He fluffed his pillows, leaned back against them, and put his arms behind his head. “That’s what I thought, and I think you’re telling the truth.”
“Why would I lie? What does this man, this spy, have to do with me?”
“When he knew he was about to be caught, he ate a piece of paper with your name on it. We found it in his stomach after he was dead.”
At that Eden stood up. She was going to her own bedroom and in the morning she would laugh about this. It had all been a hilarious dream.
Jared caught her arm and pulled her back to the bed, where she sat on the edge of it, facing straight ahead, her eyes glazed.
“Why?” she whispered.
“That’s what we want to know. As you can imagine, you’ve been pretty thoroughly investigated, but we could find nothing in your past or your current life that would link you to a spy of Applegate’s caliber.”
She looked at him. “I was investigated by the FBI? And you found nothing? Am I supposed to be grateful for that?”
“Look, I know this is a shock to you, but I took a big chance when I told you about this. My telling you is a gesture of respect, actually. My boss wanted me to make you fall in love with me, then I was to try to get you to talk and tell me what you know. But I’ve read every word about you, and I’ve spent a whole day listening to you and watching you, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you don’t know anything. Or don’t know that you know it, that is. After much contemplation about this, I decided that I should just tell you what was going on and ask you to try to figure out what you know.”
“Respect?” Eden whispered. “Respect? You have respect for me? You’ve snooped and spied on me, and you’ve pretended to be much more injured than you are so I’d feel sorry for you. Where’s the respect in all that?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Jared said with a one-sided grin. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“No, it didn’t work.” She stood up. “I don’t know anything about a spy, and I don’t know anything that would cause a spy to know about me. Did it ever occur to any of you that I was an editor at a major publishing house? Maybe the man wanted to write a book and he was given my name as someone to send his manuscript to. Maybe a book editor is nothing in your world, but I can assure you that to a person who wants a book published we are only just below God.”
He looked at her in surprise. “As far as I know, no one ever thought of that. It’s a strong possibility.” He smiled at her, but she didn’t relent. “Look, Ms. Palmer, I didn’t want this job. I pleaded with my boss to not assign me this. I said I’d rather deal with drug addicts and the underworld than with a church-going woman. ‘Deliver me!’ I told him.”
With every word the man spoke, Eden’s nails cut deeper into her palms. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”
“Not doing a good job of it, am I?” he said, obviously trying for humor.
“No, you’re not doing well at it at all. I’m going to my own room now, Mr. McBride, and I want you to leave my house in the morning. In fact, I want you to vacate your house and leave Arundel. I don’t know anything about a spy and I don’t know anything that he’d want to know. My guess is that he believed that idiot jewel story and that’s what he was after. I don’t think that people spy for love of their own country. I think they do it for money, so the Farrington jewels would have appealed to a man like him.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“So much for the thoroughness of FBI research,” Eden muttered as she glanced down at the bedside table. On the bottom shelf were several old paperbacks. Bending, she withdrew one and tossed it onto his lap. Missing Treasures was the title. “Since you’re a big-shot FBI man, I’ll tell you a little secret that not even the people of the other families in Arundel know. Mrs. Farrington’s ancestor sold the jewels to pay his debts so he could keep this house. To save his pride, he spread the rumor that the jewels were stolen. The story is a myth. Now, Mr. McBride, I’m going to my own room to do some research for a new job. Tomorrow, I want you to leave. If you’re not out of Arundel by six P.M., I’m going to the sheriff. I know the man. He used to play with my daughter when she was a baby. He’ll listen to me. Have I made myself clear?”
“Completely,” Jared said lightly. He was looking at the back of the book, which told about treasures that were missing around the United States, one of which was the Farrington sapphire necklace.
“I’ll call my boss and I’ll be out of here in the morning. No problem.” He looked back at her. “See you in the morning.”
When Eden got to her bedroom, she wanted to block out all that McBride had told her. How could such a lovely evening have turned so sour? FBI, indeed, she thought. Was she supposed to believe him? He had lied about everything else, so why was she expected to believe him now?
Obviously, the man was insane. That was the only explanation for what he’d told her. She was supposed to have been involved with a spy. When? was the first thing that came to her mind. When you’re a single mother, you’re father, mother, breadwinner. You’re everything to one or more children. There had been days when Eden had craved a mere fifteen minutes of time alone, but she couldn’t get it. She’d always had work to do, either the kind that earned money, or housework, or baby work. She’d always felt guilty that she hadn’t been able to play with Melissa as much as she would have liked, but she’d never had enough energy or time.
Yet here was some man saying that he thought she’d somehow, some way, at some time, become involved with a spy. Too, too ridiculous.
She tried to cl
ear her mind of McBride and was glad that he was going to leave her house and the town tomorrow. She went to the pine cabinet in the corner of the bedroom. That she hadn’t even opened the cabinet reminded her that she needed to do a thorough exploration of the house and the attic. What was left and what was missing? Inside the cabinet were about half of the books that Mrs. Farrington had bought for her.
Smiling, Eden took out a book on Thomas Jefferson’s gardening records. Opening it, she saw her notes in the margins. It seemed so long ago now. When she last held this book, Melissa had been a baby, and she’d spent most of the summer outside in the gardens. Only in inclement weather had she worked on cataloging. During the winters and the hottest summer days, she’d stayed inside and studied the history of the Farrington family.
She put the book back on the shelf and withdrew another one. It was a children’s book about what it was like to live in the “Big House.” She couldn’t help herself as she sat down hard on the end of the bed and ran her hand over the book. How quickly children grew up! It seemed only days ago that she’d bought this book for her daughter. They’d read it together several times before that night when they’d had to run away and leave everything behind.
Eden looked at the old room, at the restored molding around the ceiling, at the fireplace surround that had been stripped of layers of paint, then perfectly repainted a classic off-white. Tears came to her eyes. Brad said that Mrs. Farrington had sold a valuable piece of family silver so she could have the house renovated for Eden. The love that went into that action made the tears run down Eden’s cheeks. Mrs. Farrington had not deserved the life she’d had. She deserved children who loved her and cared for her in her old age. Instead, she’d turned to strangers.
Wiping away her tears, Eden put the book back in the cabinet, glanced at the other titles, and wondered where the rest of the books were. Mrs. Farrington had purchased every book she thought Eden might possibly need. It had never been said, but Eden was sure that Mrs. Farrington’s dream was for Eden to someday be the head of the Arundel Historical Society. To the outside world, it meant nothing, but to the people of Arundel, it was a job of high prestige. To be elected to it by members of the founding families, a person had to show extensive knowledge of restoration techniques and the history of the town. Historical gardening was part of that required knowledge. Eden remembered her one and only visit to Williamsburg, paid for by Mrs. Farrington. While Eden was away, Mrs. Farrington had hired three young girls to babysit Melissa (Mrs. Farrington was terrified that she’d be left alone with the child), all so Eden could go to a gardening symposium on eighteenth-century techniques. When she wasn’t in class, she wandered about the old town and drank in the beauty of the buildings and the gardens.
Yawning, Eden closed the doors to the cabinet. “But then I was actually spying on my country,” she muttered.