Winning Amelia Page 22

  It was only when Hank heard his voice echoing from the glass that he realized he’d been shouting.

  Basil stared at him, his expression stunned. He pressed back in his chair.

  Hank shoved his own chair backward and stood. He got as far as the door, then turned. “You know what the worst of it is, Dad? I saw how empty your life was. I tried my best not to be like you, but I am, anyway. I realized that I’ve closed myself off from love just like you did.”

  “You’re not a disappointment.”

  Hank snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  “And if I criticized you—”

  “If? If? Every time you see me you point out something I’m doing wrong.”

  “That’s because I’m trying to help you. Believe it or not, I only wanted the best for you, son. That’s why I’ve pushed you to succeed.”

  Hank reined in his temper, trying to process his father’s words. “Whatever your intentions were, I’ve always felt that you view me as a failure.”

  “Well, I don’t, but if I came on too strong sometimes, it was because you wouldn’t listen. The more I tried to guide you, the more you seemed to ignore me. I got the impression you preferred not to even see me.”

  “Maybe I would want to see you if you didn’t nag me every time you opened your mouth.”

  “And maybe I wouldn’t have to nag you if I felt you actually valued what I said.”

  Hank wasn’t the only one shouting now. Strangely enough, though, seeing his father’s anger somehow helped dissolve his own. “We’ve got a real problem when it comes to communication.”

  “Looks like we do.”

  “But it wasn’t always like that, Dad.”

  Basil rose to his feet and came to stand in front of Hank. Their gazes locked. “Your mother found it easy to talk about her feelings, but I don’t. I’ve always been better at making money. That’s what I’m comfortable with. She was the one who made our house a home, and did all the things that made the three of us into a family. When she died I was lost. The best part of me was gone. I didn’t know how I was going to get through the next day, let alone the rest of my life....” His voice roughened. “You were right. Everything changed.”

  Hank nodded.

  “And I’m sorry if you feel I let you down,” Basil continued. “But you’re wrong about one thing. You’re a lot more like your mother than you are like me.”

  “How?”

  “You got her soft heart and her talent for reading people. You got her patience, too. Those are qualities I’ve always admired in you.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, you do now. She used to—” Basil broke off as the phone on his desk rang. He glanced over his shoulder. For an instant he wavered, as if he were debating whether or not to answer, but then he gave his head a brief shake and placed his hand on Hank’s arm. “There’s a pot of coffee in the lunchroom. Can I pour you a cup?”

  It was only coffee. A few more minutes together. Not much when stacked up against years of antagonism.

  Yet this was the first time in his life that Hank had seen Basil ignore a ringing phone. And it was the first time in years that his father had actually touched him.

  And even though they stood on a tiled floor in a glass-enclosed office, Hank felt the ground shift, like a boat rocking in the breeze. He swallowed hard and clasped his father’s shoulder. “Thanks, Dad. I’d like that.”

  * * *

  AMELIA GLIDED TO a stop beside the bike rack. The bicycle was Jenny’s, a sturdy five-speed with a wire mesh carrier on the back. The bike had several advantages over Will’s old Chevy. There was never a problem getting it started, it was easy to find a parking spot and it cost nothing to run. And as a bonus, riding it gave her a free workout. It wouldn’t be that great a mode of transportation in the rain, though. She eyed the haze of clouds to the west. The sky had been red again this morning, and the air felt charged, as if a storm was coming.

  On the other hand, the feeling could be due to her nerves.

  She leaned over the handlebars for a while until she caught her breath, then threaded the lock through the wheel. As she reached into the carrier for her canvas shopping bag, she thought longingly of the butter-colored leather briefcase she used to own. When she’d done this in the past, she’d worn one of her power suits rather than a jersey top and a pair of capri pants, and she’d arrived in her Beemer rather than on a Raleigh. Her hair would have been freshly trimmed and straightened, not frizzed out from the humidity and held back by a scrunchie.

  But a job was a job, and she badly needed to talk herself into one. Preferably before Will and the boys got back from visiting Jenny and Hope. Finding a place of her own was Amelia’s next priority. She likely wouldn’t be able to accomplish that before they brought the baby home next week, which was just as well since Jenny would be needing help anyway, possibly for a few months. Amelia had been alarmed by how weak her sister-in-law had seemed when she’d visited her yesterday. She’d been pale, and her arms had trembled from strain as she’d lifted them from the bed to give her a hug, yet the doctors were optimistic that eventually she would make a full recovery.

  And that’s what mattered, not a lottery ticket. Their house was still too small, and Will still had to scrounge for a paycheck, yet they’d named their baby Hope. They’d seen nothing ironic about the name. They’d meant it, in spite of their financial situation. The love that kept their family strong was already stretching to include the newest member. Their joy over her birth wasn’t something that money could buy.

  Amelia blinked to clear her vision. The tears were coming as easily as ever, which was probably a good thing. She’d saved them up for too long.

  The Sunday lunch rush at Mae B’s was over. Aside from a trio of teenage girls who were nursing weeping glasses of soft drinks at the table beside the front window, there were no other customers. Brittany of the purple-streaked ponytail was wiping off a table toward the back. She smiled automatically, but the welcome froze when she recognized Amelia. She straightened her frilly apron and hurried over. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That Uncle Ronnie gave me your job. I mean, I’m not sorry that I have it, but I didn’t know it was yours. And you were so nice to me on my first day, helping me with the bow and all.”

  “It’s okay.” Amelia walked past her toward the kitchen. “Are the Bartons in today?”

  Brittany pivoted and started after her. “Why? Did they call you? I didn’t mean to break those plates. It was an accident. Some kid dropped ice cream on the floor and I slipped.”

  “It happens to all of us. Don’t worry about it. I’m not here to get my old job back, I just want to talk to Mae and Ronnie.”

  “Oh. I guess that’s okay then.”

  Amelia laid her palm against the swinging door. Doubts over what she was about to do crept into her mind, but before they could take hold, she pushed the door open.

  Mae was sitting at her desk in the corner. Amelia couldn’t see Ronnie, but she could hear the rattle of metal-on-metal from behind his work counter. A moment later he straightened up, holding a ladle in his hand like a club. He shook it in the direction of the freezer. “Can’t we put it off until next month, Mae?”

  “We could,” Mae replied. “But if the motor goes out in this heat, we’ll lose everything in there.”

  Ronnie muttered something inaudible and dropped the ladle into the stockpot.

  Amelia cleared her throat. “Hello, Ronnie. Mae.”

  They both swiveled to look at her. Mae spoke first. “Amelia. I mailed your final check more than two weeks ago. It’s not here.”

  “Yes, I know. Thanks. How’s Brittany working out?”

  “Good,” Ronnie said. “She’s learning fast.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “I hate to be rude, but why are you here?”

  “I’d like to help you with your restaurant.”

  “We don’t nee
d another waitress.”

  “Maybe you don’t need one now, but I’m willing to guarantee that within six months, you will.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Amelia smiled and reached into her canvas bag. “I worked here for nearly half a year,” she said, withdrawing the report she’d prepared that morning. “During that time I learned a lot about your business. You’re both experts when it comes to dealing with food, but I’m an expert in dealing with finances. Here are my suggestions.”

  Mae looked at the stapled pages as if they’d come from the exterminator. “My cousin does our books.”

  “Has she ever waited tables? Is she aware of how your air conditioner drips over one of them? Has she observed the trends in how customers order, and how you could reduce your operating costs by altering your menu with the seasons?”

  Ronnie crossed his arms. “No one’s complained about my menus.”

  “They wouldn’t complain. You’re a talented cook. But haven’t you noticed how few people want hot soup in August? That’s just one example that I’ve listed. I’ve also worked out a strategy for reducing your taxes by investing in new equipment. In addition, there are local initiatives available through the municipality for small businesses that you could be taking advantage of.”

  Mae exchanged a glance with her husband. “I don’t know....”

  Amelia decided to be blunt. “I understand how you would be reluctant to trust me with your finances, since the media rushed to convict me of my ex-husband’s crimes. Please remember that the police and the courts had plenty of time and resources to uncover the truth, and they ruled me innocent. I probably should have fought harder to repair the damage to my reputation, but after the trial I wanted nothing more to do with the media. I just wanted to lick my wounds. I was living one day at a time and didn’t want to face my future.” She halted. This was far more information than a prospective client needed to know, but it was hard to stop the flood of words now that they’d started. That was probably because she’d been saving them up for a long time, just like the tears that cropped up so easily lately. Amelia cleared her throat and returned to the topic. “I respect you both for taking a chance by hiring me last winter, and I hope I proved my trustworthiness to you during the time I worked here.”

  “You did,” Mae said. “Your receipts always added up to the penny.”

  “And you never shortchanged us on your time,” Ronnie added. “You always did a full shift.”

  “It’s not your reputation that’s the problem,” Mae said. “We realized that was a load of nonsense after the first month. We just can’t afford to pay a second accountant.”

  Grinning wouldn’t be professional, nor would pumping her fist in the air, so she managed to suppress both. “This would be completely no-risk on your part. If you agree to hire me, I’ll charge you a percentage of the extra income that my advice will bring in. If your profits don’t increase, then I don’t get paid. That’s how confident I am in my skills.”

  They traded more glances. Amelia did her best not to fidget. Finally, Mae picked up the report and nodded to the extra chair. “Let’s talk.”

  Half an hour later, Amelia left the restaurant. She still had no more money in her pocket than when she’d arrived, but the fact she hadn’t been thrown out was encouraging. In truth, the visit had gone better than she’d expected. Although working on spec would be risky, she’d decided it was her best bet. She needed to establish a successful track record in order to attract more business, and Mae B’s was a good place to start. It was a modest operation that was familiar to her. In a small town, word would spread fast if she couldn’t deliver on her promises. She was counting on word spreading just as fast if she did deliver.

  To her surprise, she spotted Hank leaning against the bike rack when she returned to her bicycle. A pair of sunglasses hid his eyes. The muggy breeze that ruffled his hair had knocked the typical stray lock over his forehead and flipped up one side of his shirt collar. One hand was wedged into the pocket of his knee-length shorts while the other held a cell phone to his ear. He ended the call when he saw her approach.

  Oh, he looked good. It had been less than two days since they’d parted, yet she already missed him. She had to consciously maintain a steady pace to keep herself from jogging the rest of the distance to him. What had happened to being sensible?

  He waited until she neared before he spoke. “How did it go?”

  Horrible. I’ve missed you. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “The job interview. Will told me why you were at Mae B’s.”

  She held the canvas shopping bag to her chest. “He did?”

  “Uh-huh. It surprised me, too. That he told me, I mean, not that you had a job interview.”

  “Will’s feeling good these days. He’s grateful for your help.”

  “He told me Jenny’s on the mend. I’m glad she’ll be okay.”

  “Me, too. We all are.”

  “So, did you get your old job back?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t bother asking. Mae already made it clear she didn’t want me waiting tables for her anymore.”

  “That’s too bad. If you like, I could ask around, see if anyone else is hiring.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not going back to waitressing. I figured I’d offer my services to local businesses, sort of a combination financial advisor and efficiency consultant. I’ll need a lot of clients if I’m going to make a living at this, but I think it’s a niche I could fill. If your offer to ask around extends to that, I’d welcome any recommendation.”

  He smiled. “Sure, I’d be happy to help. Anything you need.”

  She wished he wouldn’t smile. Even with his sunglasses, she could see those endearing crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Her fingers itched with the urge to brush his hair off his forehead. “Hank, why are you here?”

  He fiddled with his phone. “I needed to talk to you.”

  “I thought you understood. I don’t want to start a relationship. I need to put my life back together first.”

  “Yeah, I heard what you said, and I do understand. I’m not trying to pressure you. This is about your painting.”

  Her gaze went to the phone. Of course. He would have called the police by now to tell them what he suspected about Whitcombe’s auction. “I hope they don’t want to question me. I don’t have much I can add. How did they react when you told them?”

  “Who?”

  “The cops. Are they going to investigate Whitcombe?”

  “I haven’t contacted them yet.”

  “But you said you were going to call them yesterday morning.”

  “That can wait.” He shoved the phone in his pocket. “I got to thinking about what you said, that we know where the painting went.”

  “Hank, we both agreed there’s no chance of retrieving it now.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  She hated the spurt of excitement that followed his words. It was three weeks to the day since she’d found her numbers in the paper, but she was over it, wasn’t she? No more useless dreams, no more fantasies. She’d already taken the first step toward her future. She wasn’t counting on that ticket to solve anything.

  Yet she once again thought of the leather briefcase she used to own, and the Beemer she used to drive, and the house she’d wanted to buy for Will and Jenny....

  She shoved her canvas bag in the bike carrier and bent down to open the lock. “Forget it, Hank. There’s no way. That ticket’s gone.”

  “I have an idea how we can get it.”

  “Short of breaking in to Hennerfind’s house, I don’t see how.”

  “I did some research on him. Collecting art is one of his hobbies. He has a particular interest in the Group of Seven.”

  “He can afford to buy the best.”

  “So, do you think an art connoisseur like him would put the Mathers on his wall next to all those masterpieces he owns?”

  “Are you kidding? He’d probably
throw...” She straightened up fast. “He’d throw it away!”

  “Uh-huh. I also did some research on where he lives. Tomorrow is garbage day.”

  * * *

  ON THE PREVIOUS occasions when a case had required Hank to do a stakeout, he’d been happy to have a low-end, nondescript car. It didn’t usually attract much attention. Unfortunately, it did attract attention in Forest Hill. Most of the vehicles driven by residents of this posh Toronto neighborhood were either sleek, imported sedans or hulking, luxury SUVs. Only the gardeners or the household help would drive cars like Hank’s, and they wouldn’t be parked on the side of the road at 5:00 a.m.

  He watched in his rearview mirror as a car approached slowly. It pulled to a stop when it was alongside his. It had a light bar on the top, but it wasn’t a police vehicle. According to the crest-shaped sign on the door, it belonged to a private property protection company. A spotlight blinked on.

  Hank shielded his eyes from the glare. “Morning, guys,” he said pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”

  A man spoke from behind the light. “What’s your business here?”

  “I’m working. I’m a private investigator.”

  “Prove it.”

  Hank took a card from his wallet and held it up.

  The spotlight clicked off as someone got out of the passenger side. Hank had parked beside a towering oak tree that stretched its limbs over the sidewalk, as far from a streetlight as possible, so he could see only a vague silhouette of a man in a peaked cap and a short uniform-like jacket. He shone a flashlight on Hank’s ID, then lifted the beam to study Hank’s face. “Mr. Jones, people around here value their privacy.”

  Hank was well aware of the laws that applied to someone doing surveillance. He also knew he wasn’t obligated by law to tell this man anything, but if he didn’t want to get into a spitting contest, it would be best to cooperate. “Sure. I understand. I’m not intruding on anyone, I’m parked legally on a public street.”

  “Who are you watching?”