Three Little Words

“I don’t think we’ve ever met,” she said doubtfully, “so I can’t imagine how I’d know—”

“You don’t. You don’t know me.”

He was lying. She was certain. But why?

“Who’s your grandfather?” she asked, letting her suspicion show. Close-knit families were important to local folks. Their ties were meaningful, binding, unbreakable. And closed to outsiders. She knew first-hand.

Connor hesitated. “Addison Mitchell.”

She shook her head. Nothing.

“He moved away some time ago, but he’s been back for about a year now.”

“In Alouette?” The town was small enough that she knew just about everyone, at least by sight.

“Ishpeming. At a nursing home.”

“I see.”

Connor let out a soft breath. “He was once the Gull Rock lighthouse keeper.”

The lightbulb went on. “Oh. Of course—Old Man Mitchell!” Tess’s cheeks got warm when she realized how that sounded. “I mean, that’s what we always called him. Kids, you know. He used to chase us away from the lighthouse grounds.”

Connor said nothing in reply and her eyes narrowed. Sonny Mitchell had always lived alone, as far as she remembered, until the lighthouse had become automated and then decommissioned altogether a few years later. Gull Rock was quite isolated and austere. Sonny “Old Man” Mitchell had been a notorious crank.

She prodded for more information. “I still don’t remember you, though, Mr. Reed.”

“Connor,” he said. He glanced over her, up and down, making her toes flex inside conservative Payless pumps. “I’m older than you—we wouldn’t have connected when I was ten and you were…still in diapers?”

She doubted there was that much of an age difference, even though he had a sort of weary, haunted look about him that made him seem…well, not old exactly, but sort of cynical and worn out. “I’m thirty-two.”

“Thirty-nine.”

Okay, he had a point. She wasn’t hanging out at the lighthouse when she was three. He might even be telling the truth about visiting his grandfather, except that she doubted he was telling all of it.

Unless her suspicion was only her vivid imagination run amok. Which, admittedly, wasn’t all that infrequent an occurrence. It was fortunate she usually kept her fancies to herself. Outwardly, she was as regular as a metronome.

“Now that we’ve established my provenance,” Connor said with a small twitch of one corner of his mouth. The hollows in his cheeks deepened. He was trying not to smile at her.

Not used to being found amusing, Tess elongated her neck, tilting her head back. She was short; imperious was a stretch, but she tried. “Yes?”

He sobered. “I have a favor to ask you. Or—well, not really a favor. It can be a job. I’d pay for your time.”

She felt her eyes widen. He wanted her to help him load bear gallbladders off Gull Rock when she could barely stand to handle raw chicken giblets? Certainly not. She almost chuckled at the thought, before remembering that she was being ridiculous with her farfetched imaginings and really must stop.

Right now.

“I saw you with the children, reading, teaching…so I wondered, if it’s not an imposition—” Connor’s gaze held steady even if his words were hesitant “—whether you might be willing to teach…”

Teach him how to read?

Tess tried not to look shocked. Suddenly all the little details made sense. The way he’d concentrated on the lighthouse illustrations and not the text. How he hadn’t taken any notes. The intent look on his face when he’d watched her storytelling group. She’d taken it for his natural demeanor, but it might have been fierce concentration. Exactly the way Grady Kujanen concentrated on sounding out a new word.

Heavens. And here she’d pegged Connor Reed as a former professor gone bad. She couldn’t have been more wrong!

“Of course I’ll teach you how to read,” she said, stepping in with a reassuring squeeze of his arm when he continued to hesitate over the request.

His eyes flashed. “Teach me?”

CHAPTER TWO

AT CONNOR’S OBVIOUS surprise, the librarian’s chin came down and she leaned closer, exuding warmth and understanding. “Trust me, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. There are so many people like you, from all walks of life. I commend your courage in coming forward, really I do. This is your turning point. One day, you’ll look back and—”

Suddenly she stopped the stream of platitudes, her mouth hanging open. Must have finally read his face.

“It’s not me,” he said.

She had clasped his hands with encouragement, but now she let go. “Would it be…” long pause “…a close friend?”

“My grandfather.” There it was, baldly. Connor hoped Sonny wouldn’t kill him for involving a third party. The librarian seemed kind, and possibly discreet. She’d certainly been surreptitious about checking him out. But not sneaky enough, because he’d noticed every one of her shy glances and speculative stares.

At first he’d noticed because she was an attractive woman, small and cute as a chipping sparrow, with bright eyes and darting hands and a shiny cap of copper hair. Then he’d realized that it was possible she’d recognized him as an infamous quasi celebrity.

He’d come to hate when that happened. Over and over again, he’d suffered the lingering stares, the double takes. Eyes widened with recognition, hands slapped over mouths. That’s Connor Reed. The man who set the killer free. I’ve seen him on the news. Despicable! He should be ashamed.

He’d put up with it through the hearings and the aftermath, but now that it was over—or so he hoped—he’d known he had to get away. So he’d run. As far as he could.

Alouette, Michigan, a small outpost on the far northern border of the country, seemed to qualify as the ends of the earth. As he’d remembered from a few brief vacations at the lighthouse, people here were friendly but not intrusive. They’d gossip among themselves about Connor’s culpability in the Strange case, but they wouldn’t pillory him. Not in public, anyway. Even so, he planned to keep his head low.

The librarian was nodding. “Uh-huh. Your grandfather. Well. There are literacy programs that will help. I can put you in touch with a teacher who—”

“No. Sonny wouldn’t want a program. Nothing official.” As it was, Sonny would probably object to Tess Bucek, even on her own. He’d asked Connor to teach him to read—only Connor.

The librarian blinked. “Why me?”

Connor scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He was dead tired from a day and a half on the road—New York City to small-town Michigan in one shot—from one extreme to another in thirty-some hours. He’d gone first to visit Sonny at the nursing home, then drove into Alouette for a look at the old lighthouse, since that was all his grandfather had talked about.

Stopping at the library had been a sudden whim. A few books on lighthouses seemed like a good way to get his grandfather started. Connor had soon figured out that he didn’t know the first thing about teaching a stubborn, crotchety old man to read. He’d been about to leave, when Tess’s voice had drawn him over to the children’s area.

Voices, rather. He’d watched long enough to see that while she had the verve to entrance the kids with her storytelling ability, she was also a patient and easy teacher. If anyone could charm Old Man Mitchell into proper reading lessons, it was Tess Bucek.

She was waiting for his answer.

“Why?” Connor shrugged. “I saw you with the kids. You seem to have a talent. And my grandfather’s a special case…”

“A hard case, I expect.” There was irony in her voice, but her gaze flickered uncertainly. Her eyes were green, not bright, but soft, like moss.

She’d do. “I can’t deny it,” Connor said.

“You need someone qualified to evaluate your grandfather’s reading level, at the very least. I do have a little bit of experience and a minor in education, but I’m no expert.”

“Exactly why I chose you.” Connor didn’t want to come right out and say that his grandfather wasn’t expecting a teacher and wouldn’t welcome one. If the first introduction was unofficial, a friendly how-d’ya-do, Tess could ease herself into the old man’s graces—it would be a stretch calling them good—and begin to work her magic. For all his gruffness, Sonny Mitchell had a soft spot for any female with a soothing voice and nice legs. Tess’s were…

Connor looked down. A canary-yellow skirt stopped an inch above her knees. Cute kneecaps. Curvy calves. Slim ankles. Tess Bucek’s legs were more than acceptable.

Her head lowered, following the direction of his gaze. She tapped her toe. “You chose me for my shoes?”

“Uh, no.” Connor looked up, his gaze colliding with hers. Her lashes were a pale reddish brown that gave her eyes a wide-awake, innocent-schoolgirl look. He had to remind himself that she was thirty-two. She seemed…untouched. Unmarred.

Especially by the likes of him.

He offered another useless shrug. “I’m going on instinct. You seem like the right person for the job. My grandfather can be difficult.”

“I know. I remember, or at least I remember his reputation.” Tess hesitated. “Maybe you should tell me more about him.”

“Not a lot to tell. He’s led a simple life. He was the oldest son of Cornish immigrants. Worked since he was eleven—any job he could get, but primarily in the iron mines. So his schooling took a back seat, I guess. Eventually he landed the job as lighthouse keeper and it stuck.”

“You know, I never knew he was married. To me, he was always Old Man Mitchell, living alone at Gull Rock.”

“Yup, he was married for more than thirty years. He and Grandma had one daughter—my mother. She was the one who sent me to live with Sonny for those first few summers after Grandma died. She hoped I’d keep the old man company.”

“Did you?”

“Pretty much had to. There wasn’t a lot to do at the lighthouse but talk. Or in Alouette, as I remember it.”

“We manage to find ways to amuse ourselves.” Tess blushed pink when Connor lifted his brows at that. She rushed on. “Where did your grandfather go when the state shut down the lighthouse?”

“My parents wanted him to live with them downstate. Sonny wasn’t too happy about being away from the big lake, but he settled in eventually. He was satisfied until the past few years, when he started in about returning to his roots, before he…”

Connor winced at the surprising amount of regret he felt, thinking of the short time his grandfather had left. He should have made a stronger effort to visit instead of giving up so much of himself to his work. What had that got him except trouble?

Even the loss of his reputation and, it seemed, his will to write were put into perspective now that he was losing Sonny, too.

Connor took a breath. “Sonny’s health isn’t good. He’s eighty-nine. He wanted to come home.” To die.

Tess’s expression was troubled. “He’s eighty-nine and now he wants to learn how to read?”

“What can I say? This is his last chance to amend old regrets.” Always a good idea, Connor told himself. And sooner was better than later, if only there was a way….

Tess’s quiet voice filtered through his black thoughts, defusing the gloom. “This is your grandfather’s dying wish, isn’t it?” She had her soft hands on his again, pressing lightly, sweet with concern. “I’m so sorry.”

Connor nodded.

Her lashes batted away a sheen of moisture. “Then I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Thank you,” he said, his throat gone raw with the emotions he kept swallowing down. Struck by her empathy, he had an odd impulse to give her a hug, but it had been too long since he’d engaged in a normal relationship. He’d buried his emotions deep. Lost the ability to connect.

So he shook Tess’s hand instead.

Sounds came from the foyer, breaking them apart. A man walked into the library, a tall guy with clipped brown hair and a healthy, vigorous air. He was dressed in a sweat-stained T-shirt, faded jeans and work boots. His handsome, all-American face lit up when he saw Tess. “Hey, Marian. Thanks for calling me.”

“Evan. Hello. Lucy’s waiting—”

The slight blond girl that Connor had forgotten about emerged from the children’s reading room. “Hi, Daddy. May I check out three books today, please?” Her voice was so soft it was barely audible.

The tall guy knelt to look at the storybooks she held out. “Jeez, Luce, I don’t know. Are you going to make me read all of them to you tonight?”

The girl nodded, smiling hopefully.

Her father sighed. “Oh, all right. Give them to Miss Bucek so she can check them out for you.” He rose, looking at Connor with open curiosity. Maybe because all strangers were suspect in a small town, maybe because Evan had seen him on TV or in print. Or it could have been because Connor’s expression had changed when he heard that Tess was, beyond any doubt, a miss.

“Evan, this is Connor Reed. He’s in town to visit his grandfather, Sonny Mitchell.” Tess had moved behind the desk and was reaching over to take the books Lucy held up to her. “Sonny’s before your time here, so you wouldn’t know him, but he used to be the lighthouse keeper. Connor spent summers at Gull Rock.”

The tall guy held out his hand. “Evan Grant. Sounds like you were a lucky kid.”

“At the time, I didn’t know how lucky.” The men shook, matching strong grips. Connor’s observational skills were sharp. Since so many people lied to him in the course of his work, he’d learned to recognize subtle signals and body language and make instant character assessments. Most of the time he was right in his judgment. He’d always known that Roderick Strange was guilty, although that certainly hadn’t taken any special skill.

In this instance, it was easy enough to calculate that Evan was a good, honorable, obviously hardworking man. Didn’t mean Connor had to like the guy.

The familiarity between Evan and Tess was clear. Connor didn’t know why that should unsettle him, when he wasn’t even remotely in the market for a girlfriend. Yet the hair on the back of his hand had risen when he’d gripped Evan’s hand, as if the shake had been about taking the measure of an adversary rather than a simple greeting.

Forget it. Tess Bucek seemed like a respectable person. He no longer was, according to his law-and-order critics. And Connor wasn’t sure there was any good reason to refute that opinion.

“Staying in town long?” Evan asked, sliding his gaze from Connor to Tess.

Connor crossed his arms. “Indefinitely.”

“Have you checked in to a hotel?” Tess flipped open a book. “There are only a couple options in Alouette, but if you’re staying in one of the nearby towns—”

Connor cut her off. “I haven’t decided.”

She wasn’t deterred by his shortness. “It’s tourist season, but early yet, so something should be available. There you go, Lucy. All checked out.” Tess handed over the books in a plastic “Great Summer Reading!” drawstring bag. “Will I see you on Monday, sweetie?”

Lucy nodded shyly.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Evan said. He aimed a casual grin at Tess. “Thanks, Marian.” He nodded at Connor, fixing him with a serious stare, then walked out with his hand resting on his daughter’s thin shoulders.

Connor took the look to mean: Don’t mess with Tess or I’ll cheerfully beat you into the ground like a fence post.

He waited until the pair had cleared the building, then said, “Marian the Librarian, huh?”

“The local theater group did The Music Man a while back. Evan’s just teasing.”

“You’re dating him?”

She paused, wary. “Evan has a daughter. How do you know he’s not married?”

“Hmm. I did notice that he wears a wedding ring.”

Tess nodded, her forehead creasing a little. Concern or dismay? Connor couldn’t be sure. “Ring or not, Evan’s single,” he went on. “Call me sexist, but he wouldn’t be leaving work in the middle of the day to look after his daughter if there was a wife in the picture.”

Tess said softly, “He’s a widower.”

“Tough break. But you didn’t answer my question. Are you dating him?”

Her voice rose a notch to sharpness. “Why don’t you tell me, Quizmaster?”

Connor weighed Evan’s familiarity and protectiveness against the easy departure. “You might have dated at some point, but not currently. Your relationship is more the platonic kind—brother, sister, friends.” A relationship compounded by a good dose of motherly longing, judging by Tess’s gentle way with the girl, but he left that unsaid. It was too personal.

Yeah. Like her love life wasn’t?

“You’re right again.” Tess stacked books briskly; he figured she didn’t like being pigeonholed even though she was a walking endorsement of the friendly, intelligent, proper-librarian stereotype.

The thing was, he knew that everyone was unique beneath the surface. Each person has a story, and secret thoughts and dreams. Each person has justifications for who they are or what they’ve done with their lives. Part of his job as a true-crime writer was digging deeper to find what motives and meanings an ordinary appearance hid.

There was a lot more to Tess Bucek, even if it was tightly bound, but he had no intention of making the what and why of her his business. All he needed to know was that she had a skill for teaching. He’d buy her time, for his grandfather’s sake. But, for your own sake, stay away from the inner her. Don’t delve deeper. Don’t even make friends.

Tess was talking. “…small, spartan stone cottages. Run-down and not very comfortable, I’m afraid. They’re usually only booked by fishermen and hunters.”

Connor nodded as if he’d followed. “Mmm.”

“Maxine’s Cottages,” Tess explained to bring him back to speed. “The clientele is downscale, to be polite. You should try Bay House. It’s a bed-and-breakfast inn up on the hill. It’s undergoing renovation, but they’re still taking guests. If you tell Claire, the manager, I sent you, she might be able to fit you in. Several of their rooms have a view of the lighthouse, although if a rock-bottom price is more important than quality—” Tess’s gaze touched on his unshaven, rumpled appearance “—you might rather go to Maxine’s.”

“Thanks,” Connor said to dismiss talk of accommodations. He supposed he’d have to take a room somewhere. The lighthouse didn’t appear to be habitable. He could camp on the grounds, maybe, if he wanted to spring for a tent and the accompanying gear. The isolation was appealing, but it was too long since he’d roughed it, Upper Peninsula style—which was only for the extremely hardy. At least for tonight, he wanted a real bed.

“I mean, you are interested in the Gull Rock lighthouse, right? Or were the books strictly for your grandfather’s sake?”

“Both, I guess.” Connor cleared his throat. “Seeing as how I own it.”

A paperback mystery slid from Tess’s fingers and dropped onto the desktop, pages splayed. “Pardon me? You own the lighthouse?”

“There was a public auction a year ago…”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I put in the high bid.”

“But I heard—” Tess gave her head a shake, making chunks of her short, thick hair bounce in the sunlight, shining like a handful of new pennies. “The word around town was that a famous writer bought the place. Unfounded rumor, I suppose.” She tilted her head, lifted a shoulder. “That happens.”

But she was staring at him now. Any minute she’d make the connection. Connor kept his face blank. “All I know is I’m the owner.”

Fortunately, she veered to another subject. “Your grandfather must be pleased.”

“He says I’m crazy, but, yeah, he’s damn pleased. I’m hoping to whip the lighthouse into acceptable shape and take him out there for a final visit.”

“Ohhh.” Tess smiled fondly, looking at Connor as if he’d transformed from grungy stranger to Hallmark card.

“I’ll sell it after he’s gone,” he said out of a certain perversity, denying the reasons he’d bought the lighthouse just to prove how cold he could be. He didn’t need Tess to start thinking he was an okay guy when really he was a hard-hearted son of a bitch who’d barter grief for a good story. “The thing’s a white elephant. It was a crazy idea to bid on it in the first place.”

Although Tess’s eyes had narrowed, she wasn’t about to let him knock her down so easily. Instead, she smiled at his grouchiness, unimpressed and unintimidated. His estimation of her went up another notch.

“It’s a local landmark,” she said. “You could donate it to the town. The historical society would be absolutely thrilled to take over management and develop the site as a museum.”

“Do I look like a philanthropist?”

Her gaze traced over him. Not with disinterest, if the glint in her eyes meant anything. Her lips pursed. “You don’t want to know what I think you look like.”

He shrugged. “That bad?”

“Nothing a shave and a change couldn’t cure.”

“I’ll be more presentable next time you see me.”

She blinked, catching herself staring. He smiled, liking—despite himself—the way she became ruffled, running a hand through her hair, stacking and restacking the books before her. Her fingers pattered nervously over the desktop.

“When can I take you to visit Sonny?” he asked. “He’s at Three Pines.”

“I, um, I’ll have to—”

“The sooner the better.”

She sighed. Squinted one eye at the clock near the desk. “This evening? I’m off work at six. Would seven-thirty be okay?”

“How about six-thirty? We’ll have to drive to the nursing home in Ishpeming, and Sonny conks out pretty early. It’ll be a very short visit.”

“That barely gives me time to wash and change. I suppose I could grab a sandwich on the go.”

“If your stomach can wait, I’ll take you to dinner afterward.” The words were out of Connor’s mouth before he could censor them. Damn. “Nothing personal, of course. Just a business dinner. We’ll discuss how to proceed with Sonny’s lessons.” Make that how to persuade Sonny to accept lessons from her.

Tess frowned. “If that’s what you want.”

She couldn’t have been less enthusiastic.

“But I’m taking my own car,” she added.

Yes, she could.

Connor uncrossed his arms and walked over to the study table where he’d left the lighthouse books. “Seems unnecessary, but whatever you want.”

Tess defended herself, probably because she was too prim to be rude. “Suppose you choose to get a room outside of Alouette. This way, you won’t have to drive me back.”

He made up his mind. “It’s more important that I be in town to work on the lighthouse. I’ll try the B and B you mentioned. Bay House, was it?”

“Yes,” she said faintly, looking worried, as if she suspected him of backing her into a corner.

Rightly. He was enjoying bantering with her a lot more than he should have. “Can I check these out?” he asked, sliding his books across her desk.

“You may, with a temporary guest card. You’ll have to provide some personal information and pay ten dollars.” She bent, rummaged through a drawer, then handed him a pale green card and a pen. The process seemed too trusting to Connor, but that must be how they did it in small towns.

He wrote down his New York address. Luckily, there was no line asking for his occupation.

Tess read over the card, then requested two forms of ID. Trust wasn’t what it used to be. He gave her the money first, then added his driver’s license, a credit card and threw his New York Public Library card in for fun.

She fingered it contemplatively. “Do you go to the branch with the stone lions?”

He said yes, on occasion, although usually he used the 115th Street branch closest to his apartment. “Have you been there?”

“Just once. On my senior-class trip. I was seventeen and already planning to be a librarian. The New York Public Library seemed so glamorous.” She caught his skeptical eye. “Well, it was! For a library. I thought someday I’d be working there, if I didn’t get in at the Smithsonian first.” She gave a short laugh. “You know how it is when you’re a kid. Anything seems possible. Even a sophisticated life in the city.”