Page 48

CHAPTER THREE

M ax wanted to send the woman packing. He knew it was irrational, but she made the hackles rise on his back. Besides, she seemed too gauche and clumsy to make a good assistant. She’d likely spill coffee all over his papers and be too disorganized to be of much help. If he were smart, he’d go to her room right now and tell her he’d changed his mind.

He shook his head. The least he could do was to give her a chance. If he fired her now, he’d look like a fool. Besides, maybe she’d be good for Molly. For all her stiff manner and tailored suit, she’d seemed uncomfortable in her business attire, almost like she was playing dress-up. The next few days should reveal the real Becca Lynn.

He’d wait and bide his time. There had to be some reason she was here. Maybe whatever it was would prove a diversion for them all.

He went into the kitchen and grabbed a Pepsi from the refrigerator.

“You shouldn’t drink so much of that, Max,” the housekeeper remarked. “All that sugar’s bad for you.”

“Keeps me sweet, Moxie,” he said, popping the top.

She snorted. “I haven’t seen any evidence of it mellowing you out.”

“What’s got you in such a sour mood?” he asked.

“I don’t like you bringing in this new girl without asking Mrs. Baxter. You got no call to install a woman here without her approval.”

“I’m not installing a woman here, Moxie! She’s a research assistant, nothing more.”

She raised one black eyebrow. “I saw the way you looked at her.”

“You’re seeing things. She’s not my type at all. I like them short and round.” He winked at her. “Like you. This one is too tall and clumsy.”

Moxie sniffed but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips at his sly compliment. “So you say. But I’m not blind even if you are.”

Becca knew exactly where she wanted to go first. She found the attic door and opened it. The steps creaked as she went up to the third floor. She paused at the landing and listened. Dust motes tickled her nose, and she sneezed. She froze at a noise. It almost sounded like singing. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, and she held her breath.

The only sound that came to her straining ears was her heart thumping in her veins. She was being a ninny. Being in this house again had spooked her. Gripping the rough wooden railing, she eased up the final flight of steps. Her head poked through the opening into the attic, and she blinked at the bright sunlight streaming through the mullioned windows.

The third floor had been her favorite spot as a child—at least until that last visit. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she pushed away the memory. Easing up the last three steps, she stepped onto the rough, boarded floor and walked past stacks of boxes. Her gaze fixed on the door at the far end. Was it still there?

She realized she was holding her breath and exhaled. Her mouth went dry when her hand touched the doorknob into the end room. It had been fifteen years since she last stood here.

The doorknob turned noiselessly in her hand, and she pushed open the door. The laughter she’d heard came again, and Becca realized it was a child’s laughter. She glanced around the room and saw a small girl crouched in front of the trunk that Becca had come here to find.

“Hello,” Becca said.

The little girl whirled, the bonnet she wore slipping down her back. “Who are you? This is my place.”

“You must be Molly.” Becca smiled to reassure the child. “I’m Becca, your daddy’s new research assistant.”

Molly untied the bonnet from under her chin and placed it back into the chest. “You won’t tell, will you? Daddy says I’m not supposed to come up here.”

“Why not?”

“Daddy says old memories are bad for me. But I feel closer to Mommy up here. She used to play dress-up here too.”

Becca didn’t answer but crouched beside the little girl. “Looks like you’ve found quite a treasure. It’s fun to dress up and pretend to be someone else, isn’t it? Who are you today?”

Molly’s eyes brightened at the game. “I’m Priscilla and I just came over on the Mayflower. You want to play?”

“I’d love to,” Becca said. She rummaged through the chest, her fingers remembering the feel of the rich silks and brocades. She itched to pull out her favorite blue dress. It had belonged to her great-great aunt, Mary Anne Baxter. The scent of lilacs wafted to her nose, and nostalgia took her in an almost painful grip.

She pushed away from the chest, her throat too full to speak. This had been a mistake. She stepped to the window and looked across Lake Superior. What was she doing here? It was ludicrous to think she could discover her parents’ killer by herself. She’d never succeeded at anything in her life, and this was too important to mess up.

Molly leaned her arms on the windowsill beside Becca. “I saw the boat explode. Right there,” Molly said, pointing. “It was scary and I cried.”

Becca closed her eyes. She’d seen that horrific day over and over in her imagination. A lump formed in her throat, and she had to swallow three times before she found the voice to speak. “One of your daddy’s boats?”

Molly’s eyes filled with tears. “My Auntie died on the boat. She was nice—my uncle too. I wish they could come back from heaven. My Gram cried too.”

The lump in Becca’s throat grew to gargantuan proportions. She felt hot and cold at the same time and suddenly claustrophobic.

“Your eyes are all red,” Molly said, wiping her face. “You don’t have to be sorry for me. My mommy had to go to heaven too, so I’m used to it.”

The little girl’s precociousness took Becca aback. Molly practically talked like an adult.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Molly said, patting Becca’s hand.

Becca managed a smile. “You talk enough for both of us. I’m sorry about your mommy. I’m sure you miss her very much.”

“Daddy doesn’t,” Molly said, her smile dimming.

Becca’s own smile faltered. Maybe the rumors were true about Max getting rid of Laura. “I’m sure he misses her too,” she said lamely.

Molly shook her head. “He said she was a witch. Is that like the Windigo? I didn’t want to ask Daddy because his face scrunches up and he gets mad when I talk about her.”

Right then and there Becca decided her first impression of Max was right on target. He was a bully and quite possibly a murderer. “Are you sure that’s what your daddy said?”

Molly nodded. “I heard him talking to Uncle Nick.”

At least he had enough sense not to speak ill of the child’s mother to her face. Becca’s ire cooled a bit. “He was probably just upset.” She ran her hand over the little girl’s hair, and Molly relaxed into the caress.

“Mommy used to braid my hair,” she said. “Daddy’s not very good at fixing it.”

“You look pretty,” Becca told her. “But anytime you need some help, you come to my room.”

“You’re nice,” Molly said. “I hope you stay forever.”

Becca’s conscience smote her. Molly didn’t deserve to get close to someone else and have them disappear. She should make sure to keep her distance from the little girl in the next few weeks.

She glanced at her watch. “Looks like we might have time to fix your hair before dinner. Want to come to my room?”

“Okay.” Molly lowered her voice. “Just don’t tell Daddy we were up here.”

Even as she agreed to keep the little girl’s secret, Becca wondered why Max objected to Molly’s harmless excursions to the attic. Maybe there was something incriminating up here. She’d have to nose around.

Becca braided Molly’s hair then the little girl chattered away while Becca looked through the dresser drawers. Becca found herself wiping away tears when she smelled the lilac sachet among the linen. It brought back poignant memories of her childhood.

When six o’clock came, she was eager to meet the rest of the residents of Windigo Manor. One of them had killed her parents.

Unobserved for a few moments, Becca stood in the door to the dining room and felt the years slip away. The large dining room displayed an elegance she’d forgotten. A damask tablecloth covered the large, rectangular table, and real silver tableware lay at each place setting. A massive centerpiece of flowers graced the center, and a walnut cart laden with silver chafing dishes stood ready along the wall.

Her gaze lingered on a tall, dark-haired man. He had to be Nick Andrews, Max’s half-brother, though his mouth lacked the stern lines of his older brother. His eyes held a hint of merriment Becca doubted she’d ever see on Max’s face.

He turned and saw her. “You must be Becca, Max’s new draft horse, though I must say you’re much prettier than I expected.”

At least he didn’t remark on her height like his brother. Becca smiled and stepped into the room, her hand reaching out to take his outstretched one. “You must be Nick.”

“Right at the first guess. Must be the Andrews nose, eh?” He rubbed the bump on his nose.

“Quit fishing for a compliment,” the woman next to him said.

About thirty, she had flaming red hair and the translucent skin of a true redhead. She offered a friendly smile that Becca responded to. “Shayna Baxter,” the woman said, holding out her hand.

Tate’s wife. Becca took her hand and smiled then looked around for her cousin and finally saw him in the corner.

He hadn’t changed much since they were children. Freckles still sprinkled his nose, and his good-natured face looked at the world through dreamy eyes. Pouring himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the buffet, he turned and glanced at Becca. The curiosity in his glance didn’t change, and she hoped he didn’t recognize her.

“Welcome to our happy home,” he said with a smile. “I’m Tate Baxter, and you’ve already met my wife. Just to orient you to the relationships, Max is my brother-in-law. His wife Laura was my sister.”

“So we’re all just one big happy family,” Shayna said with a grimace that belied her words.

“I see you’ve met everyone,” Max said from behind her.

Becca whirled to see him standing in the doorway. His dark, wavy hair looked wet like he’d just stepped from the shower. Dressed in khaki slacks and a red polo, he looked good. She averted her eyes and reminded herself how deceiving his good looks really were.

“There’s my favorite niece,” Tate said, smiling at Molly.

“I’m your only niece,” Molly said, coming into the room to take his hand.

“But you’d still be my favorite if I had ten nieces,” her uncle said.

Becca smiled. Tate had always had an engaging way about him, even when they were children. He’d always been a favorite of their grandmother’s.

“I want Becca to sit by me,” Molly said.

Tate put his hand over his heart. “Spurned by the love of my life for another.”

Molly giggled. “You can sit on my other side, Uncle Tate.”

“A scrap thrown to the dogs,” Tate groused. “I know where your true affection lies.”

Molly looked uncertainly up at him. “I love you, Uncle Tate. You know I do. I just wanted to get to know Becca.”

He grinned. “I was just kidding with you, Molly. I know I’m your favorite uncle.”

“I love Uncle Nick too.”

He put the back of his hand on his forehead. “Another arrow to the heart.”

“Quit fooling around,” Shayna said. “I’m famished.”

Tate’s bright countenance fell, and he took his place beside his wife without another word. Molly sat on his other side and patted the chair beside her.

Becca wondered at the tension between them. Maybe Tate wasn’t as easy to live with as she imagined. She moved to take the seat the little girl indicated. Max followed her, and she stifled a frown. She wanted to talk to Molly and Tate without his intimidating presence.

Max seemed to sense nothing amiss as he settled into his chair and reached for the basket of hot yeast rolls. He took one then passed the basket to her.

Becca took out a roll then passed the basket on. She set the roll on her saucer and folded her hands in her lap. She wanted to pray for her meal, but everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to speak.

Heat rushed up her neck. She’d always prayed before meals, even in restaurants. For the first time, she was tempted to just butter her roll and dig into her salad. She’d never realized peer pressure could be so great. Would God care if she prayed silently?

Though she knew God heard all prayer, audible or not, she realized the problem was her own attitude. Did she cave to pressure or stand up for God? She looked at her plate and took a deep breath.

“Do you mind if we pray before we eat?” she said.

Shayna’s eyebrows went almost up to her fringe of bangs. A tinkle of laughter left her mouth. “I thought with Gram gone, we didn’t have to deal with that nonsense. Looks like we have another little old lady with us in the guise of a young woman.”

“I like to pray,” Molly said. Her hand crept into Becca’s.

Shayna grimaced and opened her mouth, but Tate put his hand on hers.

“That’s enough, Shayna,” he said. “Go ahead and pray, Becca. We’re a bunch of heathens here, but a good influence wouldn’t hurt us.”

Becca knew he meant the words to be encouraging, but they felt condescending. He sat there with his liquor in his hand and a smile on his face that spoke volumes.

A hint of moisture burned the back of her eyes, and she quickly lowered her head before anyone could notice. “Thank you, Lord, for this food. Amen,” she mumbled. Heat scorched her cheeks, and she kept her head down even while the silverware began to tinkle around her. Some witness she’d been. Her mother would have been ashamed of her.

She was going to have to do better than this if she expected to accomplish her goals here before her grandmother returned.

Molly squeezed her hand, and Becca raised her head. “Grammy will like you.”

“I imagine she will,” Max said on Becca’s other side. “And we’ll soon find out. She just called and she’s heading home next week.”

“Next week? I thought you said she’d be gone a month.” Becca winced at the dismay in her voice and hoped no one had noticed.

Max nodded. “Yep. She’s lonely for home. She would have come home tomorrow if she could have managed it.”

A week. Becca’s heart took a nosedive to her toes. That wasn’t nearly enough time to find out who murdered her parents.