the day. I can always eat breakfast no matter what time of the day it is. In addition to it being divine.” I put a huge forkful in my mouth and let the sweet and savory flavors explode over my taste buds. I let out a tiny groan, like I did every single time when the first bite settled in.

Frayne’s breath hissed in with the force of a steam valve opening.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, fearful he’d burned his mouth on his food.

“Good Lord. Do you have any idea, any idea at all what you—” He stopped short, his eyes widening and, as if realizing he’d leaned practically across the table to me, slammed his body against the seat back, the force making the cushion release a whoosh of air.

With a violent shake of his head, Frayne dropped his gaze to his plate. “You don’t,” he mumbled, his head still moving side to side. “Of course you don’t. It’s obvious you don’t have a clue.”

“Don’t have a clue about what?”

When he wouldn’t look at me, I reached across the table and laid a hand over his.

A spark flashed when my fingers came in contact with his skin, powerful enough we both startled. The shock was enough to force Frayne’s gaze back to mine.

For the life of me, I had no idea what he was thinking. In the brief moment we sat there staring at one another, he went from annoyed to baffled, and then maybe even little turned on. The man’s emotions and reactions were so mercurial I was in the dark about what was going on with him.

“Tell me what I don’t have a clue about,” I said, in my firm, get-to-the-point lawyer voice, the one Maureen swears is a perfect imitation of our father’s.

It was fascinating to see him suck in all those conflicting emotions. He dragged in a cavernous breath, held it for a few beats then slowly let it out, enough so his shoulders pulled down from where they’d settled at the bottoms of his ears.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” His carefree shrug didn’t fool me for a moment. He took a sip of coffee, then picked up his utensils again. “What were we talking about? Oh, right.” He speared a slice of meatloaf with his fork. “I meant to say you seem…reluctant, to help me find Robert Heaven’s wife. Why?”

I’d said he was perceptive. Here was more proof I was correct. I was reluctant to tell him her identity. Not for any reason he could think of, though.

“I’m wondering what you think she could tell you that’s not already mentioned somewhere in the archives.”

“Which is my point. There’s a big gap in the personal archives. I spent the better part of yesterday backtracking everything through both sets of files listed on the computer. I can’t find anything listed from after Robert graduated college until his marriage and then his death. Almost sixty years of data is missing.”

“Maybe nothing of significance happened during those years.”

His was studying me again with that tilted head, squinty-eyed perusal. “Do you know who his wife was?”

I waited a few beats while I shoved in my eggs. “Yes.”

“And is she still alive?”

I nodded.

“Still living in the area?”

“Yes.”

“So, you know who she is and you know she still lives around here, you probably even know where.”

Once again, because he wasn’t asking a direct question, I chose to remain silent and eat my eggs.

“It makes me curious why you won’t tell me who she is. All I’m going to do is ask her a few questions, you know.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to answer any of your questions.”

Okay, as far as a rebuttal went, this one was fairly pathetic. I was a much better debater and rebutter than this.

“How would either of us know if we don’t ask her?”

He had me there. His argument was lawyer-worthy, a thought I kept to myself considering his feelings about the profession.

In a soft, dulcet voice made for persuasion, a voice very reminiscent of the one he’d used in the subbasement, he asked, “Who is she, Cathy? Who is Robert Heaven’s widow? Tell me.”

My tummy muscles jumped when he called me by my given name. It sounded…right, somehow, on his lips. I’d had a hard time resisting him the last time his voice reminded me of a man who’d woken from a night of wild sex and warm bourbon, and this time I couldn’t, either.

I waited a breath while I composed my thoughts.

His stare grew more intense. Yup. He’d have made a heck of a lawyer.

“My grandmother.”