I nodded.
"So does James Morgan. Which is how he has reached his level of success. But he handles himself differently in public. He comes from a political family. He has political aspirations. Ruthlessness would make him seem cold. Calcu
lating. Unpleasant. So he's mastered the art of the dual personality." Gabriel eased back in his seat. "I suspect it's not entirely an act. He's found a way to be tough professionally, while remaining warm and amiable personally. Except when he doesn't get what he wants. Am I correct that he initially pursued you? Actively and doggedly pursued you?"
"It wasn't aggressive--"
"Of course not. But if my sources are correct, it was a determined pursuit and courtship. He was an aspiring politician, and he knew the role that traditional marriage plays in such aspirations. He needed a young wife, from a good family, attractive, intelligent, and well educated, a suitable match in all regards."
"You make it sound like he was choosing a horse."
A pause. "You're insulted," he said, as if he couldn't quite fathom why. "I'm not saying he chose you merely because you fulfilled a list of requirements. He was already involved with someone who did that. Marriage to you promised more personal satisfaction, so he dropped her, pursued and won you. Then this happened. He set about getting you back, confident that he would not only win you but win your gratitude for taking you back under the circumstances."
I snorted.
"Therein lies the problem. A man like James Morgan is not accustomed to being thwarted and will not take it lightly." He glanced over. "You think I overreacted, don't you?"
"I think you intentionally overreacted. Like killing a fly with a baseball bat, just to make sure it never bothers you again."
His lips curved. "An apt analogy." The smile faded. "However, not entirely accurate. His behavior concerns me, Olivia. He refuses to accept that he's lost you, and it doesn't seem like groveling or desperation. It seems like pride and anger. He wants you back, and he will keep coming after you until he gets what he wants."
"Well, he won't now. Whatever you've threatened him with, it worried him. He'll stay away."
"I hope so," Gabriel said, and started the car.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
We didn't visit the Conway family. Though Ciara's body had been found, I still couldn't visit them in good conscience. I also knew what it meant to lose a loved one. When my dad died, I realized for the first time the cruelty of funeral customs that expect the family to meet and greet people mere hours after a death. Yes, I know, it's supposed to provide support. But I hadn't wanted support. I'd wanted to curl up in my bed and grieve. Gabriel didn't understand but agreed to wait until after Ciara's funeral.
Instead, we visited two friends and a teacher whom I'd found in my online research. That was all we could fit into an afternoon, and we were lucky to find many potential sources at home and willing to speak to us.
All we heard were variations on a story. Ciara was a good girl. Ciara was a troubled girl. Good but troubled--that was her epitaph. We asked if she'd expressed concerns about anyone following her, stalking her, contacting her. Nope. She was there, struggling through life. And then she wasn't.
By the time we finished the interviews, it was past seven. Gabriel was driving me home when he noticed the time and said, "I should have got you dinner."
Gabriel might not seem to take much interest in feeding himself, but God forbid I missed a meal. I was curled up in the passenger seat, half drowsing to the strains of Handel. I bit back a yawn. "I'd invite you over, but the only thing I have is dry cereal and bread. And I think the bread is sprouting a lovely shade of periwinkle."
"I'll take you out, then."
"That wasn't a hint."
"I know, but . . ." He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the wad of bills from James. "It was a profitable day."
I laughed and shook my head. He glanced over, as if making sure I was really okay with him fleecing my former fiance. I was. James fell for it and could afford it.
"Dinner it is, then," he said. "I believe we're past the point of pulling off the highway, so you'll have to settle for the diner."
"The food's good. The service is iffy, but that new girl isn't on tonight, so it should be fine."
--
By the time we got there, the dinner crowd had cleared out and the place was more than half empty. That may explain why we seemed to provide the main source of entertainment. Ida, Veronica, and the other elders sat there, beaming and whispering until I felt like the wallflower who showed up for prom with the star quarterback.
"Next time?" I whispered. "You're getting dry cereal and toast. I'll scrape off the mold."
He glanced around. "It does inhibit conversation, doesn't it?"
"Mmm."