Chapter Four
They drove down Main Street, an awkward silence hanging between them. Agatha couldn’t stop fiddling with the hem of her shirt. She wished she was dressed better. Her closet was filled with cute dresses and skirts, but instead, she was wearing a simple pair of tight jeans and a black t-shirt. Next to Henry, in his perfectly fitting, magically unwrinkled suit, she felt painfully bland and ugly.
She glanced up at him a few times, but his eyes never left the road. He was frowning and shaking his head as if he were having some internal argument with himself.
The Thompson Inn was over two hundred years old. The original building had burnt down in the thirties, but it had been rebuilt with gilded splendor. It was a large building with white colonnades and a wrap-around porch dotted with planters filled with brightly colorful flowers.
Henry parked the car and walked around to the other side to open the door for Agatha. She wasn’t sure what to make of that gesture. She had never met a man who opened her doors for her. Most of the guys she met had never heard of chivalry and her last relationship had ended after she realized that she was never going to get back the two thousand dollars she lent him.
Henry was taller than she was and she hurried to keep up with him as he took the steps two at a time into the Inn.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Crane,” a fawning waiter said, coming around from his stand to personally shake Henry’s hand while Agatha shifted from foot to foot. The waiter barely even glanced at her before he led them to a table near the window.
“Two coffees and waters,” Henry said as menus were placed before them.
“I’m not hungry,” Agatha said, not even bothering to open the menu. This was a lie, of course. She was famished. She hadn't eaten anything all day.
“Nonsense, you have to eat something. Two cheese omelets with rye toast and a side of fruit,” he ordered for the both of them.
“I don’t want food,” Agatha said in a heated whisper as she leaned across the table towards Henry. “I want to know why I found you naked in my backyard. And don’t try to give me that party boy nonsense because I don’t believe it.”
“Why don’t you believe it?” He asked as he unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap.
“Because you’re not a party boy,” Agatha continued. “You don’t go out to parties that leave you drunk and naked in people’s backyards. This is a small town, everyone knows everyone and everyone knows you.”
He sighed and looked out the window into the afternoon sunlight. There were gray clouds on the horizon. It would storm tonight.
She was going to do it. She was just going to straight up ask him. Was he a Werewolf? Did he transform into some mystical animal every time there was a full moon? Except, there wasn’t a full moon last night. There had been no moon out last night. So, then how did this all work?
Before she could speak, a look of shaking anger came over Henry. He gritted his teeth and a horrible frown took over his entire face.
“Don’t say anything,” he said to her, his voice terse and low.
“What do you mean?” But just as she had finished asking her question they were joined by a third party.
“Good day, brother,” a strange man said, as he sat down in an empty chair and reached across the table taking Agatha’s water glass and drinking it all in one sloppy gulp. The man was handsome, but in a completely different way than Henry. Henry had a strong jaw line and was always cleanly shaved, his dark hair was cut short and neatly styled to the side. But this stranger claiming to be his brother had a shaggy beard and his hair was pulled back into a messy bun at the top of his head. He was wearing a ripped shirt and skinny jeans. When he was finished with his drink, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Don’t call me brother,” Henry said in a low growl.
“Why not? That’s what we are. I’m Marcus by the way,” he said leaning over towards Agatha and giving her a rakish grin.
Agatha had no idea what to say. Henry Crane didn’t have a brother. Her head ping-ponged back and forth between the two men. How had this happened? How had she ended up in the middle of a Crane blood feud? This wasn’t her place. She was the help, an assistant. She was downstairs, they were upstairs.
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” she said, regretting the words the moment they were out of her mouth. She wished she could have been more like Letizia, a tall and gorgeous woman who never put her foot in her mouth or embarrassed herself.
“Oh no,” Marcus said as he reached for a muffin that was sitting in a basket in the middle of the table. He broke it open, spreading crumbs all over the table. He shoved a piece in his mouth and kept talking. “Old dad was not that faithful a man. Everyone thought he was such a stand-up guy, a real pillar of the community. Behind closed doors, it was a different matter. My mother was a maid at the Crane’s house. How tacky,” he said, rolling his eyes, “a love child with the maid.”
“You shouldn’t talk about your own mother that way,” Agatha chided.
“My mother is a lazy drunk and I was the one that stuck with her for sixteen years, so I’ll talk about her however I want.” In one second, Marcus had gone from rogue to devil. He leered at her and reached for another muffin as he did.
“Agatha, why don’t you go upstairs so Marcus and I can talk,” Henry said.
“Get a room for the two of you, did you?” Marcus asked.
“No, I got a room for Agatha because it’s safer here.”
“Now, now brother,” Marcus said. “We both know that’s not true. If you want to keep her safe, you know what you need to do. Put her anywhere you want. I’ll still find her come nightfall.”