“Nor I,” Dean agreed hastily. “What rational adult could possibly believe that ghosts are drifting around, endlessly seeking truth and justice?”
“Exactly. Though I don’t know what the search for truth and justice has to do with the Cameron twins.”
Dean looked vaguely surprised. “According to some of the locals, Ian and Anna Cameron were innocent of any crimes and murdered because they knew too much. It’s said they’re seeking to clear their names and avenge their deaths before they leave this world and go on to the next.”
“What balderdash! Everyone around here knows better than that. Someone’s pulling your leg, Mr. Gates. My father’s stepsiblings certainly were guilty, as em barrassing as that is for us. There was never a question otherwise.”
“It was fortunate for your grandfather that no one ever questioned him about the convenient timing of the twins’ deaths. I suppose his reputation in town was so spotless, there was never any suspicion of whether he was involved in the tragedy.”
“Convenient timing?” Margaret repeated stiffly.
“Well, he would have had to turn the inn over to them after that night,” Dean reminded her almost apologetically . “As suspicious as everyone is these days, that in itself would have called for a more intense investigation. But things were different back then, I suppose.”
“They most certainly were. Citizens did not question the word of a respected officer of the law, nor did they make reckless accusations against a prominent local businessman. If anyone has suggested differently to you, Mr. Gates, I wish you would tell me who it was. I would like to have a word with him about viciously slandering my ancestors.”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Vandover. No one has said anything about your ancestors. I’m afraid I’m a mystery-novel buff. Always looking for a red herring.”
“Perhaps you should turn to more edifying reading, Mr. Gates.” Margaret’s tone was downright chilly now. “Might I suggest the holy book?”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
Her eyes were even colder than her voice. For the first time, Dean understood how this woman had managed to completely intimidate so many of the townspeople. There was an almost palpable air of menace about her, enough to take him aback, even though he had no real fear of her.
“I’ll have my gardener prepare a list of fine roses for you,” she said flatly. “My personal secretary will put it in the mail.”
He took her less-than-subtle hint, and stood. “Thank you again for your time, Mrs. Vandover, and for the tea. I hope to restore the inn and the gardens to their former elegance, as they were under your father’s care.”
She didn’t seem mollified.
Dean left her home knowing he hadn’t exactly ingratiated himself with her. If he kept going at this rate, he’d soon have all the Peavy family hating him. And he was still no closer to the truth about what had happened on February 14,1921 than he’d been when he’d first seen Mary Anna Cameron.
He only hoped he could convince her that he really was trying his best. But, damn it, he was an innkeeper, not a private investigator. Just what the hell did she expect from him?
DEAN GOT a speeding ticket on his way home. He was only going five miles above the posted speed limit, something most rural cops overlooked, in his experience. Not this one.
The officer was fifty pounds overweight, his uniform crumpled and stained. He leaned into the window of Dean’s car with a scowl. “You were driving like a bat out of hell, Gates,” he said without asking for identification. “We don’t appreciate newcomers moving into town and risking the lives of our children with their disregard of our laws.”
Startled by the unfairness of the attack, Dean was taken aback for a moment. How did this guy—P. Jones, according to his badge—even know Dean’s name? They’d never...
Suddenly, he understood. This was Chief Peavy’s way of letting him know that life in Destiny could be difficult for someone who deliberately annoyed the Peavy family.
Knowing it wouldn’t do any good to argue, he kept his mouth shut and signed the ticket, promising only that he’d watch his speed in the future.
“I’d be more careful about a lot of things if I was you,” the officer growled, seemingly satisfied that Dean had been easily cowed.
Dean drove home with a scowl of his own, and a renewed determination to learn the truth, though he still didn’t know how.
“DEAN, my man, you are definitely one brave—or stupid—son of a gun. Guess you know you got the whole Peavy family calling you a nosy, interferin’ Yankee”
Dean winced and shifted the receiver to his other ear. “I know I haven’t exactly made myself a family favorite,” he admitted. “But, damn it, Mark, why are they so mad? All I did was ask if it was possible the Cameron twins were innocent of the crimes they were rumored to have committed.”
“And implied that Gaylon Peavy—and maybe even Charles—were somehow involved with their deaths,” Mark reminded him. “Not smart, Gates. I’ve told you how Margaret feels about the family honor. I’m not sure I’ve convinced you of her almost obsessive loyalty to her father. Apparently, she adored the ground the guy walked on. She’s all but canonized him, and few have the nerve to suggest in her presence that he was anything less than perfect.”
“If she’s so convinced of the family honor, it shouldn’t bother her so badly to answer a few simple questions.”
“Yeah , well, she’s bothered, all right. In fact, she’s downright pissed off.”
Dean chuckled at Mark’s dry drawl. “Okay, so I didn’t approach this in the most diplomatic manner. I’m afraid diplomacy has never been my strong point.”