Part 18 (2/2)
Joy rushed over. ”Grand-Em, is there something I can help with here?”
”You can get me into this wall. I must retrieve my ring.”
”Okay. But why don't we do it some other time? We're disturbing these nice people.”
Grand-Em hesitated, good breeding momentarily taming the dementia. ”But the ring must be found.”
”Of course it does. But wouldn't you agree we shouldn't inconvenience our guests?”
Grand-Em eyed the couple and accepted a hand up off the floor. ”Yes, you are quite right.”
Joy pocketed the screwdriver and shot apologetic glances at the Thornd.y.k.es as she led her grandmother down the hall to the door that opened to the staff quarters.
”I must find my ring.”
Joy figured she'd give it one more shot. ”But isn't it on your finger?”
Grand-Em looked down at her hand. ”No, the one Arthur gave me.”
”But Grand-Em, you were never-”
Joy's grandmother shot her an imperious stare. ”I shall prove that he asked me to marry him. Come. I shall show you.”
The next morning, Frankie sat at her desk and reread the letters her sister had given her the night before.It looked as if Grand-Em wasn't delusional about Arthur Garrison.
There were four letters from him to their grandmother, dated between the fall of 1940 and summer of 1941. And sure enough, the last one demanded an answer to the proposal he'd made and the ring he'd offered to her that April. The words the man had used were flowery, over-the-top.
Artie was a real ladies man, Frankie thought.
The phone on her desk rang and she picked it up. ”White Caps.”
”Frankie? It's Mike Roy.”
”Mike, how are you?”
”Fine.” Funny, he didn't sound fine. ”Listen, I've got some bad news.”
Frankie let the letters fall to the desk as she gripped the receiver. ”Hit me.”
Literally, she thought.
”The bank is being acquired.”
”Will you have to leave?” she asked, hoping she wouldn't lose him.
”I don't know. I hope not. But, ah, we need to settle up your account before the sale goes through. All business is being brought up-to-date.”
”How much time?”
”End of August.”
She put her head in her hands. ”Okay.”
It wasn't okay. Not by a long shot. But what else could she say?
”I'm sorry.”
”No, it's not your fault. I'll get the money.”
”Look, if you can't, I have an interested party.”
”An interested-for the house?”
”Yes. It'll be better than putting it up for auction if you default. You'll get more money that way.”
”The Englishman,” she whispered. ”The hotelier you brought here. Is he really a friend of yours?”
Mike cleared his throat. ”I'm just trying to do you a favor.”
”You knew about this all along, didn't you?”
”I wasn't sure the acquisition was going to go through. I'm giving you as much notice as I possibly can.”
After they hung up, Frankie stared across her office, at the picture of her family.
The phone rang almost immediately.
Maybe he was calling back and telling her he'd made a mistake. Yeah, right.
”White Caps.”
”May I please speak with Frances Moorehouse.” The male voice was curt, authoritative.
”This is she.”
The man cleared his throat. ”Ma'am, I'm Commander Montgomery of the United States Coast Guard.”
Frankie went stone-cold. ”Alex?”
”It is with regret that I inform you that your brother, Alexander Moorehouse, is missing off the coast of Ma.s.sachusetts. His vessel was found capsized in high seas in the eye of Hurricane Bethany. We have instigated a full search for both him and his sailing partner, Mr. Cutler. I'd like to give you my contact information, but be a.s.sured, I will call you with news.”
Frankie could barely hold a pen and write she was shaking so badly. And as soon as she hung up, she bolted out of her office. Careening through the kitchen, she ran outdoors blindly. When she finally slowed down, she realized she was on the dock.
She looked out at the vast expanse of the lake.
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