Waiting For You (12 page)

As much as he enjoyed his work as an attorney, nothing thrilled him as much as working beside Abby, trying to figure out her murder. It had been a long time since he had felt so motivated about a case.
Doing this kind of work—taking on such a seemingly impossible challenge—made him feel important again.

In between appointments, Nick searched the Internet for more information about Alexander Carlisle. That man was the number-one suspect on Nick’s list. He knew Abby’s uncle had a lot of reasons to want her inheritance, but would he kill for it?

Finally, Nick found the obituary for Alexander Carlisle. The date of death grabbed Nick’s attention. The man had died two months after Abby’s murder.
That can’t be right!

Nick dug deeper. According to the article, Alexander and his wife were in an automobile accident. He had died immediately from his injuries, and his wife was in critical condition at St. Mary’s Hospital for seven days before she passed away.

Nick’s fingers flew across the keyboard until his search uncovered a newspaper article about the accident. The brakes in the Carlisle’s vehicle had failed as they were driving home from vacation, and the car had rolled down a mountainside.

Groaning, Nick buried his fingers in hair and sat back in his chair. Although Abby’s uncle was still a suspect, in light of this new information, Nick wondered if the man did indeed kill for the money. Or…was there another player in this game of roulette?

With Alexander out of the picture, that meant his wife, Julie, had inherited the Carlisle fortune. But when she died just a week after the accident, the money had been passed to Abby’s cousin Anthony. Nick growled.
There are too many players.
But then again, Edward Carlisle had been a powerful society figure in his day. Nick guessed that many people had wanted the Carlisle fortune.

As Nick researched the newspaper Edward had owned, he stopped on an article called “The Rise and
Fall
of the
Sacramento Journal.
”
The piece told how Edward Carlisle started the paper as a young man, and how he built it over the years into a thriving company. At the death of his daughter, the company was turned over to Alexander Carlisle, but within one month, the investors pulled out. Edward Carlisle’s vice president, Harry Westland, arranged to buy the company from Alexander exactly two weeks before the car accident.

Westland?
The same Westland that had married Cassandra, Vanessa’s grandmother? Nick tapped his pencil on the desktop, mentally piecing everything together.

Soon it was the end of the day, and Abby still hadn’t shown up. Nick locked his office then took the elevator to the top floor. The lights were on in several offices, so he knew people were still there, but he hoped nobody would notice him sneaking into the attic. He didn’t know how he’d explain to Vanessa’s father why he was in the attic.

The door opened with ease this time. He turned on the light and looked around. “Abby, are you here?”

Expecting to see her materialize, he waited. But after a few minutes with no sign of her, he began to worry that something had happened.

“Abby?” he said in a louder voice.

Nothing.

Where can she be?
She couldn’t leave the building without him, so that scenario was out of the question. Perhaps she was just asleep. She’d told him once that sometimes she’d sleep and wouldn’t awaken for days, weeks, or even months. Nick inhaled sharply at the thought, knowing he’d go insane if he didn’t see her soon.

He shook his head. Maybe he was already insane. He’d never acted this way over a woman. Yet Abby was no ordinary woman. He’d finally gotten to know what made a woman tick before the relationship turned physical. He’d finally fallen in love with the woman inside, and not just her outward appearance.

In love?

Was it possible that he had finally given his heart to a woman? It had happened so quickly, yet, he realized that he
was
in love with her. It was hard not to fall so quickly. She was beautiful, funny, and he enjoyed himself when they were together.
Being with her made him feel like a man.

Now the question was would Abby ever become real? When he’d first met her, his hand had passed right through her, but now he was getting closer to actually touching her. She was real to him in so many ways, but Nick longed to hold her, to kiss her.

“Abby, honey, where are you?”

Silence answered him, and unease filled his chest. Had she somehow crossed over? Was she gone for good? No—he wouldn’t accept that answer. She would have said goodbye to him…wouldn’t she?

Angry and confused, Nick left the attic, took the elevator to the ground floor, and walked to the parking lot. His chest felt tightened, and emptiness consumed his soul.

Chapter 10

Abigail awoke suddenly, horrible memories crowding her mind. She’d gone to sleep thinking of the day she was killed and the events that happened right before.

Groaning, she rubbed her forehead. She remembered that day well—as if it had just barely happened. She’d stayed in her bedroom most of the morning, turning away visitors and friends. Even her maid wasn’t her cheerful self. Now Abigail suspected she knew why, since Lily had probably been her father’s secret mistress.

After a late lunch, Abigail had taken a walk and ended up at the newspaper office. Her father’s best friend, Harry, had tried to cheer her up, but it hadn’t worked. She had locked herself in her father’s office and sat in his chair, pondering her seemingly bleak future. That’s when her uncle Alexander came to see her, demanding that she make him her legal guardian so he could assist her with her inheritance. Once again, he’d threatened to prove her unfit or insane, just so he would get her father’s money. Her uncle had picked the wrong time to broach that subject, so Abigail had Harry throw him out just like he’d done when her uncle had come to visit her earlier that week.

She had been so exhausted after her uncle left that she’d fallen asleep at her father’s desk. When she awoke, it was dark. She thought about turning on a light, but her throbbing headache made her think better of it. Suddenly, the floor creaked and Abigail heard the click of a pistol. The last thing she had smelt was the pungent odor of gunpowder.

Then a dream took over, not having anything to do with her murder. Instead, the light in her father’s office turned on, and Nick swept her in his arms and carried her out of the room. He kissed her so deeply, it made her heart sing. He told her he’d been waiting for a woman like her all of his life. He said he loved her and always wanted to be with her.

Abigail smiled as she stretched her arms above her head. How she prayed that dream about Nick would come true. More than anything, she wanted to be held by him, to be in his arms forever. Indeed, she had been waiting for a man like him for a long time.

She glanced at the digital clock someone had left in the room a few years back, and it read six-thirty
pm
. But it wasn’t Monday as she’d thought.
It’s Tuesday!

She shrieked and rushed out of the attic. Nick was going to see Cassandra Brown today. Had he left already? When she reached his brightly lit office, she sighed and hurried inside.

Nick was just slipping on his pinstriped gray suit jacket, and he spun to face her. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! Where have you been?”

At least he seemed relieved to see her, and the expression in his eyes told her that he missed her, too. “Please forgive me, Nick. I
fell
asleep and lost track of time.”

He stepped closer, stopping only inches in front of her. “My dear, you slept almost forty-eight hours.”

She shrugged. “I know. Sometimes that happens.”

“Well, I’m on my way to see Cassandra Brown. Do you want to come?”

“Oh, yes! I hoped I hadn’t missed it.”

He turned out the light and locked the door. They hurried to his convertible, and Abigail kept in step beside him the whole way. Although Nick was a tall man, she managed to match his stride. Maybe she was more excited about meeting Cassandra than she cared to admit.

On the drive to the nursing home, Abigail told Nick all she could remember about the day she was murdered. She didn’t dare mention anything about her dream about him. Even if she were brazen enough to tell him, it wouldn’t come true. How could it?

“I didn’t remember anything out of the ordinary. Everything happened just as I’d told you.”

“What about smells? When you awoke in the dark room and heard someone, did you smell anything?” Nick asked. “Was the person wearing cologne or perfume? Did the person smell like printer’s ink?”

Closing her eyes, Abigail tried to recall everything about those last few minutes. But as hard as she tried, nothing new came to mind. “No. I don’t remember any smell, except of course for the bourbon and the gun powder.”

Nick’s glanced quickly at her.
“Bourbon?”
He looked back at the road.

“Yes. My father used to drink that. The scent lingered in his room even after he’d died.”

He chuckled. “That was my drink of choice for several years. Every time I socialized, I ordered bourbon. But I stopped drinking when I realized I couldn’t drink away my problems.”

“You were wise to think that.” She grinned. “But I find it a coincidence that you and my father liked the same drink.”

“Is it a coincidence?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know.”

“There have been a lot of things happening between us lately that aren’t so coincidental.” He smiled. “At least that’s what I’ve discovered.”

Nick had left the convertible top down, and Abigail rested her head back to look up at the night sky. “My grandmother told me about you without knowing what she was talking about. She mentioned you more than once as the man who would help me. The first time she said something about it, I had turned eighteen. She said she’d had a dream about the man who would help her granddaughter. Her next dream was a week before my father died. After that dream, she told me your initials. Funny how she knew things back then without really knowing.”

“Do you want to hear something else strange?”

Abigail rolled her head on the back of the seat and looked at him. “What?”

“My mother was considered a crazy woman when I was young. Some people even called her a witch. She had conjured up potions to heal people, but mainly she liked to read their minds or tell them about their loved ones who’d passed on. She read palms and predicted their futures.”

“She sounds a lot like my grandmother,” Abigail said softly.

Nick was silent for a few minutes as he drove through town. Then he continued, “One day she came to see me. This was when I lived in Hollywood. She warned me about Leslie Blake, the movie producer’s soon-to-be ex-wife. My mother told me my lifestyle would eventually ruin my career. Before she left, she told me that looking for women in the clubs I’d frequented was not where I’d find my true love. She said my soul mate was out there, but she’d be a woman who traveled a long distance to see me.”

Chills ran up and down Abigail’s arms. “Are you jesting?”

He glanced at her and shook his head before returning his attention to the road. “I’m dead serious, Abby. Of course, I didn’t believe her then, either. It wasn’t until the day after I’d met you that I recalled that conversation with her.” He shook his head.
“Very strange.”

“Do you think she was talking about me?”

“I’m really starting to think that.”

“That reminds me of the birthday present my grandmother gave me. It was a heart-shaped locket.” On impulse, Abigail placed her hand on her neck again, wishing she still had that special piece of jewelry. “Apparently, it had been in the family for many generations. She told me it would bring my heart’s deepest desire, if I only believed.” She sighed and shook her head. “I wish I knew what happened to it. When I realized I was dead, I wasn’t wearing the locket.”

Nick looked at her again, this time grinning. “So, what is your heart’s deepest desire?”

Heat crept up Abigail’s cheeks as she thought of her dream. As much as she wanted to confess, she couldn’t. “At the time, my heart’s desire was to find a man who would love me, for me and not my father’s money.”

“So do you think I’m your soul mate?” Nick asked with a chuckle.

“I don’t know, Nick. All of this is so hard for me to understand.” She leaned toward him. “If we are soul mates, then why am I a ghost, and why were we born a century apart?”

He frowned. “I haven’t figured that one out yet.”

He drove a little further in silence before he hitched a breath and glanced her way. “I just realized I’d forgotten to tell you what I found during my research last night.” He looked back to the road and continued, “I found an article about the rise and fall of your father’s newspaper. Apparently, one of your father’s employees had arranged to buy the newspaper from your uncle when he ran it into the ground.” He peeked at her before returning his attention to the road. “Do you remember someone by the name of Harry Westland?”

She sucked in a quick breath. “Harry? Yes, of course. He was like my father in so many ways…so very overprotecting.”

“Well, he had arranged to buy the newspaper from Alexander two weeks before your uncle died. I’m thinking that Harry must have married Cassandra. Either that, or they were brother and sister.”

“Goodness.” She placed her hand to her chest. “I really didn’t know Harry enough to know if he had a sister, but I suppose it’s possible.”

“Do you know if he was dating anyone?”

“Oh heavens, no.
As I’d mentioned before, he was too much like my father—married to the newspaper.”

Nick slowed the motorcar and pulled into the parking lot of the nursing home. Immediately, he groaned and pointed to the mint green Jaguar parked in the visitor parking.

“What’s amiss?” Abby asked.

“Our dear Vanessa is here.”

Abigail looked around.
“Where?”

“That’s her car over there.”

“Do you want me to get rid of her like I did that last time she came to your office?”

Nick shook his head. “No. That wouldn’t be good. We need to talk to Cassandra, even if it means Vanessa is there with us.”

“All right.
I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He climbed out, then walked around the car and opened her door. The way his gaze swept the parking lot, Abigail wondered if he was checking to see if anyone was watching them. She grinned. It would be rather comical to see a man talking to himself and opening the car door for nobody.

As they entered the nursing home, Abigail noticed Vanessa right away. Although the model wasn’t dressed as immodestly as she’d been the last time Abigail saw her, Vanessa’s clothes still clung to her shapely figure as if they’d been painted on.

“Nicky!” Vanessa hugged him and planted a kiss on his lips. “I’m glad you made it.”

“Of course I made it. I’m excited about meeting your great grandmother.”

Abigail curled her hands into fists. She wished that woman would keep her hands—and lips—off Nick.
Be a good girl,
Abigail reminded herself as she followed them down the hall.

Nick gave Abby several concerned glances. Vanessa followed his gaze. Abigail stuck out her tongue at the clinging woman, but of course only Nick saw her.

“What are you looking at Nicky?” Vanessa asked.

“Um…just the elaborate furnishings.”

Vanessa arched a brow.
“Really?
I thought they were quite drab.”

“Oh, no.
They’re very beautiful.” He winked at Abigail.

A giggle bubbled up in her throat, and although she knew Vanessa wouldn’t be able to hear, Abigail covered her mouth.

Soon they entered a patient’s room, where a woman wrapped in a blanket sat in a cushioned chair facing the window. Limp, snowy white, thin hair hung over her shoulders. Slowly, the woman turned and her dull eyes looked toward Nick. Deep wrinkles covered her face and hands.

Although Abigail remembered seeing this woman somewhere before, she couldn’t pinpoint where. The elderly woman resembled Vanessa quite a bit.

Nick pulled a chair closer to the old woman, while Vanessa sat on the bed next to her.

“
Grandmama
?”
Vanessa said in a loud voice. “This is the friend I was telling you about, Nick Marshal. Nick, this is Cassandra Westland.”

The old woman glared at her granddaughter. “I’m old, not deaf!”

Abigail giggled again, and once more covered her mouth.

Nick gave Cassandra his best smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Westland.”

She arched a gray eyebrow and nodded. “You’re a handsome young whippersnapper, aren’t you? Well, I’ll warn you now, if you’re planning on marrying my great-granddaughter for her money, you won’t get a dime. I’ll see to that.”

Abigail gasped, holding in another laugh.

Nick chuckled and shook his head.
“No, ma’am.
Vanessa and I are just friends, I promise.”

The older woman huffed and turned her face back to the window. Nick glanced at Abigail and shrugged before looking back at Cassandra.

“Mrs. Westland, I hope you don’t mind if I ask you some questions,” Nick began. “I’m a lawyer, and I was doing some research on one of my cases last week when I ran across your picture on the Internet.”

The older woman studied Nick but didn’t say a word.

“The picture was taken in front of Vanessa’s father’s building,” he continued. “The year was 1917. Do you remember that?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Of course I remember. I was in the photo, wasn’t I?”

Abigail stifled a laugh, not wanting to distract Nick or make him laugh. The old woman sure had spunk, even at her age.