She laid her hand on his. “I’m saying I want marriage. And I want you to think long and hard about what you want. If you don’t want marriage you need to tell me.”
“I just haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“You know where this is headed whether you realize it or not.”
He felt backed into a corner. “And if I don’t want marriage?”
“Then we move on with our lives. We find people that will give us what we really want. I’m not trying to be a bitch, Malcolm. I just want more.”
More. A lumbering heaviness settled in his limbs. “I can’t do more now.”
“When then?” Her voice was whisper soft and full of sadness.
“I don’t know.” And he really didn’t. All he knew now was that he had a killer to catch.
She took a healthy gulp of wine before she set the glass down. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
He couldn’t summon any anger. She’d been clear about what she’d wanted from the beginning, and he’d loved that about her. He’d thought he’d wanted her and all the traditional things she represented. But now he wasn’t so sure. “How long do I have?”
“I turn thirty in two weeks. Two weeks should be enough time for you to figure it out.”
A huge decision and she gave him two weeks. It seemed like the blink of an eye. But when he had a suspect in his sights he could make life-or-death decisions in seconds. “Olivia, I’m not going to be much smarter about life in two weeks.”
She hesitated as if she’d half expected him to reconsider the whole conversation and ask her to marry him. But when he didn’t speak, she nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
She rose and kissed him on the cheek. “Take care of yourself.”
He could have grabbed her forearm but didn’t. “You don’t have to leave. Stay and eat your dinner.”
Olivia’s smile was tight and controlled, and he had the sense she might cry. She never cried. He felt like a schmuck. “I’ll take a pass.”
He rose, a little annoyed. “So when did it become so black and white between us, Olivia?”
“When you went to the cabin without me.”
“You hate the cabin.”
“Because it’s just another slice of your life where I don’t fit.”
“I thought I was doing you a favor by not asking you to come.”
“It would have been nice to be asked.”
He ran fingers over his short hair. The truth was he’d really wanted to go alone. He’d not wanted her with him. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “If you need anything.”
“I’ll be fine.” She walked across the pub, calmly, quietly, with no drama. Even Olivia could make a breakup seem sensible. She opened the pub’s front door, waited for another to enter, and then left.
Angie entered the pub, her gaze tracking the room for Eva. The day’s grind had kept her on the go, and after her first call to Eva she’d not had spare time. And of course, Eva had not called her back. No doubt her sister hadn’t even checked her messages.
Angie didn’t bother to take her place at the bar. Instead she moved around it and shoved the door open to the kitchen. King stood at the stove mixing a pot of stew. Brenda, his other waitress, frowned over an order pad as if trying to remember who ordered what. And King’s newly adopted son Bobby, now eleven, sat at a side table doing what looked like math homework. The kid wore a Redskins football T-shirt and jeans. Freckles peppered the bridge of his nose, and his hair was slung over his eyes.
Bobby glanced up, his frown vanishing when he saw Angie. “Hey, Angie!” He got up.
“Sit,” King said without tossing the boy a glance. “Homework first.”
“Yeah, but Angie is here.”
King shook his head. “Yeah, but you should have done your homework two hours ago. Sit. Finish. Then play.”
The boy grumbled but sat back down. He didn’t look all that distraught, and Angie guessed if she pushed, the kid would have told her it felt good to have a caring dad in charge of his life now.
She rumpled Bobby’s hair. “Hey, kid.”
He grinned. “Hey, yourself.”
“Eva should be up in a minute,” King said. “She just went to get a bushel of potatoes from the basement.”
An image of her pregnant sister struggling up the stairs with a loaded basket had her moving to the basement stairs. She might be in heels and a skirt, but better she did the heavy lifting than Eva. As she opened the basement door, she found Eva poised on the top step with her bundle.
“Give it to me,” Angie said. She took the basket, wobbled a bit on her heels, and then carried her load into the kitchen. “Where do you want it?”
“On the counter.” King glanced over his shoulder and saw that it was Angie who’d spoken. Frowning, he looked at Eva but didn’t comment.
Angie set the potatoes on the stainless-steel worktable in the center of the kitchen.
Eva said in a low voice, “I could have done that.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t. We need to talk.”
“I’ve got to work.”
“It can wait,” King said without glancing up from his stew. “See if you can talk some sense into her while you’re at it, Angie. She’s been in a foul mood for a couple of days now.”
Angie took Eva by the elbow. “That is my intention.”
Eva pulled her arm free. “You can talk, but I’m going to bartend. Brenda can’t hold down the fort alone.”
King opened his mouth to argue but then closed it as if hearing the wisdom. “Okay, but I can break from the stove in a half hour if you need help.”
“I can do both,” Eva said.
Angie pushed out into the bar area and took her regular corner seat. Eva set about mixing and filling several orders before she found her way back to Angie. “So what gives? And if it’s about what I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”
She lightly drummed long fingers on the bar. “Oh, we’ll get to that gem soon enough. I’ve come bearing different news.”
She grimaced. “I don’t know if I want any more news.”
“I hired a private investigator to find your dad.”
Eva blinked several times slowly. “You went looking for Blue?”
“I did.” She held her breath, waiting for an explosion.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t keep my nose out of other people’s business.”
“So I see.” A weight of silence settled between them as Eva seemed to teeter between anger and curiosity. Curiosity won out. “And did you find him?”
Angie rattled off the facts of Blue Rayburn’s life and eventual disappearance. Eva listened, her gaze never wavering from her sister. “And here’s the real kicker. Do you know who one of the biggest contributors to the Talbot Museum was?” Angie held up her hand. “Don’t bother to guess. I’ll tell. Cross Industries.”
Eva leaned forward, her pale fingers splaying on the bar. “As in Darius Cross?”
Angie didn’t feel so pleased with herself for unearthing the detail. “The one and only.”
Eva looked sick. “Why the hell would he give your father money?”
Angie shrugged. “It made him look like a big deal in the community? The perfect image was very important to Darius.”
She shook her head. “Darius made lots of contributions to lots of different organizations. He sat on countless boards. He didn’t need the Talbot.”
“Just another feather in his cap.”
“I promise you, Darius Cross had a very specific reason for tossing money at your father. He never did anything without a string attached.”
Drumming fingers moved faster. “I called my private detective and told him to dig deeper. I want to know more about the Cross/Talbot connection. We’ll see what he discovers.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences, Angie. Cross was using the museum for something.”
“You sound like Garrison,” Angie said.
&nb
sp; Eva shrugged.
“Speaking of which, don’t tell Garrison what I’ve found. Let’s really understand what we have here before we tell anyone.”
A frown furrowed Eva’s brow. “Why? It’s ancient history.”
“Like you said, Darius only gave money when it suited him. I’m afraid he pulled Dad into something.” She sighed. “About all Dad had when he died was his reputation. His wife was gone. His museum had closed. I just don’t want to taint his memory.”
“He had you, Angie.”
I wasn’t enough. The unspoken words tightened around her chest.
Frank Carlson glanced down at the term paper that had a bold red A written on the top. She’d been a junior in high school and was in the top five percent of her class.
Her father frowned and laid the paper back down on his desk. “Why wasn’t it an A-plus?”
Angie blinked, her pride exploding like a balloon that had been pricked. She fumbled with the cuff of her school uniform jacket, balancing on a tightrope above anger and pain. “The teacher said it was the best in the class”.
“I can promise you, Angelina, that the world is far bigger than that classroom. You better learn that only the perfect survive.” He glanced up at her. “Tuck in your blouse. Your shirttail is out.”
She tucked in the blouse and picked up her paper. She hesitated, waiting for some kind word or bit of praise.
Frank glanced up at her, his gray eyes impatient. “Was there something else?”
Outrage and anger bubbled inside her, and before she thought, she said, “Did Mom leave you because you weren’t perfect?” She was hurt, and she wanted to jab into a wound she’d known he could not heal.
His face paled. “What did you say?”
She’d hit her mark. She’d just spent last Saturday with her mother and Eva. Her mother and sister had seemed so close to each other. Eva spoke about teachers and friends that her mother knew so well, whereas Angie didn’t recognize a single name. She’d felt like the interloper.
“Why did Mom leave you?”
He cleared his throat. “There’s a lot you don’t understand.”