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Authors: Elizabeth Goddard
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bubble. “Oh, no, I’m not. I’m here to attend a friend’s wedding.”
“Is that right?” He inclined his head and nodded.
“It must be wonderful to work here, to see this beauty on a daily basis. I admit I’m a tad jealous.”
He laughed, giving the half grin that I’d grown to like. “No need to be jealous. Every job has its problems. Even mine.”
His comment was the first thing he’d said that gave me an opening. “Come on George, what problems could you have?”
“I hope your friends have the stick-to-it thinking to make a marriage last. I work hard on mine, but there’s still always that worry.”
He’d not exactly answered my question about his job, but I was still intrigued. I tried to take pictures that included him as he talked. His face exuded character, and I caught a perfectly framed snapshot of him, looking rugged, with the lodge behind him in the distance. Look out, George Hamilton the actor.
“What worry?” I hoped he would keep talking.
The conversation had turned personal for some reason. Obviously George’s marriage had been on his mind lately. My comment about the wedding was all it had taken to bring it out. Too bad he hadn’t been thinking about Alec Gordon.
“That she’ll leave me.”
“Surely not.”
“I’ve been through a lot. The truth is, if I don’t keep this job, I might lose her again.”
Ah. So his job problem was intertwined with marital discord. Not so unusual. I felt I was intruding by taking photos, but I was afraid that lowering my camera might distract him, stop him from talking.
“You seem like you’re doing a fine job here. I can’t imagine why you’d fear losing it.”
Deep lines edged his frown. “I’m not sure it matters how good of a job I do anymore. But I’m not going to stand for someone threatening me.”
His words held a warning in them. I lowered my camera to stare, his stern expression surprising me. Though I was curious about who had threatened his job and why, the sense stirred inside that I had to steer the conversation now or lose it altogether. I hadn’t exactly lived up to Spencer’s claim that I always got to the point. My conversation with George had strayed under my ill-equipped shepherding, but I would remedy the problem now.
If Alec frequented the park as he said, then George might know something. “What do you think about the murder?”
A cold, sharply angled stone slab, like those he’d used to besiege his flower beds, replaced the warm and friendly George. He drew his gaze from the lake and looked through me, not at me. “Nothing is ever what it seems on the surface, Miss Perkins. You remember that. Good day to you.” With that, he left me standing there.
I watched him walk away, feeling like I’d bungled everything. Once he was out of sight, I headed down the sidewalk toward the lodge. A tall, familiar figure in the distance waved.
Spencer?
Relief blew through me as I rushed downhill. Before I realized it, I was in his arms. The joy at seeing him washed all the tension away. When he loosened his grip, I came to my senses and stepped away.
He smiled. “You missed me.”
His statement caught me off guard. Rather than consider the matter, I changed the subject. “They let you go?”
His eyes grew wide, then he laughed. “But of course. You act as though I’m guilty.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Tension rushed back into my neck. I looked away.
“You’re upset. What’s going on?”
“I’ve spent the last hour or so with the groundskeeper, hoping to gather information about the murder. But I think I botched it.”
A strange, incredulous laugh escaped him. “Are you telling me that you’re sleuthing? As in…” He snapped his fingers, ticking off milliseconds while he tried to remember a name. That was the first time I’d seen him without the right word.
With pleasure, I beat him to it. “Jessica Fletcher in
Murder, She Wrote.”
The right corner of his mouth lifted, revealing his
“Is that right?” He inclined his head and nodded.
“It must be wonderful to work here, to see this beauty on a daily basis. I admit I’m a tad jealous.”
He laughed, giving the half grin that I’d grown to like. “No need to be jealous. Every job has its problems. Even mine.”
His comment was the first thing he’d said that gave me an opening. “Come on George, what problems could you have?”
“I hope your friends have the stick-to-it thinking to make a marriage last. I work hard on mine, but there’s still always that worry.”
He’d not exactly answered my question about his job, but I was still intrigued. I tried to take pictures that included him as he talked. His face exuded character, and I caught a perfectly framed snapshot of him, looking rugged, with the lodge behind him in the distance. Look out, George Hamilton the actor.
“What worry?” I hoped he would keep talking.
The conversation had turned personal for some reason. Obviously George’s marriage had been on his mind lately. My comment about the wedding was all it had taken to bring it out. Too bad he hadn’t been thinking about Alec Gordon.
“That she’ll leave me.”
“Surely not.”
“I’ve been through a lot. The truth is, if I don’t keep this job, I might lose her again.”
Ah. So his job problem was intertwined with marital discord. Not so unusual. I felt I was intruding by taking photos, but I was afraid that lowering my camera might distract him, stop him from talking.
“You seem like you’re doing a fine job here. I can’t imagine why you’d fear losing it.”
Deep lines edged his frown. “I’m not sure it matters how good of a job I do anymore. But I’m not going to stand for someone threatening me.”
His words held a warning in them. I lowered my camera to stare, his stern expression surprising me. Though I was curious about who had threatened his job and why, the sense stirred inside that I had to steer the conversation now or lose it altogether. I hadn’t exactly lived up to Spencer’s claim that I always got to the point. My conversation with George had strayed under my ill-equipped shepherding, but I would remedy the problem now.
If Alec frequented the park as he said, then George might know something. “What do you think about the murder?”
A cold, sharply angled stone slab, like those he’d used to besiege his flower beds, replaced the warm and friendly George. He drew his gaze from the lake and looked through me, not at me. “Nothing is ever what it seems on the surface, Miss Perkins. You remember that. Good day to you.” With that, he left me standing there.
I watched him walk away, feeling like I’d bungled everything. Once he was out of sight, I headed down the sidewalk toward the lodge. A tall, familiar figure in the distance waved.
Spencer?
Relief blew through me as I rushed downhill. Before I realized it, I was in his arms. The joy at seeing him washed all the tension away. When he loosened his grip, I came to my senses and stepped away.
He smiled. “You missed me.”
His statement caught me off guard. Rather than consider the matter, I changed the subject. “They let you go?”
His eyes grew wide, then he laughed. “But of course. You act as though I’m guilty.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Tension rushed back into my neck. I looked away.
“You’re upset. What’s going on?”
“I’ve spent the last hour or so with the groundskeeper, hoping to gather information about the murder. But I think I botched it.”
A strange, incredulous laugh escaped him. “Are you telling me that you’re sleuthing? As in…” He snapped his fingers, ticking off milliseconds while he tried to remember a name. That was the first time I’d seen him without the right word.
With pleasure, I beat him to it. “Jessica Fletcher in
Murder, She Wrote.”
The right corner of his mouth lifted, revealing his
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