“The new library wing is really a very generous gift to the community,” Bernice said politely.
Amy raised her brows. “Do I detect a note of dutiful peasant gratitude?”
Bernice made a face. “Sorry about that. The Villantrys are nice enough in their own way, and Lord knows they’ve done a lot for this town. But they never forget for one minute that they are the leading family in Villantry. Very conscious of their position, if you know what I mean. Madeline is quite good in the role of Lady Bountiful.”
Owen grinned briefly. “But the noblesse oblige stuff from the lady of the manor gets to be a bit thick at times, I take it?”
Bernice rolled her eyes. “I’m afraid so. Then, too, even though we’re all adults now, I suppose a part of me can’t quite forget that when we were in high school together, Madeline was the acknowledged beauty of the town. She got every boyfriend she wanted, including one or two of mine.”
Arthur shifted uneasily in his chair and cleared his throat. “Villantry Fishing built this town. Most of the jobs here are connected to the company. I worked for Villantry myself years ago, before I went off to Arizona.”
“What did you do in Arizona?” Owen asked easily. He pretended not to notice Amy’s sharp glance.
“Started a construction company. Got lucky. Hit the building boom in Phoenix. Always thought I’d retire there, but after my wife died I felt restless. Did some traveling and then, on a whim, I decided to see what had happened to my hometown.”
“We met in the library,” Bernice said with a rueful laugh. “So I suppose one could say that we owe the Villantrys.”
Arthur paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. “Speaking of Villantrys,” he murmured, “here comes the lady of the manor herself, and Junior. He runs the business now, you know. Took over when his old man died three years ago.”
Owen glanced up to see a handsome woman in her fifties moving regally down the aisle between a row of tables. She was followed by a man in his early thirties who looked as if he was on the wrong coast. He wore a pale yellow sweater tied around his neck and a bored look that spoke of having grown up with a sense of entitlement.
The dining room hostess trotted deferentially ahead of the pair, as though to make certain no rude serfs lumbered into their path. Madeline paused briefly at various tables to greet people with heavy-handed graciousness. Raymond Junior paused with her. He was not so gracious, however. He appeared impatient.
A moment later the entourage halted beside the table where Owen and the others sat. Owen and Arthur got to their feet. Madeline acknowledged their chivalry with an aloof inclination of her head. The nod said more plainly than words could have that such good manners were only to be expected.
“Do sit down, both of you.” Madeline’s smile was polite, but her voice was laced with a certain pinched quality. Her gaze touched Arthur briefly before sliding away. “Bernice, Arthur, I’m so glad we ran into each other here tonight. I heard about your engagement, and I want to congratulate both of you.”
“Thank you, Madeline.” Bernice gestured toward Owen and Amy. “I’d like you to meet my niece, Amy Comfort, and her fiancé, Owen Sweet. They’re visiting.”
“How do you do,” Madeline said. “This is my son, Raymond.”
Raymond gave Owen a curt nod. “Our table’s ready, Mother.”
A fleeting frown of disapproval flickered across Madeline’s noble features, and then it was gone. “Yes, of course. You will excuse us?”
“Enjoy your dinner,” Bernice said cheerfully.
“Thank you.” Madeline glanced once more at Arthur and then she was gone.
Something in Arthur Crabshaw’s gaze caught Owen’s attention. In spite of his opinion of the crazy case and the fact that he had more important things on his mind at that moment than solving it, his instincts went on yellow alert.
Not red alert, Owen noticed, just yellow. But a warning light had definitely flashed. He felt Amy go very still beside him. He wondered if she had sensed the same thing he had.
No doubt about it: Arthur Crabshaw and Madeline Villantry had a history.
• • •
Two hours later Owen sat in a chair near the window of his darkened room and contemplated the closed door that stood between him and Amy.
He had been studying the door for nearly twenty minutes, ever since he and Amy had returned from dinner and coffee in the lounge.
After due consideration, Owen had finally concluded that the logical approach was the obvious one. He would simply knock on the connecting door. When Amy opened it from her side, he would tell her that he wanted to discuss the case. It was as clever an excuse as any.
Having considered and determined upon a course of action, he gripped the padded arms of the chair and started to get to his feet. An authoritative knock from Amy’s side of the door stopped him in midrise.
“Owen? Are you in there?” Her voice was muffled, but the excited urgency in it was unmistakable. She knocked again, this time with a bit more insistence.
Owen told himself not to get his hopes up. The odds were against the likelihood that Amy had fallen for him sometime during dinner and now wanted to share a passionate good-night embrace.
Nevertheless, he walked across the room with enthusiasm and opened the door with anticipation.
Amy stood there, her hand raised for another peremptory knock. Her honey-colored hair was pinned in a frothy knot on top of her head. She was wearing a heavy, quilted bathrobe that rendered the average nun’s habit scandalous in comparison. Owen smiled at the sight of her. She looked freshly scrubbed, and he was willing to bet that she had already brushed her teeth.
“I thought you might want to discuss the case,” she said eagerly.
Owen’s enthusiasm and anticipation vanished in a puff of smoke. So much for his fond dream of having Amy fall into his arms. Back to Plan A. “I was afraid of that.”
Her brows snapped together. “What?”
“Never mind.” Owen stepped aside and swept his hand out to invite her into his room. “Come on in and have a seat. I’m at your service. Hell, I’m even willing to unlock the little refrigerator over there and open one of those itsy-bitsy bottles of wine.”
Amy scowled. “Those tiny bottles are horribly overpriced for what you get.”
“No problem. I’ll just put it on my expense account.”
Amy halted midway into the room. Alarm flared in her eyes. “Expense account?”