Without anything more encouraging than an occasional grunt of agreement on his part, she told him more about the town’s financial status than he cared to know. After she’d ground to a halt, he realized she seemed to expect him to agree to do something about it.

“Why should I?” he mused, more to himself than to Gracie.

“It was your family that closed Old Maine Furniture and put half the population out of work. Just because it became inconvenient or unpleasant for them to come here after—after—”

“After my father’s death? Yes, that was unpleasant and inconvenient,” he said, laying on the sarcasm.

He’d only been a child at the time, but he knew his grandfather and uncles well enough to know that they never based business decisions on sentiment. Did they?

Apparently, all of the Liberty House guestrooms were assigned patriotic themes. Gracie had installed Dylan in the Stars and Stripes suite the day before. The comfortable room boasted a sitting area with a framed colonial American flag hanging over the fireplace. But the panoramic view of the ocean beyond the double windows was the room’s money spot. He studied the view as he talked to his uncle.

“Where are you staying?” Uncle Arthur’s voice boomed over the speakerphone.

“At Liberty House, a B&B about three miles from the cabin. An elderly couple named Lattimer own it. You remember them?”

“The name sounds familiar.”

“The old man’s in the hospital. I haven’t met him, but apparently he worked at Old Maine before it closed.”

His uncle muffled a cough. “I’ve probably met him, but we closed that plant—what? More than twenty years ago.”

“For some of the people here, there’s still resentment about the lost employment.”

“I don’t know why. We kept the place going as long as we could and gave them as fair a shake as possible. If this Lattimer fellow owns a bed and breakfast out on the bay, it doesn’t sound like he was hurt by it. That’s an expensive chunk of real estate.”

“He works hard, from what I hear. Most of the people do, but I can see how long it’s taken the town to reverse the economic downturn.” Dylan hesitated before bringing up a potentially touchy subject. The Senator was frequently touchy about having his decisions questioned, and all of this happened so long ago. “I’ve been wondering why the family closed the factory. Someone here suggested it was because of my father’s death...”

“Indirectly, I suppose it was. The cost of hardwood and labor kept going up. The demand for expensive, custom furnishings wasn’t keeping pace. The place had been a tax write-off for several years.”

Plausible, but Dylan had his doubts.

“After your father’s accident, Dad lost interest. Tommy’s talents lay elsewhere, and I was gearing up for the Senate race. With all of that going on, we needed to divest ourselves of some of the dead weight. And with Old Maine’s poor performance, it was the first to go.”

“That’s what I thought.” Dylan’s tone didn’t disguise the seed of doubt taking root. “But I’d like to see the closing documents and final financial reports if they’re still around somewhere. Do you know where they are?”

“You know the drill. We’re only required to keep closing documents for seven years. Why the sudden interest? You’ve never questioned any of the family business decisions before.”

“Well, for some reason, a whole town holds us to blame for a lot of things, and I’d like to know the full story.”

“Honestly, I doubt that the records still exist, but I’ll have someone at Bradford International check. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”

“Are you thinking of selling the East Langden property? I know a good realtor up that way.”

“I’ll probably sell it, but it suits me to start renovating the property first. No one would buy the place as it stands.”

“Do you want me to send up a crew of workers?”

That would solve a lot of his problems, but it would create others, too. “Yeah, I do, but hold off until next week, okay? If I can use the locals instead, I’d like to.”

“Whatever works best for you.”

After exchanging family news, Dylan prepared to disconnect the call when his uncle stopped him. “Just a second, Dylan. Here’s some news that might interest you.”

“What’s that?”

“After a lot of discussion with Delia, Frank, and various political groups, I’m considering running for president in the next election.”

“Great, congratulations!” His uncle had always wanted to take this step, but the timing had never been right. “Dad and Grandfather would be so proud of you.”

“I hope you are, too, and that I can count on your support.”

“Of course, I’ll do whatever I can.”

“I know this will be a disruption for everyone, but I expect it to be worthwhile, too. We’ll get together and plan strategy before the holidays. It’s still hush-hush, but I wanted to warn you about what’s going on.”

Setting aside the impact Arthur’s bid for the presidency would have on the family, Dylan e-mailed his assistant, talked to his buddy Wyatt about their plans to attend the upcoming NBA finals, checked the latest figures on the Dow, and made a few trades before calling Natalie. After his brief and dismal report on the Clayton situation, he kicked back to catch up with her.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I went to the doctor yesterday, and he swears this child won’t make an appearance for another four weeks. Although you’d think differently if you could see how huge I am. If I were in Washington, tourists would mistake me for the National Rotunda.”

“I don’t believe it.” A tendency toward thinness passed from one generation of Bradfords to the next along with big feet and perfect vision.

“I’m swelled up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloon. My ankles are as puffy as marshmallows.”

“Did that happen when you had Josh?”

“No, but the doctor said to stay off my feet and watch my salt intake. The usual stuff. Oh, by the way, I talked to Linc’s cousin Victoria yesterday. She said—” Natalie stopped short when he heard a crash and then a wail in the background. “Sorry, I’ve got to go unearth Josh. Nothing serious. He just pulled some books over. Talk to you later, okay?”

She disconnected before Dylan could say goodbye. He slumped deeper into the overstuffed chair. She sounded fine, but that weight gain couldn’t be good. Maybe he should call Linc and nose around. Or maybe not. Natalie wouldn’t thank him for interfering. Of course, a medical problem sounded like Gracie’s area of expertise. He could ask her opinion.

A thump outside the house took Dylan to one of the windows. Pulling the drapes open, he found Gracie perched precariously on top of an extension ladder, washing the panes of glass.

Just the sight of her, engrossed in her task, tongue peeking out, perspiration beading her face and creating a damp spot between her breasts brightened his day. She moved from one window to the next until she disappeared from his view.

Damn.

Driving into town, Dylan wondered what in the hell he thought he was doing. When he’d decided to come to East Langden and investigate, the plan had been to discredit Clayton. But in fact, the only thing Dylan knew how to investigate was an interesting stock tip. He’d assumed he could come in and snoop around without drawing much attention, but his presence in this small coastal community was about as subtle as a hurricane.

He considered the bits of information he’d gleaned from Gracie the night before. David Collier had been Lana Harris’s cousin as well as Clayton’s guardian. The good doctor hadn’t seemed eager to help, but he was a reasonable starting point.

At breakfast that morning, Mrs. Lattimer had passed along the news that her son-in-law had suffered a heart attack the year before. Only recently had he returned to work on a limited basis. Clayton had been all set to join a practice in Boston. But with David in failing health and the town in need of more than one physician, Clayton had agreed to handle David’s practice until another partner could be recruited.