Torie was only the latest, and she said her search had a new twist. Was she lying? Was the treasure really all she wanted, just like everybody else? He was pretty sure that was what Carl was after. And she’d come with the man, so it all fit together.
And yet, he didn’t want to believe she was lying to him.
He groaned softly, hearing himself and hating his own weakness. He knew all about lying and being lied to. He’d been through it often enough to consider it a normal part of human relationships. Why would Torie be any different?
As they walked into the dimly lit tavern, he glanced about the room. People were scattered around at tables and along the bar, mostly men. There was one stocky, blond young man who waved, but he didn’t recognize him. There didn’t seem to be anyone there that he knew.
Torie was still flushed from his compliments a few minutes earlier and looking prettier than ever. He had to grin as he noticed one man after another stealing a glance her way. And true to form, she didn’t see it at all.
And then he saw the man they were after, sitting at a corner table, looking as if he’d staked a claim to it long ago and wasn’t going to give it up for love or money. He pointed him out to Torie and they made their way there.
Griswold was drunk. There was no getting around it. He was a pale, boney shadow of the dapper man he’d once been. He gazed up at Torie with bleary eyes and didn’t have a clue who she was, even after she told him. Jarvis Sands was a name that seemed to spark some recognition.
“Jarvis? Jarvis? You mean, the butler at Shangri-La? Sure. What about him?”
“Do you remember him? Do you remember what happened?”
He frowned at her. “I should have had his job, you know. They only made me chauffeur because the lady wanted to swan around in front of her friends. They didn’t need me. All I did was wash cars all day.” He shook his head. “No. I don’t remember nothin’.”
“How about the Don Carlos Treasure disappearing? You must remember that.”
He was frowning and it wasn’t apparent whether he had actually heard her question. “He told me not to go, but I went anyway,” he said sadly. “I went and he was right. I shouldn’t have gone.”
“Who? My father?”
He looked around as though he felt trapped and Marc reached out to pull her away.
“It’s not much use,” he said quietly. “He’s in no shape to talk. From what I hear, he never is. If he ever knew anything at all, it’s probably lost to history by now.”
She nodded reluctantly. She was bitterly frustrated. Somehow she’d been counting on finding employees from those days and now that she’d found one, he was useless.
“You know, its sort of crazy,” she said to Marc as they were leaving. “Almost everyone from that generation is either dead or ruined in some way. It doesn’t seem right.”
“Anecdotal,” he muttered as he led her out. “Don’t let life depress you. There are plenty of good things to think about.”
She looked up into his face and shook her head, still disappointed, but vaguely amused. “You’re giving happy-talk advice? Now I’ve seen everything.”
“I have my happy moments,” he protested. “I even get optimistic sometimes.”
“But not for long, I’ll bet,” she said dryly.
They were outside by now and they both noticed the blond man from inside the tavern had come out and was leaning against a huge black Harley. He waved as they approached, then straightened and came toward them.
“You don’t remember me?” he said, smiling in a friendly fashion.
Torie gasped. “Is it Billy Darnell?” she cried.
He nodded. “You got it.”
Torie reached out and grasped his hand in hers. “You remember Billy,” she said over her shoulder to Marc. “Alice was his mother. The cook at the estate back in our younger days.”
“That’s me,” Billy said, looking pleased.
“It’s so good to see you! How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine. She lives down in LA now. She likes being close to my sister and her family.”
“Of course.” Torie thought quickly, going over the past. Billy was a year younger than she was. Being children of the Shangri-La staff, they’d spent some time together, though they’d never been particularly close. But when you were eleven and twelve and there was no one else around to hang with, you made do.
“Billy and I used to go on day-long mineral-collecting trips with your father,” she told Marc. “We would trek out along the cliff at dawn, backpacks full of drinks, snacks and lunches, and your father would lead us to the most interesting places, nooks and crannies that you would never think existed if you just drove by them. And he’d find some quartz or some rocks with hornblende or muscovite and he’d use his rock hammer to break specimen-sized pieces out of the rock. Then Billy and I would wrap them in paper and pack them away in canvas bags and then tote the bags home for him.” She grinned at Billy. “We had a glorious time.”
“That we did,” Billy said, grinning right back.
Marc nodded at the reminder and listened to them reminisce, but the whole thing created a bit of an empty feeling in his soul. He’d known his father was interested in rock collecting, but he’d never really paid much attention. He’d only listened with impatience whenever his father tried to talk to him about it. Which might have been why he never got invited along on any of these expeditions. Probably because he was too old when the hobby began to appeal to his dad. He’d been seventeen when Torie was twelve.
Still, he wished he’d known, wished he’d participated. It seemed more and more that there was a whole side to his father that he had known nothing about. He would have been a good man to get to know.
Too late now. He grimaced. He wasn’t used to feeling this sort of regret. It made him uncomfortable. He looked at Torie, and for some reason, he felt a little better. She was like a light into the past that he’d been ignoring for years. She was helping him clear up some things. For the first time, he realized he was actually glad she’d come back to Shangri-La.
Torie brought up the treasure and Marc began to listen more carefully. Billy remembered it, but he claimed he didn’t know anything about what had happened to it, other than the newspaper accounts about Hunt having dumped it in the sea, and didn’t think anyone else knew anything new about it either.
“There’s really no one else still left around who was working at the place in those days,” Billy said earnestly. “Except Griswold, of course. But he’s not much use these days.”
They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Torie gave Billy a hug and they said good-bye. He rode off on his motorcycle; they got back on the horse.
“I’ll drop you at the house,” Marc told her. “I’ve got to get this little lady back home before she starts to worry about lunchtime.”
She smiled, liking that he had a sense of understanding for a horse. Okay, it was time to admit it. Down deep, she knew him well enough to know he was a pretty good guy. Unless something had changed him while he was overseas, he was one of the best men she’d ever known. Maybe his family had been cruel to her father—he hadn’t been involved. Not directly anyway.
Closing her eyes and letting the sway of the ride take her, she mused on life and the U-turns she seemed to find all along the way. So far, it had been a disappointing day as far as her aims and goals were concerned. What if she never found out the truth about her father? What if the truth was hidden somewhere and no one alive knew where it was? Could she live with that? Could she go back home and find a way to be happy? Could her mother snap out of the depressive state she’d been in