“So that’s the story behind the black eye.” Arthur chuckled. “You and Clayton Harris have been mixing it up, hmmm? Interesting. It’s been years since you resorted to physical violence to get your way, but I assume the other guy looks at least as bad.”
“Definitely,” Dylan said with satisfaction.
Arthur picked up a more recent photo where Clayton stood tall and stiff-shouldered next to a glowing Gracie. But then, Gracie carried a constant glow around with her.
“How well do those two get along?” Arthur asked.
“Gracie and Clayton?”
“Clayton and David Collier.”
“David is very protective of him. And Clayton worships David. He followed him into the medical profession, and then came back here to help when David became ill. Before that, according to Gracie, he was all set to join a big practice in Hartford. Did you know David from the factory?”
Arthur tugged on his earlobe. “We met a few times. As the doctor of record, he reported to Matt and they became friendly. They went fishing once or twice, if I recall correctly.”
Dylan hadn’t known that. David certainly hadn’t mentioned it. “He’s the one who found Dad the day he died.”
“That’s right, he did. I’d forgotten. This place sure brings back the memories, doesn’t it?” Arthur pulled on his cuff and adjusted one of his cuff links. He was wearing the Bradford set, accounting for both of his.
That should make it easy to cross him off Dylan’s mental list of suspects, but it didn’t.
“Do you know what happened to Uncle Tommy’s cuff links?” Dylan asked.
Arthur tore his gaze from the pictures and turned to face Dylan. “Why?”
He shrugged, reluctant even now to mention his father and Lana’s death in the same breath. He took an end run instead. “I noticed a couple of weeks ago that one of Dad’s is missing. I wondered where some of the other sets are.”
“We gave Tommy’s to Gerard.” He paused with an awkward hesitation, as frequently happened when Arthur mentioned his brother’s partner. “Tommy left him some money, but Gerard asked for a few personal mementos as well. You have your own pair, don’t you? Did you need your father’s for some reason?”
News about the cuff link uncovered this morning would soon become common knowledge, but some niggling caution kept Dylan from mentioning it. “Just curious.”
“You’re curious about a lot of things these days, aren’t you?”
His head reeled thinking about all of it. “Life has taken some unusual turns lately.”
Arthur set down the picture he’d been holding, placed his hand on Dylan’s shoulder, and led him back to the sofa. “What about your young lady? She’s very striking. How serious is it between you?”
“More serious than anything I’ve ever felt before.” Dylan surprised himself with the admission.
“Well, that doesn’t say much.” Arthur chuckled. “I’ve always wondered why no one has held your interest for long.”
“It was never the right time before, or the right person. Although, why it seems like this might be the right time and Gracie might be the right person, I don’t know.”
“Love doesn’t strike according to anybody’s schedule or preconceived notions. I thought you knew that.”
“Lo—lo—love!” Dylan choked, coughed, and sputtered over the single-syllable word. “I didn’t say anything about love.”
He tried out the picture of Gracie as a permanent fixture in his life and it just wouldn’t compute. Not that he couldn’t picture Gracie as a wife and mother. He couldn’t picture her as his wife or his children’s mother. He tried to remember his vision of that mythical woman.
Cool, calm, capable. Yep, Gracie had all that. With style, sophistication, and good taste. Someone who would fit seamlessly into his life. Cater to his whims. Not exactly Gracie’s style. That sounded more like Linc’s cousin. What was her name again? Valerie? Veronica?
Arthur resumed the ear-pulling thing and studied Dylan long enough to make him squirm. “If you aren’t thinking of her in terms of love or marriage, what are we talking about?”
All of his affectionate, protective, admiring, passionate, amorous, and amorphous feelings for Gracie welled up inside him and nearly gushed out. They would have if he could have defined them with a single word and assigned them to a permanent, convenient place, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He’d only known her—what? All of four days? “I don’t know. This is all happening so fast. I want to be a husband and father eventually, but I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“What part frightens you?”
He hadn’t expected to have a man-to-man conversation with his uncle tonight, but maybe Arthur was the perfect person to share his doubts with. “I’m freaking terrified that I’m incapable of the f-word.”
Shock crossed his uncle’s features, and he shifted uncomfortably. “Why, Dylan, I’m sorry. I had no idea. If it’s a physical problem or you need counseling, there are doctors...”
“Not the four-letter f-word.” Dylan laughed. “I meant the big one. The long one. The hard one. Fidelity. There are a lot of gorgeous women out there, and contrary to tabloid opinion, I haven’t slept with all of them. I like variety, and I can’t imagine waking up with the same person for the rest of my life. Never having the freedom to have sex with anyone else.” Although making love with Gracie every day for the rest of life sounded more than just doable. Satisfying and exhilarating, too. Still... “I always wanted the kind of marriage Dad and Mom had, but Gracie’s nothing like Mom, and I may be too much like Dad. Lately, I’ve wondered if they really had it as good as it seemed.”
“Marriage is about a lot more than monogamy. Sex is one part of it, but not even the most important part. Don’t let worries like that keep you from forming a relationship with a woman you can’t live without.” Arthur rested his elbows on his knees and contemplated the weave of the carpet before he lifted his head and looked Dylan in the eye. “Whatever the whole truth was behind your parents’ marriage, they shared a deep love and respect for one another. They were as happy together as any two people I’ve ever known.”
“You and Aunt Delia have that kind of marriage, too.”
His uncle mused a moment, rubbed a hand over his jaw, then shrugged. “We’ve been lucky.”
A grandfather clock bonged the hour from the foyer. They’d been waiting for Gracie for almost an hour. He would’ve expected her to report on David’s condition by now.
“Is it really ten o’clock?” Arthur said. “I called in a favor, and I’m staying at Drew Johnston’s guest house over in Wallingford. I guess I should be heading over there. Are you going to be here much longer?”
“Gracie said she’d stay until Clay came home. Do you want to say good-bye to her?”
“I don’t want to intrude. Perhaps she can leave the patient for a moment?”
Dylan went in search of Gracie. In the hall outside a bedroom, he heard her speak in low, soothing tones while David’s deeper, agitated voice rumbled over hers. Dylan tapped on the door and opened it a crack. Gracie sat in a chair beside her stepfather’s bed, holding his hand. She glanced up and motioned for him to wait.
In just two days’ time, David’s flesh seemed to have withered on his bones. His jerky movements and listlessness proclaimed a state of agitated exhaustion.
He clutched Gracie’s hand and spoke urgently. “It wasn’t my fault. He deserved it, but I didn’t mean to kill him.”
She flicked an anxious look Dylan’s way and back to the patient. “I’m sure you could never hurt anyone.”
His eyes sharpened with a moment of clarity. “I just wanted to talk to him, get him to admit where she was.”
“But he wouldn’t tell you.” Gracie’s weary response sounded as if they’d covered this ground before.
“That’s right!” His voice slipped back into a fevered recitation. “He said he didn’t know, but he did know. He had to. He killed her.”