“I went by the hospital,” he said quietly. “You weren’t conscious at the time.”
She nodded, looking away at last. “I got your note. Honestly, I’m so embarrassed. I’m not really dressed, I’ve passed out on you…I assure you, Matt intended to marry an intelligent human being. I mean, that’s what I usually am.”
“No assurance needed,” he said. “I shocked you. I’m really sorry.”
They were very close, he suddenly realized, she half prone, he by her side. He must have been making her uncomfortable. He rose. “I just came by to say hello, but I see you’re ready to go to bed.” It was just past eight-thirty, he realized. Well, she worked hard. Digging all day must be exhausting. Anyway, lots of people went to bed early. Eight-thirty? “I’ll get out of your hair. Though I would love to see you again, if you have time.”
She smiled. “I’d make time for Matt’s cousin, Joe,” she said softly.
God, her smile was pure enchantment. He knew why Matt had been so in love.
“Great,” he returned.
She was staring up at him again. “Have you been in Hastings House before?” she asked him.
“Yes.” He shrugged. Why *foot around? “I’m a private investigator. I had to come. I had to investigate the explosion for myself.”
“And?”
“It appeared to have been an accident.”
“Appeared?”
“The police investigated, the fire department investigated…a gas line exploded when someone turned up the heat.”
The words hung between them. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was. Accident? Or had the line been rigged, and had someone known and decided to turn up the heat at just the right time?
“Greta was the hostess that night,” she murmured.
He lifted his shoulders. “I think Greta would lie across the railroad tracks before she’d destroy a place of historic value.”
Leslie lowered her head; Joe could tell that she agreed with him. He had learned over the years that the answers to many things could be surprising, but that was one headline he just didn’t see. Wealthy Socialite Runs Amok, Destroys Historic House.
But someone else…? That he could see.
Leslie looked up at him and flushed. She wondered if their thoughts had been running along the same route. She stood suddenly. “Actually, it’s ridiculously early. Want to give me a minute? I neglected to have dinner this evening, and I’m suddenly starving. Oh, sorry, you probably have plans.”
“I’d love to take you to dinner.”
“I wasn’t suggesting…and I really wouldn’t want you to change any plans on my behalf.”
“I’d love to take you to dinner,” he repeated.
She arched a brow, studying him.
“I don’t have any plans.”
“Great. Then…make yourself at home. Except,” she added with a laugh, “watch out for the tourist no-no tapes.”
“I wouldn’t dream of sitting on an antique chair,” he assured her. “I’ll be in the kitchen, how’s that? Fairly safe, right?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be right down.”
He watched her race up the stairs.
Matt had been a lucky man. Then again, Matt had deserved the best.
He wandered into the kitchen and helped himself to a glass of water. There was a plain wooden chair by the hearth. There was no fire burning, but he sat and stared into the darkened recess of the alcove anyway.
He smiled suddenly, glad that he had stopped by. Eileen Brideswell wouldn’t be pleased, but he couldn’t work every minute of every day, and he had thought of little but her missing niece since he had taken on the case. In fact, she had grown in his mind. He felt almost as if he knew her. He knew the idealism that had driven her, knew the passion with which she had worked.
He prayed that she wasn’t dead. That she had, perhaps subconsciously, wanted to inflict some punishment on her aunt, the remaining bastion of a difficult family, so she had run off on impulse to take a breather up in Canada or down in Mexico.
But he didn’t believe it. She hadn’t used a single credit card. She hadn’t written a check. No one had made either legal or illegal use of her social security number. The last person to have seen her—before she stepped into a dark sedan—was Didi Dancer, who had clearly liked her and seemed to have no reason to lie about what she’d seen.
He leaned back in the chair, shaking his head and turning his thoughts to tonight. He was glad to have met Leslie at last. She had taken his mind off his task and given him a much-needed break. But she came with baggage, too. Sorrow that they shared.
He needed a vacation, he decided. Tahiti was starting to sound awfully good.
He rose, walking into the servants’ pantry, where the explosion had occurred.
He looked around at the repaired walls, the fresh paint, the furniture. He was no expert. He couldn’t tell the difference between real period furniture and good reproductions. It was interesting, though, that the explosion had taken place here and the rest of the house had suffered very little damage.
Targeted.