steel refrigerator Bobby had insisted they buy. “Broken,” he lied tersely. He turned back to the table with a handful of ice, almost regretting that he couldn’t shove it down the front of his jeans.
“I see,” Dinah said, though she still looked skeptical. “And what was it you needed the ice for?”
“Water,” he said at once, dumping the handful of cubes into a glass, then running tap water over them and drinking every drop of the cold water straight down. It slaked his thirst, but did nothing for the hunger that had been gnawing at him since he’d gotten a good look at Dinah in his shirt.
He busied himself with getting the rest of their dinner on the table, grateful that Dinah had finally gone silent. Maybe she’d realized just how close he was to hauling her into his arms and kissing her senseless.
When he finally sat down at the table, she studied him quizzically. It was the kind of curious, penetrating look that he imagined her using on some reluctant interview subject. No wonder she’d won so many awards. All but squirming under that gaze, he’d have told her just about anything she wanted to know.
“What have you been doing with yourself all these years?” she asked eventually.
Cord was a little surprised her mother hadn’t told her, maybe not about the company, but at least about his role in the restoration of Covington Plantation. Then, again, maybe he wasn’t a hot topic for the Davis women.
“This ‘n that,” he said, not sure why he didn’t want to tell her the truth and disprove once and for all the apparently low impression she had of him. In the end he figured he wasn’t the bragging type.
She frowned at his response. “Don’t you think you should have found steady work by now?”
“Oh, I do well enough,” he said.
“You can’t rely on Bobby to support you,” she said.
Her assumption that he was dependent on Bobby’s largess stuck in his craw. “Oh? How do you know it’s not the other way around? Maybe I’ve been carrying Bobby all these years.”
She gave him a look filled with undisguised skepticism. “Please, Cordell. We both know that Bobby would never depend on you. He got an excellent college education, which I’m sure he’s put to good use.”
Cord could barely suppress a grin at her uppity tone. “Is that so? And just how much do you know about what Bobby’s been doing since you took off? Maybe he’s gotten friendly with Jack Daniels and hasn’t done a lick of work. Wouldn’t be the first time one of the Beaufort men couldn’t hold his liquor.”
She looked a bit flustered by the question. “Are you telling me that your brother is an alcoholic?”
“Nope. Just saying you can’t possibly know one way or the other. You’ve made a lot of assumptions in the last couple of weeks, or am I wrong? Have folks been filling your head with tales, Dinah?”
“No, I haven’t heard anything specific,” she admitted. “But I do know you.”
He shook his head at her confident tone. “Oh, sugar, I wouldn’t be too sure of that. The truth is you don’t have a clue about either one of us. Never have. Never will.”
She regarded him with a huffy expression. “I’ve known you since grade school, Cordell. Bobby was always thoughtful, generous and hardworking. You were an arrogant, smart-alecky kid without a lick of ambition and I don’t see any evidence that you’ve changed a bit.”
He laughed at that. “Then you must not be half the journalist you’re cracked up to be.”
“Meaning what?” she asked, her cheeks pink with indignation.
“That you must have missed all those lessons on objectivity and fact-gathering. You’re making assumptions right and left here.”
“Then set me straight,” she retorted at once.
“Why should I?” he asked. “I think it’s going to be a whole lot more entertaining to let you make a few discoveries all on your own.”
5
Twenty-four hours after humiliating herself in front of Cord and with his indictment of her fact-finding skills still ringing in her ears, Dinah went in search of Maggie for information. If Cord wasn’t going to tell her anything about Bobby or himself, then she was just going to have to drag it out of her best friend. Besides, it had already been a couple of weeks since she’d promised to go by the gallery and set up a date for dinner. Surely once she was there she could lull Maggie into revealing something helpful about Bobby’s whereabouts.
She found Images on a narrow alley in downtown Charleston, only a few blocks from the Battery. It had a lovely wrought-iron fence, climbing rosebushes in full and fragrant bloom in the tiny courtyard, and old brick that had faded to a lovely shade of pink. Everything about it spoke of charm and class. Knowing her friend as she did, Dinah hadn’t expected anything less than the classiest of businesses. Maggie had always had excellent taste, even though she’d occasionally rebelled against it.
A bell rang when Dinah opened the door and Maggie emerged from the back, a smile spreading across her face when she saw her friend.
“It’s about time you came by,” she declared.
“I know,” Dinah said readily. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.”
“I’m sure you’ve been busy. Knowing your folks, they’re probably still showing you off every evening.”
“Not really. I called a halt to that after the first few days. The last thing I want is to be trotted out like some visiting celebrity. It’ll just make it that much harder to explain to everyone when I don’t go back overseas on another assignment.”
Maggie’s gaze immediately narrowed. “What’s up, then? Is everything okay? Come on in the back and I’ll pour us both some tea and we can talk.”
“Not till I’ve had a look around,” Dinah said, mostly out of genuine interest, but also to put off Maggie’s inevitable questions.
She made a slow turn in the main room, admiring the watercolors that hung on the walls and the sculptures and art glass displayed on an assortment of antiques that Maggie had obviously brought from her family’s home. It was an eclectic mix set against a backdrop of warm wood furniture, gleaming oak floors and creamy walls. The effect was inviting, not intimidating, though the price tags certainly put the inventory several steps above most people’s pocketbooks. She imagined that Images had a very wealthy clientele, mostly from Charleston’s oldest families and the recently rich who needed to add the look of family heirlooms to their homes.
“Very, very elegant,” she said at last. “You have a good eye, not just for the art, but for how to showcase it. I’m impressed.” She gestured toward a familiar desk that had once been in the Forsythes’ living room. “You’re not selling off the family treasures, are you?”
“Hardly. My mother’s horrified enough that I insisted on bringing some of Great-grandmother’s prized pieces to a shop. If she thought they might wind up in someone else’s home, she’d probably disown me. As it is, I’ve convinced her to think of this as an unofficial museum.” She grinned. “It helped
