“What’s up?” I asked in a Spa-low voice, though I knew the answer too well. I had dared the devil, and here he was.
“I saw you in Rutland, Maggie. Why were you there?” He sounded personally aggrieved, like I’d disappointed him in a major way.
So he had been the one to call my name. It wasn’t a total surprise. Nor was it reassuring, given the power he held. But I wasn’t backing down. “Grace is my friend. She needed support. She had no one else.”
“She had her lawyer and her son. She didn’t need you, especially after I asked you to steer clear of her. Why didn’t you at least call me to get an okay?”
“I didn’t think I had to. I wasn’t leaving the state.”
He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “But this looks bad, Maggie, don’t you see? The kid did some awful stuff.”
“Not proven.”
“Not yet, but the charges wouldn’t be brought without evidence. And there you are all over the news? You’re putting me in a shitty position.”
I couldn’t muster sympathy for him. For Grace and Chris? Yes. Even, considering nightmares and fears, for me. But for Michael? No. He was being unreasonable, tone-deaf about the meaning of friendship. So maybe he didn’t know what it was. Maybe he didn’t have friends. That was cause for sympathy, I supposed.
We stood with our backs to the rest of the room. Just beyond the windows were trees and shrubs that seemed manicured even in March. I studied them until their tranquility eased me.
Then I said a quiet, “I’m sorry.” I did regret putting him in an awkward position. He wasn’t a bad guy, and he was only doing his job. But I did not regret going to court with Grace and Chris. “I honestly didn’t think it was a big deal. The hearing took all of five minutes. It was just a formality.”
“The terms of your probation are clear,” he said, all stern, I-am-the-law. “You’re supposed to pick good friends and stay clean. You’re supposed to avoid anything that is even vaguely smelly. And there you were in a courtroom with a guy who’s up for two felony counts? That smells really bad. So what am I supposed to do, Maggie? I mean, I like you, but this is my job. Do I report it?”
“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind, and goose bumps rose on my skin. Edward’s voice would always be that familiar to me.
Suddenly he was right there with us, and how could I not compare the two men? Both were tall, but even though Michael had a couple of inches on him, Edward was more classy, more confident, more imposing, like he was the real thing beside a wannabe. He wore a quarter-zip sweater and slacks; the sweater was cashmere and black, the slacks a lighter gray and cut of fine wool; loafers had replaced mud-crusted boots. His long hair was neatly brushed but, paired with the facial hair, seemed somehow wild.
And there it was, like two days ago at the farm. Edward’s version of tall and dark got to me every time. The jolt I’d felt hearing his voice became a slow thrum in my veins. I tried to shut it down, but it wouldn’t listen to me, and that, alone, was cause to resent him.
He extended a hand to Michael and said in a voice low enough not to carry past us, “Ned Cooper. I’m with the Inn. You must be Officer Shanahan.”
Michael shook his hand. “With the Inn?”
I could read Michael. He definitely recognized the name. He just couldn’t place it, which put me in a bind. What to say? How much to reveal? What the hell did I know?
“I’m heading the new management team,” Edward said and hitched his head back at the reception desk, where Joyce was talking with a woman and a man. Both were dressed for business. “They’re PR people working on damage control. I was showing them around and saw you with Ms. Reid. Is there a problem?”
That was his story then. He was “with the management team,” which could have meant anything but was better than an out-and-out “new owner.” He had met me before and knew who I was. And, based on the “Officer” he’d attached to Shanahan, whose name he had just learned from Joyce, he knew who Michael was and, therefore, knew my legal history.
“No problem,” Michael said. “Maggie and I meet from time to time.”