A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

“No, ’fraid not, though I think it was somewhere in Little Rock.”

Impatient to be away, Dean thanked Tagert for his time.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Listen, good luck with the inn, you hear? I always thought it was a purty place despite all the bad luck that seemed to surround it—not that I expect anything like that for you, of course,” Tagert added quickly.

Dean smiled wryly. “I hope you’re right. Bring the wife for dinner some night when the dining room’s open. Your meal will be on the house.”

Tagert seemed delighted by the generous offer.

DEAN CALLED Mark from his car phone. “Have you heard the name Bill Watson?” he asked, barely taking time to identify himself.

“Watson, er, wasn’t he once a handyman for the Peavy family?”

“That’s the one. Why didn’t you mention him before?”

“I forgot,” Mark confessed.

Dean scowled, but managed to keep his irritation in check. “What do you know about him?”

“Not much. His name came up when I started doing my research into the shoot-out. Someone remembered that he’d lived in the inn at that time. But I was told that old Bill is senile and hardly remembers his own name, much less anything about the Cameron family. He left Destiny in his late teens, came back fifteen years later and went to work for Margaret’s father, Charles. Stayed on the family payroll until he got too old and then they put him in a nursing home somewhere.”

“You don’t know where?”

“No. Before I could start looking for him, I got busy with the problems at the paper. He completely slipped my mind after that.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to start calling nursing homes. I’ve been told to try the ones in Little Rock first.”

“You really think this could be a lead? What if the old man really is senile?”

“It’s worth a shot,” Dean said tiredly. “It’s not as though I have that many more leads to pursue.”

He wondered when he would see Anna again to discuss his progress. And then he chided himself for making excuses, when the truth was that he just wanted to see Anna again, period.

Mae was working in the newly restored lobby when Dean walked in. She looked up from the corner where she was sweeping up wood shavings left by the finish carpenters. “Back from another of your mysterious outings?” she asked with a faint smile.

Dean knew his aunt was growing worried about him. He was well aware that his behavior during the past few weeks hadn’t exactly been typical, for him. But then, he would be surprised if he could act completely normal, considering that everything he’d once believed had so radically changed.

He’d met a ghost, and was trying to solve her murder. And he was in danger of falling very hard for a woman who’d been dead seventy-five years.

How could he behave as though nothing was different?

“Just getting to know our new neighbors,” he assured his aunt with a vague smile of his own.

“Making friends or new enemies?”

He winced. “Er, what do you mean?”

“I’ve heard that you aren’t making yourself overly popular with the Peavys. What’s going on, Dean? Why are you asking so many questions about the death of the Cameron twins?”

He tried to look surprised. “Weren’t you the one who encouraged me to find out more about the history of the inn? Both you and Bailey said I should have answers ready if any of our guests ask about the Cameron legend.”

“Well, yes; but aren’t you carrying it a little too far? A woman at the supermarket whispered to me that you practically accused Margaret Vandover’s late grandfather of murdering his stepchildren. Margaret was highly offended.”

Gossip really did get around fast in this town, Dean thought wryly. He was surprised that Margaret had repeated Dean’s suspicions, as protective as she was of the family name. Or was she warning the townspeople not to cooperate with him in his quixotic quest for the truth?

“Dean?” His aunt stepped closer and rested a hand on his arm. “Darling, is there something you want to talk to me about? Something that can help me understand the way you’ve been acting lately? Distant. Diestracted. Talking to yourself—you’ve never done that before. What’s bothering you, dear? Why can’t you talk to me about it?”

He felt like a first-class, A-number-one jerk. He put his arms around his aunt and gave her a bracing hug.