Once they were alone again, Mr. Reynolds picked up the conversational reins. “Mr. Crandall introduced me to Walter Hendricks, the man handling the construction.”
Abigail nodded. “Mr. Hendricks and his two sons are good men and they do good work. You can see examples all over town, including the schoolhouse and the town hall.”
“So you know them personally?”
“Of course. It’s a small town. Most everyone here knows everyone else.” His lack of conversation was making it difficult for her to discern how he felt about things. “Did you have the opportunity to inspect their work?”
“Briefly. I plan to inspect it in more detail over the next few days.”
“Well, I’m certain you’ll be pleased with what you see.”
He merely nodded noncommittally.
Deciding things might go better if she learned something about him personally, she changed the subject. “I actually have a favor to ask.”
He raised a brow. “And that is?”
Abigail smiled at the touch of wariness in his tone. “It’s nothing onerous, I assure you.” She retrieved a small notebook and pencil from her pocket. “My brother, Everett, owns the local newspaper and I help occasionally. I’d like to interview you for the next issue.”
Mr. Reynolds frowned. “I can’t imagine anything about me would be noteworthy.”
Was he just being modest or did he really think so little of himself? “Everyone has a story of some sort to tell. Besides, folks are always interested to learn more when someone new moves to town. And the hotel renovation itself is big news around here.” She opened the pad. “You don’t mind, do you?”
His expression didn’t change but she sensed his hesitation. Or was it annoyance?
He finally waved a hand, as if in surrender. “Very well, but let’s keep it short. There’s not much to tell anyway.”
Careful to keep the note of victory from her expression, she smiled. “Thank you. Let’s start with you telling me something about yourself—where you’re from, your family, what exactly it is you do, that sort of thing.”
“I’m from Philadelphia and my job is that of property manager for Judge Madison.”
“And what does a property manager do?”
“Judge Madison doesn’t care much for travel. Whenever something needs close supervision on any of his out-of-town properties, I act as his on-site representative and handle whatever needs attention.”
“That sounds like a lot of responsibility. Judge Madison must have a great deal of faith in you.”
He shrugged.
Definitely a man of few words. Moving on... “And your family? Are you married?”
“No.”
Ignoring the little spurt of pleasure that gave her, she pressed on. “Parents? Siblings?”
“Deceased.” His response was chopped and his tone warned against further probing.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Was that why he seemed so closed off? She couldn’t imagine being entirely on her own. Even when she’d spent those long, lonely years in boarding school, she’d known Everett was out there and would come running should she need him. And she’d had holidays to look forward to, when the two of them could spend precious time together.
How long had he been on his own? “That must—”
But he cut her off, brushing aside her sympathy. “I lost them a long time ago. I’m used to being on my own.”
As if that would make it any easier to bear. But she took the hint. “Well then, can you tell me how long you’ve worked for Judge Madison?”
“Going on eleven years now.”
“And do you have any hobbies?” she asked, desperate to get some kind of personal insight. “Something you enjoy doing when you’re not working?”
He made an impatient gesture. “I don’t have time for hobbies. The judge keeps me busy. And that’s how I like it.”
The man was impossible! How could she get him to open up and give her more than these terse, uninformative answers?
Before she could ask anything else, Della returned with their food. Abigail set aside her pencil and notebook while the meal was placed before them. She wasn’t getting much to work with anyway. This was going to be a very dry article unless she injected more life into it herself with personal observations.
Of course, he had to actually do something for her to observe before even that much was possible.
* * *
Seth had never liked talking about himself, so as soon as the waitress departed, he took the offensive. “I believe it’s my turn to ask you a few questions.”
His words brought a pleased light to her eyes. Apparently, unlike him, she did like talking about herself.
“Of course,” she said, lifting her fork. “My parents are no longer around, but I have an older brother who’s married with two children.” She smiled. “I’ve already mentioned that Daisy, my sister-in-law, runs a restaurant.” She touched the pencil on the table. “And Everett owns and operates the town newspaper. I work with both of them from time to time.”
Interesting, but not the information he’d been after. “You said you and Judge Madison have been corresponding for a number of years. What initiated the correspondence?”
“That’s a fun story. He did an amazing kindness for my brother several years ago and I wrote to thank him. It continued from there. We discovered that we had similar tastes in literature and in food. He introduced me to Cervantes, and I introduced him to the joys of apple-pecan pie.”
Interesting. What amazing kindness had Judge Madison done for her brother? But she didn’t elaborate further so he moved to something else. “Do you have any experience doing the sort of work the judge is asking of you?”
“Not actual hands-on experience.” She said that lightly, as if it was inconsequential. “But I’ve studied as much as I could find and it sounds like fun. I don’t imagine it will be terribly difficult.”
He found her offhand manner irritating. Then he remembered the judge’s cryptic mention of allowing her to “earn the means to achieve one of her dreams.” “What will you gain from doing this?”
She frowned—was it at his question or his tone? Had she picked up on his irritation? She might be more perceptive than he’d given her credit for.
“You mean, besides repaying a friend?” Her tone said that should be enough.
Then she smiled, her mood seeming to change with dizzying speed. “I run a small subscription library that’s currently housed in Daisy’s restaurant. Judge Madison offered me a ground-floor room here in the hotel to house it.”
Yet another thing his employer had failed to mention to him. “So we’ll need to account for that when we address the ground floor.”
She nodded. “I’ve already looked around and found the perfect place.”
Of course she had, but he wouldn’t be ready to discuss that until he had a chance to evaluate things himself. “We’ll certainly look at all the options when the time is right. We want to make certain the location benefits all parties.”
She studied him thoughtfully, then nodded. “Of course.”
They both focused on their meals after that, eating in silence for several minutes. At first he found the respite from her chatter soothing, but after a while the silence began to