See No Evil Page 12

  “Lucy and Meg are out on the deck.” James slid a door open, and Rocky charged out to slobber a happy greeting to the girls. I managed to grab him and click on his leash. I stuck the end of it under the leg of my chair. He looked disappointed that he couldn’t run wild through the sand.

  James and Gray seemed to click, especially when the two pizzas James had ordered arrived, all hot and cheesy with onions, green peppers and sausage.

  “Ah,” Gray observed, giving me a sideways glance. “The gourmet meals I was promised.”

  I made believe I didn’t hear. Besides, I could tell he was glad to be here, even if he’d never admit it. The house alone was enough to fascinate an architect/contractor. Maybe he’d stay the whole weekend after all.

  The five of us sat on the deck, enjoying the food and the sea breeze that kept the mosquitoes away. Meg and Lucy were delighted with the news about the man in black, and James was properly appalled at the whole story. The susurration of the sea was a gentle rhythm that pulled tension from my shoulders as effectively as the ministrations of a masseuse. By the time we all called it a night, I was ready to sleep for the first time in several days, and Gray seemed at least resigned to trying to have fun.

  I slept well with Rocky at my feet, wakening to a warm, sunny day, perfect for the beach. What fun it would be to have Gray diving under the waves with me, walking with me along the water’s edge, throwing his PDA to the fishes while I applauded as the dying waves washed around my ankles and my feet sank into the sand. Alive with optimism, I walked into the kitchen to see him at the counter, brow furrowed as he typed away on his laptop. Both his phone and his PDA were clipped to his swim trunks like little tumors. Even Rocky’s drooling dewlaps resting on the man’s thigh didn’t distract him.

  Aurgh!

  THIRTEEN

  “What do you want on your omelet, Anna?” Lucy asked from her place at the stove. “Gray?”

  Somehow Gray heard. “Cheese and onions.” He didn’t look up.

  “Me, too.” I grabbed knives, spoons and forks, napkins and dishes, glasses and cups from James’s very well-supplied kitchen. I began setting the table around Gray, taking care to make as much noise as possible.

  He looked up now. “I thought we were going to have breakfast on the deck.” His expression was way too innocent.

  “You could work on the deck,” I countered, knowing he couldn’t.

  He shook his head. “Can’t see the screen in the bright sunlight.”

  I smirked. What a shame!

  “I’ll just go work in the living room.” He stood, preparing to gather his things for the move.

  Curses. Foiled again.

  “Hey, Gray.” Meg gave me a sly glance, then turned an innocent face to him. “Help us carry the table stuff outside?” She thrust a tray into his midsection so that he had no option but to take it. She and I loaded it with all the paraphernalia for the meal and followed him to the deck where we became enamored of the sea until he started to set the tray on the table.

  “Oh, no, don’t put it down,” Meg said. “Just hold it while we work.”

  We very slowly set the table while he continued to hold the tray. By the time we were finished, Lucy had breakfast ready, and Gray had been away from his toys for almost twenty minutes. And he wasn’t even foaming at the mouth. It gave me great hope about his workaholism.

  As usual Lucy had done a magnificent job with the omelets and fresh cinnamon rolls. Rocky sat, his leash attached to a porch post, watching every bite we took.

  “You did feed him, didn’t you, Anna?” Lucy asked. “I feel as if a starving kid from a third-world country is staring at me.”

  “He’s eaten. He just hasn’t learned yet that it’s impolite to stare.”

  A few minutes later Gray sat back, a contented look on his face. “That was great, Lucy. I usually have cold cereal. Thanks.”

  Meg rose and started collecting dishes. I rose to help. The deal here, as at home, was that Lucy cooked because she loved to, and the rest of us cleaned up. Well, Meg and I did. We let James off the hook because he gave us all these free weekends.

  Gray rose and started for the kitchen and his trusty laptop. Granted he was carrying his dirty dishes, but I feared breakfast had been only a momentary reprieve. My thoughts were confirmed when he looked at his cell phone, still clipped to the waist of his swimming trunks.

  “Gotta call back,” he muttered.

  I saw my dream beach day dissolving like a sand castle in the incoming tide.

  James got to his feet. “Hey, Gray, let the girls worry about the dishes. Why don’t you help me set up the volleyball net? I put one up on the sand every weekend.”

  Usually Meg, Lucy and I helped with setup, but I didn’t mind one bit being passed over in favor of Gray.

  I watched him turn from setting his dishes on the kitchen counter to look with longing at his laptop.

  Don’t be dumb! He’s your host and he’s asking a favor. Do it!

  Apparently Gray agreed with me. “Let me close things down and jettison my phone.” He put his computer on hibernate and set his cell on the table beside his laptop.

  “Your PDA.” I rinsed a dish as if it didn’t matter to me in the least whether he wore it or left it. “Sand will ruin it.”

  “Thanks.” He dropped it on the table beside his laptop and cell and went off with James to hammer poles into the sand.

  After we women finished loading the dishwasher, Lucy and Meg went to supervise the volleyball-net project. I dried my hands on a paper towel and turned to go upstairs to get my beach towel. As I walked past the table, Gray’s phone rang. I stared at it. Should I answer it for him or let his messaging service take over? If I was in someone’s house and their land line rang and they weren’t in the house, I’d answer for them and take a message. Was etiquette any different for a cell phone?

  Besides, much as I hated to admit it, there might be a work emergency.

  I picked up the phone and hit Send. “Hello?”

  There was a little silence. Then a woman said, “I must have the wrong number.”

  “You probably don’t. This is Gray Edwards’s phone. May I take a message?”

  “Is he nearby? I’d like to speak with him. This is his mother.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Edwards. Hi. I’m Anna Volente. I’m the one who saw the murderer and fell on Gray.”

  This time the silence was longer, and I felt my face glow red. Why had I thought that Gray would tell his mother about me and my problems?

  “You saw a murderer?” She sounded appalled when she finally spoke. “And Gray did too?”

  “Yes, at Freedom’s Chase. Me, not Gray. But he was with me when I fell off my ladder and gave him a bloody nose. That was because the murderer shot at me. Then Gray and I found the body.”

  “My goodness, Anna! And I thought all he did was work.”

  I didn’t comment. It’s just not polite to say unkind things about a man to his mother.

  “So tell me all about this adventure of yours. All the details. It’s the weekend, and I’ve got unlimited minutes.”

  I took a seat and told her everything, ending with, “So Gray’s here at the shore pretty much against his will, but he’s being polite about it. He’s helping James—that’s Lucy’s brother—we’re staying at his house—put up a volleyball net on the beach.” I walked to the windows and looked out. “In fact he’s playing volleyball at the moment.”

  I hoped his mother couldn’t deduce the cause of my sudden breathlessness as I watched him dive for a ball and smile in triumph when he made the save. Wow! His smile was gorgeous.

  “Do you know what an answer to prayer you are?” Mrs. Edwards asked.

  “Me?” I think my voice squeaked.

  “Mm. I’ve been praying for him for years to have some kind of personal life. I think it’s wonderful that he loves his work, but no one’s life should be only work.”

  “That’s just what I tried to tell him, but he didn’t take it very well.”
I remembered his sudden anger last evening.

  “Stubborn cuss, isn’t he?” his mother said happily. “Can you keep him there for the entire weekend?”

  I shrugged. “I think so. I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all I ask. Tell him I called and ask him to return the call when he can.” I was laughing when I hung up. There was a woman I could appreciate.

  I was smiling as I went upstairs and collected my sunscreen, beach towel, and book. I found Gray and told him his mom had called. Then I joined Lucy and Meg who had staked a claim on the soft sand above the tide line. We read and chatted and enjoyed relaxing. About one o’clock we went to the house and made some sandwiches. James and Gray joined us on the deck as we ate. Gray seemed to have had a wonderful time all morning. When he wasn’t playing volleyball, which he did with great enthusiasm, he was in the water or playing handball on the tide-packed sand. It was very obvious that the man couldn’t sit still.

  “Want a book to read?” I asked as we prepared to go back to the beach for the afternoon. “James has a great collection of mysteries.” Not surprising since he wrote them.

  Gray squinted at me like he’d never heard of a book. “Let’s take a walk instead.”

  We headed south toward the far end of the island that was Seaside. The water was a warm seventy-five degrees, and we walked in the small waves slurping onto the beach.

  “So you don’t read much?” I felt as though I was stating the obvious.

  He shrugged. “I’m a doer. Reading is just sitting. Sort of like architecture.”

  “Like architecture?”

  “Yeah. All you do is sit at your computer or your drawing board. Sit, sit, sit.”

  “You’re a licensed architect?”

  He nodded. “A Drexel grad. Two years with a Philadelphia firm was more than enough. Dress slacks, oxford-cloth shirts, neckties.” He shuddered. “Becoming a contractor was one of the smartest things I ever did. Now I’m in on the projects in a real way. I get to wear jeans, I get to drive a pickup and I get my hands nice and dirty.”

  Yup, this was a man who loved his job. He told me how he talked his father and several of his cronies into investing in Edwards Inc., and that none of them had any reason to complain about their return.

  “He must be very proud of you. You’ve done very well.”

  “I hope he would be.” Gray’s voice was soft. “He died three years ago.”

  “Oh, Gray, I’m sorry.” I laid a hand on his arm, patting him a couple of times. “I know how painful it is to lose a parent.” I told him about my mother, and before I realized it, I was telling him about The Promise. As I heard myself talk, I marveled at the level of trust I was putting in a man I barely knew.

  “So I was an art major at Kutztown University, and now I teach art.”

  “And you sew. How does that fit with The Promise?”

  “It doesn’t, really. I started doing it to help put myself through college. Remember I’m the last of five, and Dad was really sweating by the time my bills came due.”

  “So it’s your painting that keeps The Promise?”

  “Yeah.”

  He studied me a moment. “You don’t seem very happy about it.”

  How did I explain my ambivalent feelings? “I’m not unhappy,” I said carefully as I watched the water lapping around my calves.

  He stopped, took my hand, and turned me to face him. “But?”

  “But I’m not really any good.”

  “Are you sure you’re not being too hard on yourself? The picture in your kitchen is very nice, very good.”

  I made a face. “Nice. Good. They’re just kind synonyms for mediocre.”

  Gray nodded, not disagreeing. I sighed. We resumed our walk, our hands still linked.

  After a few minutes of silence he asked, “So what do you really enjoy doing?”

  I didn’t even have to think about my answer. “Making my fabric mosaics.”

  “Making what?”

  “You know those strips of material you saw?” And I was off.

  By the time I finally ran down, Gray had stopped walking again. When I turned to him, I knew I probably wore a goofy grin.

  “Have you ever thought that your mother asked more of you than she should have?”

  My grin vanished. “Gray!” How could he challenge The Promise? It was sacrosanct. Not even Dad could budge me on it.

  He held up a hand. “Wait a minute before you decide to eviscerate me. Do you think your mother would want you to be unhappy?”

  I scowled. Stupid question. “Of course not. She even said that being an artist would give me joy.”

  “Were you making your mosaics back then?”

  I shook my head.

  “So she didn’t know where your artistic talent would take you, did she?”

  Again I shook my head.

  “Did she make you promise to be a painter?”

  “No,” I managed to whisper. “An artist, but she meant painter.”

  “Only because that’s all you had done to that point, Anna. But there are different kinds of art.”

  “You don’t understand!” I was trembling. I knew he was only saying what my father had been saying for as long as I could remember, but I didn’t have years of resisting his words as I did Dad’s.

  “Oh, I understand better than you think. When I decided to leave my job at the architectural firm and begin Edwards, Inc., my dad was not a happy man. ‘You mean I spent all that money on your education, and you’re throwing it away so you can hammer nails and chuck your necktie? Just because you worked construction in the summers doesn’t mean you can start a business and make a go of it. You just stay put, boy!’”

  I was fascinated. “Obviously you resolved your differences if he invested in Edwards, Inc.”

  “We did, but only after I agreed to take a master’s in business.”

  “Great compromise.”

  He grinned. “It was and it worked.”

  We turned and began walking back toward James’s.

  He bent and caught a child’s float that had gotten away from its owner and was riding the waves to shore. He handed it to the chubby girl chasing it. She grabbed it and rushed back into the water.

  “Thank you,” I called after her.

  “Yeah,” she yelled back over her shoulder.

  Gray tugged on my hand. “Listen to me, Anna. What I’m trying to say is that sometimes parents don’t know what’s best for their kids.”

  Stated baldly like that, I couldn’t help but agree. But a dying promise had a special cachet, didn’t it, even when it was an albatross about your neck?

  I must have looked frayed at the edges because Gray said, “I believe that God has programmed each of us to love certain activities. We are born with certain talents, and for Christians there are extra gifts God gives us for furthering his Church. We’re only truly happy when we work in these God-given strengths. Anything else, and we struggle, filled with a yearning we can’t explain.”

  My mind raced as we walked in silence for a while. Was my problem that I was trying to work outside my strengths? Could I stop painting and have a clear conscience? Was I following Mom’s will rather than God’s—or rather my interpretation of Mom’s will? What would she say if she were living today?

  I was so buried in contemplation that I didn’t see the large wave that was a precursor to the incoming tide. It broke against my side, sending me careening into Gray, then falling to land on my rump. The rush of withdrawing water pulled at me, dragging me farther into the surf. The next wave broke over my head. I struggled to my feet, sputtering and laughing, knowing I looked like a wet rat. I loved the ocean.

  The rest of the day passed in games of volleyball—I’m really not very good—and swimming. I even got to read a couple of chapters in my book while Lucy and Meg napped beside me, Gray played yet more volleyball, and James acted as referee. It was seven o’clock when we finally gathered, red-nosed and pleasantly tired, to go out to dinner.
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  “I’m going to take you to Moe’s,” James said. “It’s a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with cracked seats and dinged tables and the best seafood in town.”

  “Tell me where Moe’s is,” Gray said, “and Anna and I will meet you there.”

  Trying not to read too much into Gray’s driving just the two of us when all five of us could have fit in James’s Acura, I climbed into Gray’s truck and rode with him to the center of town.

  At Moe’s the five of us sat in a booth for four, James sitting on a chair in the aisle and forcing the waitresses to detour every time they served the diners between James and the front window. No one including James seemed the least bit put-out at the arrangement. If the fire marshal had been dining at Moe’s, it might have been a different story.

  After dinner we walked through the quiet streets to the boardwalk. I savored that wonderful seashore flush of sunburn and satisfaction as we started up the ramp to the boardwalk. The real-life murderer was in custody, I was with friends and the ocean breeze ruffled my hair. My feeling of contentment deepened when Gray reached for my hand and laced his fingers through mine.

  I grinned up at him. The warmth of his return smile made the flush of the day’s sun pale in comparison. My blood sang, and I wondered if this was what it was like to fall in love.

  But hadn’t I been in love with Glenn? I had been prepared to spend my life with him, to promise to love, honor and obey, though I’d probably have kept my fingers crossed on that last bit, wanting to define the word my own way. Glenn was a nice man, a good man, but I suddenly realized that I’d always felt I had to be what he wanted me to be, not who I was.

  I almost stopped walking at the shock of seeing what a walking-on-eggs experience being with Glenn had been. What would a life of trying to be what he wanted have been like? If Gray was right, and not living in your God-given strengths led to a yearning, though you might not know what for, I’d have been an emotionally quivering blob, like a dish of cherry Jell-O but not as tasty. I’d have spent my life longing for something I couldn’t articulate, something I didn’t understand.