“Then may I be so bold to ask you to join me for dinner? I can’t promise much, but I make the best pancakes in the world, and I’d be pleased if you’d join me.”
I laughed. “Pancakes? Really?” I hadn’t meant to sound so incredulous, but I couldn’t help myself. Being in the nicest luxury suite in one of the best hotels in Charlotte with the owner, and having him offer to make me a dinner-breakfast, was just a little too surreal for me.
“My mother couldn’t cook much, but she was an excellent pancake maker, and she passed on her knowledge to me before I left home.”
“That’s funny.”
“Why’s that?”
“We have a pancake dinner tradition in our family, too.”
“It must be a southern thing,” he said lightly. “Would you care to join me?”
“That sounds great.”
We moved into his kitchen, with its cherrywood cabinets and industrial oven. There was a griddle imbedded in the marble-topped island, and stainless steel appliances were everywhere.
As he mixed the batter and began pouring rounds onto the griddle top, I said, “I’ll set the table.”
“Don’t bother. Why don’t we eat here at the island?”
“Sounds good to me,” I said.
“The plates are over there, and the silver is in that drawer.”
I retrieved fine bone china from the cabinet, and sterling silver knives and forks. With the linen napkins he retrieved, I set our places, and added crystal goblets.
“There’s milk and orange juice in the refrigerator,” he said.
“Which would you prefer?”
“I’d like milk myself.”
I poured two glasses, found the butter as well, and turned to see that Barton had the syrup out, in crystal as well.
When the first pancake was finished, he flipped it onto my plate. I waited for him, but he waved his spatula in the air. “Go on, they’re too good to eat when they’re right off the griddle to wait.”
I added a little butter and a tad too much syrup, and then tasted it. He was looking expectantly, so I smiled as I said, “Delicious. These may be the best pancakes I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something.”
“I add a touch of cinnamon to the batter,” he said. “It makes all the difference in the world, in my opinion.”
We alternated eating pancakes after that, and after we were finished, I said, “I’d be glad to do the dishes.”
“Thank you, but I have someone who does that for me.” He stared at me a second, and then asked, “Would you like to see my secret vice?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I was just warming up to the man. “Okay,” I said hesitantly.
He laughed at my reluctance. “It’s nothing like that. We have to go on the roof, though.”
I decided if I told him about my fear of heights, it would ruin the nice evening we’d shared. But there was no way I was going close to the edge. “Lead on.”
To my surprise, we walked out to our common stairwell. “I keep this unlocked,” he explained as we walked up the short flight to the door. “No one has access to it but the top two floors, so you have my blessing to come and go as you please.”
I couldn’t imagine the circumstances that I’d take him up on it, but I kept that to myself.
Once we were on the roof, I changed my mind. The space, lit with gentle illumination, sported some chairs and a table, but what really caught my eye was a raised-bed garden, filled with tomatoes, beans, onions, and potatoes. “It’s great,” I said. “In fact, my uncle has something a lot like this.”
“It’s the only way I can indulge my green thumb without leaving the hotel,” he explained. “There’s something about getting my hands dirty that I’ve never forgotten. It was one of my favorite childhood memories.”
“I can tell that you really love it.”
He smiled. “It’s the most calming thing I have in my life. Coming up here renews me somehow.”
“How nice that must be,” I said as I stifled a yawn.
“You must be exhausted after the day you’ve had.”
During our meal, I’d regaled him with tales of my day in Hickory with Uncle Thomas, and he’d hung on every word. “I am beat,” I said. “Sorry I’m not better company.”
“Savannah, you’ve been delightful. Let me walk you back downstairs.”
We moved to the stairwell, and returned to Barton’s floor. He explained, “I’d let you back in through the stairwell on your floor, but the doors lock automatically. I’ll have that taken care of tomorrow, so you can come and go as you please.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
Barton summoned the elevator. “I’m afraid this is an express elevator, so you’ll have to ride downstairs to the lobby before you can go to your suite.”
“I don’t mind,” I said.
He hesitated at the door, and then said, “Thank you for making something so painful bearable for me.”
“I just hope I helped.”
“More than I can tell you.”
“Good night, then,” I said as I walked into the elevator.
“Good night.”
As I rode downstairs, I wondered how a man as wealthy as Barton Lane could be so lonely. It must be hard to have everything in the world at your disposal, and not have anyone to share any of it with. Had Cindy been that person for him? It would explain why he was taking her death so hard, and why he was so insistent that my husband find her killer. I wondered if Zach had made any progress, and as I rode down the elevator, I thought about calling him. If nothing else, he would be fascinated to hear that a multi-millionaire had made me dinner. There wouldn’t be the slightest twinge of jealousy there, something I was thankful for. My husband was secure in the knowledge that I loved him with all my heart, and that there wasn’t a man on the planet I’d prefer over him, regardless of how much money he had. I put my phone away instead of calling him, though. I knew when he was digging into the case, a distraction could cost him a train of thought, and it was more important now than ever that Zach focus on catching Cindy Glass’s killer.
BACK IN MY SUITE, IT WAS HARD TO BELIEVE THE EXPERIences I’d had that day. I wanted, more than anything else, to share them all with Zach.
A flashing light on the telephone caught my eye, and I picked up and replayed my messages.
The first was from Uncle Thomas, wanting to make sure that I’d arrived back to Charlotte safely. It was amazing. I was a grown woman, and yet my uncle still worried about me. In a way, it felt good knowing that there was someone out there thinking of me beyond my husband. I didn’t have a fraction of the money Barton Lane had, but I had something he coveted nonetheless. There were people in my life who loved me, and that was something I couldn’t put a price tag on. I hit the pause button on the telephone, and then called Uncle Thomas.
He picked up on the first ring. Instead of a normal greeting, he asked, “Savannah?”
“It’s me,” I said. “I’m sorry. I should have called you when I got back. I just got wrapped up in a few things here.”
“Nonsense, I know you’re too old to check in. I just had a bad feeling about you, so I wanted to talk to you.”
“Don’t tell me you’re having premonitions,” I said.
“No, it’s nothing like that, but I dumped that box on you, and then I felt guilty about it. I’m not sure what your mother was thinking. I’m not a big fan of messages from beyond the grave.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing like that.”
“You haven’t opened it yet?”
“No,” I said as I looked at it, still sitting in its place on the coffee table. “I was planning to wait for Zach, and he’s going to be tied up most of the night.”
“We should have opened it together. Knowing Astrid, it’s hard to tell what she put in there.”
“Are there any family skeletons she could be telling me about?” I was honestly intrigued by the idea, but that didn’t mean I wanted to find out anything bad about my kinfolk. The South was long known for burying its secrets instead of exposing them to the light of day, but sooner or later, they almost always came out.