“As it happens,” Hannah said, sweet, sharp steel in every syllable, “I’m in the business of getting people married, and I can tell you that making a marriage work is hard enough when both parties go into it enthusiastically. Any marriage forged by outside pressure would be doomed before the vows even got said.”
“You’re too young to be so pessimistic,” Mitchell complained.
“Mitchell, I’m sure you mean well, but the very last thing I want to do is marry a man who doesn’t want to get married. Are we clear on that?”
“Now don’t let Rafe’s bad nerves put you off the notion,” Mitchell replied. “It’s true the Madison men have a lousy track record when it comes to marriage, but the right woman could change all that.”
“Why do you want to change it?” Hannah demanded, thoroughly exasperated now. “What is this all about, anyway? Why do you want Rafe and me to get married?”
Still stuck in the doorway, Rafe waited for the other shoe to drop.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Mitchell snapped, evidently out of patience himself. “It’s the only way to stop people from talking.”
“Since when did you start worrying about local gossip?” Hannah asked.
“There’s gossip and there’s gossip,” Mitchell declared. “Everyone in town is saying he’s carrying on with you because he wants to get his hands on the other half of this place. That’s a damned lie. Reminds me of the talk that went around town the night Kaitlin Sadler died. All those rumors about how he’d seduced you just to get himself an alibi. Pure garbage.”
“They certainly were,” Hannah said quietly.
“Hell, I know that.” Mitchell’s voice rang with conviction. “Rafe had nothing to do with that poor girl’s death. Madison men got problems when it comes to dealing with the opposite sex, but no Madison man has ever laid a hand on a woman in anger. No man in this family would ever assault a female, by God. And no Madison would seduce an innocent girl like you to cover his own tracks, and that’s a fact.”
A loud silence gripped the sunroom.
“I know that,” Hannah said quietly.
Rafe remembered to take a breath.
“I’m not saying Rafe might not have argued with Kaitlin Sadler,” Mitchell continued. “He’s a Madison. He’s got a temper. But if he had been with Kaitlin that night and if there had been some terrible accident, he’d have gone for help and then he’d have told the flat-out truth about what happened.”
“I know that, too,” Hannah said again. Her voice was very even. “I’m a Harte, remember? Lord knows that we’re well aware that Madisons have their faults, but no one in my family has ever accused anyone in your clan of lying.”
“Damn right,” Mitchell agreed.
Rafe glanced down at the tray of hummus and pita bread points he held. Mitchell had believed him all those years ago. The old man disapproved of just about everything he’d ever done in his life, but he had never doubted Rafe’s word about what had happened the night Kaitlin Sadler died.
Rafe discovered that he could move again. He walked into the sunroom and set the tray down on a table. He noticed that Hannah’s cheeks were flushed. She avoided his eyes. He knew she was wondering how much of the conversation he had overheard.
“The hummus looks wonderful,” she said a little too brightly.
“Thanks.” Rafe picked up the small glass pitcher of very good, very expensive olive oil that sat on the tray. He poured a liberal stream of the rich, fruity oil over the hummus.
“What’s that?” Mitchell studied the hummus with curiosity. “Some kinda bean dip?”
“Yeah,” Rafe said. “Some kind of bean dip.” He set down the pitcher of olive oil. He pulled the bottle of Chardonnay out of the ice bucket and poured himself a glass. “Glad you left some for me. I need it.”
Hannah and Mitchell gazed at him as though he were charming a snake. Both were uneasy. Neither wanted to make any sudden moves. He took his time, savoring the perfect balance of oak and fruit and the elegant finish of the wine.
When he was done, he set the glass down on the table very deliberately and looked at Hannah and Mitchell.
“I hear that wine is good for the nerves,” he said.
Two hours later, Mitchell put down his fork with a sigh of satisfaction. Just a few slivers of buttery pastry was all that remained of the kiwi tart.
“Where the hell did you learn to cook?” he asked Rafe. “Sure didn’t get it from me. The best I can do is throw a salmon steak on the grill.”
“Took some classes,” Rafe said. “But mostly I just spend a lot of time fooling around in the kitchen.”
“Well, if this inn of yours doesn’t work out, it won’t be because the food is bad.”
Rafe caught Hannah’s attention. He knew that they were both aware of what had just happened. Mitchell had bestowed his approval, not only on the food but on the entire inn project. She was probably thinking that she had just lost a lot of ground in her battle to claim his half of the inn. She was right.
“I need to talk to you about something important, Mitchell.” Rafe settled back in his chair and contemplated his grandfather across the remains of the meal. “Last night someone tried to drown Hannah’s dog.”
Mitchell blinked in astonishment. Then he looked at Winston, who was dozing peacefully on the rug beneath the table. “Who the hell would do a thing like that?”
“I don’t know,” Rafe admitted. “But I intend to find out.”
“What’s going on here?” Mitchell demanded.
Nobody ever accused Mitchell of being slow, Rafe thought. “I don’t know that, either, but we’ve concluded that it might be connected to what happened to Kaitlin Sadler.”
Mitchell gazed at him for a very long time. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Very. There’s some stuff I need to tell you before this conversation goes any further.” Rafe gave Mitchell a brief summary of events, including the talk with Dell Sadler.
When he had finished, Mitchell whistled softly. “You realize what you’re saying?”
“That it’s possible Kaitlin Sadler really was killed, just as Dell Sadler has always believed. And that the reason she was murdered was because she tried to blackmail someone here in Eclipse Bay.”
“Well, shoot and damn.” Mitchell sounded thoughtful now. “Yates was so damn sure it was an accident.”