She held onto her smile with an effort. “Are you going to be around a while? I’ll be done here in about twenty minutes.”
“Sure, I’ll be around. Where do you want to meet?”
Twenty minutes later, Gracie hustled through the crowd to the gazebo in the town square. As she wound her way down the street, she spotted Dylan coming toward her with festival food in hand. Fitting right in, he smiled and greeted people who called out to him as he passed.
“Did you see whoever it was you wanted to catch up with earlier?” she asked as he fell into step beside her and looped his arm around her shoulders.
“No.” He offered her a bite of his crab cake. When she refused with a head shake, he popped the remainder into his mouth and tossed the wrapper into a trash bin. “I thought I spotted Karen Hammonds, my father’s old publicist, but I must have been wrong. Whoever it was slipped away.” He stopped and scratched his chin. “And it doesn’t make any sense for her to be here.”
“Well, I managed to locate Henry Stillberg.” She couldn’t keep a touch of smugness out of her voice. “I’m on my way to meet him now. Want to come?”
“Almost as much as I want to kiss you, but I’m not risking that again with media stalkers in town waiting to shoot us.” He stared at her mouth with such longing that Gracie warmed, feeling as if she had been kissed.
“Later then.” She brushed her fingers lightly across her lips and then his.
Tugging on Dylan’s hand, she towed him toward the gazebo.
They’d reached the barricade marking the end of the official festival grounds. Just a half block past the blockaded area, the crowd and noise thinned and the temperature dropped a few degrees. “How’d you run into Henry?” Dylan asked.
“He came to the booth.”
“That was lucky.” He pulled her closer. “What does he look like?”
“Like someone who’s been living in Florida for the past twenty-five years.” She wrinkled her nose. “His skin’s as tough as shoe leather, his thinning hair’s brassy from the sun, and he’s dressed a little too tropical for East Langden.” She suppressed a little shudder remembering Henry’s leer.
“Not a fan of Aloha shirts?”
“It’s not that.” She bit her lip and hesitated. “More the way he looked at me.”
“What way?”
“Like a dirty old man.”
“Did he say or do something? I’ll pound him into the ground if you’d like.” The look of outrage and the clenched fist he theatrically punched into his other palm made her laugh.
“Don’t bother. I’m sure he’s harmless. When I asked to meet him here, he probably thought I was coming on to him.”
“He should be so lucky.”
She shushed him as she spotted the old security guard waiting for her on a bench inside the gazebo. “Let me do the talking.”
“Since when do I have a choice?”
Henry stood and jerked his chin at Dylan. “What’s he doing here?”
She ignored the question. “Did you hear that Lana Harris’ body was found at the Bradford cabin this morning?”
“Not so much a body, was it? More like a bag of bones, I heard.”
“I’ve been wondering about other events that occurred about the same time as Lana’s disappearance. Granddad mentioned something interesting the other day.”
“Chester’s still alive? I figured that old fart had kicked the bucket by now.” Henry took a step closer, into the circle of light.
“He recently broke his hip, but he’ll be fine,” she said, determined not to let him sidetrack her. “Did you know Lana very well, Henry?”
“Some.”
“Do you remember the night she disappeared?”
His eyes shifted from side to side as if considering the question from various angles. “I might.”
“Granddad said he went to the factory that night and saw Dylan’s father driving away. You were on duty, weren’t you?”
A flash of interest sharpened his ratty features. “Are you thinking the senator was involved in her disappearance?”
“No.” She shot Dylan a cautionary look as he stiffened beside her.
The old man chuckled, a hard rasping sound, and smoothed his greasy hair off his forehead. A diamond pinky ring winked under the glow of a street lamp. “What if I saw him and Lana together that night? What if I remember several other interesting, maybe even incriminating, facts? What would that be worth to you?”
“Not a damn thing.” Dylan’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “Did you see my father that night or not?”
“Well, now, I’ll have to think about that one.” Henry rubbed his liver-spotted hand back and forth across his chin until something across the way distracted him. His weaselly eyes narrowed and he slunk into the shadows. “I’ll get back to you. Maybe tomorrow. You think about how bad you want to know whatever I remember." He disappeared down the steps and around the corner.
"For an old man, he sure moves fast," Gracie said. "Do you want to follow him?"
"No." Dylan took a seat on the bench and pulled her down beside him, draping an arm around her shoulder. "I’m not sure I believe it’s important anymore if Dad was there or not the night Lana disappeared. We know he didn't kill her."
“Coincidences like that hardly ever happen.”
“No, but as Grandfather used to say, ‘You can’t make a chicken lay an egg before she’s ready.”’
Gracie laughed and leaned away. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’ve done all we can for tonight and might as well have some fun.” He drew her close, nuzzling the side of her neck.
“Your grandfather had a handy expression for a lot of things. What else did he say?”
“Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.”
“Wasn’t it Bear Bryant who used to say that?”
“What people don’t know is that Bear was quoting Grandfather.” Dylan nibbled on her earlobe. “What do you want to do now?”
“Did you get enough to eat?”
“I got enough of standing in food lines.” His breath wafted warm and enticing against her neck.
“I can get you some ice cream via the back door.”
“I’ll take it.” He inched aside the edge of her sweatshirt with a finger and dropped a kiss on her exposed collarbone. She eased closer to him. “But after that,” he said, “we’re going home to bed.”
“Home? Bed?” Just hearing the two words uttered in one sentence sent spirals of pleasure down her spine. “Already?”
“We didn’t get much sleep last night.” He stretched with an exaggerated yawn. “I’m tired.”
“By all means, let’s go home so you can rest.” She jumped to her feet. “But I want to check on David first. I also want to see about Clay. I’m afraid he stayed at home moping.”
Returning to the festival, Dylan’s urgency to get home lessened. He stopped at every other booth to look at or buy something. Gracie decided to relax and enjoy his company. They had the whole night ahead of them.
Jostled by a juggling street performer, Dylan bumped into a couple kissing on a street corner.
“Hey!” Clay objected, separating from Tanya.
“He’s not moping,” Dylan stage whispered, and Gracie nudged him in the ribs.
Tanya laughed and looped her arm around Clay’s waist. “Hi, you two. Rumors are spreading like wildfire about your behavior here tonight.”
Thrilled, but stunned to find her two best friends lip-locked in public, Gracie’s attention bounced back and forth between them. “Ours? What are you—I mean, are you two—?” She laughed at her confusion. “You know what I mean. Explain.”
“Tanya came by to talk to me about Mom, and we finally worked things out between us.” Clay’s chin jutted out in true Bradford fashion. “We’re here together.” He eyed Gracie warily. “I’m sorry I acted like a blind fool these last few years. Are you okay with this?” He waggled his hand between him and Tanya.
“Okay? I think it’s great!” Gracie hugged them both. “And it’s about time.”