Читать книгу Child of Mine - Bonnie K. Winn - Страница 11

“Are you sure there aren’t any messages for me?” Leah asked.

Annie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I double-checked. If I’m out, I have an answering machine. Locals are usually pretty good about leaving messages. I can’t be as sure about out-of-towners…”

“It’s local. Whitaker Woods.”

“Oh, they’re really good about getting back to you.” Annie smiled. “Matt’s stuff is special, isn’t it? People find out about his furniture, drive up here from all over. Usually Nan is at the store most of the time, though.”

“Actually, I need to speak to Mr. Whitaker.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t followed up with you since yesterday.” Annie glanced at the clock. It was after seven. “Wow. It’s been a day and a half. That’s really not like him. Have you talked to Nan?”

“Repeatedly. Seems he’s out on a commission job.”

Annie nodded sympathetically. “Matt works like an artist, gets all caught up in what he does.” She pointed across the room. “See that bench? He recreated it from some fuzzy old photos for my grandfather. Took great care with every detail. The original was lost in a fire. It was a wedding present to Gramps from my great-grandparents. And it meant so much to him when Matt was able to make another one. He said it brought Granny closer to him those last years.” Annie cleared her throat. “Anyway, like I said, Matt becomes really caught up in his projects.”

Leah understood, but it wasn’t getting her any closer to talking with him. “Thanks anyway.”

Climbing the stairs back to her room, she couldn’t help but wonder. Matt usually got back to people quickly. So, why wasn’t he getting back to her?

At breakfast the next morning, Leah dawdled over her French toast.

“Do you want another slice?” Annie offered.

“No, thanks. It’s delicious, but I shouldn’t be eating anything this rich for breakfast.”

Annie chuckled. “The guests usually say that. But they rarely order anything else after they try it. It was my grandmother’s recipe.”

“I’m guessing you were close to your grandparents.”

“This was their place. The one that didn’t burn down.” Annie lifted the coffeepot. “More coffee?”

“Since I’m the last one in the dining room, why don’t you join me, unless I’m keeping you from something?”

“Best offer I’ve had all morning.”

Leah added more cream to her cup. “Do you ever get tired of having your house full of people?”

Annie hesitated. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

“Actually, I’ve been considering combining work and home spaces—I’m a designer.”

“Really? That must be interesting.”

“I like it. But then I kind of fell into it. It’s my family’s business. A third-generation business.”

“Like mine. This was a bakery during my grandparents’ time.”

“So you know what I mean. I grew up playing with fabric and paint. I thought sample books were toys.”

Annie grinned. “I’d have loved that. I’ve always wanted to do something more with this place.”

“It’s beautiful. Fits perfectly with the period of the building, of the town actually.”

“Thanks. For the most part, these were my grandparents’ furnishings. They used this room for the display area so it was a natural for the dining room. But I’d like to put my stamp on another room.”

“It’s the woman in us,” Leah commiserated.

“True.”

Leah sipped her coffee. “Do you know if Whitaker’s combines its workshop and retail space?”

“Hmm? Oh, there’s a work space at the store, but Matt does most of his work at the shop behind his house.”

“Did you have a particular room in mind to redo, Annie?” Leah asked, picking up on her earlier comment.

“One the public doesn’t have access to, I think,” she mused. “Maybe my bedroom.”

For a few minutes they talked about Annie’s decorating wish list. Leah didn’t want to rush the conversation, but at some point she intended to ask Annie just where the Whitaker house was.

If Matt Whitaker wouldn’t call her, she would have to call on him.

The rambling two-story house was old, well kept and surprisingly cozy-looking. It also appeared to be empty.

First, Leah rang the bell at the front door. Then waited. Then rang it again. And again.

She tried knocking.

She tried the back door.

Not thwarted, she searched out the shop. A tall, wide double door stood open. Apparently theft wasn’t an issue in this part of the world.

She found nothing but wood and tools in the orderly, pine-scented shop. She breathed in the smell of newly cut timber and wood dust, but they didn’t tell her if Whitaker had been there that day or even that week. She suspected the shop always smelled of freshly cut wood.

Going back to the house, she took out a card, scribbled a message on the back—explaining that she urgently needed to speak to him—and tucked it in the space by the front door.

Leah considered camping out until Matt Whitaker returned, but who knew when that would be?

So she checked again at the store. Nan was apologetic, assuring her that Matt would be in touch at some point.

She waited at Borbey House until after five o’clock and drove out to the Whitaker house again. No one was home.

Frustrated, she returned to the bed-and-breakfast.

Annie was tidying the parlor. “Any luck?”

“None.” Disheartened, she started climbing the stairs.

“Wait.” Annie put down her feather duster. “I know it’s exasperating, I mean, you driving all this way, not being able to get in touch with Matt. Why don’t you come with me this evening to the church supper? It’s always fun. We have games afterward.”

Leah was about to refuse. “And Matt might be there.”

That clinched it for her. “Oh? Are you sure I won’t be in the way?”

“At our church? Never. It’s a potluck and we always have plenty of food and then some.”

Annie was about Leah’s age, and her lively dark eyes were warm and inviting. But Leah didn’t want to take advantage. “Then, can I make a donation?”

“It’s not necessary. Really, everyone’s welcome.”

“Hmm. I couldn’t help noticing that you make a lot of extra pies.”

“This is Borbey House—Hungarian for ‘baker.’ Selling the pies is a holdover tradition from the days when my grandparents ran the bakery.”

“Good. I’d like to buy two, please.”

Annie grinned. “Hungry, are we?”

“I’ll let you pick the flavors.” Leah glanced down at her jeans and frowned. “I didn’t bring a dress.”

“You look about the same size as me. I’ll loan you something.”

“Really?”

“It won’t be a designer label, but if that doesn’t bother you…”

“Annie, you redefine hospitality.”

Rosewood Community Church was located in a beautiful old building. Annie explained that the structure had sustained an electrical fire that had nearly wiped it out a few years earlier. But the membership had come together to rebuild. By using some of the original stones, they had maintained the best of the past, while making sure they had a future.

Leah listened as she clenched and unclenched her sweaty hands, studying the people around them. She leaned close to Annie. “What does Matt Whitaker look like?”

“Um…tall, early thirties, dark brown hair that’s kind of sun-streaked…” She paused. “You know he works with lots of wood and tools, so he’s fit, muscular. Casual dresser. What did I leave out?”

Leah shook her head. “Not much.” But she couldn’t stop staring at every man who passed by.

She didn’t pay much attention to the tables of food, although she followed Annie’s lead and filled her plate, then took a seat. The people were friendly, introducing themselves. She was surprised by their welcome. It was so different than being in the city.

“There’s Matt. About two tables over on the left.” Annie pointed tactfully. “See? Next to that family?”

Leah was relieved to finally see him. She’d begun to think that even in such a small town she wasn’t going to catch up to him. Although she wanted to pin him down now, manners kept her from bothering him until he finished his dinner.

A man and woman sitting at the table between hers and his stood up, clearing her view. It was then she saw the young boy at Matt’s side. A boy that looked to be about the same age Danny would be. Leah swallowed.

She always noticed young boys, wondering how her own son had turned out. Still… She watched father and son together. Their postures were nearly identical. Their gestures similar. Matt paid careful attention to the boy.

“Dessert, Leah?” Annie asked.

“No, thanks.”

“There’s a cheesecake over there calling out to me. I don’t want to be rude, so I think I’ll go answer.”

“Mmm.”

Annie shrugged and walked over to the dessert table.

Leah watched Matt Whitaker and the child. Although she couldn’t hear what they were saying, the two heads were bent together and she could see the boy’s grin, Matt’s quick smile.

They were close. It was evident in the easy body language, the looks they exchanged.

Surely a man who loved his son this much would understand her quest.

As Leah watched, the boy jumped up from the table, hugged Matt and then ran to join the other kids his age in the games that were beginning. Leah found it difficult to take her gaze from him, watching until he and the other children left the fellowship hall with a basketball, probably to go to the gymnasium.

Annie had returned with her cheesecake, extra happy that she’d found chocolate sauce to go with it. She urged Leah to go over to see Matt.

He was still at the table, finishing his meal, when she approached.

“Mr. Whitaker?”

He glanced up.

“I’m Leah Hunter.”

His expression turned wary. “Yes?”

“I’ve been trying to reach you at your store. Sorry to ambush you here.” Leah smiled, trying to take the businesslike edge from her words. “I’m with Annie. I mean, she invited me to the church supper, being a stranger in town and all.”

Not a word from him.

“And me being at loose ends,” Leah continued, filling in the awkward silence. “I wasn’t planning to be in Rosewood long. I just came to talk to you. I think Nan gave you my card.”

The silence was so protracted she wondered if he would speak.

When he finally did, his voice was deep, somber. “She gave it to me.”

Which told her nothing. “So…” Leah studied his unblinking gaze. “I’m trying to trace down a box I have—”

“Nan told you we don’t keep records on the boxes.”

“She said you only make the boxes for family or special friends—”

“Miss Hunter, my friends don’t sell their boxes.”

“I didn’t say I’d bought it.”

“You’ve come a long way for nothing then.” He stood, stepping aside and pushing his chair up to the table.

“No, Mr. Whitaker, I haven’t.” She pulled the box from her purse. “This is the first clue I’ve had to finding my son in eight years and you’re not going to just dismiss me.” She held it up. “This belonged to Kyle Johnson. Did you know him?”

His expression was at first startled, then guarded. His lips thin, pressed tightly together. One word finally emerged, as though it were painful to say. “Yes.”

Her hope, thready at best, flared. She bit her lower lip to stave off tears. “Oh, Mr. Whitaker, you don’t know what this means to me.” Despite her effort, one tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away. “Where can I find him? I know he’s difficult to pin down.”

“Not anymore.”

“No?”

“He’s dead.”