The Puzzle (31 page)

I glanced around the tearoom. “I must admit this is an unusual spot for a secret rendezvous.”

Betty whispered, “That’s why the time: discretion on our part. Tea starts at four.”

“So…” added Hazel, “…we could talk without anyone overhearing us, and not be bothered by interruptions. You know, the stores can unexpectedly get busy this time of year.”

Okay, they had me. Now, I was interested. What didn’t they want overheard? “What was so important you couldn’t wait?” I asked, as casually as I could.

“Oh, admit it, Samantha. Weren’t you a little bit curious as to why we called you, suddenly requesting this private meeting?”

The waitress arrived, took our orders, and then left.

“Sure. Who wouldn’t be curious after what has been going on lately? My head’s spinning with all the intrigue. Forget the tourist attractions. I’m totally hooked.”

“Well,” whispered Hazel quite proudly. “We’ve been snooping ourselves and got lucky, inconspicuously of course, mind you.”

Betty lowered her voice as she leaned closer. “We have our reputations to consider.”

I stifled a smirk. These two were an odd pair of characters and the height of propriety; a plateau I definitely was guaranteed never to reach because of my impulsive nature lately. My
newly-acquired
trait was proving difficult to keep under wraps.

“
I
’m
all ears
.”

“I feel guilty spilling the beans like this,” said Betty, “but, we overheard Clay on the phone the other day. He was in back of the store while we were stacking books.”

Hazel added, “I guess everyone gets so used to the two of us as part of the background scenery, they sometimes forget we’re there at all.”

“Well,” Betty explained, “There we were, standing right out in the open in plain sight, when we heard Clay carrying on so and raising his voice with someone on the phone.”

“
Who
was he speaking to?” I asked, as our desserts were delivered to the table.

Once we were alone again, Betty said, “We never found out exactly who it was.”

“Anyway,” said Hazel, “it’s not who he was talking to that’s so important, but what he was saying that got our attention.”

I ignored my pastries. “What was he saying?”

Hazel leaned in and whispered, “He said things were becoming dangerously close to spilling over and being revealed, and he would keep a lid on it as long as he could. Other than that, he could do no more because he didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else getting seriously hurt. I can tell you, Sam, we were shocked.”

“How’s that for catching an earful?” asked Betty, cautiously looking around.

I looked around myself, whispering, “Did he say anything else?”

Then the two of them exchanged glances.

“That’s what bothered us,” replied Hazel.

“What?”

“Clay complained it was…” Betty paused. “Excuse my language please. ‘…A damn shame Anna caused all that trouble to begin with.’ He then said, ‘I’m sick and tired of the whole thing.’ He hung up and walked out the back door of the store.”

“Isn’t that peculiar?” questioned Hazel.

“Especially since Anna’s been dead for over thirty years. What does that have to do with all of this?” added Betty.

“…Maybe,” I ventured, feeling them out, “…Anna …was Stephen’s real mother.”

“Sam! You’re not serious. Are you?” asked Hazel, choking on her tea.

“Think about the irony if it was,” I said. “Stephen is searching for his parents, at the point of obsession, but ironically, already living with one of them: Jack.”

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Betty. “That’s a whopper of a theory I didn’t even consider!”

We all sat back, each of us contemplating this latest possibility. “It seems plausible, but could it be proven?” I considered out loud, looking for their opinions.

“Could it have been that simple in the end?” questioned Hazel incredulously. “I mean, after all these years, Stephen is going round the bend, hunting and searching, and here he was already living with his father?”

“That would mean that neither Stephen nor Jack ever had the opportunity to acknowledge each other as father and son! What a pity,” added Betty, sadly.

“I feel something is not right here,” I said. “My suggestion seems way too simple to be true. There has to be some other angle to this. What are we missing?”

“Why are you so suspicious, Samantha?” asked Betty.

“Are you absolutely sure Clay didn’t see you standing there?” I asked.

“We felt sure of it at the time, and didn’t see him look our way,” replied Hazel

Betty looked at me. “If what you suggest turns out to be a valid story. It’s indeed a very sad finale for both of them.”

“Betty, don’t be so down in the dumps,” Hazel chastised. “Sam could be wrong.”

“But think of the ramifications if this is possibly true,” added Betty.

“Then again, maybe Samantha’s right,” commented Hazel, “and she
is
jumping to the wrong conclusion. Although, now that I think about it, I wouldn’t put it past Anna, betting something like this would end up happening. That woman was no bleeding heart, and with her loose morals? Why she was nothing more than a tart!”

Chapter 64

Friendly Persuasion

I wasn’t sure if I was up to this or not, but would give it a shot. Figuratively, not literally that is. I was willing to give Clay the benefit of the doubt, but up to a point. It seemed from the conversations I had with Betty and Hazel that Clay was in this up to his eyeballs. Could there be another explanation for his bizarre behavior on the phone in the bookshop? I wasn’t sure whether to hit him straight on with the information, or try and weasel it out of him. Either way, I had to find out what he knew or didn’t know.

I hesitated, standing in front of Clay’s door. He had invited me to dinner at his place after hearing I needed to speak to him. I was at a distinct disadvantage, not being on my own turf. I wanted to play this exactly right without being easily swayed by his charming wit and shrewdness. He’d glossed over a few issues in the past, leaving me questioning the full scope of his involvement. Was it strictly professional and or was it personal? I had to find out.

I was about to knock, but then was startled by his greeting, as he unexpectedly whipped open the door.

“Welcome, stranger,” Clay greeted me. “Why, I haven’t seen you in what, five whole days? What took you so long? Run out of people to grill? Speaking of grills, I have mine roaring hot. I was just about to put on some juicy steaks. Are you hungry? I hope so!”

I stared at him a few seconds. “Clay, take a deep breath and say hello like any normal person would. Okay? I can’t handle your cheerful energy right now. I’ve had a rough few days, I’m exhausted, and need a glass of wine.” I pushed him aside and headed indoors.

“My, aren’t we grouchy! Is this some kind of mating ritual I’m not aware of?” he asked, closely trailing after me.

I turned back to him. “That’s very funny! I don’t think so. Detectives aren’t my type.”

“And what is your type?” he asked, deliberately ignoring my verbal jab.

“The strong, intellectual, and silent… I repeat, silent type,” I replied emphatically.

“I’m stung to the core, Sam,” gestured Clay, dramatically. “And here, I worked all afternoon, making crusty French bread, tossed salad, sautéed mushrooms cooked in wine for the steak, and chocolate mousse for dessert with espresso.”

I hesitated. “Well…Maybe, I was a wee bit too hasty in my initial rush to judgment. I might be willing to reconsider after that dinner,” I said, reluctantly yielding to his persuasive menu.

“Works for me,” he replied. “How about some chilled wine and a few of my irresistible hors d’oeuvres?”

“And what would they be?” I asked, my mouth salivating already in anticipation.

“Cold shrimp and tomato and garlic bruschetta on the French bread that I
baked,
sliced and grilled earlier.”

A couple of hours later, we sat companionably with our feet propped up on his porch railing, sipping the last of our coffee and watching the sun set. I smiled, content, reluctantly remembering the reason for my visit. If I was going to approach him about his odd behavior, it had to be now or never. “I need to know something about what happened the other day in your shop,” I said, as I rested my coffee mug in my lap.

“I can tell by the tone of your voice, I’m in trouble already,” replied Clay, turning to me. “At least, the dinner went well. Don’t you think? Go ahead ask away. Just go easy. Okay? I’m finally, totally relaxed in your presence. Besides, my ego is still bruised from your slinging verbal shots at me earlier this evening.”

“Now,” I began, “don’t get angry at the two of them when I ask you this.”

He flinched. “This has got to be about my two in-house private eyes, am I right?”

How was I going to approach this?

“I have to say up front, they were only trying to help me, not spy on you.”

“Try and understand,” he explained, “they don’t know how to curb their imaginations. It gets them in trouble all the time. They’ve read way too many works of fiction for their own good. I love them dearly and
their
good intentions, but there comes a time when I have to reign them in. And this sounds like one of those moments, am I correct?”

“Maybe. …It depends on what your response is to my question.”

“And your question is…?” he asked, waiting patiently.

“Are you heavily involved with the others in this whole Stephen matter?”

“I already told you, I can’t help you because of the on-going investigation.”

“I already know that. I’m talking about something completely different.”

“Then, what are you getting at exactly? Just come out with it.”

“This involves you in an overheard conversation on the phone at your bookstore the other day. What were you keeping a lid on?”

“Oh, that.” He let out a breath in frustration. “Nothing is sacred around those two. Aren’t they supposed to start losing their hearing at their age?”

“Don’t be evasive, Clay. Talking to you is exhausting. Come on. What gives?”

“I got involved more than I intended to, and later regretted my good intentions.”

“But, I don’t understand. What were you trying to put a stop to?”

“Can we speak hypothetically? Believe me, I’m being vague in your best interest.”

“Please, be my guest.” I answered, curious where this whole thing was going.

“There’s certain information that’s missing, and could be misconstrued because of good intentions by certain individuals. It might not go as planned. I have lost all influence.”

“Oh. I get it. You’re so called friendly persuasion ended with that phone call.”

Chapter 65

Putting The Pedal To The Metal

Days later, I decided to take a different approach, shifting some pieces around in an unconventional pattern, but I needed one more personal detail from him to get a clearer mental picture. It was a long shot, but if I pressed some more, his cooperation might solve a part of the puzzle. He might not own up to another truth, but I felt he wanted to be more helpful than he was admitting. I was playing a hunch on an unexpected secret.

I sat sipping my coffee across from him in a booth at the diner. “I hope you don’t mind meeting me here,” I began. “Personally, I’m getting attached to our tête-à-têtes, but I wasn’t getting good vibes the last time we met. Besides, the coffee is better here.”

He laughed. “You’re charm flatters me, Sam, and I’m intrigued. It makes these interrogations of yours so much easier to endure. But something is missing.”

“Like what?” I asked.

I should have guessed earlier. Another adoption, another puzzle piece was falling into place.

“Where is your temper?” he asked. “I suddenly feel extremely vulnerable.”

I smiled. “I left it in my car. I’m trying a different approach this time.”

“Well, I’ll be the first to let you know if it works or not. Go ahead,” he said, sipping his coffee and watching me closely.

“Was there anything specific in the way of personal items that were either on you or accompanied you when you were abandoned as a baby?”

“Why, you are amazing, Sam! You hung in there, didn’t you? I bet you’re looking for something in particular, aren’t you?” He fished something from his pocket. “Could this be it?”

“Oh! Is momma gonna be surprised!” I choked out.

Chapter 66