was suddenly uncomfortable. “Not me,” she said, trying for a light tone that didn’t quite work. “I’m not the type.”
“Baloney.”
A new warmth had come into his gaze and it was heating up her cheeks.
“You’re not very self-aware, are you?” he said as he finished up securing the horse.
Now she was embarrassed and blushing crimson—but not in a bad way. She’d never considered herself a beauty and she knew in her heart of hearts that she wasn’t. At least she never had been before. She was pretty enough on a good day. But she didn’t have a face that turned heads. And yet something in Marc’s eyes was telling her that she did, and suddenly, she was walking on air.
He smiled and gestured toward the tavern. “Shall we go in?”
She turned looked at the door, just a bit hesitant. “How do you know Griswold is in here?”
“From what they tell me, he’s always in here.”
He took her hand in his and she took a deep breath. This could be it. This could be where she finally learned the truth of what had happened all that time ago. She looked up at Marc. He gave her a wink and she smiled. Time to face her father’s past as if it were her own. She lifted her chin and walked in.
MARC let Torie go ahead and followed a few steps behind. This was her show, her quest. He wasn’t even sure why he was supporting her this way. She said she was here to find out what really happened fifteen years ago, whether her father was unfairly accused, whether he shouldn’t have been fired. If that was true, if that was really her goal, she was basically trying to prove his family’s actions wrong—maybe even illegitimate.
And where would that take them all? Did she think she could find the truth—or maybe even the treasure—somewhere and show them all her father had been slandered?
Not likely. Insurance investigators and the police had both taken their turns at searching for the gold. And then, through the years, treasure hunters had come sneaking onto the property to try their own methods. No one had found anything yet. As far as he was concerned, that treasure was at the bottom of the sea. His father’s goodbye note had said that was what he was going to do with it. Why did everyone keep trying to find something that just wasn’t there?
Torie was only the latest, and she said her search had a new twist. Was she lying? Was the treasure really all she wanted, just like everybody else? He was pretty sure that was what Carl was after. And she’d come with the man, so it all fit together.
And yet, he didn’t want to believe she was lying to him.
He groaned softly, hearing himself and hating his own weakness. He knew all about lying and being lied to. He’d been through it often enough to consider it a normal part of human relationships. Why would Torie be any different?
As they walked into the dimly lit tavern, he glanced about the room. People were scattered around at tables and along the bar, mostly men. There was one stocky, blond young man who waved, but he didn’t recognize him. There didn’t seem to be anyone there that he knew.
Torie was still flushed from his compliments a few minutes earlier and looking prettier than ever. He had to grin as he noticed one man after another stealing a glance her way. And true to form, she didn’t see it at all.
And then he saw the man they were after, sitting at a corner table, looking as if he’d staked a claim to it long ago and wasn’t going to give it up for love or money. He pointed him out to Torie and they made their way there.
Griswold was drunk. There was no getting around it. He was a pale, boney shadow of the dapper man he’d once been. He gazed up at Torie with bleary eyes and didn’t have a clue who she was, even after she told him. Jarvis Sands was a name that seemed to spark some recognition.
“Jarvis? Jarvis? You mean, the butler at Shangri-La? Sure. What about him?”
“Do you remember him? Do you remember what happened?”
He frowned at her. “I should have had his job, you know. They only made me chauffeur because the lady wanted to swan around in front of her friends. They didn’t need me. All I did was wash cars all day.” He shook his head. “No. I don’t remember nothin’.”
“How about the Don Carlos Treasure disappearing? You must remember that.”
He was frowning and it wasn’t apparent whether he had actually heard her question. “He told me not to go, but I went anyway,” he said sadly. “I went and he was right. I shouldn’t have gone.”
“Who? My father?”
He looked around as though he felt trapped and Marc reached out to pull her away.
“It’s not much use,” he said quietly. “He’s in no shape to talk. From what I hear, he never is. If he ever knew anything at all, it’s probably lost to history by now.”
She nodded reluctantly. She was bitterly frustrated. Somehow she’d been counting on finding employees from those days and now that she’d found one, he was useless.
“You know, its sort of crazy,” she said to Marc as they were leaving. “Almost everyone from that generation is either dead or ruined in some way. It doesn’t seem right.”
“Anecdotal,” he muttered as he led her out. “Don’t let life depress you. There are plenty of good things to think about.”
She looked up into his face and shook her head, still disappointed, but vaguely amused. “You’re giving happy-talk advice? Now I’ve seen everything.”
“I have my happy moments,” he protested. “I even get optimistic sometimes.”
“But not for long, I’ll bet,” she said dryly.
They were outside by now and they both noticed the blond man from inside the tavern had come out and was leaning against a huge black Harley. He waved as they approached, then straightened and came toward them.
“You don’t remember me?” he said, smiling in a friendly fashion.
Torie gasped. “Is it Billy Darnell?” she cried.
He nodded. “You got it.”
Torie reached out and grasped his hand in hers. “You remember Billy,” she said over her shoulder to Marc. “Alice was his mother. The cook at the estate back in our younger days.”
“That’s me,” Billy said, looking pleased.
“It’s so good to see you! How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine. She lives down in LA now. She likes being close to my sister and her family.”
“Of course.” Torie thought quickly, going over the past. Billy was a year younger than she was. Being children of the Shangri-La staff, they’d spent some time together, though they’d never been particularly close. But when you were eleven and twelve and there was no one else
