Jack gave a lopsided smile. "You look happy," he said. To Mark, he nodded. "Nice meeting you." And then he was gone.

Mark and I resumed our trek to the parking lot. "I know it's none of my business, and you've already set me straight about Flynn. If I'm overstepping, please feel free to say so, but do you and the landscaper have a history?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but he interrupted.

"Forget I asked. It's really none of my business, sorry."

I knew I should resist the urge to explain, but Mark's polite inquiry and that tiny undercurrent of attraction I was feeling for him made me spill. "Jack and I went out. Once."

"I a.s.sume it was a disaster."

We turned the corner at the hotel's edge. "Actually, it went very well." I expected surprise to register on Mark's face. When it did, I continued, "Up until the very last minute. A problem arose that had nothing to do with our being out together, but had everything to do with another murder on Marshfield property."

"You're joking."

I shook my head. "Jack was a suspect. So was his brother."

Mark's brows came together in concern. He gestured behind us. "That guy? I know I just met him, but he seems like a decent sort."

"He was innocent. His brother, too," I said, wondering how deep to take this. "But what they had to endure to prove their innocence was pretty rough. They're still recovering."

"How long ago was this?"

"Not very."

Mark didn't comment, but I could feel the questions he wanted to ask. Thankfully he let the subject die and we made it to the parking lot to find Arthur sweating next to the idling Marshfield car. "All set," he said as he rounded the car to open the pa.s.senger door. "Mr. Ellroy?"

Mark shot me a rueful smile as he started for the car's far side.

"Unless you'd prefer to ride with me?" I asked. The question popped out of the blue. Why hadn't I thought of that earlier?

He smiled, showing those deep dimples again. "I'd like that very much."

I turned to Arthur. "I guess we'll meet you there."

Within seconds, Arthur had hopped into the vehicle and pulled away. Mark and I opened our opposite car doors and waited a minute for the stuffy air to clear. "Sorry," I said. "It's a little hot box."

"You need a convertible."

"Yeah, right," I said, thinking about the gorgeous 1936 Packard Phaeton convertible Bennett had once offered me. "On a day like today, there isn't enough sunblock in the world to get me into a convertible."

"Ah, that explains it," he said.

"Explains what?"

His eyes twinkled. "With those light eyes, that lovely blonde hair, and fair skin, you seem like a person who'd burn quickly. And yet"-he gestured toward me across the top of my car's roof-"you have the most flawless complexion. Whatever you're doing, keep it up."

He climbed into the pa.s.senger seat.

Had he just flirted with me? I took a moment to process the possibility, then joined him in the car. "Thanks," I said as I started the engine. "That was a very nice thing to say."

"One thing you'll learn about me, Grace," he shot me a sidelong smile, "that is, if I'm fortunate enough to spend more time with you . . ."

Okay, so he was definitely flirting. Even better, I was enjoying it. I delayed putting the car in drive and turned to him. "What's that?"

"I don't lie. I won't even fib to protect a person's feelings. Gets me into trouble sometimes, but it's who I am. So when I look at you and tell you you're a beautiful woman," he smiled into my eyes, "believe it."

"Oh," I said in a small voice. "Thank you."

He didn't break eye contact. "Have I made you uncomfortable?"

Time for me to share the truth. "A little."

"I apologize. It's just that the moment John introduced you to our group, I had the strangest feeling that I was destined to get to know you."

"You did?"

"Isn't that odd? I've never had a sense like that before and I confess I don't believe in fate or woo-woo supernatural stuff. What I do believe is that everyone makes his or her own luck. But I couldn't help feeling that I ought to get to know you." He looked away. "Of course, I never imagined circ.u.mstances like these. I would give anything to change recent events . . ."

He broke off and I decided it was a good time to get moving. I pulled out of the lot, realizing that Mark's words had taken a good bit of sting out of the pain I'd felt from Jack's sudden appearance.

What had become obvious to me-too late to avoid the hurt, of course-was that I really didn't know Jack at all. I'd fallen for him-the part of him that was strong, upstanding, and reliable. What I could never have antic.i.p.ated was how he would pull away from me at every unexpected turn.

Unusual situations had shaped Jack's behavior years earlier, and I'd tried my best to be patient. Nevertheless, it was hard to maintain so much as a cordial relationship with someone who didn't believe in communicating. When things got rough, he preferred isolation, avoiding anyone with the capacity to hurt him. I blamed myself for some of my own heartache. I'd missed the fact that he was still too broken inside from prior tragedies to be able to sustain a romantic relationship. He needed help, but was too proud to ask for it.

Mark proved to be an easy person to talk with. I learned that he was an only child and had inherited the jewelry store a relatively short time ago. His father had died five years prior, and his mother two years before that. He was thirty-seven years old, held a master's degree in business administration, and had three dogs.

"Three!" I exclaimed with delight. "What kind?" I turned into the entrance gate at the manor, and waved to the guard as I drove in. We still had another two miles to the hotel.

"Two golden retrievers and one mutt. The goldens were my parents' dogs. They're brothers and were still pups when my mom died. I took them in when Dad got sick and they've been with me ever since. The mutt is mine. A cross between a Lab and a Border collie, his name's Bubba and he's almost twelve. Getting up there. The other two watch out for him, though."

"You must have a big house."

He shrugged. "Too big sometimes," he said quietly.

"Having a jewelry store must be fun. People buy jewelry for happy occasions."

He didn't smile.

"Did I say something wrong?"

He was quick to try to make me feel better. "Not at all. I've come to realize that as lucky as I am to have this thriving business, it isn't the best fit for me. I . . ." He looked out the window. "This is probably too heavy for a first real conversation."

"I don't mean to pry."

"I know you don't," he said, looking at me again. "But I might as well be up-front with you. I still have a hard time. I was married. For ten years. Very, very good years."

I took a little breath of surprise.

"She died," he continued softly, "exactly sixteen months after my father did. I lost everyone I cared about in the span of three years." He looked out the window again. "That was a rough time for me."

"I'm sorry." I gripped the steering wheel, not knowing what else to say.

Now that he'd opened the wound, Mark was quick to share more, and I got the feeling it was cathartic for him to do so. "While Madison was alive I enjoyed the jewelry store, but only because she loved it so much. Now, however . . ." His voice trailed off. "There's nothing there for me. My favorite part of owning the business is the financial dealing that goes on behind the scenes. In fact, I've started to think about a new career."

"Doing what?"

He snapped out of his reverie. "That's what this trip was supposed to be about, you know: starting fresh, a new beginning. Getting a handle on where I want to be, what I want to do." His voice grew with excitement. "I could easily sell the store and all its contents, and let me tell you, the temptation is strong. The only thing holding me back is the thought that I'd be selling off all my father and grandfather worked for, for so many years."

"But if you aren't happy . . ."

He smiled at me. "We make our own happiness. I think there's more out there for me. There is so much I've missed while I've been sitting home brooding and feeling sorry for myself. I've been alone now for almost four years and life is short-a fact that I've recently been reminded of all too clearly. I think it's time to rea.s.sess. Don't you?"

I didn't answer, but he didn't seem to mind.

"But what about you? I've monopolized the conversation, talking about myself. Tell me about you. I know you're the woman in charge at Marshfield, but that's the extent of it. What are your goals, your aspirations? Have you ever been married?" He asked this lightly. "What do you do for fun?"

I gave him a brief synopsis of how and why I'd returned to Emberstowne after more than twenty years away. I told him about the huge Victorian home I'd inherited-and all the maintenance and repair work that came with it. I talked a little about my roommates, Bruce and Scott, and their wine shop.

"You miss your mom, don't you?"

"Every day."

He nodded. "I understand." Changing the subject, he said, "I stopped in at Amethyst Cellars my first afternoon in town. It's great."

"I'm lucky. Bruce and Scott are like brothers to me. I don't know what I'd do without them." I made a sharp turn onto the hotel property and started up the driveway to the front gate.

"No other roommates, or significant others?" he asked.

I'd specifically avoided any mention of my former fiance, Eric, and declined to share any more about my current situation with Jack. "There is someone special in my life . . ." I said with a grin. "I have a little tuxedo cat. She's actually still a kitten. Bootsie."

"I love cats," Mark said. "Except I'm allergic."

"That's funny, so am I."

"You're allergic, but you have a cat?"

I thought about Bennett's reaction when I'd told him about my allergies. I shared with Mark the same advice Bennett had given me. "I seem to have developed a resistance. Keeping hydrated, changing my bedsheets really often, and washing my hands a lot helps. It's really not so bad."

We reached the canopied front door, where uniformed bellboys unloaded vacationers' vehicles. I spotted Arthur waiting just inside the vestibule, standing next to Mark's luggage. I pulled to the curb and stopped the car.

Mark laughed. "Bootsie is a lucky kitten."

I remembered all I'd been through from the time Bootsie had shown up on my driveway until the day I knew she was mine to keep. "I'm crazy about her."

"I'd love to . . ." He seemed about to say, "meet her," but apparently thought better of it, "see a picture. Do you have any?"

I didn't. "Do you have pictures of your dogs?"

"You know," he said, "I don't. We'd both better get that rectified before our beloved pets disown us."

We alighted from the car and I accompanied Mark through the sweeping front doors, across the bright marble floor. "This way," I said, walking past the collection of tourists waiting to check in.

"Wow," he said, looking around. "This is a far cry from the Oak Tree."

"It's a wonderful hotel. I hope you'll enjoy yourself here."

"I know I will."

I led him to the concierge desk. "Hi, Twyla," I said to the woman behind the tall counter. "Is everything ready for Mr. Ellroy?"

It was. We'd taken pains to ensure that Mark's transition from the Oak Tree to our hotel would progress without mishap. She had the key ready to his suite on the top floor, and handed him a linen packet of information, which she took time to explain. "You may dine in any of our restaurants on property. Just charge it to your room."

When she was finished, Mark thanked her then turned to me. "This is too much," he said. "You're being far too generous."

"Mark," I said, using his name for the first time, "let us do what little we can to help." In an impulsive flirtatious move of my own, I placed a hand on his arm. Despite the hotel's air-conditioned bliss, he was warm. I liked that. "Okay?"

"Okay," he said, treating me to another dose of dimples.

"We'll get your bags up to your room. No need to tip Arthur. He's been taken care of." The bellman had been waiting at a discreet distance. I gestured him forward. "Everything will be taken care of." I thought it would be awkward for me to accompany Mark to his room, so I pulled out one of my cards. I started to hand it to him, but drew it back when I remembered I'd given him one already.

"Hang on." It was time to stop worrying about Jack and start considering what might be good for Grace. I grabbed a pen from the top of Twyla's desk and scribbled my cell phone number on the back of the card. "Arthur will help get you settled, but if there's anything else you need that the staff can't a.s.sist you with, let me know."

Mark took the card and smiled. "What if everything is great and the staff caters to my every whim?"

"I don't understand."

"Can I still call you?"

I tingled from fingertips to toes. How long had it been since I'd interacted so playfully with a handsome man? I felt like a teenager, wordless and tongue-tied. "Sure," I said so quickly it sounded like a bird chirp. I backed away from Mark, Arthur, and Twyla, grinning like a lunatic, and waved. "See you all later."

Chapter 12.

BACK AT THE MANSION, I MADE MY WAY UP TO the office, reliving my conversations with Mark. I'd felt all gangly and obvious when I'd left him there, but for some reason, I wasn't embarra.s.sed. I got the sense that Mark liked me enough to see through such awkward moments. I felt comfortable around him. The story he'd told me about his parents and his wife had touched my heart. The poor man had suffered. And yet he remained kind, likeable, and quick to put me at ease. I especially appreciated what he'd said about always telling the truth.

I stopped before opening the door to Frances's office. The only reason Mark and I had met-the only reason we'd been afforded this chance to get to know one another was because someone had died. Lenore hadn't deserved such a violent end to her short life. I didn't know the woman well, but from what I'd heard about her recent divorce and the little she'd told me about the voice in her head forcing her to touch and do things, I sensed that her life hadn't been particularly easy.

I pushed aside the sadness and opened the door, but before I could say h.e.l.lo, Frances was on her feet, her expression panicked, her eyes wide. She held up both hands, then placed a finger to her lips, rolling her eyes with animated drama, clearly communicating there was someone in my office.

"Oh, h.e.l.lo . . . Lois," she said to me, delivering the line like a sixth-grader trying to win elocution points in her school play. More eyeball gesticulations. Still using her stage voice, she continued the spontaneous performance. "I'm sorry. Ms. Wheaton isn't in the office . . . right now." Using both hands she scooted me toward the door. "Why don't you try again in about an hour?"