Not What It Seems (Escape to Alaska Trilogy) (16 page)

“His portfolio could choke that horse we all hear about. He owns real estate in Seattle and in Anchorage. He owns a thriving Anchorage bar, Gold Diggers, and two equally successful restaurants in downtown Anchorage, Precious Gems and Endless Nights. And he still holds shares in his parents’ Seattle accounting firm, where he was employed until about three years ago, utilizing his Masters Degree in Finance.”

“Holy shit!” Theodore leapt to his feet, heard his buddy’s guffaw on the other end of the line.

“If Cassidy is interested in this guy, you’d better encourage her to marry him. I hate to break it to you, buddy, but this guy is wealthier than you are.”

Theodore almost dropped the phone.

“Clayton’s got money in the stock market, poor guy, but he has millions safely sitting in the bank, too. He owns several toys—a Porsche, a BMW, a Ford Ranger and a boat he stores in Seattle that I’d commit murder to own. You never heard that here,” added Bobbie, chuckling. “He currently resides in an executive log home he had custom-built a few miles outside of Anchorage. Including contents, it’s rumored to be worth several million. Need anything more?”

“No, I don’t. And I commend you on your investigative skills, Special Agent.” Theodore smiled while pacing the floor of his hotel suite.

“Oh, stop it. You’ll swell my head with such praise.” Bobbie chuckled.

“I can’t thank you enough, man. Drinks are on me next time we get together with the family.”

“I’m holding you to it.” Bobbie chuckled again. “Remember to invite me to Cassidy and Clayton’s wedding.”

Theodore ignored Bobbie’s remark. “Give my love to Cindy and your boys.”

“Say hello to Madeline and Cassidy, Ted. Talk to you soon.” Bobbie cut the connection.

Theodore lowered himself onto the bed, stared at the ceiling, and contemplated what he’d learned. Clayton was a multimillionaire with a Masters in Finance, but pretended he managed a western bar and worked as a bartender. Cassidy had earned a law degree and worked until recently as a successful defense attorney. Now she pretended to be a down-on-her-luck student, employed as a waitress.

“Those two deserve each other,” he muttered. “But God help us all if they ever discover the truth about each other.”

“Now, who the hell is Randy Rock?” asked Theodore aloud. He discovered several listings for Rock in the phone book and called the first number listed.

“Hello.” An elderly lady answered, tentatively. Theodore couldn’t discern the distinct accent at first. And then he realized the woman was a Native American.

“Good afternoon, madam. Is this Annie Rock?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Does Randy Rock reside at this address?”

“Heavens, not since he was a teenager. Randy owns his own house off Minnesota Drive. He’s not in the phone book, mind you; Randy insists he doesn’t need a phone in the house. These young people only rely on cell phones nowadays. Can’t understand it myself.”

Theodore visualized a gray-haired elder in a floral housedress, probably wearing an apron and mixing up bread dough or a batch of bannock or something. “Is Randy a relative?”

“He’s my youngest son. Been ‘paying it forward’ working with troubled youth ever since he earned a degree in psychology.” The old woman audibly sighed. “I surely missed him all those years he was away at that university, but I couldn’t be more proud of my boy.”

Theodore suspected her ‘boy’ was probably in his early thirties. “Sorry I bothered you, Mrs. Rock. I’ll call Randy on his cell phone.”

“Do you have his number?”

“I surely do.” Theodore grimaced with his fib. “Goodbye now, Mrs. Rock. You have a great day.”

Theodore hung up the phone. Cassidy had befriended both Clayton and Randy. Clayton excelled at business, obviously a go-getter. And Randy Rock, well-educated Native American, worked for the betterment of youth. He couldn’t be anything but an admirable fellow. Theodore grimaced, remembering how he’d defended Jonathan Ward’s intentions. Cassidy’s talent for judging character in a man far exceeded his own.

Had his daughter dated this Randy fellow in order to annoy Clayton? If so, her strategy had worked. Theodore had studied Clayton’s expression when he’d informed him that Cassidy had dated the bar’s singer as well as himself. He’d bet a month’s revenue at the law firm that Clayton was smitten with her.

To Theodore’s way of thinking, the whole scenario added up to a win-win situation for him. Clayton Edwards hailed from a good family, and he certainly could provide for his daughter. For a moment, he imagined Cassidy and Clayton as a couple. If they married, the two of them would produce beautiful grandchildren. What more could a man ask for?

*

Clayton grabbed Cassidy’s empty glass off the counter and held it in his hand for a moment, actually contemplating hiding it under the bar for DNA testing later. And then he shook his head and shoved it into the dishwasher rack with the other dirty dishes.

“Get a grip,” muttered Clayton. He hadn’t heard from his brother-in-law, and antsy didn’t begin to cover how he felt about the entire situation. What was taking so damn long?

“Two Coors Lite, a Caesar, and one of whatever we have on tap.” Sherry shook her head and leaned against the bar, waiting for her order. “I told the old fellow we have twelve different brands on tap. He said ‘surprise me’.”

“Maybe I’ll send over a glass of prune juice. That’ll surprise the old boy.” Clayton grinned. “I love this job.”

Several hours into the night shift, Clayton muttered to himself, “What in hell did I do to deserve this job?”

The beer refrigerator quit working at six o’clock. The repairman had refused to come out and fix it, until Clayton had threatened to send Terry over to collect him. He’d arrived twenty minutes later and had it repaired within the hour. A half hour later, the microphone died in the middle of one of the band’s songs, and the female lead singer threw the mother of all hissy fits. Within a minute, Terry discovered someone had tripped over a cord and simply unplugged it. But she insisted only free drinks for the remainder of the evening would compensate for the embarrassment she’d suffered. She downed the first two cocktails in fifteen minutes, but slowed up considerably when Clayton informed her if she got too inebriated to sing, none of the band members would be paid, not just her.

And now two drunken oilfield workers were practically falling out of their chairs, but still insisted Cassidy serve them ‘one more for the road’. He’d eavesdropped on their conversation, and his new waitress was holding her own with the two fools.

Cassidy stood, hands on hips. “Gentlemen, the ‘road’ drank three more already, and I’m refusing you further service. Why don’t we call you a cab, and you call it a night. We’re closing in a half hour anyway. It’s not like you’re going to miss anything.”

“I’d mish ya smilin’ face, darlin’,” slurred the fellow called Wally.

“I’d mish ya, too.” The guy named Eddie attempted to swing an arm around Cassidy’s waist but she sidestepped him nicely.

“Here you go, boys.” Clayton sidled up to the table with a cab driver on his heels. “Called you guys a cab, so let’s help you to your feet. You head home, all safe and sound. And the cab fare is on the house.”

“Yer payin’ fer a cab?” Wally peered up at Clayton through half-closed eyelids.

“Yep. Let’s go.” Clayton hoisted Wally to his feet, and the cabbie grabbed Eddie.

“How about a kish goodnight?” Wally puckered up.

“It’s fine with me,” said Cassidy, straight-faced. “But before you kiss Eddie goodnight, you’d best ask if he wants you to kiss him.”

Cassidy winked at Clayton and then shuffled over to another deserted table and began clearing the mess away.

“Whadda shee say?” asked Eddie, frowning.

The cabbie was laughing so hard, Eddie almost slipped through his grip. From the corner of her eye, Cassidy watched Clayton and the cabbie escort the two drunken customers out the door. Fortunately, she’d insisted on payment for each round as it arrived at the table. And she’d received a generous tip with each round, too. Hopefully, their wives’ grocery money for next week wasn’t in her pocket.

Cassidy glanced at her watch. One fifty. Ten minutes to home time, and only a handful of customers lingered. She finished clearing the glasses and empty beer bottles, slipped the tip into her pocket, and then wiped the table with a wet cloth. As she turned toward the bar, she spotted a familiar face seated at the far corner table.

Mr. Theodore Donahue sat, arms crossed, observing her.

Cassidy strode between the short distance separating her old life and the new. “What are you doing here again?” she demanded.

“Now, is that any way to converse with the customers?” Her father frowned and shook his head. “Perhaps I best speak to your boss, Mr. Morrison.”

“Sherry Lawrence is my boss, not Clayton Morrison.” Cassidy relaxed her white-knuckled grip on the tray and stuck out her hip. “Are you intentionally avoiding my question? What are you doing here?”

“I just dropped by to say hello, invite you out for a bite to eat after your shift.” Her father downed the last mouthful of his drink. “Mr. Morrison mixes an excellent Caesar, just the right degree of spicy. That young man is an outstanding bartender.”

“I’ve sampled his Harvey Wallbanger. Couldn’t have done better myself.” Cassidy’s comment purposely oozed sarcasm. “A late night bite with you is out of the question. Company policy. No fraternizing with the customers.”

“Good rule, but I’m certain Mr. Morrison will exempt me. We enjoyed an informative chat last evening over a cup of coffee. Very personable young man.”

Cassidy felt the blood drain from her face. Clayton and her father had discussed her over coffee after she’d stormed into the staff room. Her father was long gone by the time she’d cooled off and came out. How much had her father disclosed to her boss?

“Go finish your shift, honey, and we’ll talk in a few minutes.” Theodore shoved his empty glass across the table, and Cassidy automatically grabbed it and set it on her tray. “Please tell my waitress I’d appreciate a cup of coffee before I leave. Preferably decaf.”

Cassidy turned on her heel and stomped over to the bar. “Sherry, table fifteen requested a cup of decaf coffee. Tell him you expect an enormous tip. He can afford it.” She slammed her tray down on the counter, rattling dirty glasses and empty beer bottles, and strode toward the staff room before her tears started falling.

Five minutes later, Sherry charged into the ladies’ locker room and almost tripped over Cassidy seated on a locker bench. She lowered herself onto the bench beside her friend. “Cassidy, are you okay?”

“Yes. No.” Cassidy dabbed at her tears. “He’s found me. He’s insisting I accompany him back to Chicago. He’ll insist I resume my position within the firm.”

“You’re twenty-seven years old, Cassidy. You’re a grown woman. Your father can’t force you to do anything.” Sherry reached for her hand.

Cassidy considered her statement for a moment.

“Are you happy here? Are you content with your lot in life?” Sherry smiled. “Cassidy, just decide what’s best for you, and then lay down the law to your father.”

Cassidy laughed.

“Okay, no pun intended,” muttered Sherry.

“Thank you for being such a wonderful friend.” Cassidy leaned over and hugged her co-worker.

“I’ll finish up for you. Change your clothes and go face the dragon.” Sherry leapt to her feet.

“Thanks, Sherry,” she called, as her friend disappeared out the door.

Five minutes later, Cassidy swung the heavy wooden entrance door open and stepped out into the cool evening air. A hint of rain carried on the stiff breeze, and she buttoned her heavy black woolen coat sweater. She wore black jeans, a teal blue silk blouse, and her favorite leopard print three inch heels. She spotted her father just outside the bar entrance, waiting for her.

He turned as the door opened and smiled. “Any decent place to eat at this hour?”

“We could go to Denny’s.” Cassidy dug for her car keys and then slung her designer handbag over her shoulder. The parking lot emptied quickly after closing, and only a handful of staff vehicles remained. Cassidy led the way to her car, and her father followed close behind.

“I hear you’ve been dating Clayton and another fellow named Randy. By ‘Denny’s’ do you mean the restaurant or another friend I’ve yet to meet?” Her father’s eyebrows rose.

“The restaurant,” growled Cassidy. After working eight hours on Karaoke night listening to every wanna-be country crooner in town attempting to sing classic and current country hits, her feet ached from still-new cowboy boots and her temples pounded with a headache. Her father’s attempt at humor wasn’t appreciated.

“What else have you learned from Clayton?” Cassidy glared at her father. “And what little tidbits of information have you shared with him?”

“Nothing incriminating I can assure you. We’ve simply indulged in polite conversation for the most part.”

“It’s the parts that weren’t ‘for the most’ that are worrying me.”

“Honestly, sweetheart, I informed Mr. Morrison that I was your father, but nothing else. He doesn’t know you’re a lawyer, and he doesn’t know anything other than what you’ve told him yourself.”

Cassidy unlocked Fiona’s passenger door with her key and then strode around to the driver’s side door and unlocked it. She climbed inside and slammed the door.

Her father climbed into the passenger seat. “Quite the set of wheels you’re driving. Did you sell your Porsche?”

‘Jeannie’s driving it. Her old Buick died two weeks after I left.” She met her father’s eyes in the dark vehicle, illuminated only by street light. “Clayton believes that I’m saving money for college tuition, and that I’m struggling to decide what path in life to take, that I’m just passing through town. If he discovers I’ve lied to him about my name, about being a lawyer…”

“I’m so sorry you felt compelled to resign and disappear like you did. Please allow me to apologize for my part in our disagreement before you resigned. I was completely wrong about Jonathan Ward, and I deeply regret not awarding you that partnership. I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.”