Leaving Carolina (34 page)

“Me and Luc?
I am not part of his schemes.”

As Axel stares at me through dark lenses, a horn honks. He smiles tightly. “That would be your client.”

I look in the rearview mirror to where Grant is watching us. “We’ll talk later.”

I start to close the door when Axel says, “Don’t forget your purse.”

I am
so
sideways. I snatch it from the floorboard, close the door, and return to the sports car. “Okay.” I settle in beside Grant. “What’s this about me bein’ your fiancée?”

He points a finger at me. “You did it again.”

“What?”

“That Southern thing—the sticky sweet drawl.”

I nearly groan. “Grant, you told Axel I’m your fiancée.”

He curls a hand around the gearshift and looks at me over the tops of his sunglasses. “It’s why I’m here, Piper—to ask you to marry me.”

N
o?”

With an apologetic grimace, I shake my head.

Grant takes a step back. “Why? I mean, we talked about engagement… marriage… kids… and you always seemed hopeful.”

That’s embarrassing, but though my staggered pride begs me to prop it up with a disclaimer, I say, “I was hopeful, Grant, because you’re a nice guy and successful and everything I imagined in my future husband.”

He tosses his palms up. “So?”

I turn and cross the library to the windows overlooking the front of the mansion. “There has to be more than that.” I peer over my shoulder. “And not just from me.”

He looks forlorn against the backdrop of the ceiling-high bookshelves. “What do you mean?”

I lean back against the windowsill. “When you said you had broken it off with Penelope, you seemed distressed, as if you really cared about her.”

He shifts his weight and glances away. “Come on, I only knew her a couple of weeks. And you know I dated her to stamp out that rumor which
you
were too busy to help with.”

“You kissed her.”

With perfectly executed strides, he crosses the library to my side. “Is that why you’re rejecting my proposal? Jealousy?”

I tilt my head back. “Grant, you are one of the most conservative people I know, and that kiss…” I shrug. “Though I chalked it up to being a photo op, I don’t think it was. I think you couldn’t help yourself and that you feel for Penelope more than you’ve ever felt for me. And if you weren’t in politics, I would run a distant second to her, regardless of what either of our pasts hold.”

His brow spasms.

“There’s that distress again.” I eye his forehead.

He drags a hand across it. “Two weeks, Piper. That’s nothing.”

“Could be, but it could also be the beginning of
something
. Something that you don’t have with me.”

He makes a sound in his throat. “But maybe I could have it with you.” He suddenly looks desperate, and I feel sorry for him despite the sting of his admission.

I give his arm a squeeze. “If you’re going to settle for someone, don’t settle for me. You don’t love me, I don’t love you, and while you may reconcile yourself to being married to a Pickwick, there’s a bit more to my past than that.”

He narrows his eyes. “You said there was something else you wanted to tell me. You never did.”

I nod. “Unlike Penelope, who was honest with you before you got too involved.”

He takes a step back, dislodging my hand from his arm. “What?”

Feeling leprous, I clasp my hands before me. “I was eighteen…” And so the story unfolds.

Grant grimaces in all the places where I expect him to, and when
my condensed story winds down, he shakes his head. “You know where I stand on pornography.”

That’s a strong word. “What I did was wrong, but I don’t see it as pornography.”

“Call it what you will—porno, public nudity—it’s still political suicide.” He claps a hand to the back of his neck and turns away. “Man! Isn’t there a single woman out there with a clean slate?”

I stomp my foot. “Grant!”

“What?”

“Are you telling me you’ve never made a mistake?”

He frowns. “Of course I’ve made mistakes.”

“So there are things in your past you regret?”

“Yes, but normal things, like being suspended in high school for writing on the bathroom walls, losing my cool and cursing, a speeding ticket here and there, misfiling my taxes—the kind of stuff that makes you human. Not pornography and radical cults…” He throws his hands up. “My constituents won’t tolerate that, even if it was teenage rebellion.”

And to think I was excited to try my PR hand at politics. “They’re not very forgiving, then.”

He laughs wryly. “Politics isn’t forgiving.”

“And politics is all that matters?”

His gaze turns stern. “It’s my life. As for forgiveness, I’d say you’re as afraid of what this Trinity and the town will think of you if you own up to your Lady Godiva ride as I am of continuing to see Penelope.”

I wish I hadn’t told him about my plan to make restitution to Trinity.

“You have far less to lose than I do.” He glances out the window. “Especially as you don’t have to live in this backwoods place.”

“It is
not
backwoods.”

Grant gives a half laugh. “Come on, Piper. This isn’t L.A.—or Denver, for that matter.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

He stares at me, and the deeper his frown goes, the more it seems he’s looking at something totally foreign. Am I? I do feel a bit strange.

He shakes his head. “Nothing truly new happens here. This isn’t real life. Small towns, particularly Southern ones, are like the youngest kids in large families—everything is hand-me-downs.”

I scowl. “I’ll have you know that Pickwick is one of the fastest-growing towns in North Carolina. They have Wi-Fi, for goodness’ sake.”

“A recent addition, I’m sure.”

“Pickwick may be relatively small and shamelessly Southern, but it has plenty of
real
life in it. And it has things a big city doesn’t.”

“Like?”

“People who know each other, and not just because they work together or live in the same apartment building. And it has charm, safety, clean air, a town square—”

“Town square?”

I don’t know why I added that. “Yes, a pretty one with a park in the middle.”

He looks like he might laugh. “It must have been a real sacrifice to leave all this for the big city.”

I blink at the realization of what I’m saying and what it sounds
like. “No, I wanted to leave—had to. Things were different then.
I
was different, and so was my family. It’s better now.”

“You’re not considering staying?”

“No!”

He smiles like he knows something I don’t. “That sounded knee-jerk.”

Which I’ve warned him about when answering reporters’ questions. It makes a person sound defensive, as if he’s eager to get a lie off his chest.

“I’m going back to L.A.”

He nods. “And I’m going back to Denver.”

Less a fiancée. And less a story for Janet Farr/Jane Farredy, which he needs to know about. I tell him about my discovery, watching as his face goes from grave to horrified and certain his association with my PR firm is about to end.

At the end of the telling, he shoves his hands in his pants pockets and, head down, paces the library. On the third time through, he suddenly stops. “Politics! Conniving, backstabbing, double-dealing, bloodsucking!” He grunts, and in the bunching of his shoulders, curling of his lips, and baring of his teeth, I see a bit of the alpha male. “It’s getting old.”

I take a step toward him. “You aren’t thinking of quitting the race, are you?”

He startles, causing the alpha male to go back underground. “Of course not, but neither am I going to let it run my life—or ruin it.”

I sigh. “I’m glad to hear that. You’re good for Colorado, Grant.” I draw a deep breath. “I suppose I should remove you from my client list.”

I’m surprised by his hesitation but more surprised by the words that follow. “We’ll finish the race together—regardless of what this Jane Farredy has to say about me or you.”

Meaning less hot water for my partners to boil me in. “Thank you.” I move forward and stick out a hand. “Now you had best get back to Colorado before she finds out you’re here and reads too much into your visit.”

He shakes my hand and releases it. “Good-bye, Piper.” With that unbroken stride of his—unnaturally perfect, if you ask me—he crosses the library.

“Grant?”

He looks around.

“I shouldn’t say this, but with regards to Penelope—”

“Yes.” He nods sharply. “Far better I remain the single, eligible bachelor I was when I was first voted into office.”

“Actually, I was going to say—”

“No, that is what the specialist I’m paying to help me get re-elected was going to say.” He continues to the doorway, where he turns. “But after the election… once I’m settled back into office…” He smiles and disappears down the hallway.

So he isn’t giving up on Penelope? Feeling a tingle in my chest, I turn to the windows and watch him drive away.

One down, many more to go, though what I’m going to do about Axel, I have no idea.

I try not to think about him. I set my mind to the tasks ahead, the greatest being to get Uncle Obe’s estate in order so that pieces can be sold off, and the next being to keep my promise to Trinity.

I sigh. “No time like the present.” I cross the library, determined to drive to the little house where Trinity still lives with her grandmother. But what if she isn’t there? I don’t want to face the old woman alone.

I retrieve my iPhone and dial Trinity’s home.

“Hello?” an irritated voice demands.

“Can I speak to Trinity?”

“Ain’t here. Out with that Pickwick boy, she is.”

Oh no.

“Fool girl. I told her no, and what does she do when I lay me down for a nap? Jumps in his car and off they go before I can make it to the front door.”

Bart? Trinity did mention he had asked her out. Infusing my voice with sympathy, I say, “That’s Bart Pickwick for you, all right.” I hold my breath.

“Yep, that boy’s bad news. All them Pickwicks are bad news.”

Now is probably not the time to clear Trinity of the Lady Go-diva stunt. “If I were you, Mrs. Templeton, I would lie down and get some rest. No sense worrying yourself silly.”

“Well, you aren’t me, are you? Good-bye, Miss Busybody.” She hangs up without bothering to find out who “Miss Busybody” is. Thankfully.

I mull over the puzzle piece of Bart. Bart and Trinity. Bart and Luc, both of whom broke into the mansion in search of… the proof in the box. Which Trinity knows about, though only the will. Or maybe she lied when she said she didn’t look through the whole box. That would explain how Luc learned the details of Uncle Obe’s
dementia. Still, I can’t see Trinity taking an active role in this. Did Bart take advantage of her naiveté?

Bridget is less than cordial when I call—something about being up to her elbows in manure—but whips off Bart’s cell number before curtly telling me she has to go.

Bart answers on the second ring. “Bart Pickwick speaking.”

“This is Piper. Can I speak to Trinity?”

“Sure.”

“Piper?” Trinity screeches. “How did you know I was with Bart?”

“Your grandmother told me.”

She gasps. “I was sure she was asleep. She’s gonna be ill as a sore-tailed cat when I get home. But hey! You talked to her? Discussed you-know-what?” On that last, she lowers her voice, although probably not enough to exclude Bart from our exchange.

I grit my teeth. “There wasn’t an opportunity.”

“Ah,” she groans.

“Too, I think you should be there when I talk to her.”

“You’re probably right. Well, I’d best get back to this ice cream sundae I’m sharin’ with Bart. Thanks for calling.”

“Trinity!”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind excusing yourself from Bart so we can speak in private?”

“This sundae is meltin’ awful fast.”

“It will only take a minute.”

“Hold on.” She says something to Bart, and then I hear the click of her heels over tile. “What’s up?”

I nearly ask, “What in the world are you doing with my cousin?” But there’s a more pressing matter. “When you found Uncle Obe’s box in Axel’s office, you said you didn’t go through the whole thing.”

“I didn’t.”

“I assumed that meant you only looked in the file about the will.”

“No, I glanced at a few others.”

“Did
you glance
through the medical file?”

“I did.” She gasps. “Oh my stars! You found out. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to say anything, disturbin’ as it was to learn that your uncle is strugglin’ with demons, all the more reason I was pleased to see him at service today, but—”

“Demons?”

“Yeah. I think the doctor called it
demon-ti-a.”

I draw a cleansing breath. “Actually, it’s
dementia
, and it has nothing to do with demons.” Although a person so afflicted might disagree. “It’s a disease that affects older people’s memory and intellectual ability.”

“Like Alzheimer’s?”

How can she know about that and not this? “Yes.”

“Well, no wonder when I ran into Bart here at the ice cream place last week, he about laughed when I offered my condolences. That rascal! And here I thought he was using humor to deal with the pain.”