“Mr. Blackwood,” I begin, keeping my eyes trained on his as I settle into the recliner beside him, “where have you been going lately? You taking a break on your research?”
The look he throws my way is hard and cold. “None o’ your business.”
So that’s how we’re playing this.
“Okay.” I keep my voice nonchalant. “You don’t wanna tell me where you disappear to, that’s fine.” I press my lips together. “But I do want some answers.”
His eyes narrow. “Answers to what.” He barks it out like a statement, not a question.
“That’s up to you. You can either tell me how you knew Grams . . .” I pause, looking for a reaction from him, but he doesn’t give me one, “or, you can tell me why there’s a hidden folder in your guest room with messages that say ‘Save me.’”
His face goes slack for only a second before his jaw, buried beneath a scraggly beard, shifts from side to side as he grinds his teeth. I fold my legs beneath me, curling into the cushion, and let out a loud sigh that tells him I’m not going anywhere until he dishes.
“And how in the hell would you know anything about what’s hidden in a house that is not yours?” His words are tight, controlled, as though my comment alone was almost enough to sober him up.
“I wasn’t snooping, Mr. Blackwood. I dropped something under the bed and bumped into the folder when I went to grab it. A few pages came tumbling out, but that’s it, okay? That’s all I saw.”
For a minute, he just stares at me, eyes stone-cold and unmoving in a way I’ve never seen from him. But then, his gaze drops to the ground. One wrinkled hand scrubs down his face. He leans back against the padded pillows and eyes the flask still in my hand. “If we’re gonna do this, I need that back.”
I have to force my jaw not to drop. He’s really going to talk to me about this? He’s going to answer my questions for once?
“The damn whiskey, child,” he snaps. “Give it here.”
“Oh. Right.” I lean forward, hand him the bottle, then settle back into the recliner. I realize I probably shouldn’t just hand the drink over to him when he’s already so wasted, but if that’s what it’s going to take to get him to talk, so be it.
Several seconds pass while he twists the thing open, gulps it down, and seals it back up with a satisfied sigh. After tucking it securely back into his pocket, he pushes up from the sofa with his fists, knees shaking for a moment before he steadies himself into a standing position.
“Mr. Blackwood, what are you doing?”
Ignoring me entirely, he takes a few short steps toward the cane resting against the armrest—the one that’s always there even though he never uses it, ever—and grabs its brown handle. He leans onto it, adjusting his weight, then turns around, limps his way past me, opens the front door, and walks right out. Not a word. Not a glance in my direction. He just shuts the door behind him, leaving me dumbfounded on the recliner.
Dammit. I should have known it wasn’t going to be so easy.
Chapter 28
Where’s he going anyway? I pop up from the seat and dash toward the front window, shoving the curtain aside just enough to peer out. Mr. Blackwood is stumbling down the winding pathway, inching toward the enormous iron gates.Huh. At least he didn’t try to drive in his condition. Still, he can’t expect me to just let him walk away on his own like this, can he? There’s a steep dip just on the other side of those gates, and I don’t know if a cane is going to be enough to keep him steady through it.
Without another thought, I push past the front door and jog after him. “Wait! Mr. Blackwood, wait!” He slows but doesn’t stop or turn around to face me. “At least let me help you down the hill. Please.”
He pauses just as I reach him, but he keeps his chin toward the gates. “What ever happened to ‘I keep to myself, you keep to yours?’” He quotes my words from the first day we met, and guilt surges through me.
“Look . . . I just want to make sure you get to the bottom safely, okay? I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
He turns then, full circle, so he faces me head on. “Listen, Lou, and listen good. I hired you for Tallulah. You got that?”
My eyes widen at the unexpected mention of Grams, but I keep my mouth shut as promised and give a simple nod.
“The least I can do is give her granddaughter some work.” His expression hardens, and such a look reminds me of someone, but I can’t place the familiarity. “But I’m no one’s charity case. I’m not a project to figure out. I’m not some ridiculous, superficial means of getting closer to Tallulah. And we, you and I, are not friends. I’m your employer. Now, if what you stumbled upon in my house bothers you so much, by all means quit. Won’t make a damn difference to me.” He quiets, letting those words sink in before adding, “Otherwise, I’m paying you to clean my crappy house, meaning what you will do while you are here is clean my crappy house. Nothing more, nothing less. Do I make myself clear?”
I can’t pretend his words don’t sting, no matter how much I know they shouldn’t. What did I think, that we were going to chat about Grams over some tea and scones? That the company of another person might fill the void in his heart enough for him to set aside the liquor for a few hours?Silly, naïve Lou.
My jaw is tight when I respond through clenched teeth, “Perfectly.”
“Good,” he grunts, like he’s relieved to be rid of me. “Now I’d appreciate some silence while I continue my escape.” He whirls around, steadies himself on the cane, and takes another uneven step toward the gate before muttering, “Takes a shitload of concentration to avoid falling on my ass.”
A smile tugs on my lips even as I roll my eyes. Just in case a miracle happens and he suddenly sees through his pride enough to ask for a helping hand, I stay rooted in place until he passes through the gates and disappears from view. Then I return to the house and get to work. That’s something I got from Grams, keeping my hands busy whenever my mind feels overwhelmed.Nothing like a good distraction to give one’s mind a little clarity,she’d say.
The thought of Grams makes Mr. Blackwood’s words replay in my head.The least I can do is give her granddaughter some work. What could she have done for him? What could have made such a lasting impression on someone like him?
