“It’s all so beautiful,” she said when they arrived back at the kitchen. “Like something out of House & Garden but still warm and welcoming.”
“Thanks. My mother’s doing. When she found out she was sick, she decided to redecorate the place from top to bottom. So everything would be shipshape for my father. And for me when he passed away. That’s how she was, always thinking about everybody else. She drove herself crazy to get it right. She was afraid she wouldn’t finish in time.”
Ashlyn flashed back to the boxes she’d gone through before coming across Regretting Belle and the echoes she’d inadvertently picked up. Echoes belonging to someone who was sick and afraid of running out of time. Echoes she now realized had belonged to Ethan’s mother.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “What was her name?”
“Catherine.”
“She sounds lovely.”
Ethan smiled, but there was sadness there too. “She was. And a real fighter. They gave her a year when she was diagnosed. She hung in for three.”
“And she spent them making sure things would be easier for you and your dad when she was gone.”
“That’s who she was. She made dozens of lists, phone numbers for all the neighbors, who to call to fix this or that, where she kept the important papers. She even made the housekeeper swear to stay on and look after my father. Now she looks after me. Or tries to.”
Ashlyn managed a smile, but she couldn’t help comparing the choices her mother had made in the wake of her diagnosis to those of Catherine Hillard, who had done everything in her power to ensure those she loved were looked after. She had chosen to stay. Chosen to fight.
They had wandered back to the kitchen now. Ethan pointed to the stove, where a large pot sat on the back burner. “Can I interest you in a bowl of seafood chowder?”
“You made chowder?”
“Does that seem so impossible?”
“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that Daniel was hopeless in the kitchen. I doubt he could have found a soupspoon, let alone make actual soup.”
“Daniel’s your ex?”
“Almost ex,” she corrected awkwardly. “He died before our divorce was final.”
“An accident?”
Ashlyn looked away. She hated the question. Mostly because she never knew quite how to answer. “He was hit by a car. A truck, actually. Four years ago.”
“Damn. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.”
A silence fell, growing weighty as the seconds ticked by. Ethan stepped to the stove and lifted the lid from the soup pot, peering at the contents. “In the interest of full disclosure, I didn’t actually make the chowder. Penny, my inherited housekeeper, brought it by this morning. She’s convinced I’ll starve to death if she doesn’t feed me at least twice a week and I’ve stopped trying to convince her she’s wrong. Her chowder’s practically legendary and there’s always enough for an army.” He paused, lifting his brows. “I’m happy to share.”
“No. Really. I didn’t come to make a pest of myself.” Ashlyn pulled the book from beneath her arm and laid it on the butcher-block counter. “I’ll just leave this if that’s all right. Maybe you can look at the pages I marked and the questions I jotted down.”
Ethan eyed the book with its yellow sticky notes. “What kind of questions?”
“About Goldie Spencer, mostly.”
“Who’s Goldie again?”
“I mentioned her the night you came to the shop, but I only had a nickname then. Her real name was Geraldine Spencer. She inherited her father’s newspaper business when she was just twenty-one and used it to expose corruption. Hemi used to work for her, although it’s starting to look like their relationship went deeper than that. And there’s a new name I’m hoping might be familiar. Steven Schwab. It’s all on the sticky notes, which are attached to the corresponding pages. And there are some photocopies at the back. Pictures I hoped might be familiar.”
Ethan removed the book from its protective sleeve and ran a thumb over the protruding yellow Post-its. “That’s a lot of notes.”
“I know. And I know you don’t really care about the books, but I was hoping you could clarify some of the things I’ve discovered.”
“All right,” Ethan said grudgingly. “I’ll take a look. But chowder first. I’m starving. We can talk while we eat. Can you make a salad? The stuff’s in the crisper. You might want to shuck the jacket, though.”
Ashlyn nodded as she peeled off her jacket, then stepped to the fridge.
Ethan flipped on the stove and pulled a wooden spoon from a nearby drawer. “You said you have questions about some new things you learned. What kind of things are we talking about?”
Ashlyn ran through her mental list of questions. There were so many she hardly knew where to begin. “Marian mentioned writing poetry when she was a girl. I was wondering if any of her poems might still exist. I was also hoping you’d be able to scare up an old photo or two.”
Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know anything about poems. Marian wasn’t really on my radar growing up, but there might be some photos somewhere. I’m curious about the crusading newspaper heiress, though. Goldie, was it?”
“That’s the name she went by. Apparently, she was quite something. Broke all the rules and never apologized for any of it. She may also be the reason Belle and Hemi split. Which brings us to Steven Schwab.”
Ethan pulled a pair of bowls from a nearby cabinet and set them beside the stove. “Who’s Steven Schwab?”
“He might be the man who broke your aunt’s heart. Or he might not be. It’s a long story.”
“Then we’d better open some wine. Red or white?”
“I don’t care. You pick.”
What was happening? She’d come to drop off a book. Now Ethan was opening a bottle of Malbec and she was making a salad. And yet it felt strangely good, almost comfortable, despite the unfamiliar surroundings. Maybe he was just glad for the distraction. Whatever the reason, she had his attention and she planned to make the most of it.
TEN
ASHLYN
As with all rare things, regular restorative care is essential. Chronic neglect may result in weakening, warping, or other persistent vulnerabilities.
—Ashlyn Greer, The Care & Feeding of Old Books
They ate side by side at the counter, heads bent over the photocopied articles Ruth had dug up, including the piece bearing Steven Schwab’s photo. Ashlyn elaborated on her suspicions that Hemi and Goldie had been involved romantically, as well as her reasons for suspecting that Hemi and Steven Schwab were one and the same.
Ethan listened attentively, interrupting now and then to ask a question. His interest was a pleasant surprise, but as she moved on to thornier territory, she reminded herself to tread carefully. Martin Manning was a part of his past, his family. And family was family, no matter what Ethan liked to pretend.
“I hate to ask this, but do you remember your father ever mentioning that Martin may have been involved in anything . . .” She paused, searching for a delicate way to say it. “Less than aboveboard?”