CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

Claire sat hunched over the desk in her father’s den the next afternoon, working and reworking figures for a budget. She paused when she heard the front door open, then, recognizing Lulu’s heavy tread, went back to her calculations. Lulu had gone to the jail after lunch, taking Gunter the peach pie she and Emily had made.

Claire looked up in surprise when she came storming in. “Look at this!” Lulu exclaimed, slapping her hand against the front page of the Fortune Globe. “How dare they print this hogwash!”

In large, bold print, the front page headlines screamed the news: WALTER GREENE’S KILLER CAUGHT!

“Oh, no!” Claire groaned. “They’ve already decided he’s guilty!”

“Read it out loud, Cee Cee,” Emily called, making her way into the den.

Claire reluctantly began to read.

Sheriff Wilbur Simons has announced the arrest of the man suspected of murdering pawnshop owner Walter Greene. A hearing on this matter will be held on Tuesday. The man, who goes by the name of Gunter Jenssen, stated that he is from Sweden and is here on business.

Claire looked up, her anger simmering. “He goes by the name of Gunter? They make it sound like he’s using a false name!”

“What else does it say?” Emily asked.

Jenssen has been renting a room at the late Arthur Cavanaugh’s home, Bellefleur.

“Well, isn’t that just dandy?” Lulu said, shaking her head.

Too disgusted to read the rest, Claire gave the paper back to Lulu and returned to her calculations, only to be interrupted again half an hour later. Harry Weysel, the newspaper’s sole reporter, stood on her porch, notepad in hand.

“Afternoon, Miss Cavanaugh. It is still Miss Cavanaugh, isn’t it?”

Claire gave him an icy look. Harry, who stood five feet five inches and was so thin he’d been nicknamed Slats, had a sly way of asking personal questions without actually seeming to do so. He was doing that now, fishing for information about Lance, whom the whole town had known about after his visit last summer. “Have you heard otherwise, Mr. Weysel?”

He grinned. “No, miss, I guess I haven’t.”

“Why have you come here?”

“I want to ask you a few questions about Gunter Jenssen.”

Claire stepped outside. “Good. I want to set the newspaper straight on a thing or two.”

“So do you think he’s guilty?” Harry asked, pulling a pencil from behind his ear.

“No, and I resent your newspaper making it sound like he is. That’s completely unfair. Gunter hasn’t even had a hearing yet.”

Sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, Harry wrote down her answer. “Did you get to know him while he stayed here?”

“Yes, I did, and I found him to be a perfect gentleman. He was very polite to all of us.”

“What did he talk about?”

“Sweden, mostly. And that brings me to another point. Just because he’s foreign doesn’t mean he’s a criminal.”

Harry paused to write down her answer. “Do you trust foreigners, Miss Cavanaugh?”

“Of course, unless I know of a good reason not to. I would certainly give them the benefit of the doubt before I jumped to any conclusions. I’m renting to a British man right now.”

“Is that right? So you’re saying you would rent out rooms to any foreigner who came through town?” He watched her closely.

Claire saw the trap and knew she had already fallen into it. “I wouldn’t refuse them just because they came from a different country.”

Harry scribbled again, then looked up. “This is certainly a beautiful home. It’s been in the Cavanaugh family a long time, hasn’t it?”

Claire gave him a wary look. “Yes.”

“Why are you renting out rooms?”

As Claire stared at him, wondering how to answer the question without embarrassing herself or Emily, she heard a buggy approaching. Over Harry’s shoulder, she saw Daphne step down. The reporter turned, watching with obvious interest as Daphne sashayed up to the porch, hips swaying in her fawn-colored dress. She stopped directly in front of Claire.

“I need my bill, if you please.” She lifted her chin haughtily. “I’m moving out.”

Puzzled, Claire took her to one side to keep Harry from hearing, “Aren’t you staying the full two weeks?”

“And have my reputation besmirched by residing in a house that caters to criminals?” Daphne replied louder than was necessary. “I should say not!” As though she had just noticed the little man gaping at her from less than a yard away, she turned to give him a sultry smile. “Why hello, Slats. What are you doing here?”

“Interviewing Miss Cavanaugh. Say, can I ask you a few questions, Miss Duprey?”

“Why, I’d be delighted!” She gave Claire a chilly look. “Let me know what I owe you.”

Claire glowered as Daphne made a production out of arranging herself on the swing, while Harry Weysel crouched at her feet, his notepad on one knee. She cringed to think what Harry would put in his article about her. And now that Daphne had announced she was leaving, there would be even more fodder for town gossip. Things were going from bad to worse.

Now she had only two rooms rented. That income barely covered their food. If others felt as Daphne did, and no one would rent a room from her, how would she pay her bills?

Less than a month ago she had been at school, blissfully happy that she was about to graduate and return home to Bellefleur. She had been on the brink of beginning a new life as Lance’s wife. Now she dreaded waking up in the morning, afraid of what the day would bring.

Papa, I miss you so! Claire had never felt more alone.

 

When Daphne sashayed into his office just before closing that afternoon, Boothe jumped up in dismay and quickly shut the door behind her. “Why did you come here?” he asked through gritted teeth. “I told you never to do that.”

“Relax, darlin,’ I came on bank business.” Daphne took off her tan gloves and hat and sat in the chair in front of his desk. “Everything went exactly as you planned, even to the timing of Harry’s arrival. When I left, that house was in a turmoil.”

Boothe sat in his chair and took a cigar out of the humidor. “Good,” he said, clenching the cigar between his teeth. “Now go before someone notices you.”

“My, you’re nervous today.” Daphne rose, her glittering cat eyes on him. She walked around the desk, swivelled his chair so the back was facing her, and began to massage his shoulders. “Doesn’t that feel good?”

“Nice,” Boothe admitted reluctantly. “But I’d feel even better if you left.”

With a huff of annoyance, Daphne gave up. Retrieving her gloves and hat, she walked to the door and yanked it open.

“Same time this evening?” Boothe asked.

Daphne eyed him coldly. “I’m busy this evening,” she said, adding pointedly, “darlin.’”

 

Seated at his desk near the staircase, Charlie Dibkins watched Daphne stamp out the door. She hadn’t asked if she could go up to Boothe’s office, which is what the customers were supposed to do. Instead, she had walked right past Charlie like she owned the building.

The young clerk frowned thoughtfully. He’d heard rumors that his boss’s carriage had been seen outside Daphne’s house late at night. Now it seemed that Daphne and Boothe had just had a little spat. Charlie made a note to mention the incident to his mother. She was a member of the Fortune Ladies’ Society, and so was Daphne’s mother. Wouldn’t she love to find out that her precious daughter was carrying on with a man more than twice her age? And what would her father have to say?

Charlie tapped his chin thoughtfully. Steven Duprey doted on his little girl. Nothing was too good for Daphne, and no man good enough. When he found out about Boothe, Charlie hoped he was around to see it.

 

At supper that evening, Tyler heard all about the newspaper reporter’s visit and Daphne’s untimely exit from Emily, who had just happened to overhear their conversation. As Emily described the man she had nicknamed “the hairy weasel,” Tyler glanced at Claire, who was obviously worried. It bothered him to see the lines around her eyes, yet the timing couldn’t have been better. It would make his marriage proposal, such as it was, even more attractive.

“I have some good news to report,” Jonas announced. “I found an excellent attorney today in Mt. Vernon, a Mr. John Oldham, who comes highly recommended. He promised he would come out to see Gunter soon.”

“Well that is good news!” Lulu exclaimed. “We’ll show that idiot sheriff up yet.”

After the meal, Tyler sat in the parlor reading the newspaper, killing time until Claire was free. When she came into the parlor, he stood. “Feel like some fresh air?”

Claire’s heart turned over as she gazed up at him. “I’d love some fresh air.”

Sitting beside her in the swing, Tyler gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I know you’re worried, but this is going to work out, Claire. You’ll be all right.”

“I’m afraid of what that newspaper article is going to say,” she admitted. “Harry Weysel likes nothing better than to make a story as sensational as possible. I’m sure he’ll use everything Daphne told him. That article could very well keep potential boarders away.”

Tyler put an arm around her. “You’re worrying needlessly. I’ll be here to help you.”

Claire gazed at him, her gratitude evident in her eyes. “I appreciate that, Tyler, but I can’t keep counting on you to come to my rescue.”

Though Tyler was still uncomfortable in the role of a hero, at the moment, it was useful. He leaned down to nuzzle her ear. “You can always count on me, Claire. I want to help.” They heard Lulu’s voice nearby and Claire quickly moved away.

Tyler rose and held out his hand. “Shall we take a walk?”

As they had done before, Tyler spread a blanket on the grass behind the stable and stretched out on it, his arms folded behind his head. Claire sat beside him, taking care to keep her limbs covered with her long skirt. The sky was nearly dark and the stars were already visible. It was a beautiful night for seduction.

“What do you think Gunter’s chances are of going free?” Claire asked.

Tyler didn’t want to talk about Gunter. His thoughts were on more immediate matters, such as what a beautiful profile she had. “I think they’re good,” he replied.

“You do? Really?”

“Really.” He liked the way her eyes lit up when she was excited. “I want you to stop worrying about Gunter. He’s got a good attorney now.”

“Thanks to you.” She turned to face him, lying on her side, her head propped up on one hand.

Tyler smiled. He put his hand on the back of her head and drew her closer, raising his head to meet her mouth. His loins throbbed in anticipation of the pleasures to come.

As they kissed, Tyler shifted his body above hers, his kisses growing hotter and deeper, leaving Claire too weak with desire to think clearly. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was behaving brazenly, but his passionate response sent currents of electricity surging through her body. She put her hands on either side of his face, reveling in the feel of his skin, the rough stubble of his beard beneath her fingertips.

As Tyler’s lips moved down her throat, his fingers worked open the buttons of her blouse. She knew she should stop him, yet she wanted him to go on. His hand slipped beneath the thin fabric, under the lace edges of her corset, until it reached the soft mound of her breast.

Claire drew in her breath as his bold touch kindled a throbbing heat between her thighs. He peeled back her blouse and slipped the strap of her corset cover over her shoulders, baring her flesh to his hungry eyes. Cupping her breasts, he captured her mouth in an intense kiss, then blazed a trail down her throat. Claire gasped as his mouth found a nipple, then she shuddered with pleasure as his tongue ran around the tip and his lips pulled it into sweet, wet warmth.

She whimpered softly as he suckled, her enjoyment so great she made no protest when he ran a hand down her clothed thighs and up again. His hand lingered at their junction as though forgotten as he continued the delicious assault on her breasts, then she felt the light pressure of his fingertips once again, stroking, then massaging, her sensitive folds until she writhed beneath his touch. When he gathered her skirts and pushed them above her knees, she made no protest.

He rolled to his side, leaving his hand free to slide up the inside of her thigh. The touch of his fingertips made her quiver, and when he dared to explore her secrets, she could only gasp and thrust her hips forward in a heated, pounding rhythm that came as naturally as breathing. She felt herself sliding into oblivion as her passion built, and then — there was nothing. Her body throbbing with desire, Claire opened her eyes to see Tyler unfastening his pants, leaving no doubt as to what his intentions were. But as much as she wanted desperately to give into her passion and let him sweep her away on it, she couldn’t.

Claire sat up, pushing down her skirts and fastening the buttons of her blouse with shaking hands.

Tyler looked at her in puzzlement, his eyes still clouded with passion. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t, Tyler.” She released a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

Tyler crouched down, his gaze piercing, intense. “You’re not engaged anymore.”

“We’re not married, either. It’s not right.”

Tyler gritted his teeth in frustration. His arousal was so fierce he thought he would explode. But he was coherent enough to realize he had blundered. If he proposed now, it would look as though he was saying it just to finish making love to her. He should have proposed first, and then made love to her. Cursing silently at his own impatience, he got to his feet.

Claire looked contrite as she stood and smoothed out her clothing. “I didn’t mean to entice you. I know that’s unfair.”

Seeing her bent head, Tyler couldn’t help but put his arms around her. “You do stir my passion, Claire. I won’t deny that.”

He saw her tense features soften. She reached up to run her hand along the side of his face. “Neither can I deny that you stir mine. But I can’t go against my conscience.”

Her face radiated her strength and determination. Rather than being angered by Claire’s prudish ways, Tyler found himself envying her restraint -- one more reason not to let her see the real Tyler McCane. That man would have taken whatever she had offered and never looked back.

He walked Claire to the house and said good night to her on the porch. Sitting on the front steps, he stared out at the river. He would have to find another opportunity to present his proposal. He wanted everything in place well before Boothe’s thirty days were up.

A movement at the side of the porch caught his eye. Turning his head, he saw Jonas coming toward him. “Where were you?” he asked his assistant.

“I walked across the road to take a look at your property. How did it go with Claire? Did you pop the question?”

Tyler frowned into the darkness. “The timing was wrong. I didn’t ask her.”

“Still think she’ll say yes?”

“Do I ever take no for an answer?”

“That’s my lad.”

 

Emily moved silently away from the front door and started up the staircase. When she reached the third floor, she felt her way to Lulu’s room and knocked softly. “It’s me, Emily.”

“What is it, angel?” Lulu opened the door. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Can I come in? I have a secret to tell you.”

“You do? Well, sure you can come in. I can’t wait to hear it.”

Emily felt her way to the bed and climbed up on it. “Guess what I heard?” she asked, nearly bouncing up and down in her excitement. “Tyler is going to ask Cee Cee to marry him.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. When is he going to ask her?”

“He almost did tonight, but he said it was the wrong time.”

“Probably because of all the worries on Claire’s mind,” Lulu agreed. “We’ll have to have a big celebration. Isn’t it lucky that I showed up at just the right time?” She laughed loudly, then hushed herself. “You’d better get to bed. We’ve got a lot of planning to do tomorrow.”

“Should we tell Cee Cee?”

“And ruin Tyler’s proposal? Not on your life! We’ve got to keep it hushed up and not let on like we know a thing.”

Emily sighed glumly. “I suppose.”

Lulu chucked her under the chin. “That’ll be half the fun! It’s always fun keeping secrets.”

“You keep secrets, don’t you, Lulu?”

The housekeeper stared at her in surprise. “How did you know that, angel?”

“I know lots more than people think.” With a yawn, Emily slid off the bed and made her way to the door. “G’night, Lulu.”

Lulu kissed the top of her head. “Good night, my precious angel. Sleep tight.” Closing the door, she glanced at the small, locked chest on the floor beside her bed, then shook her head. Emily couldn’t open the lock, and even if she did, she couldn’t see what was inside. But just to be on the safe side, Lulu pushed the chest under the bed. No sense taking chances.