Connecting Rooms(3)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“Don’t you dare blame me. I made you read every single word on the seller’s disclosure statement. You knew what you were getting into when you bought this place.”

“Did I? That’s debatable.” But Owen appeared perversely satisfied with his purchase. “Have a seat.” Not ungently, he pushed her toward a high-backed, velvet-covered sofa. “I’ll get the coffee.”

Amy sat down gingerly and surveyed the shabby interior of the parlor. She shook her head in amazement. It was true that she had sold him the house, but she had no idea what he was doing here in it. Why had he come here to Misplaced Island? she wondered.

Owen reappeared a few minutes later carrying a tray laden with a French press coffeepot and two cups. He set his burden down on the battered old coffee table.

“All right, tell me what this is all about.” He sank into the depths of one of the massive wingback chairs.

“It’s a very straightforward case,” Amy said crisply. “My aunt, Bernice Comfort, has recently announced her engagement. I want you to investigate her fiancé, Arthur Crabshaw.”

Owen looked up as he poured coffee. “Why?”

“Because there’s something about Crabshaw that I don’t quite trust. I met him a couple of weeks ago, and I have the distinct feeling that he’s hiding something. He appeared out of nowhere a few months after her husband, Uncle Morty, died, and immediately swept Aunt Bernice off her feet.”

“You write romance novels, don’t you? I would have thought you’d have approved of Crabshaw’s technique.”

“If you’re not going to take this case seriously, please tell me now so that I can find another investigator.”

“I’m serious. You have no idea just how serious.”

She glowered at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it. Why are you suspicious of Crabshaw?”

“My aunt was left quite comfortably well off after Uncle Morty died two years ago,” Amy said carefully. “She lives in a small town on the coast. Villantry, Washington. Know it?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s the sort of town where everyone knows everyone else. Crabshaw lived there himself at one time, but he left the place some thirty years ago. Now he’s back.”

“And you think he returned because he heard that your wealthy aunt is available?”

“Let’s just say that there’s something about Crabshaw’s appearance on the scene that smacks of opportunism,” Amy said.

“What exactly is it about Crabshaw that worries you?”

“It’s hard to explain.” Amy frowned. “He seems nice enough, and Aunt Bernice is obviously mad about him. But I sensed something a bit shifty beneath the surface.”

“Shifty.”

“Yes.”

“Shifty is a rather vague term, Amy.”

“I can’t be any more specific. I just know that there’s something not quite right about that man. I have very good people instincts, you know.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes, it is,” Amy retorted. “Look, I’m going to drive to Villantry this afternoon. Just a social visit, as far as Aunt Bernice is concerned. I’ll be staying at the Villantry Inn for a couple of days, because my aunt is having her house remodeled. I want you to come with me.”

Owen looked baffled. “What the hell do you expect me to do?”

“Check out Arthur Crabshaw, of course. Surely you don’t need me to tell you how to conduct a simple investigation.”

“You’d be amazed at what I need.”

Amy scowled. “I want you to rummage around in Crabshaw’s background. Find out if he’s on the level. But I don’t want my aunt to realize what you’re doing. If he’s legit, I’d rather she didn’t know that I hired you. It would be embarrassing and awkward.”

“Embarrassing and awkward.” Owen nodded sagely. “That’s me.”

Amy blushed. “I didn’t mean that as a personal remark.”

“Right.” Owen leaned back in his chair and stuck out his legs. He crossed his booted feet and regarded Amy with a truculent expression. “I’m supposed to go to Villantry with you, but no one is supposed to know who I am or what I’m doing there, is that it?”

Amy gave him an approving look. “Precisely.”

“Villantry is a very small town. I’m not going to be able to hide very easily.”

“I don’t intend to keep you hidden.”

“Just how do you plan to explain my presence?”

Amy smiled a trifle smugly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all worked out. I’ll pass you off as my fiancé.”

Chapter 2

That evening Owen sat next to Amy in the restaurant of the Villantry Inn and wondered what the hell had come over him. But the question was strictly rhetorical. He knew the answer. Amy Comfort had come over him. Or, to be more precise, he sincerely hoped that their acquaintance would develop to the point where that eventuality became a distinct possibility.

He’d wanted Amy Comfort from the first moment he’d seen her. He would never forget that shattering instant of acute knowledge. He had walked into her parlor office, intent on purchasing the old Draycott place. The moldering pile of timber and stone had appealed to him on sight. He had been determined to possess it, regardless of the price.

He’d felt the same way about Amy, although there was nothing moldering about her. Just the opposite. She was fresh and vital and alive. Her chin-length hair was the color of honey and her intelligent eyes were a mesmerizing shade of ultramarine blue.

She was not beautiful in the classic sense, but there was an appealing quality in her firm chin, high cheekbones, and straight little nose. There was something else there, too, an indefinable essence that he suspected an older generation would have labeled strength of character.

She reminded Owen of the wild roses in his garden. She would not fade when the going got tough, the way his first wife had. Amy would endure and flourish, just as the flowers in the Draycott garden had endured and flourished. Owen was not sure how he knew that, but he was very certain of it.

The extent of his desire for Amy had astounded him, because he’d assumed that he was well past the point when passion and desire could dazzle his senses and shake up his world. He was within spitting distance of forty, after all, and he had not gotten this far the easy way. One broken marriage and a checkered career that included a stint in the military and later as a private investigator had taught him that the world was painted in shades of gray.