A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

He rolled over in the bed, one arm bent under his head, and stared at the wall.

He was used to sleeping alone. His marriage had been over some time before it formally ended, and he and Gloria had moved into separate bedrooms. Since his divorce, he simply hadn’t had the energy to pursue another relationship, finding it easier to devote his efforts to starting a new life.

Whatever he’d felt for Gloria in the beginning had been strong, hot, exciting, but it hadn’t lasted. He no longer believed in the lifelong romantic love celebrated in songs and fiction.

Of course, until a few weeks ago, he hadn’t believed in ghosts, either.

Exhaling gustily, he snapped on the bedside lamp. He wouldn’t fall back to sleep anytime soon; he might as well read until he was feeling sleepy again. He reached for the mystery novel on the nightstand, but found himself picking up the small, framed photograph that had been lying beside it.

Mary Anna Cameron’s face smiled back at him from behind the slightly yellowed glass of the old frame. His chest grew tight.

He’d “borrowed” the photograph from his aunt with the excuse that he wanted to use it as a reference in his remodeling of the inn. He’d known then that he was lying. He hadn’t looked at the building in the picture since he’d brought the photo into his room. His only interest had been in the woman.

Anna.

“Damn it,” he muttered, glaring at her as though she could answer from the snapshot. “Where are you?”

The only reply was the silence of the night.

Two MORE DAYS passed without a visit from Anna, though not without other visitors. Mark Winter dropped by, supposedly to give Dean a few more sketchy notes on the inn’s background, but it was obvious his only reason for being there was to see Cara McAlister again. Cara treated him exactly as she had on the previous occasion. Polite, but distant. Very distant.

Mark didn’t linger long, nor did Dean encourage him to. He only hoped his friendship with the publisher wouldn’t be affected by Mark’s inconvenient infatuation with the housekeeper.

The next day, the mayor and his wife stopped in using as their excuse the desire to look over the renovations and keep abreast of the developments of the town’s newest business. Aunt Mae and the mayor’s bubbly wife huddled over cups of tea for a cozy gossip while Dean and the mayor braved the blustery weather for a walk around the grounds and more stilted conversation.

“It’s looking really good,” Mayor Vandover conceded. “The work is proceeding faster than I would have thought possible.”

“We’ve been lucky,” Dean agreed. “The weather and suppliers all seem to be cooperating.”

“It’s been a mild winter so far. They say that means we’re in for one hell of a hot summer. Brace yourself, Gates. Summers around here can be rough for someone from up north.”

“I spent most of the summers of my childhood at my grandparents’ home just outside of Atlanta,” Dean explained with a stiff smile. “I know how humid it gets down here.”

Vandover nodded. “Back when I was a toddler, and my grandfather still ran this inn, everyone thought this garden was the most beautiful place in the world in the summertime.”

He motioned around toward the half cleared tangle of weeds and dead greenery. “The roses were spectacular. My great-grandfather’s second wife, Amelia, planted them. Over the years, as the inn changed hands several times, the gardens were allowed to fall into decay. No one seemed to care about them.”

“I plan to hire a landscaper this spring to rework the gardens. I don’t know if I can compete with Amelia’s roses, but I can certainly make it look better than this.”

Vandover looked toward the old shack at the edge of the woods. “Better clear that rubble away before guests arrive,” he advised a bit pompously. “If someone strays in there and gets hurt, you’ll have a hell of a lawsuit on your hands.”

“I intend to,” Dean said with forced patience. “All of the outbuildings are going to come down. Especially that one.”

Vandover lifted an eyebrow. “Guess you’ve heard that’s the site of the infamous shoot-out.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Some folks think it ought to be preserved. A historical landmark, you know. I don’t agree. Sooner our town forgets about that ugly incident, the better, as far as I’m concerned. It’s been an embarrassment to my family for seventy-five years.”

“oh?” Dean asked blandly. “And why is that?”

“Well, the twins were my great-grandfather’s stepkids. No kin to the rest of us, of course, but still, nobody likes admitting there were bootleggers and murderers even casually connected to their family.”

“A lot of today’s great fortunes were founded on bootlegging,” Dean said, keeping his expression neutral. “And probably murder, as well, if the truth were known.”

Vandover shot a suspicious look at him and muttered something incomprehensible.

“Whatever happened to all the money Ian Cameron supposedly made with his illicit activities?” Dean asked as though the thought had just occurred to him. “Did anyone ever find a stash buried in the basement or under a rock somewhere?”