At Any Cost Read online

  “That doesn’t mean he can access his funds. The authorities have to be monitoring his accounts.”

  “They probably are, but it doesn’t matter. He has funds elsewhere.”

  “Honey, you can’t know that.”

  “But I do know it,” she insisted. “He’s a narcissist. He liked to impress me. He told me once that he only vacations in the Caymans to visit his money.”

  Molly took her hand again. “Jenny,” she said softly. “This has to stop. Every time there’s a hang-up call that’s almost certainly from a telemarketer, or something a little out of the ordinary happens, you overreact. How could he find you? You never told him you were originally from Pennsylvania, so he has to believe that you’re Michigan born and bred. And when you bought the Blackberry, you used a company name. Everything you buy goes on my credit card or you pay cash.” She paused, then spoke again. “There’s another possibility. Someone else who might want to torment you.”

  Jenna met her great-aunt’s pale blue eyes. “Someone else? What are you talking about?”

  “The Chandler trial.”

  That disturbing confrontation with the Chandlers came back to her and Jenna felt a rush of remorse again. She and the other jurors had deliberated long and hard before turning in their verdict. But she alone had been ambushed outside the county courthouse as she walked to her car because she’d spoken for the twelve. Devona Chandler had flown at her in a tearful frenzy while Lawrence Chandler stared darkly from a distance, looking every inch the executive he was in his tailored black topcoat and white scarf. Rattled, Jenna had quickened her steps.

  “Mrs. Chandler, we shouldn’t be talking.”

  “How could you have done this? Our Timmy’s a good boy! He made a mistake! He didn’t mean to hurt anyone!”

  “Mrs. Chandler, please—”

  “You could have convinced the others to show some compassion, but instead you turned a blind eye. There were extenuating circumstances!”

  She’d known she shouldn’t respond. But a young father of three had died because, for the third time, the Chandlers’ partying, twenty-three-year-old son had been driving drunk, this time without a license.

  “I’m sorry,” she’d said sincerely. “I truly am. I didn’t want to find him guilty, but I had no choice.” In fact, throughout the proceedings, she’d prayed hard that God would guide her decision when it came time to render a verdict. “But I’m afraid the evidence was overwhelming. Actions have consequences.”

  Tears rolling, the woman had turned around to send her husband a heartbroken look. Then she turned back, met Jenna’s eyes again and said in a startlingly cold voice, “They certainly do. And you’re about to find that out.”

  Jenna forced the memory away. Blaming the Chandlers was definitely preferable to the scenario she’d come up with, but it was easier to believe the worst. “That happened in the early spring. Why would they retaliate after all these months?”

  “That’s a very good question. Why would Courtland Dane do it after two years?”

  Jenna drew a shaky breath. “I don’t know. Maybe because he wasn’t able to until now. Maybe he’s been out of the country.”

  “Honey,” Molly cautioned quietly. “You need to put this in perspective. We’re talking about credit card fraud. No one’s threatened you.”

  She realized that. But her aunt didn’t see the danger because she didn’t have all the facts. “Aunt Molly, whoever used my card number charged flowers—huge, expensive arrangements that were sent to funeral homes in three different cities. Boca Raton, Los Angeles and Boston. I—I made a few calls after I hung up with the credit card company. All three of the decedents were Harpers.”

  Molly paled, touched the cameo at her throat. “No.”

  “Yes. Now do you see why I think he’s involved? This…this flower thing has Courtland’s sly stamp all over it. Devona Chandler spoke out of grief for her son. It was his third DWI and a man died. She knew he’d go to prison. People say things they don’t mean when they’re in pain.”

  For a long moment, Molly seemed to gather her thoughts. Then she rose, murmured a quiet “Wait here,” and went into the kitchen. When she returned, she was carrying a newspaper from the mudroom’s recycle bin. She opened it to the second page, then handed it to Jenna.

  “I set this aside when it came a few days ago because I thought it might upset you. You had some sleepless nights after the trial. Now, reading this might make you feel better.”

  Jenna accepted the paper, then glanced at the headline and smaller subtext below. Appeal Denied. No new trial for Timothy Chandler.

  Molly spoke again. “You asked why the Chandlers would want to retaliate months after the trial,” her aunt said gently. She squeezed Jenna’s shoulder. “That’s why.”

  * * *

  It was a little before noon when Molly entered the sitting room to survey Beau’s mess. The crown molding he’d been able to save was stacked against one wall, and the discarded chair rail lay at the back of the room among rolls of dusty, torn wallpaper. For some reason Beau couldn’t comprehend, someone had recently replaced a lot of the original oak with cheap pine that hadn’t come close to matching, and it, too, had to go. He found that odd, since Jenna insisted that the rooms in the hundred-and-thirty-year-old home be kept as close to original as possible.

  “Not a pretty sight, is it?” he asked wryly.

  “No, but it will be lovely when you’re through.” Molly frowned. “I just wish we’d hired you first. When a body’s down on his luck and needs work, we’re glad to help, but—” She stopped suddenly, then tapped a shushing finger to her thin lips and smiled again. “Forgive me. That wasn’t kind. As I said, the room is going to be lovely.”

  “Thanks. I hope you’re right.” Beau waited for her to speak again. When she didn’t, and instead took a slow walk around the scarred hardwood floor, he realized that she was working up to something. Her clunky heels echoed in the stripped-down room.

  “Okay, it looks like it’s my turn to ask what’s on your mind,” he said.

  She didn’t hedge. “The same thing that was on your mind earlier today. Jenna. She told me you probably overheard part of her conversation with the credit card company.”

  “Yes, I did.” He didn’t mention that some of what he’d overheard had been deliberate eavesdropping on his part. Wiping his hands on a rag, he walked over to Molly and dove into the conversation he’d wanted to have earlier. “She’s unusually guarded. We’ve talked a little about high school and other things, but she never says much about her life after graduation—or why she didn’t come back to Charity after college.”

  Molly stopped walking. “There was no good reason for her to return. Her mother moved back to Michigan after her father died, so Jenna naturally settled there.”

  Beau nodded. By that time, he’d served a couple of years in the military, finished trade school and was trying to build himself a life. “Jenna said she taught high school English in a Detroit suburb. I got the idea that she enjoyed it.”

  “And now you’re wondering why she came back to Charity when her mother, friends and a job she loved were hundreds of miles away.”

  “It crossed my mind.”

  Frowning, the tiny woman walked to a covered settee and settled lightly on the arm. “I won’t tell you why. That information has to come from Jenna if she cares to share it. But I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s the same way you looked at her years ago when you were here doing my yard work. You like her.”

  An uneasy feeling crept in. That made him sound like a voyeur or a potential suitor, and he wasn’t interested in being either. Better to set the record straight right now. “I care about her as a friend. If she’s in trouble, I’ll do what I can—but only if I’m asked to help.”

  “Well, that’s not apt to happen,” she said, sighing as she rose. She squared her thin shoulders and raised her chin. “So I’ll be the one to ask. I need something from you.”

  He would never deny Mo
lly Jennings anything. Not after all she’d done for him. “Whatever you want is yours. You know that.”

  “Thank you. I would like a bowl of Italian wedding soup from the diner. Takeout, not dine-in. It’s the special today. I just spoke to Aggie Benson. She says it goes fast.”

  Beau stood flat-footed and bewildered, trying to link her request to the serious conversation they’d been having. Obviously, this wasn’t about Italian wedding soup. After a moment, he realized what she wanted. “Why don’t I ask Jenna if she can get away for lunch? We never discussed whether she wanted to re-carpet the floor in here, or if she’d rather have the hardwood refinished. If she decides she’d like to talk about something that’s bothering her…maybe my reassurance would be helpful.”

  Molly started away. “I’ll let her know she’s going.”

  Beau stopped her before she got very far. “Uh-uh. I’m not the John Rolfe type. I’ll deliver the message myself.” When her brow lined in concern, he knew for certain that credit card fraud was the least of Jenna’s worries.

  “What if she turns you down?” she asked quietly.

  “If she says no, you can step in and convince her. If you can’t,” he added grimly, “then I think you and I should have a talk about what’s really going on.”

  TWO

  “So I guess that was the young mother-to-be who was sleeping in late?”

  Startled, Jenna turned quickly from closing the front door, hating the way her nerves jumped at every unexpected sound, every squeak of the hardwood flooring. If she didn’t stop this, she’d make herself sick again.

  She summoned a bright smile. “Yes. That was Mrs. Grant—the guest Aunt Molly mentioned when she asked you to keep the noise to a minimum.”

  “She didn’t stay for breakfast?” Beau asked.

  Jenna shook her head and smiled again. “I’m afraid she wasn’t up to it—or food in general for that matter. I hope she feels better soon. She said her morning sickness lasts well into the afternoon, so that can’t be a lot of fun when she’s on the road. Fort Belvoir’s still a long way off.”

  “Her husband’s in the service?”

  “Newly transferred,” Jenna said, returning to the registration desk. Despite the frightening thoughts that had dogged her mind since that credit card call, she couldn’t help noticing how good he looked. He was tall, close to six-three in his boots, and his thick sable hair was slightly long and attractively wind-tossed—just as he’d worn it as a teenager. She’d filled two diaries with thoughts about him back then—even shed a few teenage tears. But he’d been three years older and had never given her a second look. He’d been too busy entertaining prettier, curvier girls who’d been drawn to his bad boy reputation.

  She tucked the bee’s wax polish and cloth she’d been using back in the caddy. “So. Is there a problem in the sitting room?” She imagined there had to be since once he started a project, he rarely took a break, and he’d only arrived a short time ago.

  Beau closed the distance between them, and once again, his rugged appeal made her pulse quicken. “It’s a problem,” he said. “But it’s not work-related. I’m about to head for the diner and was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me.”

  For a second, Jenna felt a burst of exhilaration. Then she remembered those funeral flowers and shook her head. She was safe here with her automatic door locks and mesh-covered windows. “Thank you,” she said smiling. “But I really don’t date.”

  “That’s okay, I don’t, either. And I’m not asking for a date. In fact, this would be more of an un-date.”

  “An un-date?” she repeated, still trying to wrap her mind around his first statement. Rumor had it that he was a bona fide dating machine who left broken hearts in his wake when he moved on.

  “You’ve seen Disney’s Alice in Wonderland, right?”

  What did that have to do with anything? “A long time ago.”

  “Then you probably remember the Mad Hatter’s un-birthday party. I’m asking you for an un-date. I thought having lunch would give us a few minutes to discuss the renovations, and refuel at the same time. I haven’t eaten anything today.” He smiled sheepishly. “Well, except for a muffin.”

  As if she’d been waiting in the wings for her cue, Aunt Molly breezed cheerfully into the foyer. “Did I hear someone mention the diner?”

  Jenna sent her a tolerant smile. She knew a setup when she saw one. Her aunt was worried and wanted her to concentrate on something else for a while—but at the same time, wanted her to be protected. Even Courtland would think twice about hurting her if she was at Beau’s side. But…

  “Yes, Beau asked me to join him for lunch, but I need to strip the bed in the Blue Room and make it up for a guest who’ll be coming in soon.”

  Aunt Molly waved off her concerns. “I can do that while you’re gone. Go to lunch, and bring me back some of Aggie’s wonderful Italian wedding soup.” She halted abruptly, grimaced, then rebounded nicely. “That is, if that’s what she’s serving today. If not, any soup will do. As my Charles used to say, God rest his soul, there’s nothing like soup to warm a body when the snow flies.”

  Jenna hid a sigh. Her darling little aunt would have never made it on the stage. This was the worst bit of acting she’d ever seen. “All right. I’ll get my coat. But I’ll be back in time to make up the room.”

  “Nonsense,” Molly replied, starting up the curved staircase. “I shall do it right this minute, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  When she’d disappeared around the bend, Jenna met Beau’s faintly amused expression. He was leaning casually against the high desk with his hands in his jeans pockets, and was apparently enjoying the show.

  “She already phoned the diner, didn’t she?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Jenna released that sigh. “I’m sorry. When she gets something in her head, it takes an earthquake to dislodge it.” She sent him an apologetic look. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Of course. I told you, the only thing I’ve had to eat today was—”

  “Yes, I know. A muffin.” She had to smile then, because in truth, she welcomed the distraction. “Thank you for humoring her. I’ll see you at the diner in a few minutes.”

  His brow lined. “You’re taking your own car?”

  “Yes, I won’t be staying long. Aunt Molly can handle stripping the sheets, but the beds are high and the mattresses are thick and heavy. She’ll struggle making them back up. Besides, I don’t want to rush you through your lunch.”

  “Jenna, I’ll drive you back whenever you want. Believe me, I’ll finish eating long before you will.”

  “Please,” she insisted quietly. “I need to take my own car.” She would’ve preferred to go with him—would’ve felt less afraid. But she couldn’t go into hiding again the way she’d done after her surgery. Two years ago, panic attacks and near agoraphobia had almost eliminated what little courage she’d had left. If not for prayer, God’s grace and the support of her mother and Aunt Molly, she’d be a shut-in now. She couldn’t backslide—and she feared that could happen if she didn’t get in her car and drive herself to the diner today.

  She couldn’t begin to read the thoughts moving through his eyes, but she knew he was trying to figure her out. “Okay, then,” he said with a forced smile. “I’ll see you at the diner.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Beau and Jenna left their vehicles in the lot and hurried through the seemingly inexhaustible flurries to the diner. The heavy wood-and-glass door closed behind them as they wiped their wet footgear on the mat. The diner was busy, three waitresses and Aggie herself delivering pots of steaming coffee and trays loaded with food. Wonderful aromas hung in the air, mingling with pop music, laughter and conversation.

  Jenna felt a tingle when Beau bent to speak to her over the noise and music, his breath warm against her ear. “Booth or a table?”

  “A booth,” she answered. She unbuttoned her cream-c
olored wool coat. An echoing tingle swept through her when he touched his hand to the small of her back to guide her toward a centrally located booth. They were almost there when she saw that the back booth was empty, and made a beeline for it.

  Beau assessed her curiously as she took a seat against the wall and he slid into the red vinyl booth across from her. A smile creased his rugged features.

  “What’s the smile about?” she asked, slipping her arms out of her coat sleeves. She smoothed her mauve sweater.

  “I’m just wondering if the Mob’s after you, or if you’re in the witness protection program.”

  For just a second, she couldn’t breathe. Then she realized that he was kidding and managed a laugh. She wondered how he’d react if she told him he wasn’t far off. Instead of admitting that she’d wanted a clear view of the door and surrounding tables, she shrugged. “I guess I just like back booths.”

  “Do you also like manicotti and hot garlic bread?” Smiling, short, stout, white-haired Aggie Benson bustled over to their booth, then flipped over their coffee mugs and filled them. “That’s the special—comes with a side salad or Italian wedding soup.” She nodded at the laminated menu tucked behind the chrome-and-black napkin dispenser. “But if you’re looking for something that’ll take a lot longer, you can always order from the menu.”

  Jenna smiled. “Just the wedding soup for me, Aggie, and an order of soup to go. I have to get back to the inn.”

  “And I’ll have the works,” Beau said. “Manicotti, bread, salad and—” He paused thoughtfully. “Three slices of your Dutch apple pie. Two for here, one to go. One check.”

  Jenna shook her head. He could pay for the pie, but— “No, we’ll need two checks.”

  Beau sighed. “Did Alice take her own cup to the Mad Hatter’s tea party?”

  “No, but maybe she should have.” Meeting Aggie’s eyes, Jenna made a V of her fingers and spoke kindly but firmly. “Two checks, please.”