Carolina Heat Page 7

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to push you into the wall.”

  Annabelle looked at him dazedly. “No, it was an accident. I’m fine.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow night. Sleep well.” Mark loped down the walk through the gate, and was quickly out of sight.

  It took Annabelle a few more minutes to collect her whirling thoughts enough to walk through the door and up the stairs to her room. Once there, she went onto the small balcony overlooking the harbor. She breathed in deeply and forced herself to remember why she was in Charleston. First and foremost, she was here to find her missing friend. On a secondary level, she was here to write a story. She was not here to fall in love. Even with a persistent, persuasive, intriguing hunk of a man.

  Annabelle went back inside, methodically reviewed her list of tasks for the next day, and brushed her teeth. The simple routine soothed her, and as she lay in bed her last thoughts were of the search she planned so meticulously. But her dreams were all of a tall, laughing man kissing her senseless in a moonlit garden.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Annabelle glanced at her watch for the third time as Tucker, the costumed tour guide, enthusiastically described the Georgian Palladian architecture of Prescott Hall right down to the moldings and pillars. Hopefully, the tour would break for lunch and she could duck into the library for a quick look.

  After her meeting with Davis Shaw, Annabelle went back through Vanessa’s last email to Wanderlust. Sure enough, the itinerary included a stop at Prescott Hall. It was far too coincidental. Obviously, something in this house led both people to their eventual disappearance. Vanessa must have stumbled across whatever Tad found. With her negligible knowledge of the Civil War, whatever she found must have been fairly apparent. Annabelle hoped to find something large, brightly-colored, and marked clue in the library.

  “We’ll resume the tour right here in an hour. If you follow the cypress walk past the stables, you’ll find our garden café.” Tucker ushered the group toward the front door. “Be sure to save some time for the souvenir shop!”

  Annabelle lagged behind, but Tucker was apparently well-versed in rounding up stragglers. “I’m sorry, miss, but you aren’t allowed in the house without a guide, and it’s my lunch break, too. There’ll be plenty of time to see everything later.”

  “I understand it’s possible to sneak a private look through the library.”

  Tucker frowned at her. “I don’t know where you heard it, but we prefer everyone stick to the tour. There are no deviations.”

  “Even with the right credentials?”

  “Oh, are you with a museum?”

  Annabelle handed him Vanessa’s business card from Wanderlust. “I’m profiling Charleston, and a friend of mine who’s a curator viewed your library last month and told me it was not to be missed.”

  He thrust his hands in his pockets. “True, our collection is superb. I suppose if you left something with me as collateral an exception could be made.”

  “I have just the thing,” she said, slipping a fifty dollar bill into his hand. Tucker’s demeanor changed instantly.

  “It’s interesting you wish to see the collection. Your friend the curator must really be spreading the word. You’re the fourth person in a month asking to see it. Usually we get maybe one inquiry a year. Are you all part of a club or something?”

  Annabelle’s heart plummeted. “Are you sure there’ve been three other people?” It meant someone besides Vanessa and Tad had visited. Whatever she was there to look for was probably gone by now.

  “Oh yes, Mr. Prescott himself arranged for the last viewing about two weeks ago.”

  “So Prescott Hall is still owned by the Prescotts?”

  Tucker gave a disparaging look. “Haven’t you been paying attention to the tour? The Prescotts still own it outright, and even stay here on special occasions. Remember, you have to be finished when the lunch break ends.” Tucker went out the front door and closed it firmly behind him, leaving her alone in the mansion.

  Twenty minutes later, Annabelle sat on the edge of an ancient velvet covered settee and rubbed her neck. Staring at bookshelves sideways had given her nothing more than a stiff neck. The library did contain numerous books on the Confederacy. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to read each and every one, and none of the titles were very helpful. Certainly nothing as obvious as A Historical Reference to All Those Who Served in the Confederacy. Someone with Davis or Tad’s background would probably be able to make more sense of all the books, or at least narrow it down. On the other hand, Vanessa must have discovered something here, and her historical knowledge was just as rudimentary as Annabelle’s.

  There had to be something. She looked at her watch and knew her time was running out. Annabelle rubbed her neck one last time and climbed the old-fashioned rolling ladder. Two top rows to finish before she’d be forced to admit defeat. Like the rest of the library, the majority of books were leather-bound and musty, at best.

  She blinked in surprise. “I guess next time I’ll start at the top.” In front of her was yet another set of books glorifying the Confederacy. Except in the middle of this particular row sat a dust-free sixtieth anniversary edition of Gone with the Wind.

  Even from her brief scan, it was easy to see no other book in the library had a copyright newer than the 1930’s. The obvious explanation was someone had come with the deliberate intention of stealing a book, and brought along Gone with the Wind so as not to leave a discernable hole in the stacks. It was impossible to read the titles without being on the ladder.

  Voices rang in the hallway, and Annabelle knew her time was up. At least now I know for sure I’m on the right track, she thought. If only she knew where to go from here. Her tour group began to trickle past the library door. Annabelle stood slightly behind it, watching them pass so she could slip out without attracting Tucker’s attention.

  She stiffened when she noticed a new addition to the group, a man sporting not only a Hawaiian print shirt but also a pair of binoculars. He was a dead-ringer for the man watching her the night before. Admittedly, that man had been all the way across the street, at dusk. In a police lineup, she wouldn’t be able to swear to anything. But it was quite a coincidence—and Annabelle did not, at all, believe in coincidences. The moment she’d seen him during dinner, all her senses had gone on alert. Instinct told her he wasn’t just another tourist. His appearance today was an affirmation, a not-to-be-ignored warning. If she was being watched, the danger level of this assignment ratcheted up several notches.

  She waited until the tour group moved on, then made her way to the souvenir shop. One of the golden rules of investigative journalism was if you don’t know where to look, look everywhere.

  “Do you have any books listing all the Confederate troops? I’ve started dabbling in genealogy, and want to lend a little fact to an old family legend.” Annabelle smiled her most guileless smile, but there was no need. The gift shop clerk, a tiny woman well past retirement, clearly delighted in the chance to chatter.

  “Dear me, what a wonderful project! I find searching for your roots really grounds you. Why, I went to Ireland seven years ago to track down a fourth cousin accidentally left off our family tree. I was just tickled to meet him.”

  Annabelle kept her smile firmly in place. Little old ladies were an invaluable source of information, if you could wade through the ubiquitous stories of grandchildren, great-grandmothers and health.

  “My only problem is I really don’t know where to start.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t help you much, my dear. We have a rather limited selection of books. But I do have an idea.”

  “I’m all ears,” said Annabelle, trying to contain her impatience.

  “Mr. Lamont Prescott, who currently owns the plantation, has quite a reputation as a collector.”

  “You mean the library?”

  “Heavens, no. Most of those books were his granddaddy’s. Mr. Lamont keeps his personal collection at his home in town.”
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br />   Annabelle’s instincts clicked. Definitely on the right track. “Do you know how I’d be able to contact him?”

  “If you call his office—he’s a partner at one of the oldest law firms in the city—I’m certain you could arrange a meeting. He’s a very nice man.”

  “Do you recall the name of his firm, offhand?”

  “Satterfield, Prescott & Boone. He should be back from vacation by now. I think he left a few weeks ago. Mother’s Day, I believe.”

  “But that’s when….” Annabelle stopped herself before blurting out that was also the day Vanessa officially disappeared. “When I took a vacation, too. Quite a coincidence.”

  If the older woman had noticed her momentary lapse, she didn’t let on. “Of course, you could always stop in at the Daughters of Charleston. They’re well known for their research. Every member has to prove their ancestors were truly members of the Confederacy.”

  Annabelle politely ended the conversation by purchasing a box of Prescott Hall stationery. It was the least she could do after that sweet old thing handed her a lead on the proverbial silver platter.

  Twenty minutes later the tour bus dropped her back in the center of town. Without conscious thought, her steps led her to the corner of Meeting Street where she checked her watch against the posted sign. A new tour was due to start in a few minutes. Just enough time for a quick hello to Mark. A chance to see if the persistent flutters nudging at her all day were really grounded in something. She sighed and wondered what it was about this man that so completely befuddled her. Especially now, when she had so many other, more pressing concerns.

  There was his horse and buggy. She recognized it from the distinctive red and pink striped plumes decorating the horse. But there was someone else in the driver’s seat. It didn’t make sense. He’d told her he was working today, and scheduled their picnic accordingly. It was long past the traditional lunch hour, so where was he?

  Annabelle’s thoughts split in two directions. The first, knee-jerk reaction was the assumption he’d lied. Normal, caring, steady men were never attracted to her. More often they were completely turned off by her drive and achievements. Why should he be different?

  The second train of thought barreled immediately on the heels of the first, but she didn’t know if it was any more accurate. Mark hadn’t given her a clear cut reason to mistrust him. Vanessa would tell her not to think the worst, give him a chance to explain. One way or another, something must be wrong.

  The date was off to a great start, in her opinion. Annabelle and Mark shared a companionable silence, taking in the beauty of the beach. The tide was just beginning to turn, so waves still crashed into the shore with regularity. The sun was low, but nevertheless sparkled the water with light. The beach was almost deserted quiet enough to hear the wind rustling through the tall beach grass.

  “This is a beautiful spot.”

  “Thanks.” Mark grinned. “I made sure to clear it of all the jellyfish before I picked you up.”

  “Jellyfish? Up here on the beach, out of the water?” Reflex pulled her legs off the sand and onto the blanket in one swift motion. Barefoot and in crisp khaki shorts, her clothes offered little protection.

  “Only dead ones. There’s nothing to worry about. And there were only two.”

  “You wouldn’t by any chance be pulling the leg of a confirmed city girl, would you?”

  “Low blow.” He tugged her feet out from under her and back onto the sand. “And partially correct. I did want to see if I could get a rise out of you, but yes, there really were jellyfish. Completely harmless, though.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” She nudged open the top of the wicker picnic basket beside her. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

  “Subs from the best deli in town, with chocolate chip cookies for dessert and beer to wash it all down.”

  “Sounds like perfect picnic food.” For several minutes they said nothing as they munched on the huge, dripping sandwiches.

  “My mother used to take me on picnics in Central Park. She said it was important to appreciate small pleasures like this just as much as refined evenings at the opera.” Annabelle licked her fingers. Mark handed her a red-checked napkin.

  “Wise woman, your mother. You spent a lot of time at the opera as a kid?”

  “Too much,” she groaned. “One of the bigger pleasures I never learned to appreciate. It bores me to tears, if you want the truth. Every time I’m on the subway and even pass the stop for the Met I start to yawn."

  “How do you feel about jazz? And let me warn you, our entire future hangs in the balance.”

  “I love it,” she answered promptly.

  “What a relief. If you’d answered any other way, I would’ve had to leave you here and call it a night. We take jazz very seriously down here.” He crumpled his sandwich wrapper and took a long swig of beer.

  “Is that all you look for in a woman? Similar tastes in music?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a good starting place.”

  “And I suppose it’s a more legitimate requirement than big breasts and blonde hair.” Annabelle regretted letting that slip out.

  Mark set down his beer and whistled softly. “Someone sure did a number on you. Where did you get such a low opinion of men?”

  “Not all men,” she corrected. “Just your average, garden variety, lying snake disguised as a man. And unfortunately there are lots of them slithering around.”

  “Darlin’, not everyone lies.”

  “Oh yes, they do,” she said swiftly. “Everybody lies now and again. Some people just do it more often than others.” This was as good a time as any to bring up the niggling question of his earlier absence. “For instance, what about you? You said you had to work today. But as it turns out, you weren’t there, which means you lied. A small, social lie, I’m sure, but it does prove my point.”

  He cocked his head in obvious confusion. “I did go to work today. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “No,” she said, with an emphatic wave of her beer. “I stopped by to surprise you, and the man driving your carriage said you hadn’t been there all day, and as far as he knew, you wouldn’t be back.” Annabelle felt a knot grow in her stomach. How could he look right at her and continue to lie?

  Mark took a deep breath, then let it out on a sigh. “You are a quick one. I should have known how observant you’d be, what with being a writer. I was planning on telling you tonight, though. You beat me to the punch.”

  “Tell me what, exactly?”

  “Eddie—the man you spoke to this afternoon—he had it right. I don’t drive the carriage anymore.”

  Annabelle’s anger vanished. “Were you too embarrassed to tell me you lost your job?” It was obvious Mark was uncomfortable. His hands fisted in his hair, and one foot wagged nervously.

  “This is…well, you’ll…Damn it, Ashby told me I was an idiot for waiting to tell you.”

  “Mrs. Haley’s son? What does he have to do with this?” Annabelle was even more mystified.

  “He’s my best friend—and you’re living under his parents’ roof. Suffice it to say your name’s come up.”

  “Really?” As curious as any woman to hear herself described, she leaned forward. “How exactly did it come up?”

  Mark put his hands over hers. “Never mind. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve only been moonlighting as a tour guide. Actually, I’m currently employed by the College of Charleston as a professional researcher. There’s an elderly professor who wants to write one last, complex opus before retiring. I help him nail down the facts.”

  “You’re putting me on.” Incredible, stunned disbelief flooded over her in an almost tangible wave. Before it could fully register, Mark continued.

  “Nope, all true, I swear. My last job was for the National Museum in Cairo, coming up with background material for a new exhibit on a rather lackluster and unimportant pharaoh. That was a tough one. It’s a relief to come back home and dive into Professor Hubert’s project.�
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  “Uh huh.”

  “Annabelle, talk to me. Laugh at me, swear at me, just say something, please!”

  She looked down at the blanket and shook her head. Then she noticed his hands still covered hers.

  “You can let go. I’m not going to run away screaming.”

  “Oh, sorry.” But he still didn’t relinquish his grip.

  “Why exactly were you moonlighting as a tour guide? It seems an unusual hobby.”

  He broke into a huge grin. “There’s an amazing man, Clay Rutherford, who usually runs the tours. Actually, he oversees just about every horse trolley around town. I started working for him back in high school to save money for college. He ended up matching every penny I earned, and he did this all through college and graduate school when I came back in the summers. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably be pumping gas right now.”

  “Somehow I doubt it,” Annabelle said wryly.

  “He had a heart attack about a week ago. He’ll be fine, but the whole company had to scramble to cover his shifts. He called and asked for my help. I’d planned to spend a week in between jobs bumming across Europe, but Clay needed me. Since I’m no good with the office work, I pitched in to cover a few shifts. But they finally hired a temporary replacement, starting today. Not full-time, but enough to take up the slack for the next few weeks.”

  Annabelle stared out at the ocean. Mark was loyal to a fault, caring, generous with his time…unfortunately, no one was really that wonderful. It was a touching story, but there had to be a catch. With men, there was always a catch. She’d learned that the hard way.

  Five years ago she and Connor bonded on a white knuckle flight into Dulles. Though he lived in D.C., the distance didn’t deter their newfound passion. Their relationship had a fresh, exciting edge, given that they only saw each other once or twice a month. Connor always stayed with her in a hotel room, claiming his roommate was a nightmare. But when she flew in for an unscheduled visit on Valentine’s Day, a knock on his apartment door was answered by a smiling woman who introduced herself as Connor’s wife.