Deadly Row, A - By Casey Mayes Page 0,55

but she was an excellent pancake maker, and she passed on her knowledge to me before I left home.”

“That’s funny.”

“Why’s that?”

“We have a pancake dinner tradition in our family, too.”

“It must be a southern thing,” he said lightly. “Would you care to join me?”

“That sounds great.”

We moved into his kitchen, with its cherrywood cabinets and industrial oven. There was a griddle imbedded in the marble-topped island, and stainless steel appliances were everywhere.

As he mixed the batter and began pouring rounds onto the griddle top, I said, “I’ll set the table.”

“Don’t bother. Why don’t we eat here at the island?”

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

“The plates are over there, and the silver is in that drawer.”

I retrieved fine bone china from the cabinet, and sterling silver knives and forks. With the linen napkins he retrieved, I set our places, and added crystal goblets.

“There’s milk and orange juice in the refrigerator,” he said.

“Which would you prefer?”

“I’d like milk myself.”

I poured two glasses, found the butter as well, and turned to see that Barton had the syrup out, in crystal as well.

When the first pancake was finished, he flipped it onto my plate. I waited for him, but he waved his spatula in the air. “Go on, they’re too good to eat when they’re right off the griddle to wait.”

I added a little butter and a tad too much syrup, and then tasted it. He was looking expectantly, so I smiled as I said, “Delicious. These may be the best pancakes I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something.”

“I add a touch of cinnamon to the batter,” he said. “It makes all the difference in the world, in my opinion.”

We alternated eating pancakes after that, and after we were finished, I said, “I’d be glad to do the dishes.”

“Thank you, but I have someone who does that for me.” He stared at me a second, and then asked, “Would you like to see my secret vice?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I was just warming up to the man. “Okay,” I said hesitantly.

He laughed at my reluctance. “It’s nothing like that. We have to go on the roof, though.”

I decided if I told him about my fear of heights, it would ruin the nice evening we’d shared. But there was no way I was going close to the edge. “Lead on.”

To my surprise, we walked out to our common stairwell. “I keep this unlocked,” he explained as we walked up the short flight to the door. “No one has access to it but the top two floors, so you have my blessing to come and go as you please.”

I couldn’t imagine the circumstances that I’d take him up on it, but I kept that to myself.

Once we were on the roof, I changed my mind. The space, lit with gentle illumination, sported some chairs and a table, but what really caught my eye was a raised-bed garden, filled with tomatoes, beans, onions, and potatoes. “It’s great,” I said. “In fact, my uncle has something a lot like this.”

“It’s the only way I can indulge my green thumb without leaving the hotel,” he explained. “There’s something about getting my hands dirty that I’ve never forgotten. It was one of my favorite childhood memories.”

“I can tell that you really love it.”

He smiled. “It’s the most calming thing I have in my life. Coming up here renews me somehow.”

“How nice that must be,” I said as I stifled a yawn.

“You must be exhausted after the day you’ve had.”

During our meal, I’d regaled him with tales of my day in Hickory with Uncle Thomas, and he’d hung on every word. “I am beat,” I said. “Sorry I’m not better company.”

“Savannah, you’ve been delightful. Let me walk you back downstairs.”

We moved to the stairwell, and returned to Barton’s floor. He explained, “I’d let you back in through the stairwell on your floor, but the doors lock automatically. I’ll have that taken care of tomorrow, so you can come and go as you please.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

Barton summoned the elevator. “I’m afraid this is an express elevator, so you’ll have to ride downstairs to the lobby before you can go to your suite.”

“I don’t mind,” I said.

He hesitated at the door, and then said, “Thank you for making something so painful bearable for me.”

“I just hope I helped.”

“More than I can tell you.”

“Good night, then,” I said as I walked into the elevator.

“Good night.”

As I rode downstairs, I wondered how a man as wealthy as Barton Lane could be so