Read Online Forbidden Dreams by Judy Griffith; Gill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Judy Griffith; Gill
Ads: Link
not.”
Important, influential guests attended her father, Elwin Landry’s, party. They were able to relax in the knowledge that security was tight, that no one, neither fellow guest nor member of the catering staff, could enter the house or grounds that one night of the year without his or her background having been long known to Elwin, or rigorously examined by people he trusted. No one who wanted to work there again or attend as a guest would dare betray that trust.
And his daughter, who loved him, wouldn’t even consider it.
“Yes,” Jase said. “I do know all that. That’s why I’m here with you now. And I’m not a stranger to you, remember. What I’m hoping is that through you, I’ll be admitted, not be looked upon as an outsider, exactly as that bastard Graves will attend with your grandmother as one of the select group.”
Shell stiffened her spine. “Sterling Graves might well become my step-grandpa. That’s why he’s not being treated as an outsider. And why do you need to meet him?”
“Number one,” Jase said evenly, “is to get his fingerprints so I can prove to myself that he really is the man I’m after. I’m ninety-nine percent convinced, but there is one small element of doubt. After your father’s party, I’ll know one way or the other, and be able to proceed with what I must do or back off and take my search elsewhere.”
Shell gazed at him for a long moment, then got up, feeling unsteady and unsure on her feet. “Fingerprints?” She edged past him into the living room. As she added wood to the stove, she remembered Jase’s terrible scars, the questions she’d had about them, and about him, in the night. Now was the time to ask, to demand an answer, not some glib evasion.
She spun and looked at him. “Search? For what? What are you, Jase? Some kind of a cop, or—”
“Or a crook?” He shook his head. “No. What I am, Shell, is a man out to nab the crook who bilked my grandmother of her life’s savings and probably hastened her death. The man whom I believe intends to do something similar to your grandmother.”
For a long moment she said nothing, could say nothing. When her breath came back, she whispered, “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head.
“Why would you make that kind of accusation about a man you obviously don’t even know? I mean, you have to get his fingerprints to be sure. What kind of qualifications do you have for comparing fingerprints?”
He struggled to his feet, hitching the blanket up and tighter around him, and walked toward her. She stifled a snicker. He looked like a debutante wary of tripping on the hem of her gown. Until he stood before her, that was, and gazed down at her with earnest solemnity, silent as if he searched for the right words. “I have … connections who can make a good enough comparison to assure me,” he said finally. “I can’t prove it yet, but I truly believe the man is a con-artist, Shell. I believe he’s about to take your grandmother for a bundle, the way he did mine just before she died.”
Shell couldn’t breathe for a long, painful moment. She had to reject what he said. It was ludicrous to think it could be true. “You’re out of your mind!”
“I am not.” He pounded one fist into the other, nearly losing his blanket. “Dammit, Shell, I believe my grandmother died of a broken heart after Sterling Graves took her money and left her more or less at the altar.”
Shell slipped past him to the table, turning her head to keep her eyes on him. “But, Jase, that’s … well, that’s impossible! Sterling Graves is a perfectly honest man, a true gentleman, old-fashioned, courtly. I spent a week with my grandmother in Palm Springs in the fall, and I met him. She owns a condo there in a sumptuous seniors’ complex. He lives in the same facility, and apart from the fact that I liked him, that’s not a place that lets in deadbeats. If a person—even a guest—is not invited, the guards at the gate
Important, influential guests attended her father, Elwin Landry’s, party. They were able to relax in the knowledge that security was tight, that no one, neither fellow guest nor member of the catering staff, could enter the house or grounds that one night of the year without his or her background having been long known to Elwin, or rigorously examined by people he trusted. No one who wanted to work there again or attend as a guest would dare betray that trust.
And his daughter, who loved him, wouldn’t even consider it.
“Yes,” Jase said. “I do know all that. That’s why I’m here with you now. And I’m not a stranger to you, remember. What I’m hoping is that through you, I’ll be admitted, not be looked upon as an outsider, exactly as that bastard Graves will attend with your grandmother as one of the select group.”
Shell stiffened her spine. “Sterling Graves might well become my step-grandpa. That’s why he’s not being treated as an outsider. And why do you need to meet him?”
“Number one,” Jase said evenly, “is to get his fingerprints so I can prove to myself that he really is the man I’m after. I’m ninety-nine percent convinced, but there is one small element of doubt. After your father’s party, I’ll know one way or the other, and be able to proceed with what I must do or back off and take my search elsewhere.”
Shell gazed at him for a long moment, then got up, feeling unsteady and unsure on her feet. “Fingerprints?” She edged past him into the living room. As she added wood to the stove, she remembered Jase’s terrible scars, the questions she’d had about them, and about him, in the night. Now was the time to ask, to demand an answer, not some glib evasion.
She spun and looked at him. “Search? For what? What are you, Jase? Some kind of a cop, or—”
“Or a crook?” He shook his head. “No. What I am, Shell, is a man out to nab the crook who bilked my grandmother of her life’s savings and probably hastened her death. The man whom I believe intends to do something similar to your grandmother.”
For a long moment she said nothing, could say nothing. When her breath came back, she whispered, “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head.
“Why would you make that kind of accusation about a man you obviously don’t even know? I mean, you have to get his fingerprints to be sure. What kind of qualifications do you have for comparing fingerprints?”
He struggled to his feet, hitching the blanket up and tighter around him, and walked toward her. She stifled a snicker. He looked like a debutante wary of tripping on the hem of her gown. Until he stood before her, that was, and gazed down at her with earnest solemnity, silent as if he searched for the right words. “I have … connections who can make a good enough comparison to assure me,” he said finally. “I can’t prove it yet, but I truly believe the man is a con-artist, Shell. I believe he’s about to take your grandmother for a bundle, the way he did mine just before she died.”
Shell couldn’t breathe for a long, painful moment. She had to reject what he said. It was ludicrous to think it could be true. “You’re out of your mind!”
“I am not.” He pounded one fist into the other, nearly losing his blanket. “Dammit, Shell, I believe my grandmother died of a broken heart after Sterling Graves took her money and left her more or less at the altar.”
Shell slipped past him to the table, turning her head to keep her eyes on him. “But, Jase, that’s … well, that’s impossible! Sterling Graves is a perfectly honest man, a true gentleman, old-fashioned, courtly. I spent a week with my grandmother in Palm Springs in the fall, and I met him. She owns a condo there in a sumptuous seniors’ complex. He lives in the same facility, and apart from the fact that I liked him, that’s not a place that lets in deadbeats. If a person—even a guest—is not invited, the guards at the gate
Similar Books
