A Small-Town Homecoming (9 page)

T
ESS SHIFTED
her roadster into a lower gear and roared through the wide gate of Chandler House ten minutes after six o’clock. Why had she ever agreed to such a ridiculous meeting time, she asked herself as she jolted to a stop beneath the porte cochere. Right in the middle of the dinner hour. She hadn’t had time to change out of the summery block-print dress and patent leather heels she’d worn to work that day. She’d barely had time to drink the soothing miso soup she’d picked up at Kamakura on the way home, and she’d had to stuff her sushi in her refrigerator for later. Stale sushi—ugh.

Oh, well. It wasn’t as if she’d have been able to eat the fussy, spicy food anyway, not with her skittery stomach. Not after what Quinn had told her at the hospital. And not after the shame and guilt that had drifted in and settled over her, smothering her appetite and scattering her thoughts.

She’d panicked that afternoon. She’d left the hospital and returned to her office, locked the door, turned off the lights and hidden in the late-afternoon shadows behind her desk, resting her head in her hands while aftershocks rattled through her. Her brilliant, lovely Tidewaters. Geneva’s hopes and all their plans, splintering at the edges. Ned, laid up and in pain, and sweet Sylvie left to deal with the aftermath.

And Quinn…Well. She couldn’t begin to imagine how this was affecting him. She didn’t want to think about it.

No, she hadn’t devoted much time to thinking about what Tidewaters meant to anyone else or how it might impact their lives. She’d been so wrapped up in her own design and ambitions, in Geneva’s goals and vision, that she hadn’t looked beyond the foundation and walls and connective tissue of the building to see the others involved in bringing it to life.

By the time she braked to a stop at the side entry and grabbed a light sweater before hopping out of her car, she was finished with doubt and self-recrimination. It was time to turn her energy to something more productive than beating up on herself. Time to take the fight to someone else.

What was going on? What did Quinn suspect? She’d learned that so-called journalist from Channel Six had been snooping around the site. Maybe that’s why Geneva had chosen this meeting time, so they could all watch Justin Gregorio’s newscast together.

Although Tess was much more interested in hearing Quinn’s version of the events.

She slipped through the side entrance and started down the back hall, but made a quick detour into the kitchen when she heard a pot clang against a countertop. “Hi there, Julia.”

“Hi there yourself, young lady.” Julia swung the faucet over the kettle she was holding and began to fill it with water. “Your grandmama’s in the second parlor, waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” Tess tortured herself with an extravagant sniff of the aroma wafting from the oven. “Is Quinn here yet?”

“Right on time.” Julia cast a pointed look over her shoulder. “Unlike some other people I could mention.”

“Nag, nag, nag. It’s a wonder I put up with you.” Tess darted in close to give the cook a smacking kiss on her cheek. “Are those your almond cookies I smell?”

“Could be.”

“Are some of them for me?”

“Could be.” Julia elbowed Tess aside and carried the kettle to the cooktop. “If you get out of here and let me finish what I’m doing.”

Tess moved back into the dim hallway. She could hear Geneva’s questioning tone and Quinn’s low, steady rumble as she neared the blue parlor, the one Geneva used as a casual, private space—the only room on the ground floor with a television. She faltered for a moment, pressing a fist against her stomach. And then she pasted a bright smile on her face and struck a relaxed pose in the doorway. “I hope you haven’t started without me.”

“You’re late.” Geneva smoothed a hand over the Yorkie perched in her lap. She was seated in her favorite high-backed chair, a throne upholstered in blue-and-white toile. Tess had always associated toile with formality and ultimatums.

“Yes, I’m late. As usual,” she said with an overplayed sigh. “My one and only vice.”

She sauntered into the room, dropped her purse on the floor, draped her sweater over one arm of a sofa and settled on the soft, deep cushion beside them. “Hello, Quinn.”

From the opposite end of the sofa, he grunted a masculine greeting. He lounged against the corner pillows, his legs extending in two long, lean, jean-clad lines and his boots crossed and stacked on the plush rug. He’d managed to change from his grubby work clothes into
cleaner jeans, and he wore his standard leather jacket over a blue shirt that matched the color of his eyes. No time to shave, though—dark stubble edged his jaw, giving him a slightly rough and dangerous cast.

Geneva lifted a remote and aimed it at the television as Justin’s face appeared on the screen, increasing the volume until his deep, smooth voice filled the room. “City police were called to the scene early this morning at Tidewaters, the construction site adjoining the bay at the intersection of Front Street and Clipper Road in Carnelian Cove. This was the second visit in less than a month that the police have made to this controversial building project.”

“Controversial,” Tess muttered in disgust as she crossed her arms. Geneva held up her hand, signaling for silence.

The scene shifted to a nervous-looking Rusty speaking into Justin’s microphone. “I heard a sn—a loud snap, and then Ned…he must have slipped through the hole in the scaffolding.”

Justin tilted the microphone toward his own chin. “Who was it that put that particular piece of the scaffolding in place?”

“I-I’m not sure,” Rusty said, seeming more uncomfortable by the moment.

“You’re not in charge of the scaffolding?”

“No.” Rusty relaxed, obviously relieved he could answer a question without having to worry about his phrasing. “That’s Quinn.”

Justin appeared in a new shot, strolling along one of the docks on the marina. “That’s J. J. Quinn, the general contractor chosen to build Tidewaters. It’s interesting to note the similarities between today’s accident, involv
ing a construction worker’s fall through a faulty piece of scaffolding, with an incident on another of Quinn’s construction projects just a few years ago, when one of his crew members plummeted from the scaffolding and broke his back.”

Julia stepped through the door with a coffee-and-dessert tray and paused to watch the television.

“Today the worker on Quinn’s site was luckier,” continued Justin, “suffering only a broken leg and some badly bruised ribs. But police are investigating the scene.”

“That rat,” Tess said. “He made it sound as though—”

Suddenly, Howard Cobb appeared on the screen, speaking into Justin’s microphone from a different marina location. “I warned the city that there were numerous problems associated with the Tidewaters project, but I never expected this kind of trouble. I guess today’s incident is just one example….” He broke off, appearing to consider his next words with great care. “It seems to furnish proof that those of us who opposed the building…well, we had our reasons for doing so.”

Justin turned to face the camera, the waters of the bay behind him. “We tried to reach Tidewaters’ developer, Geneva Chandler, for a comment, but she declined to speak with Channel Six news. We can only hope that her construction project won’t continue to be plagued with bad luck. For Channel Six news, this is Justin Gregorio in Carnelian Cove.”

G
ENEVA PRESSED
a button on the remote to switch off the television. Too bad she couldn’t do the same with the nasty campaign waged by Howard Cobb and his accomplices in the media. “Cleverly done,” she said. “I’m quite impressed. And I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Oh, it was clever, all right.” Tess pushed out of her seat to pace the room restlessly. “What an outrageous, slimy pack of innuendoes and outright—Arghh!”

“Makes me feel dirty just listening in,” Julia muttered as she set the tray on a table near Geneva’s chair.

“I have to agree with you both,” Geneva said as she smiled and nodded her thanks to Julia. “Although I’m not sure which slimy thing or person you’re referring to.”

“Does it matter?” Julia straightened and brushed her hands over her apron. “If you’ll carry this tray into the kitchen when everyone’s finished, Miss Tess, I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“That’s fine,” Geneva said. “Thank you, Julia. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tess folded her arms, lifted one hand to her mouth and began to chew the side of her thumb in a nervous childhood habit Geneva had thought she’d cured. “I’m glad you didn’t talk to that Gregorio creep,” Tess said. “He’d have found some way to mess it up.”

“Which is precisely why I declined his invitation.” Geneva lifted the coffeepot and one of the cups. “Coffee, Quinn?”

“Sure. Thanks.” He stood and took the cup Geneva offered and then moved across the room to stare through the window facing the ocean.

“And why is Howard Cobb sticking his hairy, bulbous nose into any of this?” Tess paused in her pacing to grab two cookies from the plate. “He had the good sense to recuse himself from the council votes on the permit process. Why is he talking to the news now?”

“He may be reconsidering the wisdom of investing so much in the development of his commercial park along the river.” Geneva lifted a dessert plate and napkin for Tess
to take when she passed by again. “There aren’t all that many professionals needing office space in Carnelian Cove, and Tidewaters will be stiff competition for him.”

“He should have seen this coming when you started the permit process on Tidewaters.” Tess bit into one of the cookies. “He should have known he might have trouble finding enough tenants to fill his building.”

“He thought he could stop me.” Geneva’s lips twisted in a tiny smile. “He should have known better about that, too.”

She stirred a bit of cream into the coffee she’d poured for herself. Quinn stood utterly still at the window, his back to the rest of the room. A quiet, curious man. Steady and resolute, in spite of his past shortcomings—or perhaps because of them. Geneva suspected his brooding appearance sometimes masked an impatience with the dramas swirling around him.

Time to draw him into this one. “I am concerned, however,” she said, “about the points Mr. Gregorio made about the curious history of problems Quinn has had on his construction sites. I wouldn’t want those problems tainting Tidewaters’ reputation before it’s completed.”

“That’s not fair.” Tess dropped her cookie on her plate. “Anything that happened before has nothing to do with this. The first ‘problem’ Gregorio mentioned at Tidewaters was a random act of vandalism. And Quinn told me the second problem wasn’t an accident at all—that board had been cut.”

Geneva gave her a long, bland look. “And do you believe everything that Quinn tells you?”

“Of course I do.” Tess’s plate clattered as she set it on the tea table. The second cookie—one of Tess’s favorites—was still untouched. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because of the specific types of problems he’s had before on his job sites.” Geneva sipped her coffee. “Because he has an alleged history of negligence.”

“That’s…that’s ridiculous.” Tess spun toward Quinn, who continued to stare out the window. “Isn’t it? Quinn?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, too,” Geneva said quietly.

“Gossip.”
Tess resumed her pacing. “He hasn’t been negligent, not one bit. Hell, I haven’t been able to find five minutes to enjoy that site for myself since—”

She turned slowly, suspicion evident in her expression. “You wouldn’t have hired him if you’d had any doubts.”

“It was your doubts that most concerned me.” Geneva finished her coffee and set her cup aside. “I’m relieved to see you seem to have resolved them.”

“Don’t you have anything to say?” Tess strode across the room toward the spot where Quinn remained, silent and impassive. “Are you just going to stand there and not say a word about any of this?”

“You were doing enough talking for both of us.”

He turned his head, and his features seemed to soften as he gazed at Tess. A quick, shadowy creasing around his eyes, a momentary twist of his lips. But his expression hardened as he moved to face Geneva. “The only thing I want to know,” he said, “is whether you think Cobb had anything to do with the vandalism. Or with the scaffolding—with hurting Ned.”

“I’d like to say that I’m certain Howard would never arrange anything so stupid. Or dangerous.” Geneva looked up at them both. “But I can’t. He’s a clever man, and an ambitious one, but he’s done some incredibly foolish things.”

“How can we find out?” Tess added several cookies
to her plate and sank back into her seat on the sofa. Crisis averted; appetite back in place. “If he’s behind this, I want to nail his ass to the wall.”

“Please, Tess. That statement is disturbing on so many levels.” Geneva sighed and ran her fingers along the fold of the napkin still in her lap. “I suppose I could hire an investigator.”

Quinn’s frown deepened. “Isn’t this police business?”

“The city police won’t want to look in Howard’s direction.” Geneva leaned her head against the chair cushion, suddenly weary of the twists and turns this project had taken. She’d hoped that once construction had started, opposition to Tidewaters would fade. “An investigator will act on our suspicions,” she added.

“And what if we’re wrong?” asked Tess. “We might send him off on a wild-goose chase—an expensive one—while the real culprit gets away with it.”

“There’s something else an investigator could do.” Quinn set his cup on the table. “He could keep an eye on the site. I can’t be there twenty-four hours a day.”

“And I’m not about to hire a bodyguard for a city block.” Geneva laid her napkin on the tray. “I think we’ve exhausted this topic for the evening. I’m sure that after we’ve all had time to rest and consider matters from different perspectives, we’ll be much better equipped to put a plan in motion.”

She rose from her chair. “Is there anything else we need to discuss tonight?”

“Just one thing.” Tess stood and brushed cookie crumbs from her dress skirt. “J. J. Quinn?”