A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

She paled. “You—you’re printing the story?”

“Yes.”

“But... but why? Don’t you know what that will do to my family?”

Dean shrugged. His injured arm throbbed, reminding him that this woman did not deserve his sympathy. “Had you told the truth when you learned of it, rather than going to such extremes to hide it, your family wouldn’t have suffered nearly as much,” he said. “No one would have blamed you for your father’s actions. Of course, no one would have named a library after him, either. Something tells me that name will be changed soon.”

Anger flared in her eyes. “You do this and you’ll regret it. I swear you will!”

“I’ll take my chances.”

After a long, taut moment, she wilted as she realized there was nothing more she could do to stop him. “You’ll destroy my father’s name—and mine, as well—but I won’t let you destroy my family.”

She turned back to her nephew. “Mr. Gates will probably want to press charges against me,” she said calmly. “You will cooperate with him if he does. You’ve been an honest officer of the law. No one will hold your grandfather’s actions against you if you continue to do your job well. Nor the improvident behavior of your eccentric old aunt,” she added with a touch of grim humor. “You make it clear you had nothing to do with this, you hear?”

“But, Aunt Margaret—”

“I won’t be pressing charges,” Dean said wearily. “I’m more than ready for this to be over. Destiny is my home, too, now. And I have an inn to restore.”

Margaret frightened. “Does that mean—”

“Mark’s working on an article now about the interview Watson gave us this afternoon,” Dean cut in. “I want everyone to know the truth about the Cameron twins.”

“Please don’t try to tell me you’ve seen the ghosts,” Margaret said, her lip curled, her disappointment at his determination to reveal the truth obvious.

“I’m the owner of the historic Cameron Inn,” he returned steadily. “It’s the only really honorable name in this whole mess. I want my future guests to know it.”

“That’s your only interest in this?” Charles asked skeptically.

“It’s all you need to know,” Dean replied.

Margaret held his gaze for a long moment, then allowed her own to waver. “Charles, please escort Mr. Gates to the door. And be polite. As Destiny’s mayor, you must support our local business owners.”

“Don’t know what you think you’ve accomplished with this, Gates,” Charles complained at the door as Dean prepared to step outside. “You’re only going to embarrass my family. And for what? A seventy-five-year-old scandal.”

“Not a scandal. Murder,” Dean corrected him. “Your grandfather should have paid for what he did, even if it’s only his place in the town’s history that suffers.”

Charles winced. “Damn. The gossip mongers will have a field day with this, especially those who have never liked my mother, anyway. When they find out she’s known about this—”

“She’s an old woman. She had nothing to do with the murders, though she shouldn’t have kept up the blackmail payments to Bill Watson. I won’t say anything about her hiring someone to attack me—unless, of course, she causes any further trouble for me or my friends.”

“She won’t,” Charles muttered. “Can’t say I’m ever going to like you after this, but none of us will give you any trouble. We’ll be too busy trying to rebuild our own reputations.”

“As your mother pointed out, no fair-minded person would blame any of you for your grandfather’s actions. Your mother’s behavior, on the other hand, is different. You and I both know I should be pressing charges against her. I could have been seriously hurt by her stunt, maybe even killed. As it is, I can tell you my arm hurts like hell.”

“Have the medical bills sent to me,” Charles said wearily. “I’ll take care of them. And, Gates—thank you for not pressing charges.”

“She’s had to live with the knowledge that the father she adored was a murderer,” Dean replied, his tone grim. “And now everyone else is going to know it. Maybe that’s enough.”

“Trust me, for my mother, there’s nothing worse you could have done to her.” The mayor saw Dean out, closed the door and then presumably returned to his mother’s side.

ANNA WASN’T WAITING when Dean returned to the inn.

With a part of him constantly on the alert for any sign of her, Dean told the whole story to his aunt and Cara. Casey had already been tucked in for the night; it was almost midnight by the time Dean finished the long, complicated tale. He left out his encounters with Anna, saying only that he’d had a feeling from the beginning that something was missing from the legend. Something that had intrigued him.

He couldn’t talk about Anna now. Maybe he never would.

“This is just fascinating, Dean,” Mae breathed when Dean had completed the tale with the details of his visit that evening to Margaret Vandover. “You’ve solved a seventy-five-year-old mystery. Unmasked a murderer, even though he’s already dead. You must feel like one of those fictional detectives you so love to read about.”