“I think so, too,” Tanya chimed in.
“I want to hear all about it,” Gracie said.
“But not tonight.” Tanya’s smile rivaled the bright festival lights. “This is our first date. I plan to make the most of it.”
“Go for it,” Gracie agreed. “Be sure and call me tomorrow. Let’s get together for lunch.” Her head practically whirled like a carnival ride from all the events of the past twenty-four hours. Remembering one of them, she sobered and asked Clay, “How’s David?”
“He was tired and unsteady when I was home a couple of hours ago. Ethel came back to stay with him for a while, but we’re on our way to check on him now.”
“I’ll check on him, Clay. You and Tanya have a good time. You deserve it.”
It took some coaxing by both women, but Clay finally agreed. After he and Tanya moved on, Gracie told Dylan, “If you want to stay here, I can meet you in the parking lot later.”
“Huh-unh, I’m not letting go of you again.” His arm clamped around her shoulder. “This is our first date, too, you know.”
“Is it?” The first and only or the first of many?
As they arrived at David’s street, an elegantly suited man with silver hair approached them and hailed Dylan in a booming voice. They certainly hadn’t seen anyone else at the festival in a suit and tie.
A startled expression crossed Dylan’s face. “Uncle Arthur! What are you doing here?”
The Bradford resemblance was striking, and the elder family member beamed at Dylan like a proud papa. “I was worried about what was going on up here and wanted to see if I could lend a hand. That’s quite a shiner you’ve got there. Remnants of the fire?”
“No.” Dylan grinned at Gracie. “I ran into a brick wall with a clenched fist.”
“I suppose that’s another story I’ll need to hear about. Where are you headed?”
“Gracie’s stepfather, David Collier, has been sick. We’re going to see how he’s doing,” Dylan said, drawing her near. “But first, let me introduce you. Gracie O’Donnell, this is my uncle, Arthur Bradford.”
“An honor to meet you, Senator,” Gracie said while Dylan kept a possessive hand on her elbow. She prided herself on not normally being star-struck. But faced with such a distinguished and charismatic presence, she had to admit she groped for something more to say.
“A pleasure to meet you, young lady. Dylan said you were with him when the fire broke out last night.”
On the surface, the comment sounded perfectly sympathetic. But something about its delivery implied a breach of conduct on Gracie’s part, as if being in the wrong place at the wrong time placed her under suspicion. “That’s right.”
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you had to go through such an ordeal on Bradford property.” His voice deepened with sincerity, and Gracie chided herself for pinning her own insecurities onto his original comment. “It was a terrible loss, but not a tragedy, thank God, since the two of you got out in time.”
“You should have seen Gracie swing out of a second-floor window onto a tree branch,” Dylan chuckled. “She’s amazingly resourceful.”
“She must be that and more, if she’s caught your eye.”
Gracie reddened at the compliment and the senator’s seeming acceptance. She’d expected the patriarch of Dylan’s family to object to his affection—his attachment—his whatever it was that he felt for her.
She only wished she knew what to call it.
Chapter Twenty-five
After the bright, cheerful air of the festival, Dylan kept having the urge to check over his shoulder for a menacing presence. Following Gracie, he noticed an oppressive atmosphere blanketing David Collier’s house like a shroud. He expected his uncle to make excuses and leave. Gracie switched on the foyer light, spreading illumination over the gloom.
The bulldog nurse Dylan had met in David’s office lumbered down the hallway.
“How’s he doing?” Gracie asked.
The woman’s jowls shook when she wagged her head. “Not so good, I’m afraid.”
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Gracie flew toward the room in the back, but Ethel pulled her to a stop.
“He’s had his medication, but he’s talking out of his head most of the time.”
Gracie cast a worried glance down the hall but halted long enough to give the starchy woman a warm hug. “Thanks for the help, Ethel. I’ll stay until Clay comes in. You go join your family. I saw Harold down at the shooting gallery, winning a stuffed Barney for your grandson.”
“Even with bifocals, Harold’s marksmanship’s still dead on.” The nurse beamed with pride at her husband’s accomplishments before turning to the two men. “Good evening to you, young man. And Senator. I’m Ethel Brady. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Uncle Arthur had remained in the background, but once Ethel took the initiative, he moved forward with his crowd-winning smile. “It’s my pleasure, Ethel.”
She shook an admonishing finger at him. “You men in Washington need to do more to fix the health care situation, you know.”
“Believe me, Ethel, we’re working on it. There just don’t seem to be any easy solutions.”
“Easy answers never work.” Her heavy jowls shifted back and forth. “Sometimes it takes some practical thinking to get the job done. I’ve got a few ideas I’ll jot down and give to Dylan to pass along to you.” She wrinkled her brow and waited for a nod from Arthur.
After the two women exchanged a muffled conversation in the other room, the nurse collected her things and waved as she sailed out the door. The two men took seats in the living room. Dylan switched on a television, surfing channels in search of a basketball score.
Before long, Arthur stood and began a restless journey around the room. While Dylan relayed most of the details about the previous night’s fire, he omitted mention of the missing cuff link. He ended with the information about Leonard Castellano.
Arthur flipped through a National Geographic. “Should I know that name?”
“Probably not, but you might know his uncle, Sal Eversol.” Dylan watched Arthur’s reaction carefully.
Arthur tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. “I know him by reputation, of course. He has the money to support the causes that interest him, but his circles are too shady to mix with mine.” He looked at Dylan and crooked his eyebrow. “Any ideas on what the connection between the three of you might be?”
“Nothing concrete.”
Arthur resumed his roaming, gravitating toward a shelf of pictures. “Have you met all these people?” He gestured to the photographs. “They were always a stalwart bunch. Some of them look familiar. Tell me who’s who in this one.”
Dylan clicked off the TV and joined him. He picked up the picture Arthur indicated. “This is David.” He pointed to the doctor. “With a young Clayton and Gracie, her grandparents, and her mother.”
“What’s he like?” Arthur moved on to another photo, one with Clayton and David flanking Gracie in a cap and gown.
Dylan considered the mixed feelings he had about the old man. “Everyone here loves him, including Gracie. Unfortunately, he’s about as hard to talk to as those fish over there in that tank.”
Arthur lifted his eyebrows. “I thought you’d spent some time with him.”
“I had dinner with him once, but he didn’t say more than five words to me and not many more than that when I went to his office the next day.” Dylan frowned, remembering the odd conversation. “He volunteered the information that Lana owned her house before she died, but I don’t know why. It seemed uncharacteristically chatty of him.”
“But if he’s trying to convince you he’s a member of the family, I thought that would involve more contact.”
Dylan rubbed his temple. “Well, he’s Gracie’s stepfather, so she thinks of him as family.”
“I meant the younger doctor,” Arthur corrected. “Clayton.”
“Oh, him.” Dylan grunted and fingered the swelling around his eye. “I’ve gotten to know him better than I’d like.”