the numerous IV tubes and tipped his head. “I’d love to assist you, but I’m kind of tied down at the moment.”
“I need information from you. I need you to try to remember anything suspicious that may have happened at Walsh Enterprises in the weeks before my dad was murdered. Did my father contact you? Did you know he was alive?”
Craig’s gaze softened. “If I’d known that, I would have told you and your brother and sisters and your mother, Peter. You know that.”
“Okay.” Peter waved that issue away. “Then what about the company? Any suspicious activity in the accounts or operations? “
“I’ll check on that, but…my memory is a little muddled. The arsenic caused me a bit of confusion and lapses in my memory.” He twitched a wry grin. “Thank God it was just poison. I thought I was getting senile.”
Peter forced a grin, but reminders of how close he’d come to losing the man who’d been a surrogate father was no laughing matter. “What about threats? Had anyone contacted you—”
When Peter’s cell rang, he scowled, checked the caller ID.
Honey Creek Elementary.
His pulse spiked. If the school was calling in the middle of the day, it couldn’t be good news. Was Patrick sick? Hurt?
Had his father’s killer come after his son?
He jabbed the talk button, his heart in his throat. “Peter Walsh.”
“Hello, Mr. Walsh,” a sweet female voice began. “This is Lisa Navarre. I’m Patrick’s teacher.”
“What’s happened? Was there trouble at school?” Peter was already out of his chair and putting on his coat.
“Well, yes, there’s been an incident. I need you to come to the school as soon as—”
“I’ll be right there.” He disconnected the call and squeezed his eyes closed. Patrick was his whole world. If anything happened to his son—
Panic rising in his throat, Peter met Craig’s concerned gaze.
“Is Patrick all right?”
“I don’t know. His teacher said there’d been an accident. I have to go.” He backed quickly toward the door. “But we’ll talk more later. I want the people responsible for doing this to you caught, Craig. I won’t rest until I find everyone involved in this conspiracy.”
Chapter 2
“Eyes on your own paper, Anthony.” Lisa Navarre gave the student in question a firm but kind look to reiterate her directive.
Cheeks flushing, Anthony DePaulo lowered his head over his geography quiz and got back to work.
Lisa checked the clock. “Fifteen more minutes. Pace yourselves. Don’t spend too much time on a question you don’t—”
Her classroom door slammed open, and a tall, dark-haired man—an extremely handsome man—burst through. His eyes were wide with alarm, his manner agitated. Even before Mr. Handsome Interruption’s gaze scanned the room and landed on Patrick Walsh, Lisa knew this had to be Peter Walsh. The father was the spitting image of his son. Or vice versa, she supposed. Dark brown hair roguishly in need of a trim, square-cut jaw and a generous mouth that was currently taut with concern.
“Mr. Walsh, I—”
“Patrick! “ Peter Walsh rushed to his son’s desk and framed his face, tipping his head as if checking for injury. “Are you all right?”
“Da-ad!” Patrick wrestled free from his father’s zealous examination, while the class twittered with amusement.
“Settle down, kids. Finish your work.” Lisa hustled down the row of desks to rescue Patrick from further embarrassment. “Mr. Walsh, if you would?” She tugged his arm and hitched her head toward the hall. “We can talk in the office. As you can see, the class is in the middle of a test.”
Peter Walsh raised dark, bedroom eyes—okay, not bedroom eyes. He was a student’s parent, so maybe that descriptor was inappropriate…but, gosh, his rich brown eyes made her belly quiver. Confusion filled his expression, then morphed to frustration or anger. Now her gut swirled for a new reason. She hated dealing with angry parents.
“Fine.” Mr. Walsh gave one last glance to his son before stalking out to the hallway.
“Keep working, kids. I’ll be right back.” Lisa swept her practiced be-on-your-best-behavior look around the room, meeting the eyes of several of her more…er, loquacious students before she joined Mr. Walsh in the corridor.
He launched into her before she could open her mouth. “What’s going on? You called me here because there’d been—”
“Mr. Walsh.” Lisa held up a hand to cut him off, then caught the attention of the school librarian who was walking past them. “Ms. Fillmore, would you mind sitting with my class for a few minutes while I talk with Mr. Walsh in the office?”
“Certainly,” the older woman said with a smile.
“They’re taking a geography quiz. You’ll need to pick up the papers at exactly two-thirty if I’m not back.”
“Got it. Two-thirty.” Ms. Fillmore gave a little wave as she disappeared into the classroom.
When Lisa turned back to Patrick’s father, she met a glare that would freeze a volcano. “You lied to me. You said Patrick had been in an accident. Do you have any idea how worried I was on the way over here? “
Patience. Keep your cool. Let him vent if he needs to.
Drawing a deep breath to collect herself, she flashed him a warm smile. “Let’s go to the office where we can speak privately.” She motioned down the hall and started toward the front of the school. When Mr. Walsh only stared at her stubbornly for a moment, she paused to wait for him to follow. Handsome or not, the man clearly had a temper when it came to his son.
Lisa could understand that. Most parents had an emotional hot button when it came to their children. Sweet, soft-spoken members of the quilting club became growling mama bears when they thought their cubs needed protecting or defending.
Finally, Peter Walsh fell in step behind her, his long-legged strides quickly catching up with hers. “Why did you tell me there’d been an accident?”
“I didn’t,” she returned calmly.
“You di—”
“I said incident. With an i. You hung up before I could explain the nature of the problem.”
Mr. Walsh drew a breath as if to mount an argument, then snapped his mouth closed. His brow creased, and his jaw tightened as if replaying their brief phone conversation and realizing his mistake.
“I’m sorry if I alarmed you. Patrick is fine, physically.” They reached the front office, and Lisa escorted him into a vacant conference room. “Please, have a
