He stuffed his hands in his pockets and studied the ground. “Shit.” He shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave.”
“You should.” For her own self-esteem, Gracie could never let him know how much she wanted him to stay. “There’s nothing pressing to do here, and if anything urgent comes up, I’ll let you know.”
“I could talk to the security guard from Old Maine.”
“He might not even be in town. I’ll keep on the lookout for him at the festival and talk to him if I get a chance.”
“I don’t know.” He scratched his chin, adorably reluctant. When he looked at her, really looked, his eyes held a heady combination of affection and concern. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Maybe you should leave it alone while I’m gone.”
“Okay,” she agreed readily enough.
He scowled. “You won’t. You’ll go off on your own and get into trouble. That’s why I should stay.”
“You may not believe this, but I take care of myself all the time. People come to me for help. I’m a doctor. And everyone here likes me. No one will hurt me.” She leaned out and kissed him to end the discussion—and because she wanted to. He tasted like morning and coffee and toothpaste and like someone all set to argue with her. She put the truck into gear without giving him a chance. Her smile froze at the thought of him flying to New York. “Be careful.”
“You be careful,” he countered as she rolled down the drive.
Sweet though his concern may be, she doubted he’d give her another thought once he was in the air and back among his friends. But all the way to Clay’s house, she worried about Dylan piloting himself and hoped he would think of her from time to time.
Chapter Twenty-one
Gracie turned down Clay’s tree-lined street in time to see the M.E.’s Ford Explorer driving away from the unassuming white clapboard house. As a friend of David’s, he visited often. Unfortunately, this morning’s visit wouldn’t have been a social call. She parked in the drive and hurried inside.
“Clay?” she called from the entryway. “David?”
“We’re in here, Gracie.” Clay stuck his head out the door of David’s bedroom.
She dashed down the hall, searching his pale and tense face as she moved. A world of pain and bewilderment swam behind his eyes.
“I just heard about your mother.” She gripped his arms with her hands and pulled him into a hug. “How’re you doing?”
“Better than David.” He nodded into the room and shook his head. “I’m worried about him. Will you get him a glass of water? I don’t want to leave him alone.”
“Be right back.”
In the kitchen, an abandoned breakfast littered the table. Toast had grown cold, granola soaked up milk in a bowl, and coffee cups sat forgotten on the table. Gracie filled a glass and returned to the bedroom.
“Here, David.” She hid her concern behind a smile. Under an ashen complexion, he appeared to have aged ten years overnight. She lifted his head and held the glass to his lips.
“Give him this.” Clay handed her a small white tablet.
David accepted the drink and the pill but didn’t acknowledge Gracie’s presence. He tossed his head back and forth as if grappling with unseen forces. “She was at the cabin all this time. How could I not have known?”
“It’s not your fault,” Clay soothed. “No one knew.”
The old man grasped the younger one’s hand. “He knew. The killer knew.”
“Try to rest,” Clay said. “Let the police get to the bottom of it.”
Gracie pulled the blinds, plumped the pillows, and straightened the blankets on the bed. She had expected David to be comforting Clay, not the other way around. Of course, with his precarious health, any shock could be a hazard. After a few more fretful moments, he slipped into a fretful doze. Clay drew up a rocker beside the bed and slumped into it.
“That sedative will knock him out for a while,” he said.
Gracie rested her hip against the end of the bed. “I was worried about you. I didn’t think David would take the news this hard.”
“I guess hearing she’d been found brought it all back for him.” He leaned his head back and stared out the window.
“But how do you feel?”
“Numb, I guess. Dealing with David gave me a good excuse to delay facing the facts. How did you find out?”
“I was at the Bradford cabin last night when the fire broke out. This morning, Chief Fleming came by to notify Dylan about what they’d discovered.”
He plowed both hands through his hair making it stick up all over. “I keep picturing her in that old cellar, cold, alone.” He swallowed and shook his head. “Dead for so long. When David told me yesterday that he suspected Matthew Bradford of killing her, I didn’t believe it, but now...” He turned his head toward her. “Does Dylan still doubt that his father was involved with my mother?”
“I don’t know what he thinks.”
“Doc Harvey said there was evidence to identify her. Do you know what it is?”
“Her charm bracelet.” Gracie blinked to hold back her tears. “Remember? It had those little scissors on it from when she graduated from beauty school and that little bootie with your birth date. A lobster. And a Statue of Liberty. She always let me play with it when she cut my hair.”
“It had a four-leaf clover for good luck.” Clay slumped further down in the chair and covered his eyes with his hand. “I should have assumed she was dead, but I always believed she’d come home with some outlandish explanation about where she’d been.” He threaded his fingers together. “Yesterday... After I found out about the money... David believed Matthew had set it up, but I hoped my mother had been providing it somehow. Crazy, huh?”
“I know how you feel.” She reached out to pat his shoulder. “The Navy assured us that my father couldn’t possibly be alive, but I still watch television programs about POW’s and MIAs, hoping to spot him. No matter how old or smart or responsible we become, there’ll always be the abandoned child inside us praying for the parent to return.”
“Of course, you understand. You always do.”
“We’ve been through all of it together. That’s what friends do, you know.”
He stood and wrapped her in his arms, giving and taking comfort at what had to be some of the worst moments of his life.
After a moment, she stepped back and wiped her eyes. “I keep thinking there should be something I can do for you. Is there?”
A thousand emotions flickered across his face until it settled into one of resolve. “Would you stay with David for a while?”
Her eyes widened. “Well, sure, but where are you going?”
“It seems wrong to be sitting here, doing nothing, when I finally know where Mom is. I want to talk to Ron and find out what he knows. It may not help, but I can rattle some cages and try to wrap my mind around the situation before I explode.”
Familiar with his need for activity in moments of stress, she didn’t object. “I’m happy to help any way I can.”
“I know you are, sweetheart.” He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for always being here for me.”
After Clay left, David slept fitfully.
Gracie watched over him with the patience she’d learned while her mother lay dying in this very room. David’s restlessness, frailty, and uneven breathing brought back painful memories of anxiety and sadness. Eventually, the old wounds turned to the fire, the discovery of Lana’s body, and the hours she had spent with Dylan.
Dylan. Her face warmed just thinking his name, but she feared she’d made a terrible mistake. Not by sleeping with him, that was a pleasure she would never regret. How have I become so crazy about him in such a short time? Despite her actions of the night before, she never indulged in light affairs, and light, emotionless affairs were his calling card.
Maybe the best she could hope for was that he never learned how much the episode meant to her. Keeping things going forward on an easy and uncomplicated level had been her goal throughout the morning.