I found a place to park across the street from Mac’s store on Liberty Street and pulled in next to a snowbank left behind by a plow. As I got out of my car, a tan-and-gold Loudoun County Sheriff’s Department cruiser pulled up alongside the Jeep and Bobby Noland powered down his passenger window.
“Hey, Lucie, glad I ran into you. Looks like you’re all plowed out,” he said, leaning across the seat so he could talk to me through the window. “How are you doing?”
I’d known Bobby since I was a kid. He hadn’t stopped his car in the middle of Liberty Street just for a little social chitchat.
“I’m doing fine, Bobby,” I said. “How about you?”
Bobby was Eli’s age and the two of them had been friends and classmates, though by the time they got to high school, Bobby had drifted into being a regular at detention hall, struggling with his studies and skipping class whenever he could get away with it. No one expected to see him end up in law enforcement, except on the wrong side of the jailhouse bars. Instead, he became one of the county’s senior detectives, thanks to an uncanny knack for solving crimes—almost as if he could read the minds of the guilty—and especially a talent for knowing when someone was lying.
“Good,” he said. “Doing real good. Kit said she had fun at your wine-tasting party last night.”
“I’m glad. She really helped. Sorry you couldn’t make it.”
“Yeah, I was working late.”
He still hadn’t gotten around to the real reason for this impromptu tête-à-tête. “So we’ll see you and Kit on Saturday for the ‘Anything Goes’ party, right?” I said.
“We’ll be there.” He nodded. “Hey, there’s something I want to ask you, if you don’t mind.”
Here it was. “Sure. Shoot.”
“What was Gino Tomassi doing at your vineyard yesterday?”
At least I wasn’t caught completely off guard, since Kit had told me Thelma had mentioned to him that Gino had dropped by. “He and Quinn know each other from California,” I said. “And Gino’s in town for that state dinner at the White House tonight with the Italian prime minister. He stopped in to say hi.”
“I see.”
I had a feeling Bobby already knew that Gino was going to the White House dinner. Had he found out somehow about the blackmail? “Why are you asking about Gino?”
“Oh, I like to know who comes and goes in the county,” he said. “Make sure they behave themselves, obey the law.”
“You’re worried about Gino Tomassi obeying the law?”
“Not him,” he said. “But he’s got some interesting friends. Just checking up on him.”
“Right.”
A car pulled up behind Bobby, but the driver obviously wasn’t going to honk at a police cruiser.
“Course it’s not surprising he stopped by to see Quinn, is it?” Bobby said, giving me a bland look. “I’d better get going. I’m holding up traffic. See you Saturday, Lucie.”
He closed his window before I could say anything and drove off. I stared after him, my brain whirring. Bobby knew Gino and Quinn were related. He had to. And Kit had probably told him about my clumsy request that she look into the Tribune’s archives for any information on the Ingrasso family.
Bobby had deliberately put me on alert, asking about Gino for a reason.
I wondered what it really was and what he knew.
* * *
AS I’D FIGURED, MAC was waiting in the front of the store, so there was no need to knock on the door. I waved through the window. He let me in and gave me a friendly kiss on the cheek.
MacDonald’s Fine Antiques was always carefully curated, reminding me of a slightly cluttered English country house drawing room where every piece of furniture, every Oriental rug, every oil painting had some intriguing tale to explain its provenance. By the time you made a purchase, you felt you were the next steward entrusted with a legacy item that had played a role of some significance in American or English history.
The first thing I did was look around for my clock—I had already started thinking of it as mine—but Mac must have left it in the back of the store, because all I saw were two mantel clocks, a sweet beehive clock, and a grandfather clock with a pagoda-shaped hood and the phases of the moon on its painted dial that had been there the last time I was in.
“Come in, darling, come in.” Mac shut the door behind me. “My Lord, but it’s bitter cold today. That wind is wicked. It cuts you like a knife.”
I pulled off my gloves and hat and unbuttoned my coat. “It’s the polar vortex. The temperature on the outdoor thermometer at the vineyard read five degrees.”
Mac gave a little shudder, as if the wind had just blasted through the store. Usually, he was impeccably dressed in a suit, tie, and a silk pocket handkerchief, but today, with the store closed because of the snow, he had on a pair of worn tan corduroys, a turtleneck, and a Fair Isle sweater with a stretched-out hem, which made him look rumpled and frumpy. He also looked like he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a while.
“Too cold for man or beast,” he said, shaking his head. “When I was over at Thelma’s a while ago, she mentioned Skye Cohen had stopped in for a cup of hot cocoa to warm up. She was driving around trying to round up anyone who might be sleeping rough and get them to come over to Veronica House. Keep ’em from literally freezing to death.”
Mac was an old-school Southern gentleman who never brought up business without first chatting about something on a completely different topic. Eventually, he circled around to the reason you were in the store: that there was something that had struck your fancy, or, in my case, something you hadn’t known you were interested in buying … yet. Last but not least was the money discussion. The longer he took to get around to that topic, the higher the price tag.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “You look tired.”
It was the first time I’d seen him since Roxy’s funeral. What he really looked like was someone who’d aged a couple of years in a couple of days.
“The last two weeks have been difficult, with the funeral and all. I just didn’t expect to lose her when we did, even though she was in her nineties. I’m still getting used to it.”
He had just given me the perfect opening. “I know you loved Roxy, Mac. You took such good care of her. But you’ve been through a lot, especially the way things worked out.”
He knew what I meant. The new will.
“Thank you for that.” He gave me a grateful look. “I wouldn’t mind as much if that granddaughter of hers wasn’t so unpleasant. She may look like Aunt Roxy when she was that age, but let me tell you, that child is nothing like her grandmother. Fortunately, she isn’t planning to stick around town for long.”
“At least you inherited the house, her furniture, the art collection … the things she really loved.”
“I know, and I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me,” he said. “Not quite what I imagined financially, but no one put a gun to my head and made me invest with that crook of an investment adviser a few years back. That was my own stupidity and greed. And it was all the money I had from my share of selling my mother’s family’s home in Washington.” He pressed his lips together, as if the memory still pained him. “What’s done is done. It’s the same with Aunt Roxy’s will—no use crying over it. Obviously, she changed her mind and decided she wanted to make it up to the daughter she’d abandoned in England. I can’t fault her for that. I just wasn’t expecting it is all.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“Oh, I’m no saint. I was angry with her when I found out, and at Sammy Constantine for not telling me she did it. Especially after I gave Sam such a good deal on a pair of paintings he wanted for his office, even having them delivered for free and all.” His smile was sad. “You know what Father Niall said to me the other day? ‘Let it go, Mac. It’s only money. God will always see to it that you have everything you need and you’ll be just fine. Don’t harbor any resentment over what could have been or should have been, because not forgiving someone is like drinking rat poison and waiting for the rat to die.’”
“That sounds like Father Niall,” I said, smiling.
“He’s right,” he said. “That kind of bitterness is corrosive.”
“Can I ask you something?”
He tilted his head and considered the question. “I guess I should say that I may not answer. But go ahead, ask away.”
He walked over to a large picture window with its beautifully arranged display of winter items from the store—brass andirons and an ornate set of fireplace tools, an oil painting of a snowy rural landscape, a woolen throw draped over the seat of a bowed-back Windsor rocking chair—and placed his hands behind his back, posture ramrod straight as he surveyed the snowy street like the captain on the bridge of a ship assessing what lay ahead. Across from us, some of the other shops had begun opening for what was left of the day. A couple of snow-covered cars drove by and a group of teenagers who had an unexpected school holiday ran past the store, lobbing snowballs at one another and laughing. Life in Middleburg returning to normal after the blizzard.
I went over and joined him. “Faith Eastman said she heard Roxy arguing with someone in her apartment a few days before she died, shouting in a loud voice about wanting to know the truth about something. Faith’s quite upset, especially because Roxy died so soon after that argument. I was wondering if that person might have been you.”
He turned to me and said in a curt voice, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and no, it was not me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, Mac.”
“Well, you have. Why are you asking about this?”
“Just trying to put Faith’s mind at ease.”
“Faith Eastman should stay out of other people’s business.”
“She meant no harm. She was Roxy’s friend, too, you know.”
He caught himself—I was still a prospective customer, after all—and said, “Of course she was. Well, I will say that Roxy could be testy from time to time. Maybe Faith heard her get cross with the maid over how her room was cleaned or perhaps she told the waiter who brought her meal that it was cold or some minor infraction. It could be just that simple.”
“I didn’t know she had a temper.”
“She tried to curb it, especially in public. But, oh my, yes,” he said, “especially when she was younger. My mother always talked about how Aunt Roxy was the rebellious older sister growing up, headstrong and acting before she thought about the consequences. She argued with Granny Chase constantly—my mother said they had terrible fights. It got so bad Roxy left home as soon as she was old enough, running off to learn how to fly an airplane. Then during the war—well, you know what happened when she was in England. That rebellious streak got her in a pack of trouble.”
“You mean the baby?”
He nodded and, sounding reflective, said, “Granny Chase took it hard. What really broke her heart was that she never reconciled with her elder daughter. After she died and Roxy’s husband died, that’s when Roxy changed. Realized sowing all those wild oats caused so much heartache and pain, not just for herself but for others. That’s when she decided to use the money she’d inherited from her husband to do good.”
“And she did. St. Mike’s was packed for her funeral,” I said. “That’s why it seems so odd that Faith heard her arguing with someone. Everyone loved her.”
He gave me a stony look. “It also could have been the television, sugar, turned up real loud. Did Faith ever consider that?”
“No, she seemed positive it was a visitor, not the television.”
He put his hands on his hips. “The next time you talk to her, tell her she’s got the wrong end of the stick about this. Tell her I said so. Now, shall we go take a look at your clock?”
He was done talking about Roxy. I wasn’t going to get anything more out of him.
“I just have one more question.” He started to cut me off, but I said, “It’s not about Roxy or Faith.”
“All right.” He sounded grudging. “Go ahead, then.”
“Do you remember if your grandmother knew the woman I was named for? Lucy Montgomery, Leland’s great-aunt. Everyone called her Lucky.”
“I couldn’t say,” he said after a moment. “Why do you ask?”
“I came across something of hers recently and it got me wondering about her. We lost all our photo albums in that fire a few years ago. I’d like to know more about her. Apparently, she stayed here back in the 1920s, came for a visit. She was kind of a gypsy.”
“All the Chase and MacDonald family photo albums are at the house,” he said. “Uma’s staying there now. I’ve moved into the little apartment I’ve got above the store. It’s easier, since being around her gets me in a state. But I can look for you the next time I’m there.… I’m quite sure Uma is planning to be gone by the weekend, once the money matters are settled.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’d appreciate that.”
From the back of the store, a bell sounded as a door opened and closed. “That you, Will? I’m out here,” Mac called. To me, he said, “I’ve hired a nice young man who’s handling my deliveries now. Come and meet him.”
“I believe I already have,” I said as Will Baron walked into the room carrying two Styrofoam cups and wearing the colorful hat he’d had on the night before. He had the same catch-your-breath effect on me he’d had then, a dark, dangerous charm that he seemed all too well aware he possessed.
His handsome face broke into a smile when he recognized me. “Hey, Lucie, nice to see you again. I just picked up a coffee for Mac. If I’d known you were here, I would have gotten you one, too.”
“Thanks, I’m just fine.”
“Thoughtful, isn’t he?” Mac said with a smile, accepting the coffee from Will. “I don’t know how I ever got along without him.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.
“Forget it.” Will waved the money away. “I appreciate your letting me use the apartment upstairs to study. I get a lot done up there. Before I forget, I took the last of your aunt’s furniture from Foxhall Manor over to the storage barn. Here are your keys.”
“Thanks, son.” Mac put his wallet back in his pocket and took the keys. “Speaking of deliveries, I’m hoping Lucie here will buy that grandfather clock you brought from the Georgetown store yesterday.”
Will turned to me. “Mac said he thought of you when he bought it. It’s in perfect condition, not a scratch or a nick. English oak, with a hand-painted Roman numeral dial and landscape scenes in the corners. Mac has the paperwork about the original owner, the earl of Lancashire, who had it made in 1810. His descendants finally sold it, so it’d been in the same house for over two hundred years. Like the one you sold Mac.”
“I think I should hire Will as a salesman,” Mac said, “and look for someone else to take care of deliveries.”
“You seem to know a lot about antiques,” I said to Will. “And about me.”
That mesmerizing smile again. “I like old things, anything with history or a story to it. And Mac’s a good teacher. As for knowing about you, that’s thanks to Vivienne. After she met you yesterday, she went home and looked you up on the Internet.” He gave me a mischievous look. “You’d be surprised the things I learned.”
I felt my cheeks go hot. “Really?”
He nodded. “Vivienne admires anyone who runs their own show the way you do, especially a successful woman in what’s mostly a man’s world.” Will indicated Mac with his cup. “That’s what got her so interested in Roxy Willoughby. She read something about the first squadron of women pilots who flew in World War Two. Next thing you know, she’s tracking ’em all down, interviewing everybody.”
“I’d like to see what she writes about Roxy before it comes out in that article of hers.” Mac looked fretful. “The time Roxy spent in England was…” He seemed to be searching for a word. “Complicated. Roxy kept that part of her life to herself for as long as she lived. Now that she’s gone, I’d like to preserve her dignity … her legacy, if you know what I mean. I want people to remember her charity work, her philanthropy, rather than a youthful indiscretion. Not everything that happens in a person’s life needs to be printed in the newspaper.”
“I’ll talk to Vivienne,” Will said, “and have her get in touch with you.”
“I’m sure you can persuade her there’s no need to sully a good woman’s reputation without getting me in the middle of it.” Mac sounded peevish. “That wife of yours adores you, Will. She’ll do it if you ask her.”
“I’m a lucky man.” He bowed his head, acknowledging the compliment. “And I’ll talk to her. It’ll be fine, Mac, don’t worry.”
“I appreciate that.” He nodded, apparently mollified. “Let’s go have a look at Lucie’s clock, shall we?”
The three of us walked to the back of the store. It was, as they both had said, a real beauty. I let out a long breath and fell in love.
“How much?” I asked, but we both knew that giveaway reaction had cost me leverage in bargaining over the price.
Mac flashed a look at Will, who said, “I believe I ought to do some brushing up on torts. I’ll be upstairs, Mac, if you’ll excuse me.”
“That’d be fine, son.” Mac nodded. “We can have it delivered as early as tomorrow, sugar,” he said to me. “You’re here tomorrow, right, Will?”
“I’ve got the evening shift at the Goose Creek Inn tomorrow, so I thought I’d hit the books during the day, but I can come in for a few hours if you need me,” he said. “Lucie, Mac will give me your number and we can coordinate when it’s convenient for me to come by.”
“You’re both presuming I’m going to buy this clock,” I said.
“We’re not presuming anything.” Will flashed that smile again. “We know you’re going to buy it.”
After he left, Mac and I dickered for a while, and he told me, as I knew he would, that he wasn’t even going to recoup the cost of paying Will for delivering the clock if he gave it to me for the price I wanted. We finally settled on a number and I sat down in the Queen Anne chair next to the oak partners desk, where he wrote out all his transactions, while he finished the paperwork.
“I’ll have Will call you,” he said, handing me the bill of sale. “And I’ll take a look through the family albums next chance I get. See if I can find any photos of your namesake.”
He let me out the front door after planting a good-bye kiss on my cheek. Instinctively, I glanced up at the windows above the store to Mac’s apartment, where Will Baron was now studying torts for the bar exam. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw the quick ghost of Will’s face in the window, watching me, and I nearly raised my hand to wave at him. But then my cane hit a patch of ice on the sidewalk and I looked down to steady myself. When I looked up again, there was no one, not even the flutter of a curtain being released.
I crossed Liberty Street and wondered about Mac’s stubborn insistence that Faith was wrong and that Roxy had either been scolding a maid or else had the television turned up too loud. I didn’t believe either explanation. Whether or not Mac had been the person Roxy had been arguing with, I had a feeling he knew what had upset his aunt.
Which meant maybe the man I’d spent much of my life calling “Uncle Mac” had just lied to me about not knowing that Roxy had changed her will.