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Beverly allowed herself fifteen minutes in the Jacuzzi before getting dressed. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get warm. The police officers from Adam’s department had given her and Adam blankets when they arrived at the pond, yet she was still shivering when they dropped her off at the resort.
But fifteen minutes was all she had, plus saving a few extra minutes for getting dressed, before Adam arrived. He’d called to say he was going to stop by and check on her and make sure she was all right. She’d reassured him she was fine, but her words sounded shaky to her ears. They’d agreed to meet in the tea room when they both admitted that his coming to her room might not be the best idea. In more ways than one, for her.
As Adam looked her over when he greeted her, she was suddenly a lot warmer, especially her cheeks. Good god, that was such a cliché. To mix things up a bit, she ordered a hot espresso with extra shots, and Adam ordered the same.
When the drinks arrived, she pointed to his drink. “Is that enough for you?”
While he stirred in a teaspoon of sugar, he replied, “If I weren’t on duty, I’d be adding some Irish whiskey. Or maybe Kahlúa.”
“Talking with me is being on duty?”
He stirred the sugar in slowly. “You know, I was proud of you back there. You showed some true grit.”
He hadn’t answered her question. Was this visit business or pleasure? “I don’t know about that. I remember hyperventilating.”
“At first. But you got yourself under control. That’s what saves you in life-or-death situations.”
“Like the drug dealer who buried you alive?”
The gaze he settled on her, with the intense cocktail of emotions stirring behind those eyes, was mesmerizing and a little frightening. She stammered, “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay.” He dropped his gaze to stare at his espresso. “I’ve talked about it with my therapist so much, it’s starting to feel more like a long-ago bad dream.”
“Does it help? Talking to this therapist?”
“I’m not much of a talker. But if the mantra is ‘first do no harm’ with psych people, too, then guess it turned out okay.”
When he looked at her again, his eyes were back to their usual warm mocha. He said, “But I didn’t come to talk about me, I’m more interested in how you’re doing.”
She settled back into her chair and gazed out through the picture window toward the mountains. “Hard to believe I’ve been here a week. I didn’t plan on staying this long.”
“Grab the goodies and run?”
She smiled. “I know you think it’s insane to be obsessed over one little silver statue. One that might be lost to history.”
“Is it the money you’re after? If you can find the statue and sell it?”
“I never seriously considered searching for it, even after I first found Kornelson’s treasure map. It was more of a game. Until I learned my uncle was interested in it.”
“Is he? Reggie Forsythe must really be into silver doo-dads. There are tons of them in his house.”
“Really? I guess I’d heard that.” Beverly wasn’t ready to trust Adam completely. She definitely didn’t want him to know yet, if ever, that she’d been the woman seen going into her uncle’s house.
He said, “You know, that woman on the videotape from the day the senior Forsythe was killed looked awfully familiar.”
“I hope you find her someday.”
“Perhaps I already have. And perhaps she’d like to tell me why she was there and what really happened?”
Beverly drained the last of her espresso in one gulp. “I can’t warm up. I need a refill.” She jumped up to place the order, and she waited at the counter until they handed it to her.
When she returned to their table, she set the cup down and wrapped her hands around it. “Harlan told me he was good friends with your father, whom he admired. Wish I could have met him.”
Adam didn’t reply at first. Was he upset with her for asking? Or was he angry she hadn’t answered his question about her being at Reggie Forsythe’s house? If it were the latter, he’d be waiting a long time. But then he gave her a small smile, and a little of the tension in her shoulders slipped away.
“Dad and Harlan were fishing buddies. Took me along on several occasions. My father wasn’t into antiques like Harlan and your grandmother, but he did like antique cars. Always wanted a working Model-T.”
“Grammie drove a 1937 Packard with a red quilted leather interior, even on the roof.”
“Guess your grandmother and my father had something in common.”
Beverly’s smile at his comment faded as she remembered what happened to that car. Adam must be reading her mind because he asked, “Do you still have the Packard?”
“We had to sell it to pay for nursing home care. I’m not sure Grammie noticed it was missing. Like her mind—all gone.”
“I’m sorry about what happened, Beverly. But this vengeance kick you’re on won’t bring her back. And vengeance can be a soul trap. Sucks you in and never lets go.”
Shades of Mr. X’s words. Beverly reached over to get more sugar and accidentally brushed against his hand. He had such strong hands, tanned, a little weathered, but the kind that invited holding. She drew her hand away. “For someone who doesn’t like to talk, you’re doing well.”
He leaned his forearms on the table. “I mean it, Beverly. It’s much safer for you to be obsessed with that statue than with Forsythe.”
“I can’t give up the cause yet. Besides, Harlan and I have a date to interview my grandfather’s second wife.”
“I’m glad you’ll be with Harlan so he can jump in if things get hairy. He’s ex-Army and tougher than he looks.”
“Adam, I’m not that fragile.”
“I don’t doubt that. But between you and me, Reggie Forsythe is a nut case. It’s the psycho types you have to look out for. Can’t predict what they’re going to do next.”
Wanting to lighten the mood, Beverly smiled at him. “How did you get here? When I last saw your car, it was under water.”
“We’ll get an electric winch to pull it out. In the meantime, I’ve got an unmarked department loaner.”
“Were you teased by your fellow cops?”
“More like grilled.”
“Grilled?”
“The chief wants to know why you were riding in my car.”
She picked at a fingernail. “Oh. What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That you’d given me a tip on Richard Nagra and the Pierson Moving Company, and you wanted to show me where he lived.”
“And he believed you?”
“Somewhat. It helped when I pointed out that our mad driver may have targeted you, too. Makes it look like you’re a victim in all of this.”
Beverly waved the unfamiliar waitress over to refill the creamer. Gloria must have the day off. “That’s not what you thought when we first met here.”
“I didn’t know for certain yet that you were a female Robin Hood.”
She caught hints of a smile playing around his lips and replied, “I still think that title is apt. Robin Hood was a freedom fighter going up against oppressive lords.”
“That art history of yours again?”
“I was a straight-A student.”
“Did your grandmother approve of your . . . um, career?”
Beverly picked up the newly delivered creamer, thought better of it, and put it back down. “I helped her with her antiques business as long as she had it. I didn’t switch ‘careers’ until after her death. It was my way of giving back to other victims.”
“Doesn’t sound like the type of career one can sustain long term.”
“It’s as good as any until something more interesting comes along.”
He tilted his head. “You could assist Harlan. You’ve really impressed him.”
“It would mean settling down, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” She bit her lip at the double meaning. Could she settle down? Would she ever get to the point she’d want to? The man sitting across from her was making it hard to contemplate months and years of more lonely nights in a succession of hotel beds.
“Anyway,” he said, “Give it some thought.”
“All in good time. First things first—much needed sleep tonight, and then I’ve got to pick up Harlan tomorrow.”
“Hope you can get helpful info out of the widow.”
“And I hope you’ll be careful at Sutton’s Grove hunting for Gabriel Karlstad.”
He reached over to shake her hand. “Deal.”
