“Professor Chadwick?” the skinny reporter asked.
Her tongue became unstuck. Jack couldn’t begin to imagine the pressure Sebastian had been under, repeatedly carrying the weight of blockbuster movies on his shoulders. Seb wasn’t perfect, but who among them was?
“I wish Sebastian nothing but the best,” she said, and it was true. His good side far outweighed the bad, even if his weaknesses left her open to becoming a punching bag in the press and academia.
Far from pacifying them, her statement triggered a flurry of additional questions. Had she and Sebastian mended fences? How did they meet? Why was Sebastian in Williamsburg and were they seeing each other again?
Jack stepped in to deflect the firestorm. “Alice is way too classy for any of this, and all of you are standing on private property.Myprivate property, and I’m asking you to leave immediately. You can go quietly, or I can call a couple of those cops our taxes pay for each year. Your choice.”
Was there anything better than having a strong man defend her? She didn’t need Jack’s protection, but it felt good anyway. The journalists soon drifted away, and Alice reassembled the remnants of their picnic. She set out a basket of homemade strawberry shortcake cookies while Jack stretched out on the gingham blanket again.
“Thanks for taking the lead on that,” she said with a nod to the last of the journalists leaving the site. “Sebastian is still difficult for me to talk about, and those cameras in my face made me freeze, so thanks.”
“Anytime, Professor,” he murmured as he settled his head into her lap for an after-lunch nap. He said it with such easy confidence, and yet, it wouldn’t be anytime. Soon Jack would be gone, and she would be alone again. She smoothed his hair with gentle strokes, wishing it were otherwise.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alice spent the evening creating a hand-crafted autumnal wreath, an annual tradition she always enjoyed, even though weaving the assortment of fresh greenery into the wires was a challenge. Her hands were full when her cell phone beeped. She ignored the incoming call to finish weaving the strands of grapevine through the dried herbs and eucalyptus leaves. The green and gold leaves were perfectly offset by miniature pinecones and bright red berries.
The phone rang again and she reached for a towel to wipe the grit from her hands before picking it up.
Sebastian’s name lit up the screen, and she sighed. Jack would tell her to block the call, or maybe answer it and tell Sebastian to take a flying leap.
But she was a weakling and took the call. “Hi, Sebastian.”
“Hello, gorgeous! Did you see the statement I released to the press this morning?”
Once again, he wanted to talk about himself, which shouldn’t be a surprise. “I did. Thank you. It was very generous of you.”
“Good! Can I come over?”
“No!” At last, she found a backbone and could sense Jack fist-pumping his approval.
“Are you sure? I never got around to showing you the research Margo found about that Helga lady. I brought it all the way from England.”
She couldn’t help herself. “What is it?”
“It’s hard to describe, but she made an oversized photograph of an old tombstone that’s crammed with information. I didn’t want to send something like that through the mail. I came all the way from England to deliver it in person. You’ll like it. Can I come over? Pretty please?”
She didn’t trust herself alone with Sebastian, but Saint Helga was her Achilles heel and she desperately wanted to know what Sebastian had. She let out a ragged sigh.
“What’s that sigh supposed to mean?” Sebastian asked, and for once he sounded uncertain.
“It means I want to know what Margo found, but I don't want to be alone with you.”
“Then invite the golf guy over. Alice, I threw a major wrench into your life, and I’m glad you found someone to move ahead with. I’m happy for you.”
“That was bad acting, Seb.”
His laughter came through the phone, warm and self-deprecating. “Cut me a break. What happened to us was entirelymy fault, and I’ve been bending over backwards to make it up to you. Nagging Margo to take another look at the Saint Helga case was the only way I knew to make amends.”
Her hand tightened on the cell phone as her heart started thumping. “Let me call Jack first, and then you can come over.”
Jack’s presence would ensure Alice wouldn’t do something stupid like fall under Sebastian’s spell again. She called Jack, who was up to his knees fiddling with the waterfall basin. He was busy, but instantly vowed to come straight over once he heard what she wanted.
Jack must have broken every speed limit in the county, because he arrived less than ten minutes later. She was hanging the autumnal wreath on the front door when the tires on his obnoxious truck squealed as he turned into the parking lot. The engine cut off, his truck door slammed, and she turned to greet him.
His expression looked like a Viking intent on pillage as he stalked toward her. Dirt and sweat streaked his face, mud caked his boots, and a glint lit his steely eyes. “Nice wreath,” he said. “Where is he?”
