him,” Poppy said, irritated by the constant accusation. Her sister and the press were eager to paint a scarlet A on her. “If I wanted your ridiculous fiancé, why would I have left? Why would Grammie have barred him from the estate? Why am I not with him right now?”
Violet lunged across the table. “It’s all some big game to you. You can’t play with people’s lives like that. You and Grammie are both exactly the same!”
“Oh,” Marigold exclaimed, lowering her fork. “It’s a game now? Excellent! I love games!”
One of the gallery attendants came running into the dining room. Such an abrupt act was so unexpected that it silenced everyone at the long dining table. The harried employee paused for a second to compose himself, then came striding over to the table to dip and murmur something in Clark Granger’s ear.
“What is it?” her mother asked. “What’s going on?”
Marigold’s smile glittered. “This is turning out to be some night.”
Her father, Clark, landed a fierce glare on the attendant. “How did he get onto the grounds?”
The attendant glanced around at the women.
Grammie was quick to pounce closer. “We have an uninvited guest?” she asked, then narrowed her eyes. “Is it Holden?”
Even her father looked at the nervous attendant. When the employee noticed he was the focus of everyone’s scrutiny, he cleared his throat. “We don’t believe so, ma’am.”
“If it is, shoot him.”
“Grammie!” Primrose exclaimed.
“She is insane,” her mother muttered.
Poppy just smiled. “This isn’t a stand your ground state, Grammie,” she said. “And he isn’t threatening our lives.” Not in that minute anyway. “Besides, men like Holden don’t start fights, they send their guys, usually ex-military, to do it for them.”
As Turner had once told her.
“Who is he?” Grammie asked, tugging on the attendant’s jacket. “What happened? Don’t stand there dumb, boy.”
“Yes, tell us,” her mother said, proving there was more than one thing the in-laws agreed on, that once anyway.
“We don’t know,” the attendant said. “He appeared at the front gate. Security didn’t grant him access.”
“Did he threaten anyone?” Silvia asked, reaching for Violet’s hand. “What did he want? Is he out of his mind?”
Poppy was more interested in her family than the attendant relaying the story. At least she was until she spotted he was looking right at her. “What?”
“He wanted to speak to Miss Poppy.”
“Me?” she asked.
Grammie clapped her hands. “It is Holden’s man! Shoot him!”
“Grammie!” Primrose called again then looked to her. “Poppy, he’d only do this if he really loved you.”
“What?” Poppy asked. “Appear at security to talk to me? No thank you, don’t let him in.”
The young man shook his head. “We didn’t grant him access.”
“Dad said he was on the grounds,” Primrose said.
Everyone’s focus swung to the attendant again.
“What did he do?” Grammie asked, practically salivating. “Bust on through the gates?”
“Uh… no,” the attendant said. “He swung his vehicle up parallel to the perimeter and used it to get over the wall.”
“Over the wall,” Grammie pondered. “Did he breach the wall?”
Like the attendant was relaying a movie plot, Grammie relished the excitement. The others seemed exasperated, but her grandmother’s reaction was helping to temper Poppy’s own emotions.
“After positioning the vehicle, he jumped out of it,” the attendant said. “Climbed up onto the roof of the truck and went straight over the wall.”
“Oh,” Grammie said, her lips circled. “He’s smart.”
“Is there property damage?” her father asked. Trust him to care about the costs before anything else. “Call the police.”
“They’re already on their way,” the attendant said. “But he could be anywhere.”
“Sure,” Grammie said, picking up her wine. “It’s not like we have dozens of security agents roaming in the trees. You’re supposed to stop people outside the wall.”
Since the whole Holden fiasco, her father had hired more security agents, but most were on the external side of the wall. Even those who were on the inside would have to be exactly where their intruder was to track him. In the dark, in the trees, it wouldn’t be easy to do.
“We’ve been looking for him… We don’t know where he is.”
That was surprising. Just how long had they been sitting there enjoying their meal with some maniac close by waiting to pounce?
“Where’s Tiller?” her father asked, surging to his feet.
“He wasn’t on site,” the attendant said. “He’s on his way back now.”
Clark retrieved his phone. “If Tiller was here, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“I don’t understand who it is,” her mother said. “With all the press we’ve had recently, it could be a crazy, obsessed lunatic.”