“If I can,” I replied.
“Tell your husband a great many people are pulling for him. He’s got an army at his disposal. All he need do is ask.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Garrett raised an eyebrow as I got out.
“Something to say, Garrett?” I asked him.
“You seem to make friends wherever you go,” he said.
“I just listen to people when they talk to me,” I said.
“That explains a great deal. You have a tendency to make the person you’re with the center of your universe. It’s quite intoxicating.”
That wasn’t the first time I’d been told that I was a good listener. “My mom always told me that there was more skill in listening than there was in speaking, and that she never learned anything by running her mouth.”
“It’s an admirable ability, but one that I’m afraid is becoming a lost art in this day of technology.”
“There are always people behind emails and text messages,” I said. “It just takes a different kind of listening to hear what’s being said.”
“True.”
As we walked through the lobby, I noticed several of the staff watching us surreptitiously. When I caught a glance or two, there was always a smile backing it. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to merit their goodwill, but I wasn’t about to rebuff it.
I walked toward the main elevator, but Garrett touched my arm to stop me.
“It’s this way,” he directed. He showed me to a nondescript nook in the lobby that I hadn’t noticed before. Garrett opened a door to reveal a private elevator. He held the door open, swiped his card, and then started to get out.
“Aren’t you going with me?”
“It’s Mr. Lane’s orders. No one is allowed upstairs without his direct consent. If there’s anything you need, at any time, it is yours to ask.”
“Thanks,” I said, but the doors were already sliding closed. I didn’t know why I was so nervous about seeing Barton Lane again, but I was. Perhaps it was because I was seeing him on his home turf. Maybe it was due to the light bag of memories I was taking him. Whatever the reason, I was as nervous as a teenage girl on her first date.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when the elevator doors opened. Our suite was elegant, so I couldn’t imagine how nice the penthouse must be. It didn’t let me down, either. The floors were tiled with marble, and the furniture looked to be all antiques. The ceiling in the entryway was at least twenty feet high, and there was a crystal chandelier hanging that looked like it would fit in a presidential palace. I took all of that in in a moment, because the second I saw Barton Lane’s face, I knew that the man was in some serious pain, and I didn’t have time to look around at my surroundings anymore.
“Did you find her necklace?” he choked out.
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t, and I checked with my husband on the way over here. The police have no idea where it is, either.”
He physically sagged at the news, and I had to step in to hold him up. What significance could that little cow pendant have for him?
“Was it important?”
“She loved cows, so I bought it for her on her twenty-third birthday. Cindy never went anywhere without it.”
No wonder it had so much sentimental value to him. I had to do something.
“I did find a few things that looked like they might hold memories for you,” I said.
Barton nodded absently. “Let’s go into the study.”
Wow, his suite had its own study. I had no idea this was how the wealthy lived. I couldn’t imagine the square footage Barton had in his home. As we walked through the foyer and past the formal dining room, it was like moving through a movie set. The only difference here was that everything was real.
We entered a comfortable room the size of our living room at home, and I was suddenly surrounded by a timber-frame structure, a distressed old-growth pine floor, and a stone fireplace tucked neatly into one corner. There was oversized furniture in the room that made it look like a cozy retreat from the world. “I love this. It’s Timberlake, isn’t it?” Zach and I had been to the Bob Timberlake furniture gallery in Lexington, NC, an hour’s drive from Charlotte. We’d even met Bob there once, an artist of world renown who’d turned his talents to furniture as well.
“Yes, he designed this set for me.” It was clear that Barton didn’t want to discuss furniture.
I opened the bag in my lap so I could start pulling out its contents, but my host stopped me. “One item at a time, if you don’t mind.”
I agreed, and reached in to withdraw the copy of
He took it from me. “She told me a month ago that she’d never read it when she spied a signed hardcover in my library. I tried to give it to her, but she just laughed and insisted a used paperback copy would be fine. I kept her busy here, so she was reading it in bits and pieces, and we discussed it whenever she finished a new chapter.” He rubbed the cover of that book as if it were gilded in gold.
