Passions of Chelsea Kane Part 2

"s.e.x matters," Chelsea told Cydra Saperstein in rationalizing that fact.

Cydra was a psychotherapist whom Chelsea had met at the health club.

They had been running together for nearly five years, during which time they had become good friends. Since their lives overlapped in no other respect-no mutual friends, lovers, or job prospects-they could share their feelings with impunity. Wearing similar spandex tights and tank tops, and with their hair bouncing in tandem from high ponytails, they talked in clipped phrases as they ran 53 through the early morning streets. -rm not an innocent," Chelsea went on. "Neither is he.

Sometimes s.e.x works. Sometimes it doesn't. When it doesn't, it's bad. We both know that."

"But you won't know how it is until you try. So why don't you?" Chelsea had asked herself the same question dozens of times.

"Carl's like a brother. It seems wrong."

"Does he turn you on?"

"I don't know. I still don't think of him that way."

"What do you feel when he kisses you?"

"Nice."

"Just nice?"

"We're not into heavy pa.s.sion. He's giving me time.'@ Chelsea thought about that as she ran oni "He's nervous, too. He wants it to work. He's afraid it won't."

"There's a message in that, don't you think?" Cydra was big on messages.

* "But you'd better try it, Chels. You're d.a.m.n right, s.e.x matters. If it's no good, you're asking for trouble. That's why Jeff and I are getting divorced." They had discussed Cydra's marriage many a morning when Cydra had needed to vent her anger. She claimed that of the many reasons for its failure, s.e.x was the biggest one. "He wanted it, I didn't. I thought the attraction would come in time. It didn't. The attraction is either there or it isn'[email protected] "What if it isn't?"

"Then you're wasting your time.

There are other men. You can come do the singles scene with me."

"I hate the singles scene. I want it to work with Carl." Cydra grinned. "Then try It and see. It may be 54 IMe Faswons of Cjwsm Kme Y". case you'll kick yourself for having in which ited." But Chelsea wasn't rus.h.i.+ng things, and as it happened, work helped her on that score. Harper, Kane, Koo was busier than ever. She had personally finished the design for the library in Delaware and was in the process of designing a health center, a skating club, and an insurance building. At the same time she was supervising the roughing out of two other projects. Pa.s.sion took concentration. So the rationalization went. With all the work she had to do, she didn't have time for that kind of concentration, and Carl understood. What he didn't understand was why, in the midst of all the work, she decided to fly north to look at granite. "I'm thinking of incorporating white granite into the insurance company design " she tried to explain. "You know how hard that is [email protected] find.- "I also know," Carl said from his perch on the corner of her desk, "that there are local representatives for each of the major granite companies who would be happy to show you samples."

"I don't Want a sample. I want to see the real thing." "What you want," he said, flipping a plastic triangle from one side to the next, to the next, "is to get a look at Norwich Notch.

That is Norwich Notch that you've written there, along with Plum Granite, along with a telephone number. What do you plan to dostand in the middle of town and say, ' I am. Come claim me'?"

"Of course not."

"Then, what?" She raised her eyes to his, feeling more than a little 55 Eartwm Definshy defiance. If he thought that the deepening of their relations.h.i.+p gave him the right to dictate what she did and didn't do, he was wrong. She was a free agent. She was an equal partner in the firm. She could travel when and where she saw fit without explaining herself. For the sake of all he meant to her, though, she didn't deny that she had more than one reason for going to Norwich Notch. "I want to see the town. Just see it. The company is quarrying a vein of white granite, there's no local rep with samples, and I'd like to take a look.

I won't learn anything about me. I won't be asking any questions about me. It would be totally inappropriate."

"The insurance company plans are still rough. They haven't said they want granite. Aren't you jumping the gun a little?" She let out a breath. Quietly she said, "I think we need a break." He continued to flip the triangle. When she couldn't bear his silence any longer, she turned and in a burst of honesty cried, "We have to do something, Carl. Our relations.h.i.+p seems to go so far, so far, then stop. What's wrong?" He said nothing. She imagined he was as perplexed as she was and, Irrationally, was annoyed. She wanted him to be strong.

She wanted him to have answers. She wanted him to entice her to stay by telling her that he was madly in love with her and would miss her if she went away for even as few as three or four days. She wanted him to want her desperately. That was what she needed-which he surely knew, if he knew her at all. The triangle finally came to a rest on his thigh, its tallest sides meeting in the air like a high hurdle to be crossed.

"Maybe we need more time." 56 The paswonq of Chelsm Kmw -ighed discourage f d even though she knew it unfair to ask him to be everything she wasn't. hard to stop thinking one way and start nking another." that something right shouldn't it struck Chelsea so much work, that they were pus.h.i.+ng it, that aybe, just maybe, they wanted love and pa.s.sion , babies more than they wanted each other, in @,which case it was good that she was going north. ,@,S, he needed time to think, time to discover whether ,,'absence made the heart grow fonder. If it didn't, she ' a tough decision to make. four ate March was a wet time in Norwich Notch. Puddles gathered in ruts, turning unpaved roads to mud, while in the north shade stubborn clumps of ice lay, granular and aged, withering slowly as the ground began to thaw. When cars and pickups pa.s.sed, their tires shushed over the wet pavement. In the lull between them, the air-was filled with the rush of water through brooks from the top of Acatuk Mountain, down the ravine, and into the Notch.

Until Chelsea parked her car at the base of the triangular town green, though, the only sound she heard was the steady drumming of rain on her roof, the rhythmic slap of her wipers, and the thud of her heart pounding excitedly against her ribs. It had been that way for the last hour. She had taken a dawn flight from Baltimore to Boston, rented a car, and driven north, and though she had explicit directions, she'd kept expecting to find Norwich Notch around every turn. Impatiently she'd pa.s.sed through one tiny town after another until white-spired churches, steamy-windowed diners, 58 The raswons of Chel-wa Kmw low stone walls had run together. She had felt e car climbing once she'd pa.s.sed Stotterville, hich ab.u.t.ted the Notch, and her excitement had unted. Now rain, cold, and all, it hit a high. She had been born here.

On one of the narrow reets that branched out from the center of town the very house, and though she had no idea street or which house or whether either still t."". existed, the thought was impressive. So was the one that her mother must have walked these streets when she'd been pregnant with Chelsea, pa.s.sed along this very side of the green, sat on the old wood benches at its center, admiring the window display at Farr's General Store. Most impressive of all, though, was the possibility that while Chelsea watched, one of her birth parents might pa.s.s by in the flesh. Granted, she didn't see anyone out in the rain, let alone someone the right age, but if she waited long enough, it might happen. She had no intention of waiting, of course. If either of her parents was still alive-and. it was a mighty "if"-they had forgotten her. Since sending Abby the key, there had been no attempt at contact. Chelsea was a woman of means now, a professional here on business. It would be poetic justice, she thought, if someone looked at her and saw a ghost from the past. With a fast breath she twisted out of the car, pulled her raincoat over her head, and ran toward the store as fast as her low heels would allow on the lumpy pavement. She hadn't allowed for the weather when she'd planned her trip. She needed an umbrella. A bell tinkled when she opened the door. Taking 59 @ W*[email protected] the coat from her head, she dropped it over her arm and combed her fingers through the tumble of thick waves that spilled over her shoulder from a clasp behind her ear.

The style was softer than her usual business twist, which was why she had chosen it. This was the country. People were simpler here. She didn't want to seem pretentious. For the same reason she had wom a short skirt, a sweater, and a long, slouchy blazer. The effect was serious but relaxed, which was how she wanted to be taken, and she did feel serious-though not quite relaxed. Her emotions were in a state of turmoil. She wasn't sure what she'd find here. She wasn't sure what she wanted to find here. Bemused, she looked around. A young woman with a child on her hip was selecting a head of lettuce from the fresh produce bin. Two other women, mother and daughter, Chelsea guessed from their resemblance to one another, were alternately inserting and removing dried flowers from a wicker basket. An elderly man with rimless spectacles and a s.h.i.+ny head was reading a tabloid at the newspaper stand, above which were signs touting, most prominently, an upcoming April Fool's Day Dinner Dance at the church. Chelsea took a steadying breath. The people she saw all wore coats, which meant they were shoppers, which meant she might browse without a salesperson watching.

She wanted time to adjust to being here. She also wanted to learn something about the town. To that end, she began wandering up one aisle and down the next. The first thing she learned was that the people of Norwich Notch had the option of eating well. In addition to fresh produce, there was a meat bin 60 The raqw0im of OWFMW KMW ng everything from kidney lamb chops to bone- @Aess chicken b.r.e.a.s.t.s to sirloin steaks.

There was ,-,-Brie, Camembert, and Havarti with dill. There were ,"canned goods, dry goods, and mineral water, and where Chelsea might have expected nothing fancier ' Maxwell House coffee in a tin, she found a dozen varieties of coffee beans, each in a self-serve canister.

Apparently, too, the people of Norwich Notch liked pretty things. She saw woven place mats in a variety of colors, brightly enameled cookware, carved cheese boards, fluted pie plates, and an a.s.sortment of coffee mugs, and that wasn't to mention the dried flowers and unusual baskets from which the two women were choosing. They glanced at her-curiously, she imagined, though not suspi- ciously. She smiled back as innocently as she could and walked on. There were woolen hats, mittens, and scarves, and cotton pants, jerseys, and socks. Clearly the people of Norwich Notch preferred natural fabrics, something that Chelsea did herself, and although the styles were cla.s.sic L.L. Bean, the price tags were reasonable. Returning to the front of the store, Chelsea stood between the Norwich Notch Library Friends' cookbook display and a short stepladder whose rungs held artfully arranged tins of hand-labeled, locally produced maple syrup and realized how relieved she was. She had been prepared for shabbiness. She had expected to find an old-fas.h.i.+oned five-and-dime type of store, with a layer of dust on products that had been on the shelves too long. Farr's was a pleasant surprise. A woman approached. She was an inch or two 61 Harbam Definshy shorter than Chelsea and looked to be a year or two older, though that was a calculated guess on Chelsea's part and based solely on the smoothness of her skin. Had Chelsea gone by her hair, which was a dull sand color and pulled into a severe topknot, or her skirt and blouse, which verged on the dowdy, she would have thought the woman far older. She worked at the store. Her eyes-hazel eyes just a shade more brown than Chelsea's green ones-were solicitous, warm, and welcoming, if vaguely timid. "I'm looking for an umbrella," Chelsea said, glancing around curiously. "I'm sure I must have pa.s.sed one somewhere." Gesturing her along gently, the woman went to a spot two aisles over, where a collection of umbrellas @ routed from an urn. City girl that she was, Chelsea had automatically envisioned a folding one to fit in her briefcase, but as she looked through the patterns to pick one she liked,'she realized the absurdity of that. A puny umbrella wouldn't do here. Something st.u.r.dy was called for, something that would withstand far more than a sprint through the rain to a waiting taxi. The people of Norwich Notch were rugged. Sirloin steak, mocha java coffee beans, and Subenhara. cheese notwithstanding, this was the country. With that thought, Chelsea felt a flash of contentment. That was all it was, a flash, come and gone so quickly that she might not have noticed it if it hadn't been something she'd been missing of late. But it felt good, even quick as it was, and she knew that if it had come once, it would come again. There was a certain promise in that, just as there was promise in the s.h.i.+ny silver key. She hadn't brought 62 The Faswong of Cheisea Kmw ecause this trip wasn't for questions. It along b @,Mlo for business, and for looking around, and just [email protected] for deciding what her next, best course of action wo uld be. 01hp sel cted an umbrella in a floral print. It 1: wasn't her usual style-the flowers were in small cl.u.s.ters and a little too sweet-but the grip was of a smooth, light wood and felt good in her hand. She he woman and took her wallet from her '.,..gave it to t pocket. On the way to the cash register, she pa.s.sed the newspaper stand. The elderly man was still there, still reading the same paper. She a.s.sumed that when he had read all he cared to, he would simply return the paper to the pile and walk out of the store. Back home that would have been unaccept- able. Here it seemed fine, actually quaint, the more she thought of it.

It,- Casually she took a copy of the local paper. She put it on the counter beside the umbrella, then, on impulse, went to the ladder with the maple syrup and took a can, plus a copy of the cookbook. "Like to cook?" She met the pale eyes of a man whose lack of a coat suggested that he, too, worked at the store. He was of average height -and weight, with Yankeestraight features, blond-white hair, and a smile meant to charm. Had Chelsea gone in for blonds, she would have thought him good-looking, but she preferred her men tall, dark,'and silently dynamic, or so her fantasy went. "I can't do it very well," she confessed, "but I like to try." She collected cookbooks wherever she went. Whether she used the recipes or not, they were fun to read. 63 DOMMAw "That one's a winner. It was put together by our very own women.

Some of the recipes have been around for generations. Just like my family. We're the Farrs, like the sign outside says. There are Farr recipes in there, and Jamieson recipes, and Plum recipes. The recipes from the inn, they're the fancy ones." He was studying her as he talked, making the words seem distracted, mere background drivel. Then his voice deepened. "Just pa.s.sing through?"

"Actually, I'm here on business."

"That would make you either an architect or a decorator." When she gave him a quizzical look, he said, "Plum Granite's the only business around that'd bring up anyone looking like you, and you're sure not a builder."

He gave her a once-over as he relieved her of the syrup. "You're too delicate for that. Where you from?" Reluctant to give him encouragement, Chelsea headed for the front of the store. " "Architect or decorator?" he-asked, following close behind. "Architect." She set the cookbook by the umbrella. When the syrup was alongside, she smiled at the woman, who had been waiting patiently to ring up the sale. "You'll like the syrup," said the man. He leaned against the counter inches away from her and crossed his arms on his chest. "It's made right here." Touching the label, she said, "So I see."

"Actually, that's wrong. It's not made right here. It's made in Stotterville, but that's a technicality. The sap comes from the sugarbush that sits on the line between the two towns. The sugarhouse is in Stotterville, so that's where the processing is done. Ever watched sugaring?" 64 Ibc Pa.s.sions of cbehwa AMM helsea focused on the cash register. "No, I can't that I have." @'You should. It's an interesting process. You Id take a look see while you're here. How long you say you were staying?" Politely she said, "Not long." *Sap's running now. You could ride on over." He hed out and swatted the arm of the woman at he register with such suddenness that Chelsea J=ped. With equal abruptness, his voice went from licitous to demanding. "Go get that book on sugarg, Donna. She might like to buy it."

"No no," Chelsea protested when Donna turned away from her tallying. "There's no need. I get so litle time to read." She stopped when she realized. the V-Protest was for naught. Donna had scurried -off.

Watching her go, Chelsea's eyes collided with those of the mother and daughter, who were standing by, P, silently observing the goings-on.

Likewise, the elderk, ly man had lowered his paper. The shopkeeper scowled after Donna. "You'll have to excuse my wife. No matter that she's been working in this store since the day we were married, and that's fourteen years now, but she's still way out in left field when it comes to antic.i.p.ating what the customers want." He tapped his head.

"She's a little slow." His wife. Chelsea was stunned by his scorn and could almost understand why the woman didn't say much. It was a shame.

Chelsea would choose to talk* with Donna over her husband any day.

* "Excuse me," she said, and went off in pursuit. She found Donna in a corner of the store that she had somehow missed, sifting through a rack of books in search of the one her husband meant. 65 Barbam Demnshy Touching her arm, Chelsea said gently, "Don't bother. Really. I have books piled up back home waiting to be read. I'm so far behind." She looked around at what else the corner had to offer. In addition to the books, all of which dealt with local topics, there were handcrafted items such as rag dolls, carved candles, and silk-screened note cards.

"Are these all locally made?" she asked. When Donna nodded, she picked a fabric-covered band from a basket-another tiny floral print, but Chelsea rather liked it-and held it over her tortoisesh.e.l.l clasp. "I use these all the time at home. How does it look?" Donna's eyes lit in approval.

Her whole face seemed to grow younger. Chelsea put the scrunchie to Donna's hair. "You ought to wear this." One of the colors in it was nearly the identical shade of sand, and the contrast of the others added zip. "It'd look fabulous. A great advertis.e.m.e.nt. How long is your hair?"

Donna drew an imaginary line at her shoulder. "Is it curly?" Chelsea asked. Given the few short wisps that had escaped her topknot, she suspected as much. Donna confirmed it with a rueful nod, which prompted Chelsea to say, "I fought it for years. I tried everything-professional staightening, setting it on orange juice cans, blowing it dry with a mammoth brush, ironing it. A few years ago, I gave up." Reaching into the basket, she plucked out two different bands and put them into Donna's hand along with the first. "I'll take all three." By the time they returned to the front of the store, the bell on the door was tinkling to mark the departure of the mother and daughter and Donna's husband was shoving the cash register closed with 66 The Faswons of Chwsea Kane angry bang. "I was beginning to think you'd gone lunch."

Coming to Donna's defense, Chelsea said, "She was showing me what I missed. Your scrunchies are great." Tactfully she turned her attention to her wal- ",.let. When she'd paid for all she had bought, she said, "Speaking of lunch, is there a place where I can grab something fast?"

She had a one o'clock nt at Plum Granite. It was twelve-fifteen. She hadn't eaten since dawn. "There's the luncheonette," suggested the elderly man in a doddering voice. He was standing nearby with his bony hands folded in his lap, having totally abandoned the paper in favor of Chelsea. She didn't see recognition in his eyes. Rather, as was the case with the mother and daughter, she was a curiosity. She thought a luncheonette sounded just fine. "Oh?"

"Yup," hewent on, "only it's not open for lunch."

"Oh."

"Open for dinner, though. Got great fish on Friday." She nodded. "Ahh." 4, "Try the inn," Donna's husband told her. "If you ask for Shelby and say I sent you and that you're in a rush, she'll have you in and out in a flash." He winked. "She's a friend of mine." He stuck out his hand. "The name's Matthew Farr, by the way.

And you are ... ?" Chelsea hesitated for the tiniest fraction of a second. She imagined saying her name and having them all stiffen and stare. She imagined being suddenly exposed. She imagined that thunder would roll and lightning strike when the town realized that its longlost daughter had returned. 67 Barbara Dehns1w Ike Faaghwo of cifelsen Kaw But if her face hadn't done it, she reasoned, why should her name?

Embarra.s.sed by her own foolishness, she shook his hand and said, "Chelsea Kane." Then she turned to Donna and smiled. "Thanks for all your help. I appreciate it." Tucking the bag with her purchases under her arm, she held the umbrella at the ready as she slipped out the door.

The Norwich Notch Inn was on the far side of the green from Farr's.

Sheltered from the steady drizzle by the umbrella, Chelsea dropped the rest of her purchases in the car and took the long way around. She pa.s.sed the store again, then, in turn, the Norwich Notch Historical Society, Post Office, Quilters Guild, and Library. They were in an a.s.sortment of frame and brick houses, some Cape style, some Colonial, some Federal. Signs identified each by function. Rising above them among the pines, at the apex of the green, was the Congregational church. The neat sign on its facade proclaimed it the town meeting house as well. At the top of the broad granite steps, she opened the tall double doors and went inside. The front lobby was high-ceilinged and smelled of aged wood and musk. Its walls were papered liberally with notices. Some had to do with church events such as choir rehearsals, meetings of the church trustees, and the same April Fool's Day Dinner Dance advertised at Farr's. Others had to do with secular events-the Boy Scouts were selling magazine subscriptions to pay for a trip to Was.h.i.+ngton, the intertown basketball league was scheduling its playoff 68 .1':.0ameso the regional hospital was having a blood drive. Mostly, though, the notices had to do with ...:t. he town meeting. It was taking place the following week, every night, starting Monday, "until every said article has been raised, considered, and resolved as determined by the moderator, Mr. Emery Farr," Chelsea read, then looked in amazement at the ""pages of articles to be discussed. There were proposals for the purchases of a new water fountain for school playground, a large-diameter hose for the fire department, and a riding lawn mower for the ig way epartment. There were articles on cooperative ventures with neighboring towns and the state, articles dealing with recycling, with changing the hours of operation of the town dump, with prohibiting the use of chewing tobacco on town fields during Little League games. Norwich Notch took itself seriously, Chelsea realized. For a town of only eleven hundred people, there was a whole lot going on. Returning to the front steps, she looked out over the town. The potential for beauty was @ there, she could see.

Given sun, green gra.s.s, and flowers, it would be an attractive little place. In the rain things looked tired and gray, but Farr's had been cheerful inside. She wondered what other surprises hid behind the town's doors. Walking down the other side of the green this time, she pa.s.sed a bank, a law office with a barber shop above it, a bakery, and the inn.

She paused to contemplate a fast lunch but decided against it. There really wasn't enough time. Besides, her hunger had pa.s.sed. In its place was the urge to explore. She was just about to cross to her car when a 69 Bwtwm Deunshy motorcycle careened in from one of the side streets and cut her off. She tottered on the curb, then stepped back. Just beyond her, the cycle slowed. Its rider, wearing a long black duster and a full helmet, looked back at her, then continued on more slowly. He turned at the apex of the green and headed down the opposite side, his helmet s.h.i.+fting as he watched her. Chelsea, who wasn't one to be cowed by bikers in the city, refused to be intimidated now. She held her ground until he had completed a circle of the green and halted the motorcycle several yards from her. He flipped up his visor. "Chelsea Kane?" She did feel at a disadvantage then and wished she could see more of his face beyond a swath of his eyes and nose. "That's right." The fact that his mouth didn't show took nothing from his words, which, while muted, were blunt. "You're early."

"Who are you?" She a.s.sumbd he was with the granite company, since he knew of her appointment, but she had no idea in what capacity. A simple quarryman wouldn't know who she was. Nor would anyone in upper management be careening around town on a Kawasaki. Or would he? She was accustomed to urban business enterprises, and large ones at that. She knew precious little about small, backwoods ones. "Name's Hunter Love," he said. "I work for the old man. You lost?"

"No. I was just looking around."

"Not much to see here but stone."

"There's more to see. I was planning to drive around. My appointment isn't until one."

"You won't get far. It's mud season." He tossed 70 The ragskww of chchwa Kane his head toward her car. "That's got no traction."

"No problem. I'll stay on paved roads."

"Not many of those.

You'll run out long before one o'clock." His eyes were steady, defiant, she thought. "Want a tour, I'll give you a tour. Climb on." Chelsea shook her head. "Thanks, but I'll pa.s.s. I'm not exactly dressed for it."

"Scared?" The taunt was all she needed. "Not on your life. I've ridden on motorcyles before. Fve dyiven motorcycles before, and bigger ones than yours. But I'm here on business." Unfazed by the put-down, he said, "Won't get much of that."

"Why not?"

"Company's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?' "Money trouble." Given the state of the economy, there was nothing unusual in that. She was only surprised he admitted it so baldly. "Really?"

"Really. The payroll gets harder to meet each' month, Jamieson won't give us another loan, and the old man wants to keep doing things the way he's been doing them for the last hundred years. Fact is he never did know how to run a company any way but into the ground." The evenness of his voice gave his a.n.a.lysis all the more weight. Hunter Love was no advance man for Plum Granite. "Why are you telling me this?" Chelsea asked. He gave a negligent shrug. "Thought you should know."

"What would he say if he knew what you just said?" She saw the smallest movement around his eyes, 71 Badmra Deunsjw a gathering at the corners that might have come from amus.e.m.e.nt or pain, she didn't know which.

"He'd say the same thing he's been saying for the last thirty years.

"You're no good, Hunter Love. Got no brains at all. Don't know why I even bother to keep you around.' But he always does, and he always will.

Guilt'll do it every time, and me, I take what I can get. He owes me."

Flipping down his visor, he revved up his motor and, with a spattering of mud that would have hit Chelsea had she been any closer, he sped off.

At one o'clock on the nose, Chelsea turned onto a small side street on the east side of town and pulled up at number ninety-seven. Had it not been for the small sign reading PWM GRMITE COMPAW, she might have thought she was at the wrong place. Given that Plum Granite was the single largest business in town, she had expected something more imposing. The office was in a small, one-story house with a slate roof and white siding, all of which looked gummy in the rain. Viewed left to right, there were two windows, a door with a triangular pediment atop it, and, protruding blandly from the side, a long garage. One small Ford Escort, one newer Chevy Blazer, and a dirty gray truck with dirty white lettering stood in the driveway. On the far side of the truck, visible only from the tail end of the m.u.f.fler on back, was Hunter Love's motorcycle. Chelsea parked on the street beneath the skeleton of a locust tree. Other skeletons aboundedmaples, birches, lilacs, and forsythia-as well as evergreens that looked winter-tired and wet. 72 The Faswens -of Cjwses Kmw Looping the straps of her briefcase over her shoulder, she climbed from the car, opened her umbrella, and went up the dirt walk. In the absence of a bell, she knocked on the door before pus.h.i.+ng it open. The front office was a small room made even smaller by three file cabinets, two folding chairs, a cooler, a lopsided coat tree, a.s.sorted calendars and lists taped to every exposed wall,'and a large metal desk. Behind the desk sat a pet.i.te woman with short, salt-and-pepper hair, pale skin, and alert eyes. The look in those eyes suggested the same curiosity that Chelsea had sensed in the people at Farr's. She guessed that in this case the curiosity had been heightened by something Hunter Love might have said. Utterly professional, Chelsea introduced herself. "I have an appointment with Mr. Plum. Is he in?" The woman nodded. Putting the telephone receiver to her ear, she pushed a b.u.t.ton and said in a loud voice, "Miss. Kane is here, Mr. Plum." From the inner office, whose door was open to the left of the secretary's desk, came a gruff, "Send her in." Chelsea, who had a strong suspicion that the intercom was either nonfunctional or nonexistent, either of which supported Hunter's claim of trouble afoot, crossed the planked floor.

She was no sooner over the threshold than her footsteps began to echo.

In contrast with the front room, this one was startlingly bare. There were two straight-back chairs, one austere wooden desk with a telephone on it, and a bookcase filled spa.r.s.ely with dog-eared files. The walls were a montage of yellowed photographs in cheap black frames, which, had she been alone in the room, Chelsea would have liked to study. But she wasn't alone. 73 Rartom Defiffiaky Three men were there. Only one was old enough to be Oliver Plum. Her eyes met his. "Mr. Plum?" Lean, with thinning gray hair combed straight back from a high forehead and a mouth that was ruler straight, Oliver Plum was as stern-looking a man as Chelsea had ever met. With the sc.r.a.pe of his chair legs, he slowly straightened his long frame, tucked his hands behind his suspenders, and stared at her. She decided against offering her hand. "I'm Chelsea Kane.

I've come to see the white granite that your company is quarrying."

"What you want it for?" he asked in a voice that was steely for a man his age and surprisingly defensive for one in need of the work. "I'm designing a building for an insurance company."

"Just you?"

"It's my design, yes, but I'm part of a firm."

"A fancy one with three names."

"Fancy? I don't know. But we're good."

"How good?"

"The projects keep coming, bigger and better all the time."

"And your profits?"

"Are up.

But I didn't come here to discuss that," she said. "The fact is that my partners and I use a good deal of granite in our designs. We're always on the lookout for new sources of supply."

"Nothin' new about Plum Granite," Oliver argued. "We been around since 1810, gone through seven generations of men. There was a time when we were takin' stone outta six quarries in three different counties all at once. No, ain't nothin' new about us, 74 "m Fhswons of Cbehme Kam , you know it. You were gonna use us once before, then you changed your mind." Chelsea had to hand it to him, his memory was sharp. But she wasn't being put on the defensive.

"'Mat's not quite right, Mr. Plum. We didn't change our mind. You were never really in the running. Right from the start, your price was too high."

"And you think it's down now? Think again, missy." . From the side of the room by a window overlooking the street came a disparaging sound. Oliver Plum turned toward the man who'd made it. "You got something to say?"

"Yeah. We happen to have the best white granite around, and we need the work. Don't tell her the price'll be too high.

If she likes the stone, we can bargain." The man was Hunter Love.

Chelsea recognized his voice. She had expected him to be younger and was surprised to find him close to her own age, though there was a hardness to his features that aged them. His eyes were brown like his hair, which was on the long side and mussed from his helmet, giving him a rebellious look that was reinforced by the gold stud in his ear. He wore jeans and a black s.h.i.+rt, both worn but clean. She guessed him to be just shy of six feet, but where he lagged behind Oliver in height, he matched him in boldness. "We can't afford to bargain," Oliver growled. "We can't afford not to," Hunter growled right back. "Lower the price and we'll lose money."

"Keep the price up and we'll lose the job."

"We can't work for nothin'."

"No one's askin' us to." 75 Barbwa Deffitsky The Pa.s.sions of Chelsea Kane Chelsea interrupted. "The problem with the price is that the granite has to be cut and polished elsewhere. Why don't you do it on-site like most of the other companies do?" "osts too much to set up," Oliver said. He settled back on his heels and stared at her again.