The Bridesmaid's Gifts Page 6

  The slight hesitation before the word let her know that he was as uncomfortable talking about this as she was. “A long time. Most of my life.”

  “And how many people know about them?”

  “Only a few,” she answered with a shrug. “Though even most of them don’t know quite how often it happens.”

  “You downplay your abilities.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she nodded. “Yes. As it is, there are those who make too big an issue of it.”

  She thought of her friend Pamela, who sometimes bragged about her friend the psychic, even though Aislinn had asked her repeatedly not to say that. Pamela had a good heart and was a loyal friend, bring-sing Aislinn a lot of customers for her cake-decorating business. She didn’t mean any harm by her comments; she actually considered it a compliment, since she was fascinated by anything that appeared in the least paranormal.

  Aislinn, on the other hand, assiduously avoided any hint of such a thing. She was as normal as anyone else, she had spent her entire life insisting.

  “So most of your friends just think you’re pretty good at guessing things that are about to happen and take it for granted that they should listen to you.”

  “Something like that.”

  “But what they really think is that you’re at least somewhat psychic and you just don’t like to admit it.”

  “I—” She stopped, then sighed. “Maybe,” she conceded reluctantly, suspecting that was exactly what others secretly thought. Even Nic, probably.

  “I don’t believe in psychics.”

  So why did he keep insisting on calling her that? Shaking her head in exasperation, she said, “I don’t care. I’m not sure I believe in them myself.”

  “What was the point of coming to Joel’s house this morning?” he asked again.

  She took a sip of her cooling tea, mostly to give herself a moment to put her thoughts in order. “I probably shouldn’t have done that,” she conceded, setting the cup down carefully in front of her. “I’d had a bad night and I thought if I could just look at the photograph, maybe convince myself I was making too much of it…”

  “You’d seen the photo before?” he asked when her voice trailed away.

  She shook her head. “No. I told you, I’d never actually been in Joel’s house before.”

  “Then how did you know where you would find it?”

  “Maybe I should start from the beginning.”

  “That’s probably a good place to start.”

  He was still being sarcastic, but rather absently now, without the aggressiveness of earlier. Almost like a habit he had developed very quickly around her.

  Giving him only a mildly chiding look in response, she began, “It happened at the reception last night. You touched my arm—”

  “I remember. You went pale. I asked you about it.”

  She nodded, feeling again the jolt that had gone through her with that contact. She hadn’t known what it was then, only that she’d felt almost as though she’d been body-slammed. It was later, during the long, nearly sleepless night, that she had begun to see that portrait in her mind.

  Every time she’d tried to close her eyes, she’d envisioned the photograph sitting in Joel’s bedroom—and had recognized that bedroom even though she had never stepped foot in it. She’d never experienced anything like that before, but she had been compelled to drive to Joel’s house that morning, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stop obsessing until she did. It was almost as if her movements had been controlled by some force outside herself, drawing her to Joel’s house and then into his bedroom, to the photograph she had seen in her mind.

  Only when she had held the frame in her hands had she understood exactly what she needed to tell Ethan. She had looked at the face of the baby boy in the photo—and she had seen the man he had become. Not would have become. Had.

  “I’m sorry, Aislinn, I just can’t buy it,” Ethan said, shaking his head when she finished. “There’s no way Kyle survived that flood. The police found the nanny’s car upside down, twelve feet deep in water.”

  “But no bodies.”

  “Well, no. It was thirty years ago, after all. Toddler seats weren’t as secure as they are now. The seat apparently broke loose.”

  “And the nanny’s seat belt?”

  “Undone. Either she wasn’t wearing it or she managed to get herself free and was swept away in the deluge. One of the car doors was open.”

  “Or she was able to get out with the child and neither one of them drowned.”

  “That’s what you think happened?”

  She twisted her mug in front of her. “That’s what I know happened.”

  “You just know.”

  She nodded. “I just know.”

  “And you expect me to believe you.”

  She felt her mouth twist in a wry smile. “No.”

  “Then what do you want from me?”

  “Nothing,” she replied simply. “I just needed to tell you. What you do with the information, if anything, is up to you.”

  He brooded about that for a moment, then asked, “So what else do you know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you know where this man is? The one you say is my brother?”

  “No.”

  “What about the nanny? Is she still alive? Can you tell me how to find her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then what the hell do you expect me to do?” he asked irritably.

  She spread her hands. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I keep trying to explain that nothing quite like this has ever happened to me before. I don’t know what it means or what to do with it—and I’m almost sorry I said anything to you about it. Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut.”

  “No,” he said after a moment. “I’m the one you should have told. The only one, by the way. I don’t want my parents or my brother to hear about this until I look into it.”

  “You’re going to look into it?”

  “I’m not saying I believe you,” he responded quickly. “I don’t. But I’ll try to check it out, if you’ll promise you won’t say anything to Nic or Joel.”

  She didn’t like the implication that he was offering to indulge her in exchange for her silence. It wasn’t as if she had anything to gain either way. “You do what you want,” she said stiffly. “I won’t mention any of this to anyone else.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  “So how are you going to begin? Looking into it, I mean.”

  “Beats the heck out of me. I don’t suppose you can do some sort of woo-woo thing and give me a starting point?”

  She didn’t even bother to get annoyed that time. “Sorry. I’m all out of woo-woo at the moment.”

  “Guess I’m on my own then.”

  “Guess so.”

  But he continued to sit there, looking at her across the table.

  Growing self-conscious after a few moments, she asked, “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

  He glanced at the work island, then drawled, “I wouldn’t turn down a piece of cake.”

  Something about the way he said it made her laugh. “I’m afraid that one’s spoken for. But as it happens,” she said, rising, “I have something that might appeal to you.”

  “Do you now?”

  She faltered for just a moment in her steps, then made herself keep moving toward the refrigerator. No way he’d meant that the way it had sounded, she told herself. Had it been anyone else, she’d have thought he was flirting. But this was Ethan, who thought of her as a crackpot who couldn’t quite be trusted. She would be the last woman he would consider flirting with.

  She pulled out a cake plate and set it on the counter. She had tried a new cake recipe, making a small, round chocolate cake torted into four layers with caramel filling, then frosted with white-chocolate-flavored butter cream. She had topped the cake with a few yellow-frosting daisies and piped a simple yellow shell border around the edges.

  “Do you like chocol
ate?”

  “I consider it one of the essential food groups,” he replied. “Especially if you’ve got a glass of milk to go with it.”

  She set the cake on the table and opened the refrigerator again. “Of course.”

  Ethan was studying the cake when she returned to the table with a full glass of milk. “Looks too nice to cut just for me. Did you have plans for this one?”

  “Not really. I make small cakes sometimes to try out new recipes. I keep them on hand for walk-in business, people who need a cake for a special occasion but forgot to place an advance order. I get several requests for those each day.”

  “I guess you get tired of cake for yourself.”

  “No. I love cake.” She served him a generous slice, cutting a smaller piece for herself.

  “You must not eat it all that often.”

  The rather clinical once-over he gave her in tandem with the observation made her shake her head. Did the man have absolutely no tact or did he just rarely bother to make an effort?

  “I try to keep balance in my life,” she said mildly. “When I eat cake, I exercise a bit more to make up for it.”

  “Wow. This is good.”

  The compliment pleased her since it seemed completely sincere. “Thank you. I’ll have to consider adding this recipe to my menu.”

  He nodded, washing down another bite with a sip of his milk. “How long have you been running your own cake-decorating business?”

  “Just a couple of years. I started out in high school decorating birthday cakes for a supermarket, and it expanded from there as I became interested in more intricate designs.”

  “You didn’t go to college?”

  “No.” She had no intention of going into her family history with him just then. “What about you? You have a degree in business, I assume?”

  “Double major. Business and economics.”

  “And how long have you been self-employed?”

  “Five years. I quit my job with an accounting firm on my thirty-first birthday to open my own business.”

  “You like being your own boss.”

  “Right. Just like you do.”

  She nodded to concede his point.

  Apparently out of small talk, he finished his cake, drained his milk, then stood. “Thanks for the cake. I’ll let you get back to work now.”

  “Wait a sec.” She crossed to the counter where she’d left the chocolate cake, took out a small delivery box and carefully set the cake inside it. Closing the lid, she turned and held it out to him. “Here. Something for you to snack on while you’re staying at Joel’s.”

  He hesitated only a moment, studying the box with her logo printed neatly across the top. And then he accepted the gift with a slight smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Carrying the box, he preceded her through the shop to the front door. He paused with one foot outside on the sidewalk. “I assume you’ll let me know if you get any more, uh, feelings about my family.”

  “I would have thought you’d want me to keep any future feelings to myself.”

  He frowned. “Just come to me if there’s anything you feel you need to pass along.”

  She didn’t respond.

  After a moment, Ethan turned away. “Goodbye, Aislinn.”

  Closing the door behind him, she thought about the finality with which he had spoken. Ethan wasn’t expecting to see her again. And while she almost never had premonitions involving herself, she knew somehow that he was wrong.

  “Are the books that badly messed up?”

  Ethan blinked and looked away from the computer screen. “I, um…what?”

  A curvy brunette in pale blue scrubs leaned against the countertop beside him. “The way you’re glaring at that computer, I figure what you’re seeing must be really bad.”

  Clearing the screen, Ethan leaned back in the chair, grimacing when stiff muscles protested. Apparently he’d been sitting there longer than he’d realized. Unfortunately he hadn’t accomplished much, since he’d been having a hard time concentrating on the numbers. “It’s not so bad. Just a little disorganized.”

  “Yes, well, Carla Colby set up the books when Joel and Bob went into practice together. Carla used to be the bookkeeper for old Dr. Green before he retired, and Joel and Bob figured she must know what she was doing, but her methods were a little outdated. She retired a few months ago. I think Marilyn’s going to be a great office manager once you get all the systems up to date.”

  “Yes, she’s very efficient.” He looked around the empty office. “Where is Marilyn, anyway?”

  “She went home. It’s five o’clock, Ethan. We’re closing up for the day.”

  He glanced at his watch in surprise. Now that he thought about it, he sort of remembered Marilyn saying something a few minutes earlier. Must have been good-night. He hoped he had at least grunted a response—and that she had assumed he was preoccupied by work.

  “Guess I let time slip away from me.”

  Nurse Lizzie Murdoch laughed quietly. “I know when a man is obsessed with his work. I see that look all the time around here with Joel and Bob. But you’ve got to take a break sometime, you know?”

  “Yeah. As a matter of fact…” He pushed himself out of his chair, knowing he would accomplish nothing more by sitting there any longer. “I might as well head out myself.”

  “Do you have plans for dinner?”

  He shook his head. “Joel stocked his kitchen for me. I’m sure I’ll find something edible.”

  “There are some pretty decent restaurants around here, you know. Do you like catfish?”

  “Yeah, I—”

  “I know—why don’t you and I go grab something to eat? I don’t have any plans this evening, either, and it’s always nicer to eat with someone, isn’t it?”

  Actually, he was just as content dining alone most of the time. And Lizzie was being about as subtle as a semi with her “spur-of-the-moment” invitation. He supposed she was attractive enough and she seemed like pleasant company. But he wasn’t really interested in getting involved with one of Joel’s employees during the short time he planned to be in town.

  “Just a friendly dinner,” she said quickly, as if sensing the direction his thoughts had taken. “Seems only hospitable, since you’re a visitor to our town and your brother is away on his honeymoon.”

  Ethan shrugged. Her tone had reassured him that she wasn’t going to expect much from their dinner, and he supposed there was no need to be antisocial. “Okay. Catfish sounds good. You think anyone else wants to join us?”

  The expression in her eyes let him know she’d gotten the message. But something about her smile hinted that she hadn’t completely written him off. “I’ll ask around,” she said, “though just about everyone else is gone for the day.”

  As it happened, he and Lizzie were the only ones free for dinner. They agreed to meet at the restaurant at six-thirty, giving them both a chance to freshen up first. Lizzie had swapped the scrubs for a low-scooped T-shirt and a short denim skirt with high, wedge-heeled sandals when she rejoined him. Even though he couldn’t help noticing how nicely she filled out the rather skimpy garments, Ethan kept his behavior politely distant as they were seated at a booth and served fried catfish, hush puppies, coleslaw and green tomato chowchow.

  Lizzie kept the conversation moving with talk about the wedding. “It was really nice, wasn’t it? Simple. Like Nic. Not that I mean Nic is simple, of course. I meant, you know—”

  “Unpretentious.”

  “Yeah. That’s it. So, anyway, everyone thought you and Joel looked so handsome up there in your tuxes,” Lizzie continued flirtatiously. “Y’all really look a lot alike, you know?”

  “So I’ve heard.” Ethan stuffed a hush puppy in his mouth.

  “And Nic looked so pretty in her heirloom gown. All feminine and delicate, which certainly was a change from seeing her in her police uniform all the time around town. And then Aislinn, of course, well, she’s just
gorgeous no matter what she’s wearing.”

  Ethan took a deep swallow of iced tea to avoiding having to respond.

  “The cake was fantastic. Aislinn’s had cakes featured in cake-decorating magazines, you know. She did one for my niece’s sweet-sixteen party. It looked like a filigreed jewelry box with the lid partially open and a string of pearls spilling out of it. It had ribbons and flowers and glittery jewels—and every bit of it was edible. Made out of frosting and sugar and stuff, you know? Cost my sister a freaking fortune, but everyone said it was worth it. Aislinn took a picture of the cake and put it on her Web site.”

  “So do you know Aislinn very well?” Ethan asked casually, dragging a strip of fish through tartar sauce.

  “I wouldn’t say well,” Lizzie replied with a shrug. “I don’t think anyone knows her well—except Nic, of course. The two of them have been tight since grade school. They were a few years behind me in school,” she admitted with a rueful wrinkle of her nose.

  “What do you mean about no one knowing Aislinn well?”

  “She’s just very private. Reserved. A result of her childhood, I guess. I mean, she’s nice enough. Her business is pretty successful—lots of word-of-mouth referrals. And you don’t hear anybody say anything bad about her. Well, not very often, anyway. There are people who think she’s a little spooky. Something about the way she looks at you sometimes, you know? Like she knows something you don’t. But personally I think maybe she’s just a little shy and occasionally her shyness comes across as sort of distant.”

  While he would have liked to follow up on that throwaway comment about Aislinn’s childhood, he refused to gossip about Aislinn behind her back. He’d found out what he wanted to know already.

  There didn’t seem to be any general talk about Aislinn being psychic. Just “a little spooky.” She’d apparently been telling the truth when she said that only her closest friends knew about her extraordinary intuition.

  Which didn’t mean he completely believed in it himself, of course. Even if she had been uncannily accurate so far.

  And speaking of spooky…

  Something made him look up and across the room, toward the cash register. His eyes met Aislinn’s just as she turned, holding a white take-out bag.