Grandbabies. The word socked her straight in the gut. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Beth tried to stop the tears filling her eyes. “I'll do that, Mrs. Layton.”
“You're the first girl to make him forget about Amanda and I'm hoping you'll make that permanent. But even if you don't, you're welcome at our Sunday dinner table anytime.”
Touched by this acceptance, Beth blinked back tears. “Thanks, Mrs. Layton.”
“And tell that son of mine to stop being a big fat chicken and call his mother.”
Beth swept her notepad and pen into her briefcase and stood up so fast she knocked her chair to the ground. It clattered against the tile floor, turning everyone's attention her way. She smiled wanly, righted the chair and speed-walked out of the cafe. Discombobulated by the information floating around her head, she was certain of only one thing—she had to find Hank.
Swerving around a slow-moving couple in matching Las Vegas T-shirts, she headed toward the conference rooms. Hank had promised he'd be back for her after her panel. With any luck, he was hanging around, ticked off and wondering where in the hell she'd gone. When she told him that Sarah Jane Hunihan had rocketed to number one on the suspect list, he'd have to pick his jaw off the floor with a shovel.
The name Haverstan could be a coincidence, but she didn't think so. Still, she couldn't right the image of the scrapbooking woman she'd grown up next to with the land-hungry developer who had coerced families out of their homes and had sunk to vandalism and threats to get her to sell. Only two weeks ago she'd found Sarah Jane in the bathroom at work practically hyperventilating because of the stress brought on by the developers. A blast of cold air from a nearby vent brushed across the back of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Of course, what better way to hide your evil intentions than in plain sight?
Hurrying down the hall, she punched in Hank’s number. No answer.
At the turn for the conference rooms, she spotted Sarah Jane and Phil going into the business center.
Fuck. If she went on to the conference room, she would lose them. Beth paused next to the information desk a few yards outside of the business center. She tried Hank again. Voice mail. She texted a quick call-me message.
Half hidden behind a sign for the national estate attorneys’ conference, Beth watched the business center's open door, dreading and anticipating a Sarah Jane sighting. The coffee she'd just downed swirled around her stomach as her nerves sent her entire body on high alert. Half of her wanted to storm into the business office and demand the truth. The rest of her wanted to slink back to her hotel room and hide.
She'd eaten wild berry muffins with Sarah Jane at her kitchen table after her grandmother's funeral. Still hot from the oven, the muffins had been delicious and Sarah Jane had proved to be a sympathetic sounding board when Beth needed to talk out what she was going to do next with her grandparents’ land.
Blinking, realization hit her. It had been Sarah Jane who'd brought the conversation around to her grandparents' house. Sarah Jane who'd first brought up the idea of selling. Sarah Jane who'd kept her up to date about all the other families who'd sold their property. Her knees weakened and the world tilted a bit on its axis.
It had been Sarah Jane who'd offered to complete the public records search of Haverstan. The company had hounded her, too, and she'd told Beth that even though she'd sold, she'd like to know more about them. And Beth had fallen for it, all of it, without a second thought. What an idiot she'd been.
Too antsy to wait a moment longer, she whipped around and plowed right into a wall of muscle and stumbled back. “I'm so sorry.”
“All my fault. How about I buy you a drink to make up for being clumsy?”
The man's pale lips formed a smile, but it didn't reach his blue eyes. Everything about him was average, from his height to his bland brown hair, except for the one-inch scar on his chin.
Without meaning to retreat, she took another step back until the information desk counter bit into the small of her back. “Um, thanks but no.”
His fingers clamped around her elbow like a vice. “Oh, come on now. Just a friendly drink.”
This wasn't the first time she'd had to deal with pushy men at these conferences. They assumed that taking off their wedding rings would make women fall at their feet. Jerks. They were the morons who were the butt of every dishonest lawyer joke told since the dawn of time.
Accidentally on purpose, Beth stepped on the toe of his black shoe and leaned all of her weight into it. “I said no thank you.”
The man laughed softly, but his smile disappeared. “I'm afraid you don't understand.”
“Oh, I think I do. Your wife is at home, probably raising your two-point-five kids mainly on her own, while you jet off to conferences where you accost the waitresses and hit on every female attorney under fifty. Look. I'm not interested.”