Читать книгу Forced to the Altar - Susan Crosby - Страница 8

Mr. Moody took Julianne to her new office the next morning and explained the job she was to do, entering numbers in a spreadsheet program, tedious work since she couldn’t relate them to anything, just numbers and geographical locations without particular meaning to her.

After she’d been working for a while someone came through the open doorway behind her. She’d expected Zach, but it was Mrs. Moody, carrying a mug of something steaming.

“I thought you could use a break,” she said.

The rapturous scent of coffee and chocolate reached her nose. Heaven had been brought to her.

“I hope you like mochas,” Mrs. Moody said.

“I love them. How did you know?”

“I watch television, too.” She offered a hint of a smile. “I know you young people like your fancy coffees.”

“I thought maybe you were a mind reader.” Julianne took a sip and sighed. “Perfect.”

“Let me know whenever you want one.” She left soundlessly, not even a disturbance of the air. Like a ghost.

Julianne stopped working to enjoy the hot drink, then proofread her entries, double-checking their accuracy. By noon she was done.

She hadn’t seen Zach at breakfast, nor had she heard the helicopter leave, but she’d slept soundly when she’d finally gotten to sleep, so maybe she’d just missed it. She’d hoped to get a daytime glimpse of him. She wasn’t aware of any visitors in the castle, either.

After lunch with the Moodys, the afternoon loomed large. She asked if she could go into town, a word she used tongue-in-cheek, since she knew there wasn’t much of a town, but maybe she could find some magazines or books to help her pass the time.

She’d accepted that she would stay on the Prom until allowed to leave. She’d called Jamey and told him to forget about finding her another job, and, while he was surprised, he was glad she’d “come to her senses.”

She couldn’t tell him the reason for her about-face was Zach, because Jamey would probably have something to say about that, words she undoubtedly should hear but didn’t want to.

Julianne wasn’t used to going it alone. She had close girlfriends whom she was advised not to contact until the whole mess with her brother was over. She couldn’t confide in or even just chitchat with the reticent Mrs. Moody. And the consequence of that was that, left to her own devices, Julianne had let her imagination run so wild she’d almost believed the house was haunted. She’d heard nothing, seen nothing, yet she found herself looking and listening. Crazy.

So, she asked to go to town and the answer that came back from Zach via Mr. Moody was yes. She could even take the Jeep. She hesitated then, wondering if Zach wanted her out of the way for some reason.

Still, it was an opportunity to do something new, so she went. Since there was only one main road, she couldn’t get lost. Within minutes she pulled up in front of a wooden, two-story building, a hand-carved sign hanging from the porch roof that said, If You’re Desperate.

It made her laugh.

Julianne climbed two sturdy stairs, walked across a five-foot-wide porch and entered through the front door. A bell sounded overhead, not a soft tinkling alert, but loud enough to call cows home. Two men and a woman looked her over from their seats at a wood plank table. Coffee mugs and empty paper plates holding wadded-up napkins sat in front of them.

The woman pushed herself up. “I’m Lil,” she said, extending her hand. She was about forty years old, had graying, long black hair and wore no makeup, nor did she need it. Her skin glowed. “You must be Julianne.”

“My reputation precedes me?” she asked, a little startled then reasoning that Mr. Moody must have called ahead.

“Something like that. My cohorts are Reb and Misery.”

The men nodded in greeting. Misery was a tall, skinny African American who looked to be in his thirties, and sixtyish Reb probably hadn’t shaved or cut his hair in twenty years, his beard and hair like a furry white blanket.

Like characters out of a story, Julianne thought, enjoying them. She rubbed her hands together. “I came for the action.”

Reb laughed, knocking his hand against Misery’s arm from across the table.

“Can I get you something?” Lil asked. “Got soda and coffee, but nothing designer or frilly. You have your choice of two sandwiches—tuna salad and tuna melt. No salads. Brownies, though.”

“I’d love a brownie and coffee, thank you.”

“We serve the high-octane, just so you know.”

“Strong’s good,” Julianne said, taking a seat at the picnic table next to Misery.

“So, you’re from Cal-i-for-ni-a,” he drawled.

How did he know that? “I am.”

“You’re one of those surfer girls?”

“I tried it once.”

“Once? You give up that easy?”

“I ended up in the E.R. with a concussion. Once was enough.”

Reb chuckled. “It’s a smart girl who learns a lesson.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at Lil when she placed the coffee and brownie in front of her then took a seat across from Julianne.

“What do you think of the island of the damned?” Lil asked.

Julianne relaxed, her hands cupping the mug. “Is that what you locals call it? I think it’s majestic, but I haven’t seen much of it.” She glanced around the room, which reminded her of a movie set. Nothing was displayed with designer flair, but the shelves and stacks were dust free, if jammed with everything from razors to toilet plungers, canned beans to bottled water. “I take it people do their grocery shopping elsewhere.”

“Orcas Island,” Lil said. “A quick boat ride.”

In otherwise empty spaces on the walls were pen-and-ink drawings of the island, including the store. They had price stickers attached, but she couldn’t read them from where she sat. “Is Orcas the island I can see from the castle?”

“Sure is.”

She was aware of her companions’ restrained curiosity and decided to open up a little, thinking it might garner some information. “I’m working at the Spirit Inn.” She took a bite of the brownie, deep, dark, chocolaty rich and packed with walnuts. Bliss.

“We heard that. How’re you liking it?”

“It’s a little spooky,” she said with a shrug. “Ghosts, you know.”

Reb nodded his head thoughtfully.

“Any kind of industry here other than tourist?” Julianne asked.

“Nope.” Lil pointed out the window. “There’s a day-camp area where people come by boat in the good months. They fish a little. Hike a little. Have a picnic. Then off they go at the end of the day. It’s regulars, mostly. We don’t have much of interest to draw folks.”

“Are there ever any guests at the inn?” There, see? She dropped that question right into the conversation. Julianne was proud of herself.

No one even fidgeted. “This isn’t tourist season,” Lil said.

Again, not an answer. What about when it is tourist season? Julianne wanted to shout. “I guess I won’t be around long enough to find out for myself,” she said. “I’ll be gone before too long.”

“We heard that, too.”

Julianne got a kick out of that comment. Like any small town, word traveled. She was just surprised that Zach was talking about her. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he’d planted just enough information to deflect curiosity. Still, the three people at the table seemed to protect his privacy. Why? How much did they know about what he did? And why wasn’t she allowed to know?

“I’ve heard a helicopter a couple of times,” she offered as bait.

Silence hovered for several long seconds, then Misery said, “Julianne, if you’re looking for information on your boss, you’d best be asking him. We don’t interfere in each others’ lives around here. And we safeguard our own. You’re an outsider. A pretty one, and one with spunk, I can tell, but you don’t belong.”

She decided if she wanted to keep coming to If You’re Desperate for conversation and a change of pace, she’d better play the game differently. “Lil, this is the best brownie I’ve ever eaten.”

“It’s the weather.”

“Huh?”

“Something about the weather on this island makes ’em so good. Like San Francisco is good for sourdough. I tried to make these elsewhere, but…” She shrugged.

Julianne finished her brownie, picked up her mug and wandered over to examine one of the drawings. It was like looking through her tower window. She glanced at the price—one hundred dollars. The cost was out of place in the tiny store in the middle of nowhere, which made Julianne more curious. She could just make out a signature in the lower right corner, an H followed by a half-inch wavy line leading into another H, although both Hs were stylized so they might have been Ks or Rs. K and R? Keller? No, she was pretty sure they were Hs.

“A local artist?” she asked.

“We have a few,” Lil said. “Some pretty famous ones.”

“But you respect their privacy.”

Lil smiled. “Lots of little artist colonies here and about. Those creative types seem to fancy their space.”

“And don’t fancy other people.”

“Some of ’em. Strange bunch.”

Misery stood. “Time for me to get a move on. Nice meeting you, Julianne. Come back and visit.”

She shook his hand, then Reb joined him. They left together.

Alone with Lil, Julianne wondered how the woman made enough money to survive. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she didn’t need to. Strong personal reasons must have driven the residents here, stronger than making money in the usual ways.

“Enjoying your time here on the Prom?” Lil asked.

“I’d like to be busier, but yes, I am.”

“If you’re considering taking a drive after you leave here, you can keep going around the bend. Stick to the road and don’t wander off onto private property.”

“Are there signs posted?”

“If it’s not on the beaten path, it’s private.”

All these cautions. It was like a soap opera and mystery all together. “It must take a special kind of person to live like this.”

“That’s a matter of opinion, I guess.”

Julianne decided she’d worn out her welcome. No one wanted to give her answers, and their doubts or concerns about her would not go away with one conversation. “How much do I owe you?” she asked Lil.

“First time’s on the house.”

Julianne shook her hand. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Gotta say, you aren’t what I expected,” Lil said as they walked to the door.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to expand on that comment?”

“Already got me figured out, do you, Julianne?”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, as they say.”

“Nope. It sure wasn’t. You come back.”

“I will. Thanks.”

She took Lil’s advice and drove as far as she could on the main road, stopping a couple of times to admire the view. She saw two, possibly three, other islands in the distance and wondered about them. She knew that one hundred and seventy islands made up what was called the San Juans, but few of them were very touristy or had good-size populations. She wondered if Mr. Moody would take her to a couple of them by boat so that she could explore. They’d entered the rainy season, though, so maybe it wouldn’t be an easy thing to do.

She spotted the day-camp area on her way back to the castle and decided the island couldn’t possibly call it a tourist trade. Very few people must visit.

As she pulled up beside the castle, Zach came out of the house. In the light of day he looked more like the Brawny guy, a kind of lumberjack look that suited him—plaid flannel shirt with sleeves rolled to just below his elbows. Sturdy jeans. Boots. His blond hair looked like it’d been raked with his fingers to comb it, the ends touching the back of his collar. He stood, feet planted, thighs filling the denim fabric, from all that hiking, she supposed. His arms hung loosely by his sides, so she couldn’t determine from his body language whether he was irritated. If he’d crossed his arms she would know how to approach him.

So she just said hi.

“Have fun?” he asked.

“I did. Met a few of your friends.”

“Lil, Reb and Misery.”

So…he was letting her know that nothing happened that he didn’t hear about.

“An interesting bunch.” She rested a hip against the side of the Jeep. “Keep their own counsel well.”

He nodded.

She realized she’d forgotten to look for books or magazines. “Do you have another job for me?”

“Not at the moment. I’m considering giving you a project. Need to think about how it should be done.”

The sun broke through a cloud. Warmth infused her. She closed her eyes and enjoyed it. “I saw some artwork,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. “Pen-and-ink drawings of the island, particularly views from here.” She remembered the possibility of the letters being K and R. “Are you the artist?”

“I only moved here three years ago.”

She opened her eyes. He’d moved here three years ago. So what? The drawings could’ve been done yesterday, for all she knew. Or twenty years ago. “Meaning, they were done before you bought the place?”

“I’m saying that a lot of people have stayed here.”

“There’s a signature, and a price tag of a hundred dollars. That’s pretty steep for an amateur artist.” She would try an Internet search. At least it would give her something to do.

“I agree.”

Again an answer but not an answer. He was frustratingly good at deflection. She slipped out of her jacket as the clouds opened up further and let more sun through. Zach’s gaze touched her almost physically.

“Your clothes aren’t really suited to winter here,” he commented, his tone of voice casual but his inspection of her not casual at all. She felt…thoroughly examined.

“I’d go shopping, but…”

“Mr. Moody would take you to Orcas, if you want. Or into Anacordes on the mainland. You’re not a prisoner, Julianne. You’re being protected. They are entirely different things.” He came closer, until he could lean against the car with her and enjoy the sun on his face, too.

“Where are you from?” she asked, studying him, enjoying looking at him.

“Near San Francisco.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

“Are you happy living in this kind of isolation?” She couldn’t understand anyone voluntarily living so far from civilization—from shopping.

“I chose to.”

“That’s not an answer, Zach.” She waited a few beats. “Do you leave the island?”

“Regularly.”

“Where do you go?”

“All over. No place in particular.”

“Do you have a family?”

“Everyone has a family.”

She blew out a breath. “A family you see? Communicate with? Like?”

“Yes.”

That surprised her. She’d pegged him as a loner.

“How about you, Julianne? Aside from your brother, do you have family?”

She hesitated, not really wanting to think about it. But fair was fair. He’d answered her question, sort of. “My dad died ten years ago. I have uncles and cousins. I’m not close to them.”

“Your mom?”

She looked away sharply. “Left us when I was little.”

“Abandoned you?”

He’d softened his tone with kindness, which surprised her, and drew her gaze back to his.

“Yes,” she said, the word coming out shaky. “I haven’t seen or heard from her in twenty years. It was her way of getting out from the family business. If she’d taken my brother and me along, they would’ve tracked her down no matter what. So she left. Disappeared. Never to be heard from again.” The pain of knowing her mother had given her up so selfishly never left her. “I figured Jamey filled you in on my history.”

“A little. He said your brother was going to trial, and you needed a place to stay, and that anything else I needed to know you would tell me.”

Julianne didn’t know whether she would’ve preferred Jamey have told Zach about her past. Saying it out loud sounded harsh, even though she’d been innocent herself—at least of committing a crime.

“I’d be interested in knowing,” he said, “whenever you’d like to talk about it.”

“There’s a lot I’d be interested in knowing about you, too.” She wanted the conversation to end, so she smiled benignly at him. “We could trade, fact for fact.”

“So you’re a deal maker.”

“I’m bored. And I’m curious.”

“It’s for your sake, not mine, that I can’t share what I do. Trust me. It’s better this way.”

“You know, I’ve heard that ‘trust me’ thing most of my life. That other people know what’s best for me,” she said, annoyed. “I decided not to take it at face value anymore. People earn trust. And I do know what’s best for myself.”

“Fair enough.”

That let the wind out of her sails. She’d wanted a little debate, some emotion, something energizing. He’d stopped the potential for any of that.

“You could’ve argued the point just a little,” she muttered.

“I know.”

Irritated, she gave him a little shove, but smiled at him. He didn’t smile. He simply looked at her, his gaze intense and heated. Had she crossed a line, touching him? Some boss/assistant, protector/protectee demarcation visible only in his mind?

Or was it desire? Had her touch done that?

She was tired of the games men played. Part of her plan—no, her ultimate dream—had been to find a man who was open and direct and trustworthy, something she’d never really known and desperately wanted. Zach was about as closed and indirect as they came, although probably trustworthy. She didn’t think Jamey would’ve sent her to someone he didn’t truly trust.

Still, there was a difference between trusting a person as a person, and a man as a man, one half of a relationship, no matter how fascinating that man was. Some day she hoped she would get to appreciate the difference.

“I would say I should get back to work, but…” She let the sentence drift. “Do you have a library or something?”

“What do you like to read?”

“To be honest, I like magazines.” She remembered she was going to research the artist on the Internet. “On second thought, maybe I’ll just check my e-mail.”

She pushed away from the Jeep. He didn’t stop her. “Will you be joining me for dinner?”

“Probably.”

“Okay.” She felt his gaze on her as she walked away. His silent intensity flattered and aroused her. She wondered how much her hips swayed. Had she changed her stride, wanting to attract him? Probably. Anticipation and need skirmished within her, slowing her down. It felt good. Too good. Freeing.