WELCOME TO TYLER-PIECES ARE COMING TOGETHER

Judson’s trial is over, but the question remains: Who killed Margaret Ingalls? The answer lies buried deep in her daughter Alyssa’s memory.... Join the residents of Tyler as they piece together the forty-year-old secret of America’s favorite hometown.

HAUNTED BY DREAMS...

Alyssa Baron’s sleep is filled with jumbled images of the night her mother died. But during the day, she’s busy sparring with Edward Wocheck, who’s intent on buying out the family business.

AND A MAN WHO NEVER FORGOT HER

Edward has loved Alyssa since they were children. He’s determined to put an end to her tortured dreams. And then—business differences or no—he intends to win her heart.

Previously Published.

“Alyssa, stop torturing yourself.”

Alyssa looked up at her mother’s portrait. “She was so beautiful,” she said. “So beautiful and so cold.”

She felt Edward’s arm go around her and leaned into his strength without conscious thought. She stared up at the aloof, self-involved face in the portrait, trying to see into her mother’s heart. “I was here the night my mother died, Edward.”

He turned her to face him, moving so quickly she had no time to object. He held her shoulders between his hands. “Tell me what happened in this room that night, Lyssa. Tell me what you saw and what you heard.”

“And what I did,” she said, fighting the urge to break into tears.

“Alyssa,” he repeated softly. “Tell me what you remember.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Mills & Boon’s Tyler, a small Wisconsin town whose citizens we hope you’ve come to know and love. It was your enthusiasm for sequels and continuing characters that prompted us to create a series of individual romances whose characters’ lives intertwine.

By now word is out that Judson Ingalls has been acquitted of his wife’s murder, but the mystery remains. What really happened that night so many years ago? Will the emotionally scarred members of the Ingalls clan ever know for sure?

Phil Wocheck buried some secret knowledge along with Margaret’s body—everyone in town is convinced of that. And the proud Ingalls dynasty is tottering on the edge of financial ruin. Timberlake Lodge has been totally transformed, and Edward Wocheck, once reviled, is now firmly entrenched as a mover and shaker.

And there are strangers in town, too. Devon Addison, Edward’s stepson, seems more and more to be calling Tyler home, and Robert Grover, a strange little man from Chicago, appears to have taken up permanent residence at Timberlake.

Has Tyler lost forever its quiet innocence and strong sense of community? Join Edward and Alyssa as they attempt to make peace with the past and forge a new future for America’s favorite hometown.

Marsha Zinberg

Editorial Coordinator, Tyler

Loveknot
Marisa Carroll

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Marisa Carroll for her contribution to the TYLER series.

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Joanna Kosloff for her contribution to the concept for the TYLER series.

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Dear Reader

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

TIMBERLAKE.

Alyssa Ingalls Baron caught her breath at the sight of the imposing main lodge with its gabled dormer windows and twin fieldstone chimneys as the drive curved around to front the wide veranda.

Unconsciously her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “This is what it was like when my mother was alive.” She spoke the words aloud, the sound of her voice a talisman against the nervous beat of blood in her ears. “This is the way I remember it in my dreams.”

No one was sitting in the passenger seat of the car to hear her words. She was alone. She wanted it that way. No one knew she was coming to Timberlake to question Phil Wocheck face-to-face, for the first time, about Margaret Ingalls’s death. What she had to say to the old man was for his ears alone.

She parked the car in the graveled lot, hidden from the newly renovated lodge by an artful tangle of evergreens and barberry bushes, and started across the lawn. Adirondack chairs, painted a dark fir-green, were still grouped in inviting clusters under the massive maples and oaks, although many of the trees had already dropped their leaves and the late-fall weather was warm enough to sit outside comfortably for only a short time in the middle of the day.

But it was the windows Alyssa remembered best, dozens of them, it seemed, gleaming warmly in the sunlight, reflecting the blue of the sky and the lake, welcoming her—home.

Alyssa shivered. The feeling of comfort and momentary sense of belonging was so at odds with her mood. For forty years, most of her life, the lodge had been locked and shuttered and ignored, a grim testament to Margaret Ingalls’s desertion of her husband and daughter.

For all those years, no one but Phil had known what had happened to Margaret. Now they did. She hadn’t run away with a lover that long-ago night, but had died right here at Timberlake. It was public knowledge now, how she had died, when and where. The only question that still remained was who had killed her. Only two days before, Alyssa’s father, Judson Ingalls, had been acquitted of his wife’s murder. Acquitted of responsibility, but not proved innocent of the crime.

In the back of her mind Alyssa almost wished Judson had been found guilty. Then he would have continued to fight with all his considerable strength of will and formidable intellect to clear his name and lay to rest the rumors still swirling around Tyler. Instead, he had shut himself away in the big old house on Elm Street and refused to see anyone, friend or foe alike. Alyssa was worried for his health, and his mental well-being. That concern and her own nightmare memories of her mother’s death had driven her to seek Phil Wocheck’s company.

The double doors leading into the lobby opened smoothly and quietly. Inside, a fire blazed on the hearth. Light gleamed softly on the paneled walls from the impressive deer-antler chandelier hanging overhead. The Oriental rug that her younger daughter, Liza, had placed in the huge main room—now the lobby and reception area of the lodge—was gone; after it was discovered that it was stained with Margaret Ingalls’s blood, it had been replaced by another, even more magnificent in shades of green and copper and blue.

Alyssa knew she had Edward Wocheck to thank for that small courtesy. No matter how far apart they had grown in the last thirty years, he would never have put her, and her family, through the trauma of looking at the rug every time they entered this building. Before Liza set in motion the chain of events leading to the discovery of her mother’s body, Alyssa had simply avoided coming here. That was no longer possible. In the few months Timberlake had been open to the public, it had become a hub of activity in Tyler, Wisconsin.

There were about a dozen people sitting in comfortable, casual groupings of overstuffed furniture before the fire and the windows overlooking the lake, while they sipped drinks, exchanged hunting stories and big-city gossip or merely sat and stared at the fire. Even though it was the middle of the week, the lodge seemed to be well booked. Once more the prestige and drawing power of the Addison Hotel Corporation name was brought home to her. It could work magic, even on a small out-of-the-way resort like Timberlake.

A smiling young woman greeted Alyssa as she approached the front desk. “May I help you, Mrs. Baron?” she asked politely.

“Hello, Sheila. I’m here to see Phil Wocheck,” Alyssa responded with a smile of her own. Edward Wocheck, Phil’s son, and head of Addison Hotel Corporation, had promised when he bought Timberlake that he would hire and train as many local people as possible. He’d kept his promise. The young woman behind the counter was a Tyler resident, a high-school classmate of Liza’s. The bartender lived in Tyler, too, and so did most of the service staff. And Alyssa knew for a fact that Edward was paying for the education of two promising young Tyler High grads at a prestigious Chicago cooking school.

“Phil’s waiting for you in Mr. Wocheck’s suite. Second door on your left, in the west wing. Right through the French doors. Only I don’t have to tell you that, do I,” Sheila said with another smile. “You must know this building like the back of your hand.”

Alyssa kept her own smile in place with an effort of will. “It’s changed a great deal in the past year,” she said in a carefully neutral tone of voice. “A very great deal.”

“That’s right,” the young woman continued, seeming unaware of Alyssa’s reluctance to speak about Timberlake. “And Liza did a great job redecorating this part of the building. Have you taken a tour of the new additions?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Mr. Wocheck—Mr. Edward Wocheck, I mean—will have to show you around. Phil can’t manage the stairs as yet and there won’t be any elevators, you know. While the new facilities will be accessible to the handicapped, elevators are out of keeping with the unspoiled, turn-of-the-century rustic atmosphere of Timberlake Lodge.” She sounded as if she were reciting from a brochure lauding the resort’s amenities, or perhaps from a Timberlake Lodge employees’ pep talk.

“That would be nice,” Alyssa said politely, as she stepped away from the desk to allow a newly arrived couple to check in. “But I’m sure Edward Wocheck is far too busy to have time to give guided tours to everyone who wants one.”

“I’m sure he could find time for you, Mrs. Baron.” Sheila’s smile was still friendly but her eyes were speculative as she nodded a goodbye and returned to her duties.

Alyssa felt a faint heat touch her cheeks as she turned away. She ought to be used to the speculation about her past relationship with Edward Wocheck by now, but she wasn’t. In a town as small as Tyler, old love affairs were public property. Especially when one of the lovers was now the richest man in town, and the other was at the center of a forty-year-old murder investigation. Everyone watched every move they made when they were together. It was that lack of privacy, that feeling of living in a glass bowl, that made their public meetings so awkward and their private ones so charged with tension. Nothing more.

And today she didn’t want to see Edward at all.

Her thoughts had carried her down the west wing corridor to the door of Phil and Edward’s suite. The rooms they occupied held no special meaning for Alyssa. Her mother’s room was in the other wing, her old bedroom and her father’s on the floor above it.

She knocked firmly and waited for a response from Phil. The older man had moved to Timberlake from Worthington House, Tyler’s retirement center and nursing home, because he could no longer climb the stairs to his room at Kelsey Boardinghouse.

“Come in,” Phil called. “The door is not locked.”

Alyssa turned the knob and went inside. Phil was rising slowly from a floral upholstered couch in front of windows that looked out over the lake.

“Forgive me. I move too slowly these days to meet you at the door,” he said, coming toward her with only a cane and a limp to remind her that he’d broken his hip not many months before. “I can go pretty good once I’m up off the couch.” He shook his head in obvious frustration. “It is getting to my feet that doesn’t go so well. How are you, Alyssa?”

“I’m well, thank you, Phil,” she said, linking her arm through his as they walked back toward the couch.

“Let me take your coat and purse,” Phil insisted. “There is no one else here to do it now. I sent Edward’s butler away. Imagine, my son with a snooty English butler to do for him.”

“Edward has a butler?” Alyssa laid her coat and purse over the arm of a wing chair, upholstered in the same soft corals and greens as the couch. She knew he was a very different man from the boy she’d known and loved all those years ago, but somehow she couldn’t picture him with a butler, English or otherwise.

“Well,” Phil said, motioning her to take a seat as he lowered himself slowly onto the couch, “the butler is his wife’s. His ex-wife, Nikki Addison. She sent him here to make us comfortable,” he said with a sneer that twisted his lips. “If you ask me, she sent him here to spy on us. What need have three men for another man to take care of them? You mark my words. She will show up herself, soon enough. She will say it is because she misses her son. But I know better.”

Alyssa didn’t want to hear about Edward’s ex-wife, the millionaire daughter of hotel magnate Arthur Addison, a woman light-years removed in wealth and prestige from Tyler, Wisconsin. “Devon is here?” she asked politely, shifting the subject slightly, but enough to steer it away from Nicole Addison Wocheck Donatelli Holmes. She’d heard the string of names from Liza and knew, from Tyler gossip as well, that Devon’s father wasn’t one of his mother’s ex-husbands, but a French skier whom Nikki had never married at all.

Alyssa had never met Edward’s stepson. The boy had never visited Tyler when he was growing up, during the years when Edward had been making his fortune and his visits to his father had been few and far between. She wondered what the young man was like, born to such wealth and power, already Edward’s right-hand man and still only thirty years old. “How does he like Tyler?”

“He likes it well enough,” Phil said, his voice overriding her thoughts. “Devon is a good boy. Edward raised him right, kept his mother and the old one, his grandfather Addison, from spoiling him rotten. Edward is a good father.” His voice was gruff, as though the praise of his son didn’t come easily. The relationship between Edward and Phil had always been strained. Now, after thirty years of only occasional visits, they were living under the same roof. It couldn’t be easy for either of them.

“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” she replied automatically, politely.

“He is in Chicago today on business. But I expect him very soon. Next time you come, you’ll meet him.”

“I—I don’t want to come here any more than I have to, Phil,” Alyssa said softly. “It’s too often in my dreams.”

“I, too, never expected to live under this roof again. Does your father know you’re here?” Alyssa shook her head. “No.”

“You didn’t come to inquire about my health.”

“No.”

“You want to know what happened that night your mother died.” He didn’t look out across the lawns to the tree by the lakeshore where he’d buried Margaret’s body so many years before; he didn’t have to. Alyssa knew he was looking back in time in his thoughts, just as she was.

“Yes.”

“I told my story to the judge and the jury. And that fire-breathing lawyer, Ethan Trask. Even he couldn’t make me say any more.”

“But you know more than what you’ve told.” Alyssa smoothed the lightweight wool material of her slacks across her knee. “You can answer my questions, fill in the gaps in my memory.”

“What do you remember, malushka?” Phil asked using the Polish endearment of her childhood.

“Not enough,” Alyssa said with a quick catch of her breath. “And too much.”

“It might be best to let the past rest in peace, like Margaret now rests in hallowed ground.”

“I can’t let it rest, Phil.” Alyssa fought back tears. “For my father’s sake, if not my own peace of mind.”

“For Judson Ingalls’s sake,” he said softly, under his breath. “The whole town wonders if I acted at his bidding. What does your father think of me for keeping my secrets all these years?”

“I don’t know,” Alyssa said truthfully. “He won’t discuss the trial—or the night my mother died.”

“Do you blame me for what I did, malushka—hiding her body away, telling no one what I knew for all these years?”

“The past can’t be altered,” she said, too confused by her own unsettled emotions to give the old man the answer he wanted.

“That is true,” he said sadly. “What is done is done.”

“At least now I know why she never came back for me. If only I could remember exactly what happened that night.”

“Don’t force your memories.” He crossed his gnarled hands on the head of his cane and leaned forward heavily to stare at the floor, his shoulders bent with age and years of hard work.

Once more the shadowy nightmare images played themselves out in her mind’s eye—her mother struggling with a faceless stranger, her own small hands holding a gun, the sound of a shot and her mother falling to the floor, away, out of her sight.

“Did I kill my mother, Phil?” she asked, unable to bear not knowing a moment longer. All through the long days of her father’s trial the question had haunted her almost to the point of madness.

The old man’s head jerked up, his white hair backlit by the afternoon sun shining through the windows, gleaming like snow on the hillside. “Why do you think that?”

“I…remember.” Alyssa looked down at her trembling hands. She couldn’t stop herself. “I remember firing the gun that killed her.”

Phil shook his head so vehemently a lock of hair fell across his forehead. “No! It was not proved Margaret died of a gunshot wound. I saw her body. I still see it over and over again in my thoughts. I carried her to her grave. The table beside her bed was made of iron. So was her bed. Very heavy, with sharp edges. Did she fall and hit her head? Was she strangled? Or maybe it was her heart? There was arguing, maybe a struggle or a push and she fell.”

“But the bullet Joe Santori found in the woodwork?” Alyssa couldn’t allow herself to feel any comfort from the old man’s words.

Phil shrugged. “That proves only that the gun went off when you picked it up. I did not look at her body any more than I had to. I covered her with a shawl from her bed. I didn’t want to look at her dead face and I couldn’t put her in the ground without some covering from the cold. It would not have been proper. But I did not look at her again. It was enough to know that she was dead.”

“Then why did you bury her secretly? Did you do it to save my father? Or to protect me?” It was almost as important to her sanity to learn the identity of the man in her dreams as it was to know for certain whether she might have shot Margaret herself. Alyssa’s thoughts continued to circle around those two points like vultures above a dead deer.

“I did nothing to protect Judson Ingalls,” Phil repeated stubbornly. “I was not his lackey. I owed him loyalty, yes, as my employer, but nothing more. The lawyer, Ethan Trask, was wrong. I did what I did…”

“To protect me,” Alyssa whispered.

“But not for why you think. Not because of the gunshot. I did it because I could not let your father be sent to prison for murder, leaving you alone, malushka.”

“You still think the man you saw could have been my father?” Alyssa looked inward, remembering all the years Judson had raised and protected her on his own. He had a formidable temper, it was true—most of the Ingalls men did—but she could never recall his raising his hand to a living soul.

“Who else?”

“A lover? One of my mother’s lovers? She was running away that night, wasn’t she? Leaving my father… and me.”

Phil shrugged again, looking fierce. “I was only the gardener. I knew nothing of your mother’s love affairs. It is true she was going away. But you don’t know that she meant to leave you behind.” His tone held doubt, however. Phil did believe Margaret had meant to abandon her daughter that terrible night.

“No one knows the truth,” Alyssa said sadly. “In my dreams, in my memory, there is still only a faceless man who might be my father…and me.”

“I do not think you shot your mother,” he repeated obstinately. Silence settled between them.

“And I don’t believe my father killed her,” Alyssa said very quietly.

“Because I hid her body all those years ago, we will never know.”

“I guess we’ve come to a dead end. Thank you for telling me what you know about that night.”

“It is over and done with, Alyssa. You yourself said it. Let the past be the past.”

She rose from her chair, preventing Phil from doing the same with a gentle hand on his shoulder. She couldn’t believe her father had killed Margaret, run away and left her behind to deal with the horror alone. There had to be another man. A stranger who knew exactly what had happened that night. A man whose guilt would prove Judson’s innocence—as well as her own. “I can’t let it rest. For my father’s sake, and for my own. Goodbye, Phil.” She picked up her coat and purse and started for the door.

“Alyssa. Malushka, come back. We will find this other man together.”

She barely heard the old man’s words; their meaning didn’t register at all. She walked out of the building in a daze, only to come face-to-face with Edward Wocheck, the very real, flesh-and-blood man who also haunted her dreams.

* * *

“ALYSSA. I didn’t expect to find you here.” Edward Wocheck felt like kicking himself for the banality of his greeting. Alyssa looked as if she’d seen a ghost. The urge to take her in his arms and kiss away her fears and sorrows struck him like a blow between the shoulders. She’d always had the power to move him that way. It hadn’t been any different when he returned to Tyler a year ago than it had been thirty years before. He was just better at convincing himself he could live without her now, at nearly fifty years of age, than he had been at seventeen.

“Hello, Edward.” Others of their old friends and acquaintances still called him Eddie, but not Alyssa—another way she chose to keep her distance from him, perhaps. “I—I came to visit your father.” She looked nearly as flustered as he was, and sad.

“Why, Lyssa?”

“Just to see him,” she explained hurriedly, too hurriedly. “I miss visiting him at Worthington House.”

“You’re not telling the truth.” He wondered if she knew how easy it was for him to read the emotions flitting across her expressive features. She had been a very pretty girl. She was still a beautiful woman, her blond hair shining and nearly free of gray, her body soft and rounded in all the right places. Her figure was still slim and appealing, even though she was now a grandmother. “Are you angry with him for what he did that night forty years ago?”

“No,” Alyssa said, suddenly able to put her thoughts into words. “Maybe he saved my father’s life. Surely, then, so soon after it happened, a jury would have convicted him. He would have spent the rest of his life in prison…or—”

“My father did what he thought was best.”

“I know that.”

“I’m not saying he was right.”

“I don’t blame him. I don’t think my father does, either. Phil has suffered, too. Keeping such a terrible secret all these years.”

“We all have secrets.”

“Yes,” she said, almost to herself. “We all have secrets.”

“Tell me yours.”

“Edward, please. I have to go. We’ll talk about this later.” She seemed to realize she wasn’t wearing her coat and began to struggle into it.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he decided abruptly, holding the fawn-colored trench coat so that she could slip her arms into the sleeves. His father would tell him what their conversation had been about. But he could guess already. Judson Ingalls’s acquittal on murder charges had done nothing to lessen Alyssa’s fears of her own involvement in Margaret’s death. He wished she would confide in him, but she had not.

“Thank you,” she said politely, distantly. She seemed poised to run, like one of the deer that came out of the woods at dusk to drink at the edge of the lake, wary of humans, but drawn to the life-giving water.

He ignored her dismissal. They started walking. “Have you been busy at the plant since the trial ended?” He rested his hand lightly beneath her elbow and she didn’t protest the small intimacy.

“Swamped,” she said, managing a smile. He realized the subject of her family’s financially strapped business was nearly as distressing as his curiosity about her visit to his father. “It seems like everything was put on hold during the trial. And now Dad—” Abruptly she stopped talking, pretending instead that she had to watch her footing on the straight, well-paved path to the parking lot.

“Any new contacts on the horizon?” He shouldn’t have asked that question, and wished he hadn’t the moment it was out of his mouth.

“One or two. But small ones. Replacement parts for a couple of the big farm-machinery companies that we subcontract with. They’ll only keep us running till the first of the year. And then I’m afraid we’re looking at substantial layoffs.”

“And then?” he prompted, ignoring another jab of his conscience. Business was business. He shouldn’t feel as if he was betraying her.

“I’ll have to deal with the Japanese consortium that wants to buy the plant. Unless,” she said, looking up at him with a smile that was half teasing, half in earnest, “you could lend me a million dollars to get us through the winter.”

“I can’t do that, Lyssa.” Not because he couldn’t put his hands on that much money. He could float a loan that size from his own personal investments, without bringing Addison Corporation, or DEVCHECK, his own investment company, into the deal.

“Too small-potatoes for Addison Hotels, I suppose,” she said, a blush of red stealing over her cheeks.

“That’s not it.” He regretted yet again bringing up the matter. The words conflict of interest echoed through his brain. He wasn’t ready, or able, to discuss alternatives for management of Ingalls Farm and Machinery with Alyssa now or any time in the immediate future. He was also convinced she wasn’t going to thank him for it when he did.

“You must think I’m a fool,” she said, moving a little faster, just quickly enough to dislodge his hold on her elbow. “A small-town housewife, trying to run a million-dollar business that’s in trouble up to its neck, asking you for a huge loan she hasn’t even got the collateral to secure.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is, Edward. You’ve hidden your contempt for Tyler and the rest of us well these past months, but it’s still there, isn’t it?”

“I don’t have contempt or hatred for anyone in Tyler, Lyssa.”

“Not even my father?” she asked, her blue eyes looking past him, back into time.

“Especially not your father.”

“No,” she said, focusing on his face once again, searching for something in his carefully neutral expression. “I apologize for saying that. If you still hated my father, you wouldn’t have taken Timberlake off his hands. You paid cash. And far more than it’s worth.”

“You’re wrong. This place is a gold mine. It just needs the right management to take off.”

“It needs you,” Alyssa said softly. “You have changed a great deal. You don’t resent coming back here.” There was just enough doubt in her voice to prompt his answer.

“If I still hated everyone who ever put down Eddie Wocheck, the Polack from the wrong side of the tracks, I wouldn’t have done what I did with this place. Tyler is my hometown, just like it is yours.”

“I apologize again,” she said with a self-mocking smile. “You’re lucky you lost your Midwest naiveté years ago. It’s a lot harder to do when you spend your whole life in the same small town, you know. You can put your money to much better use than pumping it into a failing concern like Ingalls F and M.”

“Alyssa, stop putting yourself down. There are thousands of small companies all over the country in the same kind of financial bind. I can’t save them all.”

“Somehow that’s not very comforting to me, or the people who work for me. Goodbye, Edward. I won’t embarrass you or myself by asking for help again.” She got into the car. She hadn’t locked it, he noticed. No one in Tyler locked their cars.

He watched her drive away, wishing he could still trust his fellow man enough to leave his own car unlocked. Wishing he was still the boy Alyssa had loved and trusted with all her heart; knowing he was not and never could be again. And knowing, also, that sooner or later she would find that out.

CHAPTER TWO

ALYSSA STOPPED the car at the top of the hill above the boathouse where her daughter and son-in-law, Liza and Cliff Forrester, made their home. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney of the rustic building, built to complement the lodge, nearly hidden from sight by the trees. When Judson had decided not to sell the boathouse along with the rest of Timberlake Lodge, Alyssa hadn’t been sure she approved. But now she was glad the property had stayed in the family, even though the private drive lay inside the lodge gates and one of the hiking paths ran past where she was parked, increasing, however slightly, her chances of running into Edward Wocheck every time she visited her daughter and her grandchild.

She rested her head on the steering wheel for a moment, trying to restore her composure so that Liza wouldn’t ask too many awkward questions about her state of mind. Her relationship with her volatile offspring had improved a great deal since Liza’s marriage to Cliff, but it still wasn’t the easy mother-daughter camaraderie she shared with Amanda, or with her son Jeff’s new wife, Cece.

Cliff’s pickup was gone, but Liza’s white classic Thunderbird convertible was parked at the top of the path leading down to the lake. Alyssa sat quietly a moment or two longer. Her confrontation with Edward, coming so close on the heels of her unsettling conversation with his father, had upset her more than she wanted to admit.

If she hadn’t been desperate to put the unanswered questions about Margaret’s death out of her mind she would never have been so tactless as to ask Edward for a loan for Ingalls F and M. And to add to everything else, the man still had the power, in his mere physical presence, to totally unnerve her. What must he think of her? That her business skills were woefully inadequate? Most likely that her common sense was lacking as well.

It was hard to concentrate on business concerns, no matter how important, when your thoughts were tangled in nightmare images of the past. What was in store for her family, for herself, if she remembered completely what had happened that night? What if she recalled the shadowy figure leaving her mother’s room to be her father, after all? What should she do? And worst of all, what if she remembered beyond all doubt that she herself was responsible for her mother’s death?

Alyssa got out of the car and hurried down the path, anxious to hold her new granddaughter in her arms. Margaret Alyssa’s warmth and sweet baby softness were just what she needed to dissolve the terror and uncertainty in her heart. Unconsciously she began to smile, picturing little Maggie’s already vivid blue eyes, and imagined herself coaxing a still-uncertain smile from the wee one.

“Excuse me.” A man was standing at the top of the ridge, at the intersection where the hiking path joined Liza and Cliff’s approach to the boathouse. He was older, balding, carrying a fishing pole and tackle box, and was dressed in Land’s End outdoor wear. He was also about fifty pounds overweight and breathing heavily from the climb. “Can you tell me the shortest route to Timberlake Lodge? I seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to go back the way you came,” Alyssa said, unfailingly polite. “Or you can walk along the driveway. It’s longer, but you won’t have to climb the hill from the lake again.”

“Yes,” he said, looking over her shoulder at the steep climb. “I think I’ll take the road. Are you a guest at Timberlake, too? Or are you native to these parts?” He smiled, showing teeth too straight and white to be real.

“I live in Tyler,” Alyssa said, shoving her hands deep into her pockets. The low November sun had gone behind the trees, and the damp, late-afternoon chill quickly penetrated her unlined coat.

The man nodded and smiled again. “I thought so. I’ve been at Timberlake the past five days. Figured I would have seen you somewhere around the building in that amount of time. My name’s Robert Grover. I spend most of my time in Florida these days but I still call Chicago home. Thought I’d come up here and try my hand at bagging a few pheasants and some pan fish before the lake ices over.” He transferred the fishing pole to his left hand, holding out the right one for Alyssa to shake. “And your name is?” he asked, waiting expectantly.

“Alyssa Baron.”

“Baron? That name rings a bell.”

“My husband’s family has lived in Tyler for many years,” Alyssa said, unable to be rude enough to walk away from the man but reluctant to continue talking to him.

“No, that’s not it.” He was still smiling. “It’s something else. It’ll come to me in a moment.” He snapped the fingers of his free hand. “Now I’ve got it. It’s the trial. I read your name in the Tyler Citizen. You’re…” He stopped abruptly and a red flush, almost the same color as the down vest he was wearing, crept up over the collar of his khaki shirt. “You’re Judson Ingalls’s daughter. Sorry,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I have a bad habit of doing that. Running off at the mouth.”

“Don’t apologize,” Alyssa said, taking a step past him.

He shifted position slightly, unintentionally blocking her way. “I read about the trial in the Chicago papers, too.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Maybe that’s partly what made me come up here when my doctor told me to take it easy for a few days.”

“Maybe it was. If you’ll excuse me.” Alyssa smiled a polite dismissal.

“Or maybe it’s because I wanted to see what Timberlake looked like all spruced up. I remember being here in its heyday.”

“You knew my parents?” Alyssa asked, intrigued despite her reluctance to keep talking to the man.

“Never met your father,” Robert Grover admitted. “I knew your mother, Margaret, though. Lovely woman.”

“You were her friend?”

He shook his head. “Just an acquaintance. We had mutual friends. I came here once or twice for parties. Your mother certainly knew how to entertain.”

“Yes, so I’ve been told.”

“I suppose you have,” he said more to himself, it seemed, than to Alyssa. “Margaret Ingalls was a very beautiful woman. She had charm and sex appeal, what they call charisma today. I was twenty-three years old. Looking back, I realize she couldn’t have been more than five years older, but to me she seemed a real woman of the world. She could certainly turn a man’s head.”

“I remember very little of her,” Alyssa heard herself say. Perhaps this garrulous, harmless old man was someone she could talk to. He had known her mother, but he was a complete stranger, an outsider without an ax to grind. Could she use him as a conduit to the past? He wasn’t involved. Surely he couldn’t share Tyler’s prejudice against her mother.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, frowning. “She was a remarkable woman.”

“I—I’d like to know—”

“Mother? Is that you?” Liza called from somewhere down the path.

Alyssa left her thought, and her request for more information about Margaret, unspoken. “Yes, Liza. I was just coming down for a short visit.”

“I can’t believe you’re AWOL from the plant in the middle of the day.” Liza was laughing and a little breathless as she came into view. “You’re turning into a real company man.”

“It’s been nice meeting you.” Alyssa smiled at Robert Grover before turning away to greet Liza, though he made no move to leave. “Hello, Liza,” she said. “Hello, Margaret Alyssa.” Her granddaughter was riding in a denim carrier, snuggled warmly against her mother’s chest, a soft, woolly blanket covering all but her face.

“Hi, Mom. We’re just on our way in to Tyler to do some shopping at Gates.” Liza abruptly stopped speaking when she saw the man standing at Alyssa’s side. “Hello,” she said, studying him with a bright, assessing gaze.

“Liza, this is Robert Grover. He’s a guest at Timberlake and got confused about which path to take back. Mr. Grover, this is my daughter, Liza Forrester, and my granddaughter, Margaret Alyssa.”

“How do you do, young lady?” Robert Grover said to Liza with another big smile that revealed his expensive bridgework. “That’s a fine baby you’ve got there.” He nodded approvingly at Margaret Alyssa, but made no attempt to touch her.

“We think so,” Liza said, giving the top of her daughter’s head a quick kiss.

“I won’t keep you if you have errands to run in town.” Alyssa hoped her disappointment didn’t show. She’d seen so little of her granddaughter during the weeks of Judson’s trial, and missed her terribly. Little ones changed so quickly. She was afraid she might miss something new and remarkable in Margaret Alyssa’s development if she stayed away too long.

“It’s nothing important. I’d much rather go back to the boathouse and have a cup of tea with you,” Liza said, apparently reading her thoughts.

“That would be nice.” One of Margaret Alyssa’s little hands wiggled out from under her blanket. Alyssa reached out a finger and let the pink baby fingers curl around it.

“Well, I’d best be moving on or it’ll get dark on me before I get back to the lodge,” Robert Grover announced. “It’s been nice meeting you, Liza.”

“You, too,” Liza replied in her usual breezy style.

“Thanks for the directions, Mrs. Baron,” he said with a courtly nod. “I’d like to buy you a drink or a cup of tea someday if you have time, to show my appreciation.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Alyssa began automatically.

“We could talk about old times,” he said.

“I—I’d like that.”

“Good.” He didn’t elaborate on the invitation, however. Alyssa felt a quick stab of disappointment. “Until we meet again.” He shifted the fishing pole back to his other hand and started up the path.

“What a funny old man,” Liza said in her clear, carrying voice.

“Shh.” Alyssa glanced over her shoulder. “He’ll hear you.”

“He looks a little like Santa Claus.” Liza sucked her lower lip between her teeth. “No, not Santa,” she amended. “More like Alfred Hitchcock with a little more hair.”

“He knew my mother,” Alyssa said as they started toward the boathouse, just visible through the trees.

“He did?” Liza kept walking. “That’s interesting. I wonder why Amanda or that damned Ethan Trask never tracked him down. And I wonder if he might know anything that would help Granddad get out of the blue funk he’s been in since the trial ended.”

Alyssa felt another twinge of conscience at the mention of her father. He had no idea she’d come to Timberlake to speak to Phil Wocheck about Margaret today. He’d be even more upset with her if he knew that she’d practically begged Edward for a loan to save the plant. She felt embarrassed color rise to her face and hoped Liza wouldn’t notice. Or if she did, that she’d attribute her pink cheeks to the cold.

“But I suppose if he was Margaret’s friend, he wouldn’t have been one of Granddad’s as well,” Liza continued.

“That’s right,” Alyssa said. “He mentioned he’d never met Dad. He also said he didn’t really know your grandmother very well.”

“But he did spend some time at Timberlake in those days, I take it,” Liza said thoughtfully as they arrived at the staircase leading to the second-floor apartment, where she and Cliff had been living since Timberlake Lodge was sold.

“Yes, but very briefly.”

“Then it might be worth it to take him up on his offer for a drink. He might know something useful. We can’t afford to let an opportunity like that get away.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Alyssa agreed.

“We have to do everything we can to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Granddad didn’t kill her. Having a drink with that old coot doesn’t seem like such a chore. If you don’t want to see him again, I’ll do it.”

“No,” Alyssa said, starting up the steps behind her daughter. “I’ll do it. I’ll talk to Robert Grover again.”

* * *

ABOVE THEM ON THE PATH, Robert Grover watched through a break in the trees as the two women entered the boathouse. So that woman was Margaret Ingalls’s daughter. Luck had been on his side meeting her this way, so natural and innocent. Many years had passed, and she was a grown woman now. A grandmother. There hadn’t been even a flicker of recognition in her blue eyes. But then he hadn’t expected there to be.

He’d followed the investigation and trial of Judson Ingalls as closely as he could in the regional sections of the newspapers. He had wanted to be there when Margaret’s husband was convicted. That was why he’d come to Tyler before the verdict was even in. But it hadn’t worked out that way.

Judson Ingalls had been acquitted, set free. And now people all over this backwater burg were asking the same questions his daughter was. If Judson Ingalls hadn’t killed his wife…then who had?

* * *

“HOW WAS THE TRAFFIC coming up from Chicago?” Edward asked his stepson, Devon Addison, as he handed him a Scotch and soda from the bar in the corner of the main room of their suite. The English butler his ex-wife had saddled him with should have been pouring drinks, but Edward had given him the night off. The man made Phil nervous. Edward was going to have to send him back to England, whether Nikki liked it or not.

“It was a bitch out around the airport, but once I got north of the city, it was pretty easy going.” Devon propped one hip on the back of the sofa and took a long, appreciative swallow of his drink. “Good stuff,” he said with a satisfied grin.

Edward was proud of his stepson. He’d been eight when Edward married his mother, and well on his way to becoming an incorrigible spoiled brat. But after a few monumental battles of will, they’d come to form an enduring friendship, one that had far outlasted Edward’s love for Nikki Addison. He was proud of the way Devon had grown. After college he’d worked his way up from the bottom in the Addison Hotel conglomerate, and now at the age of thirty he was Edward’s right-hand man.

“How are things going here?” Devon asked in turn.

“Good. We had three more reservations phoned in today. If the weather holds till the weekend, we’ll have a full house again.”

Devon chuckled and held up his drink in a mock toast. “You sound just as excited about a full house here, with less than fifty rooms, as you do when it’s the Addison Park Avenue, or the Ritz in San Francisco.”

Edward mimicked the salute. He gave his tall, handsome stepson a sharp glance, then returned his smile. “I do tend to get carried away by this place.”

“It’s a great old building,” Devon admitted. “The kind where the word innkeeper still means what it should. But you know it’s never going to be a money-maker.”

“I disagree. I think it’s got real potential,” Edward said, downing his own Scotch neat. “It’s a concept I’ve been interested in implementing for a long time. But you’re right. The operative word here is innkeeper. Small, European-style facilities within convenient driving distance of major cities. We’ll cater to gentlemen hunters and fishermen, baby boomers escaping for long weekends, families wanting to spend some quality time at reasonable prices. Upscale weddings, conferences—c’mon, Devon. You know the drill as well as I do.”

“I’m studying at the feet of the master,” Devon said with another smile. “No one can sell an idea like you do.”

“I learned everything I know from your grandfather Addison,” Edward said, paying homage in his turn.

“You’ve surpassed your teacher.”

“Flattery will get you another drink.”

“Great.” Devon held out his glass. “Is Phil joining us for dinner?”

“I don’t know. Hasn’t he come out of his bedroom yet?”

“He must know Wellman has the night off. He can’t be using Mom’s ‘snooty English butler’ as an excuse to stay in his room tonight.”

Edward crossed the room to knock lightly on the old man’s door. “Dad? Are you okay? Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. Aren’t you feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” Phil’s voice was muffled by the heavy wooden door. “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sick?”

“No.” This time Phil’s voice was stronger. “Let me be.”

Devon was standing at the bar, refilling his glass. He gave his stepfather a quizzical look. Edward shrugged, then asked, “Did he tell you what’s bothering him?”

“He hasn’t been out of his room since I got back from Chicago. Wellman said he was expecting a visit from a lady this afternoon and sent him packing. That’s all I know.”

“Alyssa,” Edward said, more to himself than to Devon. “Dad, let me in.”

“The door isn’t locked.”

Phil’s room was in darkness. Only the light from the sitting room pooling inside the doorway allowed Edward to pick out his father’s seated form.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“It suits my mood.”

“What’s wrong, Pop?” He didn’t often revert to the childhood form of address, but tonight it seemed appropriate. His father had aged a great deal in the past year. First there had been his broken hip. Then the enforced stay at Worthington House, the pressures of the investigation, his grand jury testimony and the murder trial, the memories of the role he’d played in covering up Margaret’s death. And lastly there’d been another move, this time to the lodge instead of back to his room at the Kelseys, where he’d made his home for many years. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Phil answered sharply. “It’s only my heart that aches.”

“You spoke to Alyssa today, didn’t you,” Edward said, as Devon came quietly into the room, carrying a weak whiskey and water, Phil’s usual.

“She is worried about her father.” Phil accepted the drink from Devon’s hand and took a long swallow. He nodded his appreciation as the younger man turned to leave the room. “Don’t go, Devon,” he said. “You are family. You might as well hear this, too.”

As Devon leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, Edward sat on the edge of the bed. His father’s face was in shadow, and the only clue Edward had to the state of his emotions was the tone of his voice.

“Judson was acquitted of Margaret’s murder,” Edward prompted gently.

“For a man with the pride of Judson Ingalls, that is as bad, worse maybe, then being found guilty.”

Edward nodded his understanding. “I thought Judson looked like hell at the trial.”

“He has let the whole thing affect his mind. I wish to God that I had taken the secret of Margaret’s death to the grave with me.”

“What’s done is done.” Sometimes Edward wondered if his father realized just how close he had come to being implicated in Margaret’s death himself. The old man shifted position and Edward caught a glimpse of the tight set of his jaw. Phil did know. And never had given in to Ethan Trask’s pressure, just as he’d said he would not. Even now, Edward suspected his father hadn’t yet told the whole truth. He took another swallow of his drink.

“Alyssa is starting to remember.”

Edward felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. “Remember what?”

“All these years I’ve been silent for her sake. If Judson was the man I saw leaving Margaret’s room—if they had put him in prison—then Alyssa would have been left alone. So I said nothing.”

“We understand why you did that, Pop.”

“And if I had told the truth, what good would it have done? Should I have said I didn’t recognize the man I saw running from the room, but it didn’t matter? Because what I did see was Alyssa holding the gun…the gun that surely killed her mother?”

Across the room Devon sucked in his breath, but he didn’t say a word.

“I did not tell them then. I will not tell now. But Alyssa is determined to find an answer to her nightmares.” Phil fell silent.

“You saw Margaret’s body,” Devon said in a quiet but ordinary voice. “Do you think she died of a gunshot wound? It seems to me from what Dad said that Amanda Baron did a pretty good job at the trial of disproving Ethan Trask’s theory on that point.”

“I don’t know.” Phil’s voice wavered and faded away as his thoughts turned inward, to the past. “I…I thought so then. Now? Perhaps she died another way. It was a long time ago. I’ve tried very hard to forget everything that happened that night. The only person who knows is the man who was with her—Judson Ingalls or someone else.”

“The police, the D.A.’s office, Ethan Trask’s men, Amanda Baron’s private investigator—they’ve all been trying for months to find out the truth about Margaret’s death,” Edward felt compelled to point out. “No one has come up with one scrap of evidence on who that man might be.”

“We have to try harder. For Alyssa’s sake.” Phil clasped his empty glass tightly between gnarled hands. “Help me. I’m too old to do this alone. Help me because you love her, as I do.”

Edward didn’t say anything. He had no answer to his father’s request. He was determined not to argue with the old man and distress him even further, so he made no reply to his assertion that he himself still loved Alyssa Baron. Phil wouldn’t believe him anyway if he denied the claim.

“I think we need to try and find the man you saw leaving Margaret’s room,” Devon said unexpectedly. “That is, if he’s still alive after all these years.”

“He should be alive,” Phil said with conviction. “Margaret liked her lovers young and strong-winded.”

“What makes you think you can find him when no one else can?” Edward asked, turning in Devon’s direction as he sensed the excitement underlying his stepson’s nonchalant pose.

“I didn’t say I could,” Devon pointed out, with a grin that reminded Edward of his grandfather Addison. “But I’d like to try. Since the plans we’ve discussed for Ingalls F and M are already in motion, and since I’m going to be hanging around here for the next few weeks while they take shape, I’d like to take a shot at it.”

Edward glanced sharply at his father to gauge his reaction to Devon’s last remark. Phil merely nodded his agreement, still lost in his own thoughts. The mention of Edward’s plans for Judson’s foundering company seemed to have gone over his head. Good. Edward didn’t want anyone, even Phil, to know what he had in store for the Ingalls’s plant.

“How do you intend to start?”

“My best bet is probably the old guest registers,” Devon said thoughtfully. “Mother never had a party that she didn’t have her guests sign a book, remember? And I’ll bet Margaret Ingalls was the same. Nothing like that turned up at the trial, right? So maybe they’re still here.”

“Most of Margaret’s friends were from Chicago. Ethan Trask tracked down a couple of them, but it wasn’t easy. Amanda Baron’s man didn’t have much better luck. It sounds to me like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Yeah,” Devon said with another grin, “it does.”

“Do your best,” Phil said, leaning heavily on his cane as he rose from his chair. “We have to find the man I saw, for Alyssa’s sake.”

“I’ll start looking first thing in the morning. Where do you suppose the old records are?” Devon asked Edward as they reentered the sitting room.

“Some of them are in files in the manager’s office. But between Trask’s men and Amanda Baron, they got a pretty thorough going-over. My bet is anything useful we find will be in the attic. I’ll show you the way up there in the morning.” He crossed the room at the sound of a knock on the door. “And speaking of dinner, here it is.”

“Great,” Devon said. “I’m starved.”

“Where is that nosy butler?” Phil asked with a scowl. “Why doesn’t he come tiptoeing in here to answer the door?”

“I gave him the night off,” Edward replied, stepping aside to let the young waiter wheel the cart of food into the room.

“Good.” The old man glanced around as the waiter set a plate of roast beef and vegetables in front of him. “We will eat in peace tonight, without that dead fish staring over our shoulders.”

“Enjoy your meal,” Edward said with a grin, adding a splash of soda to his Scotch.

“I will,” Phil assured him as the waiter left them alone. “My appetite is back. Eat up,” he insisted, waving his fork at Devon, who was inspecting his vegetables, removing the steamed carrots with the same diligence he’d employed as a boy twenty years before. “And then early to bed. You will have a long, busy day ahead of you.”

“Yes, sir,” Devon said, reaching for the salt. “I’ll behave like I’m on a holy crusade.”

“Enough,” Phil said sternly, but he laughed at Devon’s irreverence.

“Dad.” Edward felt compelled to temper his father’s enthusiasm. “Don’t get your hopes up. Devon is looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“He will find the man for us. For Alyssa.” Phil lowered his head and began to eat. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing more to say.

For Alyssa.

Edward watched his father and stepson for a long moment before joining them at the table. He didn’t think Alyssa would thank him for what they were about to do. She’d been holding him at arm’s length ever since he’d returned to Tyler. Their past was no more dead and buried than was the mystery of Margaret’s death.

He didn’t love her anymore—he’d told himself that over and over again. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He couldn’t reason with her. He couldn’t even argue with her—she never let him close enough for that. Now he’d put in motion forces that were almost certain to push them even farther apart.

Not only was he attempting to unravel the secrets of that long-ago night without consulting Alyssa, he was keeping her in the dark about something else.

Another buyer was interested in Ingalls F and M. And within forty-eight hours, Alyssa would learn that the bidder was DEVCHECK, the investment company he owned in partnership with his stepson. Alyssa also didn’t yet know that Edward fully intended to come out of the negotiations in control of her father’s failing business.

CHAPTER THREE

“EVEN WITH the new contracts for replacement parts you just signed, we’re going to have to stop production before the new year,” Johnny Kelsey said, as he sat before the desk in Judson’s office. “I recommend shutting down the week before Christmas and New Year’s. Then we can call everyone back and keep going until possibly the middle of January. Maybe something will turn up by then.”

Alyssa watched her friend and former classmate closely. He’d been foreman at Ingalls F and M for years. He knew almost as much about the business as her father did. More than once Judson had wanted to promote him to a management position, but Johnny had always refused. He belonged on the plant floor, he’d say. And that was where he meant to stay.

“I agree,” Alyssa said, trying to hide the depression that was bearing down on her heart and mind. “If it isn’t a recession here, it’s trouble with European trade restrictions, or record harvests in South America pushing down the price of grain. The Russians…you name it. It makes American farmers wary of going any further into debt to buy new machinery.”

“Sales are soft,” Johnny agreed, leaning back in his chair. “That’s a fact of life. You’re going to have to lay off some people—that’s also a fact of life.”

“I’m not good at this, Johnny,” Alyssa said with a self-mocking smile. “I’m a whiz at planning Fourth of July parades and chairing fund-raising committees, but not running a business.”

“You’re doing a fine job.” Johnny returned to his earlier position, elbows resting on his legs, his big, work-scarred hands clasped between his knees. “But I think it’s best if the workers hear the news from the old man himself.”

Alyssa gave a rough little laugh. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“The folks down on the floor are worried by all the rumors of the Japanese trying to take over the place.”

“They’re not rumor, Johnny. You know that as well as I do. The Nitaka Corporation has made a formal offer for the plant.”

Johnny snorted in disgust. “Offer, my…butt. Sell to us or we’ll take you over by force. That’s not an offer, it’s a threat.”

“It’s business,” Alyssa reminded him wearily. “It’s the way things are done these days. The Japanese have the money and they want a bigger share of the agricultural industry.”

“If we just had six more months. Or a year,” Johnny said, shaking his head in agitation. “We could do it. We could hold on, get a chance to bid on some bigger contracts. Recapitalize.”

“That’s impossible and you know it,” Alyssa said sharply, remembering her embarrassment at having asked Edward Wocheck for a loan to do just that.

“A guy can dream, can’t he?” Johnny asked, smiling to lighten the mood.

“Yes, we can still dream.”

“It would help if your dad showed up here once in a while,” Johnny suggested. “Bad news like the layoff won’t be so hard to take if everyone sees Judson back to his old form.”

“I’d like nothing better myself.” Alyssa crossed the room and looked out the window, over the harvested fields to the dark line of trees in the distance that bordered the south end of the lake. She crossed her arms under her breasts and turned back to face her friend. It was time Johnny knew how badly the stress and uncertainty of the trial had undermined Judson’s well-being.

“He won’t come here, Johnny. He won’t even come out of his room unless Jeff or I insist.” Alyssa was very glad that her son, Jeff, and his new wife, Cece, had remained in the huge Victorian house with her, Judson and Amanda until they could find a place of their own. It helped to have these young, happy people living in the too-quiet house. “I’m worried about his health. And his…state of mind.”

“I know, Lyssa,” Johnny said, reverting to her childhood nickname. “I’m worried about him, too.” A tiny part of Alyssa’s brain that refused to ignore such things registered the fact that Johnny calling her Lyssa had none of the effect on her nervous system that Edward Wocheck’s use of the diminutive produced. “He won’t even see Tisha. She’s been crying on Anna’s shoulder almost every night since the trial ended.”

“I—I haven’t told him there’s been a second offer for the plant,” Alyssa confessed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as though to ward off a sudden chill. “Have you had any luck finding out about this DEVCHECK Corporation?” She hadn’t told her father about being approached by the investment company. She felt guilty about it, but she wanted to hear what the representative of the firm had to say first…before she turned him down.

“No time,” Johnny said, glancing at his watch. “But we’re going to know soon enough. What time did you say the guy was supposed to be here?”

“At eleven. He’s late,” Alyssa said, frowning at the clock above the door.

“That clock’s five minutes fast,” Johnny reminded her. “So your dad could get where he was going on time. He hates to be late.”

Alyssa smiled. Johnny was right. Her smile faded away. These days all Judson could be persuaded to do was to shower and dress and make it downstairs for dinner.

The speaker on her desk beeped and the voice of Judson’s secretary of twenty-seven years, Adelia Fenton, came over the intercom. “A Mr. Devon Addison of DEVCHECK is here to see you, Mrs. Baron.”

“Devon Addison!” Alyssa’s blue eyes locked with Johnny’s.

“Devon Addison?” he repeated, as though he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Eddie Wocheck’s stepson?”

“So that’s what it stands for!”

“Devon and Wocheck,” Johnny said, punching his fist into the open palm of his other hand. “DEVCHECK.”

“I should have figured it out the moment I heard it,” Alyssa said, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth. She realized she was holding her breath and let it out in a whoosh. She moved back behind the desk and pushed the intercom button. “Show him in, Adelia,” she said, sounding as much as possible like the business executive she was not.

The door to the outer office opened and Devon Addison walked in. He was a tall young man, blond haired and gray eyed, devilishly handsome and with a smile that could melt harder hearts than Alyssa’s. Unless the women possessing those hearts were as angry as she was now.

“Good morning, Mr. Addison.” She held out her hand.

“Good morning, Mrs. Baron.” His handshake was firm and friendly.

“I’d like you to meet our foreman, Johnny Kelsey.”

“Nice to meet you,” Johnny said, but he didn’t sound as though he meant it.

“Likewise, Mr. Kelsey.” Devon’s easy smile remained in place. The two men shook hands briefly.

“Won’t you have a seat, Mr. Addison,” Alyssa said politely, but she didn’t return his smile.

“Thank you.” Devon sat down in the chair next to Johnny. Alyssa sat also, although she would have preferred to remain standing. The small advantage in height would have helped.

She came straight to the point. “Whom, exactly, are you representing this morning, Mr. Addison?”

“I wish you’d call me Devon,” he said with another easy smile.

Alyssa didn’t smile back.

“I’m here on behalf of my family and myself,” he began. “DEVCHECK is a privately held investment company. The major stockholders are my grandfather, my mother, myself and my stepfather.”

“Edward,” Alyssa said before she could stop herself.

“Yes.”

Alyssa was grateful to feel another energizing surge of anger course through her veins. So Edward was trying to take advantage of her father’s withdrawal from the world as everyone else was. What a fool she’d been to ask him for a loan the other day. What a fool she’d been to answer his questions about Ingalls F and M’s prospects for the winter. He hadn’t asked because he was concerned for the welfare of her company, or herself, he’d asked because he wanted more information about the difficulties they were in. And she’d given it to him, offered more, even, than he’d asked for. What a fool she was. What a blind, naive fool.

“I might as well tell you up front, Mr. Addison,” she said, leaning forward, both hands braced against the edge of the desk. “Ingalls F and M is not for sale. At any price.”

Devon’s smile disappeared. His gray eyes hardened and his jaw tightened. “I think you should hear me out first, Mrs. Baron.”

“It would be a waste of time.” Alyssa kept her gaze firmly on Devon’s face, but out of the corner of her eye she could see Johnny shift restlessly in his chair. He obviously wanted to hear what Devon’s proposal was.

“It would be…foolhardy not to listen to what I have to say.”

Alyssa bit her tongue to keep from saying what she wanted to. “Of course, you’re right, Mr. Addison,” she said, deliberately making herself relax back into her father’s big leather chair. “Please, go on.”

“I’m here to make you an offer for controlling interest in Ingalls F and M on very favorable terms. They’ve all been spelled out in detail in our original offer.”

“Our lawyers are still looking over the papers.” Alyssa was regaining her composure. After all, he was only one man, young enough to be her son. She’d sat in this office not once, but twice, with three very determined Japanese businessmen, and managed to keep them at bay. She could do the same with Devon Addison.

Devon wasn’t taken in by her diversionary tactic. “I’m sure you’ve already taken a look at them. I’m certain you also realize DEVCHECK’s plans for Ingalls are far more favorable, more in line with your own wishes for the future, than what Nitaka is offering.”

“That remains to be decided.” She should have known they would have seen a copy of the Nitaka offer. She wondered briefly where they’d gotten it. “At this moment, however, I can tell you that Ingalls F and M are not for sale.”

“Let’s not beat around the bush,” Devon said, still affably but with a hint of steel underlying his words. “If you don’t decide to deal with DEVCHECK—” he tapped the copy of the agreement he’d brought with him with the tip of his finger “—you’re going to end up dealing with the Japanese on a far less even playing field. The changes DEVCHECK plans to make will benefit the company and all of Tyler in the long run. The changes Nitaka plans to make…” He left the sentence unfinished. He didn’t have to say more. They both knew what he was talking about.

“Will you guarantee to keep all our people, at full wages and benefits?”

“I can’t guarantee there won’t be changes,” Devon said carefully. “Making the F and M profitable won’t be easy.”

“That’s what I thought. You’re wrong, Mr. Addison. Your offer isn’t so very different from Nitaka’s. They ended our discussion the same way. I’ll take everything you’ve said into consideration.” Alyssa stood up. She held out her hand, but couldn’t manage a smile. “Thank you for coming. I’ll let you know when I’ve made my decision.”

“I hope it’s the right one.” This time there was no hint of threat in his voice, but he added nothing to soften the impact of his words. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you. I hope we’ll see each other again. Mr. Kelsey.” He turned to shake Johnny’s hand, then left the office without looking back.

“Whew. He’s one tough cookie,” Johnny said, breaking the silence and the tension left behind by Devon’s exit.

“I can see why Edward places such confidence in him.” Alyssa continued staring at the closed door. “He’s very good at what he does.” She glanced over at her father’s most trusted employee and her companion since childhood. “But no amount of ‘friendly advice’ is going to make me change my mind. A threat is a threat, no matter how politely worded.”

Johnny chuckled. “And maybe Eddie is going to find he bit off just a little bit more than he can chew, trying to yank the rug out from under you and your dad?”

“Maybe.” Alyssa reached into the desk drawer for her purse, letting her anger sustain her, refusing to think any farther into the future than the next few minutes. “And maybe it’s also time Edward Wocheck heard the words straight from the horse’s mouth.”

* * *

“YOU’RE BACK earlier than I expected,” Edward said, looking up from the faxed reports lying on his desk in the former storage room he’d appropriated for his office. It was a bare-bones operation—desk, chair, telephone fax machine and not much else—but he didn’t mind. “How did it go?”

“Not quite as smoothly as I’d hoped,” Devon admitted. “By the way, Alyssa Baron is one foxy lady.”

“Yes, she is,” Edward said, as if it made no difference to him whatsoever. “A very foxy lady.”

“The kind of lady worth waiting for,” his stepson added, as if it made no difference whatsoever to him, either.

“Yes, she is.” Edward didn’t elaborate on the statement. He shuffled the papers he’d been reading into a stack and set them aside. “I take it she didn’t jump at our offer.”

Devon laughed a bit sheepishly. “You might say that. You didn’t tell me she can be a real ice queen when she sets her mind to it. I expected to rattle her pretty easily.”

“And?” Edward couldn’t help asking.

“She listened to what I had to say. Said she’d consider the offer and showed me the door.”

“She’s Judson Ingalls’s daughter, all right. It looks like I’ll have to speak to the lady myself.” Edward found he was looking forward to confronting Alyssa. They’d been no more than polite acquaintances since his return to Tyler. They’d seen each other infrequently, spoken rarely and never about themselves. With the exception of that one fleeting kiss at Christmas almost a year before, under the mistletoe, they hadn’t touched at all. He didn’t know what he wanted from a relationship with Alyssa Ingalls Baron. He only knew he wanted one. But before that could happen, there was business to conduct.

“I thought that’s what you might say,” Devon said as he rose from his chair. “Well, I’ve done what you asked of me. Now it’s your turn. You promised to show me the attic. I’d like to see if there’s anything of Margaret Ingalls’s still up there while the daylight’s good.”

“So that’s why you’re dressed that way,” Edward said, rising from his seat. Devon was wearing gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt from Columbia, his alma mater. “I thought maybe you were going to ask me to join you for a run.”

“Maybe later. Right now I want to play detective,” Devon said, only half-joking.

“I’ll show you the way. We rewired the attic when we were working on the lounge and reception area, but it’s still minimal lighting up there.”

“That’s what I figured. Sundown comes pretty early around here,” Devon commented as they left the office and headed for the out-of-the-way staircase that led to the attic.

“I told you the winters are long and cold.”

“And hardly a ski lift in sight.”

Edward glanced sharply at his stepson. Devon’s face was turned away, however, so he couldn’t tell if he was in earnest or pulling his leg. “You can always join your mother in Switzerland.”

The younger man shrugged. “Maybe,” he said, as Edward opened the inconspicuous attic door and snapped on the overhead light.

The stairway was a new addition, narrow and utilitarian, but safer and more convenient than the hidden staircase in Margaret Ingalls’s room, the only other access to the attic space. Edward would have to remember to tell Devon about it.

“For a few weeks over Christmas,” Devon went on. “If there isn’t anything else to do.” He grinned wickedly. “And if I can get the time off from my slave driver of a boss.” He started climbing the stairs.

“It might be arranged. If,” Edward went on, emphasizing the word slightly, “negotiations for Ingalls F and M are on schedule.”

“That’s a big if,” Devon said, arriving at the top of the steep flight of steps. “Maybe I’ll have a nervous collapse, so mother can whisk me away for some R and R on the slopes.”

“Don’t count on it,” Edward warned.

Devon laughed. “I won’t. Okay. Where do I start?”

“Good question.” Edward surveyed the flotsam and jetsam of three generations of Ingallses, their friends and relatives, piled along the walls and on the floor of the big, low-ceilinged room. “I believe those boxes and trunks over there—” he pointed across the way “—belonged to Margaret. At least that’s where the investigators spent most of their time.”

“We probably won’t find anything there,” Devon said thoughtfully. He roamed around the room, head bent slightly to accommodate the low ceiling, switching on the single bulbs that hung at intervals from the central beam as he went. “And this stuff? Kids’ toys and a tricycle, and this white-painted bedroom furniture? Do you think it was Alyssa’s?”

“Probably,” Edward said. “I was only the gardener’s son, you know. I don’t remember ever being allowed in any of the bedrooms.”

“I think I’m going to start here,” Devon said, making up his mind quickly, the way his mother so often did. “I bet this other dresser and chest of drawers belonged to Margaret, too. They don’t match the set, but they’re all together. I think if we’re going to find anything useful it would be in Margaret’s personal things, not the lodge files.”

“What makes you think that?”

Devon shrugged broad shoulders. “Just a hunch. Like I said, she sounds like Mom in a lot of ways. She loves to keep track of personal things, all her social triumphs and romantic conquests, as much as she hates keeping any other type of records. You know that.”

“I guess that’s as much of a reason to start looking over there as any. Good hunting,” Edward said as he prepared to head back downstairs.

“Thanks.” Devon pulled on a drawer that had swollen shut with moisture. “I’m going to need it.”

Edward closed the attic door behind him and headed across the lounge, back toward his office. He was surprised Devon had even considered not joining his mother in Switzerland for the ski season. He usually jumped at the chance to travel abroad. He was obviously more content in Tyler than Edward had ever thought possible for a child raised in Nikki and Arthur Addison’s milieu. But Devon had grown into a smart, savvy young man. He knew his own mind and used it. He wasn’t dazzled by the glitter of his mother’s crowd of seminoble European hangers-on. And he wasn’t fooled by Tyler’s sleepy, placid exterior, either. Below the glittering surface, his mother’s existence was essentially empty and sterile, while Tyler teemed with life.

Over all the years and throughout his travels, Edward had maintained a strong awareness of his roots. He hadn’t always been happy in Tyler as a boy, but he’d been a part of the greater whole, for better or worse. He wanted to be part of that community spirit once again. That was one of the reasons he was determined to control Ingalls F and M, although no one, not even Devon, knew it. There were other, more pressing reasons for attempting to buy Judson Ingalls’s failing company. Boyhood sentimentality need not be listed as one of them.

She was waiting for him when he walked into the lounge, and a part of him, deep down inside, was not surprised by her appearance.

“Alyssa,” he said, smiling automatically, a reflex learned in a hundred boardrooms over the past thirty years. “How nice to see you.”

“I’m not here to exchange pleasantries, Edward,” she said, not smiling at all, her blue eyes fierce with suppressed anger. “I want to talk. Business.”

“Fine,” he said, picking up the seriousness of her mood, and the animosity, as well. “But let’s do it over a drink or a cup of tea. Out here in the lounge. I’m not about to get into a shouting match with you in my office.” He smiled again. “Besides, it’s not big enough. It used to be a linen closet, I think.”

Alyssa almost smiled back. “What makes you think I won’t start shouting at you right here in the middle of the lounge?”

He looked down at her from the several-inch difference in heir heights. “Alyssa Ingalls Baron? Raise her voice in anger in a public place? I’ll never see it in my lifetime.”

This time she did smile, but reluctantly, as though she couldn’t help herself. “You’d be surprised what I might do these days, Edward Wocheck. Times have changed.”

“Why don’t you call me Eddie?” he asked, catching her off guard, as he hoped to do. “Everyone else from the old days does.”

Her smile faded away. She caught her lower lip between her teeth in the same nervous gesture he’d seen Liza use once or twice. “Because you aren’t Eddie Wocheck anymore.”

He didn’t want to talk about their past. They had been children then. They were adults now. “C’mon,” he said, taking her elbow in a grip she couldn’t break without drawing attention to the act. “I need a drink.” He steered her toward a small table tucked away in a shadowy corner beneath the massive staircase leading up to the second floor. “And we need to talk.”

“Business. Nothing else,” she said stubbornly, but with an undercurrent of real distress in her voice that he knew she didn’t want him to hear. Confronting him in this place was difficult enough for her, he suspected, without dealing with “what might have been” as well.

“Strictly business.” His voice was gruff. He couldn’t do anything about it. “Sit down,” he said, before she could take advantage of his letting go of her arm to run away. “What do you want to drink?”

“Tea,” she said automatically.

He caught himself almost smiling again. “Nothing stronger?”

She gave him back look for look. “Not if I’m going to have to match wits with you. You’ve got enough of an advantage already.”

He leaned both hands on the table, towering over her, dominating the small space around them. He inhaled deeply, her scent, the fragrance of her hair, the smell of cold, clean air that still lingered about her. “You underestimate yourself, Alyssa. You always did. I’ll give you one free piece of advice—don’t fall into that trap now. Your company is at stake.”

She had to tilt back her head to meet his eyes, and nodded very slightly. “I intend to do just that. But I still want just a cup of tea.” She folded her hands primly in front of her, the pale coral polish on her nails contrasting erotically with the creamy white linen of the tablecloth. Edward jerked upright, burying the wayward thought. He signaled to the barman. “My usual, Todd. And tea with sugar for the lady.” He sat down.

“Could I suggest the mulled cider instead, Mrs. Baron?” the barman asked, coming over to them. The bar was almost empty in the afternoon lull between lunch and the cocktail hour. “It’s excellent. The cider’s fresh-pressed, from the Hansen farm. And the spices are my special secret.”

“That does sound nice,” Alyssa said graciously. “I’ll have the cider.”

“I’ll still have Scotch,” Edward said. “See that we’re not disturbed, will you, Todd?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Wocheck.” The young man smiled at Alyssa and hurried away to do their bidding.

“You made his day.”

“Your staff is very well trained.”

“I know. How is your father?” he asked, catching her off guard once more with the personal query.

“He’s…not doing well. The trial was very hard on him. The verdict…wasn’t what he wished for.”

“Amanda did a hell of a job getting him off. Ethan Trask’s case was just about as foolproof as you could get when all you’ve got to go on is circumstantial evidence.”

“I’m aware of that,” Alyssa said. He saw a slight shudder pass through her, and he realized once more how important it was to all of them that they find out exactly what had transpired in this building the night of Margaret Ingalls’s murder.

“I couldn’t be prouder of Amanda,” Alyssa went on. Her face lightened for a moment, regained the luminous quality of her youth, and Edward felt his heart rate accelerate yet again. She looked up at the bartender, still smiling as he set a mug of steaming cider in front of her. “Thank you, Todd.” She remained silent for several moments after he left, and Edward watched as she lifted the cinnamon stick out of her drink and laid it on the coaster. She had lovely hands, made to hold a flower, soothe a child, make love to a man.

“I didn’t expect to see you here again so soon.” He took another swallow of Scotch, waiting for Alyssa to bring up the reason she’d sought him out.

She squared her shoulders. Her hands tightened around the glass mug and she lifted her blue eyes to his. Her lips firmed into a straight line. “I’m here to ask you, as an old friend—” she stumbled slightly on the last phrase “—to ask you to withdraw DEVCHECK’s offer to buy Ingalls F and M.”

“I can’t do that, Lyssa.”

“What do you mean, you can’t do that?” She was angry all over again. “You own the company. You can do anything you want.”

He shook his head, wishing he had another swallow of Scotch in his glass. Not for the alcohol content, but for the few moments’ delay it would give him in answering. What he said next would determine the course of the negotiations for the plant. Alyssa was a far more formidable opponent than her inexperience in the business world might lead a man to believe. Edward couldn’t help wondering what it would be like crossing swords with her in an all-out takeover battle. But he didn’t dare risk finding out. The last thing he wanted was an acrimonious business relationship with the woman he’d once loved more than anyone else in the world.

“It doesn’t work that way, Lyssa,” he said cautiously, feeling his way. She refused to look away, although her lower lip trembled slightly and her voice was husky with suppressed emotion.

“I’m not very good at this. You’ll have to explain it to me.”

Edward’s mind was suddenly blank. The only thing he could concentrate on was the curve of Alyssa’s mouth. He could remember nothing but the velvety softness of her lips, the taste of her skin, the scent of her hair when he’d kissed her under the mistletoe last Christmas. He wanted to kiss her again. Here and now. And that was the last thing he could afford to do.

It was Edward’s turn to be angry. Anger was an emotion he could control, that could be turned to his advantage. And it helped keep his mind off wanting Alyssa Ingalls Baron’s body far more than he wanted her father’s company.

“It’s cold, hard reality, Lyssa,” he said, standing up, asserting his dominance, both physically and mentally. “Ingalls F and M needs an infusion of capital. It needs a lot of money and it needs it now.”

“I’m well aware of that,” she said, refusing to give ground. “I made the mistake of asking you for a loan just a few days ago.”

“It was a mistake,” he agreed bluntly. “It would only postpone the inevitable and increase your liabilities. Waste my money and leave you so far in debt you’d never get out. What Ingalls needs to survive is clout. There’s no way you can get that on your own.”

“We’re doing business the way my father has for more than fifty years.”

“It isn’t the way to do business now,” he said, not pulling his punches. “The days of small, independent concerns like Ingalls F and M are gone, Lyssa, even if your father refuses to recognize the fact. I want to see the plant stay in Tyler. If Nitaka buys you out, they’ll move it south lock, stock and barrel. If DEVCHECK buys you out, the work and the jobs will stay here. I want to see a strong economic base in Tyler as much as you do. I want a labor pool of well-educated, stable residents to draw on for Timberlake.”

“But what’s in it for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What does DEVCHECK want with the F and M?”

“The same thing Nitaka does—a chance to get into the agriculture market, quickly and quietly. Ingalls isn’t the only small agri-manufacturer we’re looking at. But it’s the one I’m most interested in at the moment.”

“Some of your ideas make sense,” she admitted reluctantly, standing as well. “But they don’t make any difference.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I mean my father’s health and well-being are more important to me than anything else. And right now that means not giving him anything more to worry about. I’ve managed to hold off Nitaka these past months.” Her voice took on a note of challenge. “I can do the same with DEVCHECK. I told your stepson this morning and I’ll tell you now, to your face—Ingalls F and M is not for sale.”

Edward leaned his hands on the table. “Dammit, Lyssa. How in hell have you managed to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes the past forty years? Sweet, shy Alyssa. The truth is, next to your father, you’re the most bullheaded person I know.” He still couldn’t decide whether he was more angered or aroused by her stubborn insistence on going her own way.

One or two more people wandered into the bar area. Edward noticed them from the corner of his eye. It was time to leave. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said. He stepped back from the table, straightening the cuffs of his charcoal-gray jacket. “Someplace else. More private.”

“No,” Alyssa said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he said, holding her blue eyes steady with his own. “Private. And alone.”

* * *

“MRS. BARON. We meet again.”

Alyssa was still standing as if rooted to the spot. She watched Edward disappear through the French doors that led to his suite and wondered how in heaven’s name she had gotten herself into such an untenable position with him. Had his last words been a threat or an invitation?

“Mrs. Baron?”

Alyssa turned her head, blinking to focus on the man standing beside her. “Mr. Grover. How nice to see you again,” she said politely, her thoughts light-years removed from her surroundings.

What had ever made her think she could come out ahead in a duel of wits with Edward Wocheck? He’d sent her heart and her body into an uproar since she’d first become aware of him when they were both fourteen. Then they had been Eddie and Lyssa, Tyler High freshmen. He had been the gardener’s son and she’d been the pampered, sheltered daughter of the town’s most influential citizen. Today he was Edward Wocheck of the Addison Hotel chain, DEVCHECK and God knew how many other entities. And she was Alyssa Baron, widow, grandmother, professional volunteer, who’d suddenly been thrust into the front office of her father’s crippled business, where she had no desire to be. It wouldn’t be a duel, she thought with macabre humor as she forced herself to pay attention to Robert Grover’s meandering conversation. It would be a massacre, of Ingalls F and M and of her heart.

“Would you like another mug of cider?” Robert was asking, the frown between his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows suggesting it wasn’t the first time he’d asked. “It’s not half-bad. Had one myself an hour or so ago, before I took my walk. It’d be better with a shot of rum in it, mind you, but my doctor said no alcohol. Or at least nothing but a glass or so of red wine a day, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the same as none at all.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Grover,” she said, suddenly desperate to get away before Phil, or Edward’s stepson, or anyone else she knew, saw her there. “I really must be getting back to my office.”

“Oh.” The old man looked disappointed. “I was hoping you might have a few minutes to talk. About Timberlake,” he said with his toothy grin. “It’s sure changed, but a lot’s stayed the same. The fireplace, of course,” he went on, as if she hadn’t refused his offer. “And the view down to the lake. Furniture’s different, naturally, except for those big chairs out on the lawn.” He looked up and over his shoulder at the huge light fixture made of varnished deer, elk and moose antlers. “That chandelier wasn’t here in your mother’s day.”

Alyssa’s attention was finally caught. “No,” she said hesitantly, tempted by his tantalizing glimpses of Timberlake’s past, and remembering, reluctantly, her promise to Liza to talk to her mother’s old acquaintance if the opportunity arose. “It’s brand-new. I believe it was installed only a week or so ago.”

Robert waved her back to her seat at the table, and before she could object, signaled the barman for two more mugs of cider. “Your mother hated killing things,” he said. “She never came out here, she told me, if your father had a hunting party planned.”

“No. Mother liked music and dancing and lots of happy people around her. Not guns—” her voice wavered “—and killing. I do remember that.”

“She was a marvelous dancer. I’d just gotten out of the service when I first came here. Didn’t have a dime to my name. I was really out of my league with her crowd, but that didn’t seem to bother Margaret…” He was silent for a moment, then began talking again. “What times. What parties. The visits I made here that summer before your mother died—were some of the happiest of my life.”

“I remember very little,” Alyssa said. “I was quite small.”

“And your mother sent you to bed early in the evening. You didn’t like to go.” He laughed out loud. “I remember that about you, but I’m afraid not very much more.”

“That’s okay,” Alyssa said, smiling in response to his laughter. “I don’t remember you at all.”

“Why should you? Your mother had so many… friends.” His tone of voice was as jovial as before, but Alyssa felt a cold breath of uneasiness skate across her nerve endings. Too close, it warned, don’t get too close.

There was nothing but that momentary hesitation in his words to make Alyssa wonder if he meant more than he said, but she was afraid to ask. Her own internal barriers had dropped into place like steel bars across the doors of her mind. He kept on talking.

“Why, I remember once she decided everyone should go swimming in the lake. We were all wearing evening clothes—everyone dressed for dinner at Timberlake in those days. It didn’t matter to your mother. Everyone went into the water straight from the party. I remember I had borrowed a tuxedo. There was no way I could afford to replace it, but your mother pushed me off the dock herself. I went in arse over ears. If I remember right, I was voted the trophy for the biggest splash. I tried to be a good sport about it, but I worried all night about how in hell I was going to get enough money to replace the tuxedo. I shouldn’t have worried. The next afternoon, when I got back from playing tennis, there was my trophy. And with it a brand new tux, a gift from your mother. Yep,” he said, lifting one of the mugs of cider Alyssa hadn’t even noticed had been placed before them, “those were the days. Now drink up,” he ordered. “I know you’re busy. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“No,” Alyssa said, taking a sip as he’d instructed her to do. “Please go on. I like hearing about the happy times you had out here. I—I like hearing about my mother.” She knew she ought to go, but remained captive to the twin bonds of curiosity about her mother’s life and her need to learn everything she could about her death.

Robert Grover didn’t have to be asked twice. He launched into another anecdote about Timberlake’s halcyon days, and Alyssa hung on his every word.

This was what she wanted and needed to hear—stories about happy days and happy times, not about death and desertion and unsolved mysteries. But strangely enough, his lighthearted memories didn’t soothe her misgivings about the past. Instead, oddly, they made her more confused and upset than before.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I’M SORRY, MOM. I’ve gone over these figures again and again. They just don’t come out any other way. The plant is in major trouble.” Amanda Baron dropped the sheaf of computer paper she’d been holding onto Alyssa’s desk. She shut the cover of a large black ledger with a snap. “I know how much you hate to hear this, but I think you’re going to have to entertain one or the other of the two offers you’ve received to sell out.”

Alyssa turned away from the window where she’d been standing, staring out at the chilly, rain-swept November day. The weather exactly matched her mood. “I know,” she said wearily. “I just wanted to hear you confirm it.”

“I’ve finished going over the offer from DEVCHECK,” Amanda went on, swiveling slightly in her grandfather’s big old chair. Her voice and the creak of the chair’s springs were the only other sounds, as it was Saturday and the assembly lines weren’t running. Amanda and Alyssa had come to the plant to talk without being overheard by Judson.

“And?”

“They aren’t doing us any favors, either,” she admitted, twirling a pencil between slender fingers. “But it’s by far the more attractive of the two offers.”

“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.” Alyssa turned back to the dreary scene beyond the window. “Is there any way we could recapitalize on our own?” She was clutching at straws and they both knew it.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.