“Kitchen is closed. Mrs. Holder gave it a good scouring earlier.” After which he and Otis had destroyed the place with sloppy bowls of paste and a thousand jars of mash.

Caroline pulled an amused face as she swiped at his shirt. “What is this?” She rubbed the sticky substance between her fingers. “Gray! Have you been rummaging through the trash? You’re a mess.”

“Yes. I’m a mess. Go home and see if the White House kitchens can produce a cup of tea for you.”

She pinched his cheek. “They don’t have my big brother there to comfort me! Come, I need to complain about the new head of security. He’s making my life miserable.”

She tried to twist the knob, but he clamped his hand over hers, stopping her. Her humor vanished as she met his gaze.

“What’s going on in there?” she asked.

“Nothing of interest.”

“Does it have to do with the Pelican?”

He nodded. “Otis and I are preparing the cargo. Nothing to concern you. It won’t earn much of a return.”

She jerked her hand away. “Do you think that’s why I came over tonight? That I’m angry about the money?”

His gaze darted down her ensemble, a canary yellow satin suit liberally embellished with seed pearls. He didn’t want to reopen their argument about her wardrobe, and wouldn’t have if she hadn’t barged into his house, griping about not receiving her share of the ship money.

“Custom wardrobes are expensive,” he said simply.

“So are attorneys and private investigators!”

He nearly choked. “Why do you need an attorney or private investigator?”

Caroline looked at him in exasperation. His heart split wide open, for he immediately put the pieces together.

“Caroline, he’s guilty,” he said as gently as possible.

She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. I’ll never believe it, and since you’ve given up on him, it’s up to me to get Luke out. Yes, I’ve hired an investigator who plans to leave for Cuba this week. He needs to be paid.”

He wished Caroline would accept the inevitable, but perhaps the best course of action would be to let her see it through.

“How much do you need?”

She named the figure, and he nodded. “I’ll have Otis write the check.”

The tension drained from her face. He’d write a thousand checks if it could buy her peace of mind, but it was probably only delaying the inevitable. Now he could understand why his father was always putty in Caroline’s hands. To the outside world she looked like a Gainsborough portrait, a perfect image of feminine charm, but it was merely a veneer over an inner core of strength and loyalty. Leaving her behind would be his biggest regret in setting off to sea again.

Without warning she twisted the knob and opened the kitchen door.