Page 49

CHAPTER FOUR

B ecca punched her pillow for the umpteenth time and bunched it under her head. The sound of waves crashing on the rocks echoed through the screen on her open window, which should have lulled her to sleep hours ago. The breeze blew the gauzy curtains into streamers in the moonlight.

She’d been here two days without accomplishing a thing. She was going to have to pry harder. It went against her nature. She normally tried not to draw attention to herself. Her size was a big enough attention-getter. But this called for drastic measures.

She tried to pray, but the words wouldn’t come. If she didn’t discover who murdered her parents before her grandmother got back, her whole plan would come falling down around her ears. Dread soured her stomach. She’d never be able to pull the wool over Gram’s eyes. She might be getting up there in years, but she’d always been observant. Mom and Dad said she hadn’t changed a bit.

If she failed to discover the murderer before her grandmother got back, her only hope was to meet with her grandmother in private for the first time, and beg her to keep Becca’s identity a secret. That was a long shot, and she knew it.

Becca sat up and drew her knees to her chest. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. The glowing green numbers said twelve-ten. Maybe she could check out the room down the hall—Laura’s room then get a glass of warm milk. There was no way she could relax enough to go to sleep.

She slipped her feet into the slippers by her bed and grabbed her robe. Cinching it around her, she opened the door and stepped into the dark hall.

Tiptoeing down the hall, she put her hand on the doorknob to Laura’s room. It was locked. She frowned then went to her room and got a bobby pin. Kneeling in front of the door, she was very conscious of every sound, every whisper of air movement from the furnace register behind her.

Maybe she should give it up. The lock resisted her prying and prodding, then finally, she heard a slight click. She turned the doorknob, and this time the door swung open. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

Reaching along the wall, she found the light switch and flipped it on. The soft glow from the overhead light illuminated a decidedly feminine room. She had to wonder how a very masculine Max liked being in this room when Laura was alive.

A lace coverlet lay over a pink satin spread on the bed. More pink and lace festooned the windows. Lovely glass perfume bottles sat on a mirrored tray at the dresser. Even the bedside lamps dripped with lace.

Becca went to the closet and opened the door. All Laura’s clothes were still inside. She touched a red sweater. Laura’s favorite color had been red.

Max must have loved her very much to have kept everything like she left it. Becca surprised herself by feeling a touch of sympathy for her gruff boss.

“What are you doing on Mommy’s room?” Molly stood in the doorway rubbing her eyes.

Becca whirled at the child’s voice and put her hand to her throat. “You scared me out of five years of my life, Molly.”

“Daddy doesn’t like anyone to come in here.”

“I was just looking around. We should get you back to bed. Let’s keep this our secret, okay? Just like the attic?” Becca hated to feel she was blackmailing a child. “Never mind, you can tell your daddy if you want. I won’t tell about the attic.”

“I won’t tell either. I want you to stay and Daddy might make you leave if he knew you were here.” Molly yawned and leaned against the door.

“Let’s both go. I’m sorry if I was trespassing.” She took Molly’s hand and walked her down the hall to the child’s bedroom. After tucking her into bed, Becca stood in the hall wondering what to do next.

At the top of the sweeping staircase, she heard the murmur of voices.

“Stay away from my wife.”

Becca hardly recognized her cousin’s voice. The venom in it didn’t sound like Tate. She tiptoed down the steps. The argument seemed to be coming from the drawing room. She slipped into the dining room and stood in the doorway where she could hear. Her hand to her throat, she listened to see who he was talking to.

“I don’t think I’m your problem.” Max’s voice was even and measured. “You might check out your own attitude toward your wife.”

“You’ve got a lot of room to talk,” Tate spat. “Your own wife died trying to escape you.”

“We’re talking about your wife not mine.”

Becca’s heart raced at the stress in Max’s voice and leaned in to hear better.

“Let’s talk about your wife for a change. Everyone in this house has tiptoed around you for four years. You’re no grieving widower anymore. Maybe we can be honest, man to man, for a change.” Tate’s voice prodded with laser precision.

“I’m going to bed. You’ve had too much to drink.”

“That’s always your way, isn’t it, Max? The strong, silent type draws women like black flies in June. But you couldn’t keep your own wife from straying.”

“You should know.” Max’s voice was tight. “You encouraged her.”

“Is that what this is—payback time? I didn’t think you had such passion in you.” Tate’s voice slurred. “It’s no wonder my sister couldn’t take your coldness.”

“I’m not talking to you when you’re like this.”

Max’s voice grew closer, and Becca looked frantically around for somewhere to hide. Heavy brocade curtains hung at the window, and she slipped behind them. Just in time too, as Max stomped past where she’d stood moments before.

Becca held her breath, then his footsteps faded. She wanted to get back to her room, but she was afraid to move. Tate was still in the drawing room. She waited several minutes then peeked out. The dining room was empty, but she could still hear Tate muttering to himself in the drawing room.

She stepped from behind the curtains and raced up the steps, her inclination for warm milk forgotten. At the top of the steps, she turned to go to her room and encountered someone standing in the hall.

She uttered a shriek that was quickly stifled by a hard hand on her mouth.

“Shhh! You’ll wake the house.” Nick’s breath whispered across her ear.

She relaxed in his grip. “You scared the life out of me,” she whispered.

“Lots of people prowling around tonight.” He took her arm and escorted her toward her room. “I wouldn’t wander at night, if I were you.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I wanted some warm milk.”

“Next time you want to wander, come get me and we can look at the moonlight together.”

His voice was as warm as the milk she’d craved earlier, but it made her draw back. She wasn’t used to a fast rush like that. Could he really find her that attractive? He had Max’s good looks with none of the hard edges.

Becca pulled her hand out of his and pushed open the door to her room. “Thanks for making sure I made it back safely.”

He smiled. “Next time we’ll wander together.”

Still smiling, she closed the door. It felt good to be admired like that. She tumbled into her bed and pulled the sheet up around her neck. Laura must have had an affair, with Tate’s blessing. The hostility between Tate and Max seemed to be deep and hard to bridge. Did Gram know?

And did it have anything to do with her parents’ death?

Molly sidled into Max’s office, but he barely noticed as he glared at the first page of his novel. Bunk, pure hogwash. Panic played at the edge of his mind. What if his four-year hiatus from writing had destroyed his creativity? Maybe the muse had left him for all time. No editor would want this drivel. He shoved the keyboard away from him and ran his hand through his hair.

“Daddy?”

“What, sweetheart?” Maybe he should take up another profession. Carpentry maybe.

“Daddy, when are you going to get married again?”

His head snapped up. “Where did that come from? I’m not getting married again, Molly. We’re happy, just the two of us, aren’t we?”

Molly angled her body against a round table by the window and played with the fringes on the crocheted doily on top of it. “Uh-huh. But it was nicer when there were three of us. And I can’t have a baby brother or sister if you don’t get married.”

“You don’t want to share me with a brother or sister anyway,” he said with a smile. He held out his hand to her and she came to him.

“I wouldn’t mind. I thought maybe Uncle Tate and Aunt Shayna would have a baby cousin for me, but they fight too much. That wouldn’t be good. So we have to have one for ourselves.”

Max tried to hide his amusement. “There aren’t any women around to marry. They’re all taken.”

“There’s Becca. She’s nice.”

Max’s grin faded. “I don’t think so, Molly. She’s not my type.”

“She’s my type. She listens to me.”

“I listen, don’t I?”

Molly nodded. “But Becca is a girl.”

“When have you talked to her enough to know you’d like her? She’s only been here two days.”

“I went to her room when she was looking through the drawers.”

“What drawers?”

“In the dresser.”

Why would she be going through the drawers? The lower ones in the guest room just had old memorabilia from Gram’s grandkids.

“She was crying.”

Max’s scowl deepened, and all his earlier suspicions about why Becca would choose to hole up here came flooding back. She was hiding something. But what?

Becca brought down her packet of licorice tea from her bedroom and fixed a cup. She took her tea and an apple to the verandah and settled onto the chair. This was her favorite spot in the entire estate. From here she could see the formal English garden her grandfather had built.

If she followed the path through the woods, it came out to another stone house, this one smaller and crumbling to ruin. The folly, Gram called it. It sat on a sheer cliff and looked out on the water from the other direction.

As a child, she’d loved to roam the ruins until the summer she fell and twisted her ankle during one such excursion. Her parents had forbidden her to venture there again, but she’d sometimes sneaked a short visit when her ankle healed.

Maybe she’d just take a stroll through the folly after breakfast. She glanced at her watch. And maybe not. It was almost time to get to work. She was relishing the research, even though Max usually only answered her questions in clipped tones.

She was determined to do a good job and show the maddening man she was capable and not some airhead like most people saw her. Mom always said a capable, organized woman lurked under Becca’s surface flightiness, and it would come out in due time. Becca had decided it was time to prove her mother’s prediction.

“Ready to get started?

She whirled at the sound of Max’s voice. “Now?”

He tapped his watch. “It’s eight o’clock.”

She gulped the last of her tea and stood. “Sorry, I lost track of the time.”

He tossed her a steno pad. “I brought out a stack of books I’ve brought over from the mainland. You can start going through those today.”

“I like reading.” She fell into step beside him, and they walked to the library.

“I need to make sure I have myths and culture details exactly right. Did you bring me a copy of your thesis on Ojibwa culture? I’ve been forgetting to ask.”

“Yep. I’ve got it in my room.”

Genuine pleasure lit his dark eyes, and Becca stared at the way his smile transformed his face. She blinked. Maybe he wasn’t as dour as he appeared. No wonder Shayna found him attractive.

His smile faded, and he resumed his stride toward the library. Becca hurried to keep up.

“Put the copy on my desk by this afternoon.”

No please or may I, just a flat order. Becca’s warm feelings washed away. She gritted her teeth. “Say please?” she said in her sweetest tone.

He stopped again, and this time she was too angry to notice. She plowed into his chest, and he caught her by the shoulders. The warmth of his hands seeped through her cotton top. She jerked away and rubbed her tingling arms.

His gaze probed her face, but she lifted her chin and stared him down. A smile tugged at his lips. “You’ve got spunk, Becca. I like that.”

She struggled to keep her indignation, but his smile diffused her outrage. A smile tugged at her lips. “You’re impossible. I’m more than happy to share my research, but can’t you ask first?”

“You’re right.” He spread his fingers, palms up. “Let’s start again this morning. I’m a little out of sorts, and I took it out on you.”

That was as close to an apology as a man was likely to make, so Becca gave him one final glare then nodded. “Fine.”

“May I read your research?”

He sounded almost humble, but his guileless smile didn’t fool Becca. Max was a barracuda in blue gill scales. The next few weeks wouldn’t be pleasant. But she’d worked for sharks before, and she could handle him.

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll get you a copy at lunch.” she said. “Ready to get started?”

As she pored over the first of the twenty or so tomes at the desk, she found her gaze straying to where he sat at a corner desk. Pecking away on his laptop computer, he was managing to ignore her. She wished she could do the same to him.

She stretched and went to the coffee pot. “Want a cup?”

“Sure.” He smiled and accepted the cup she offered.

“Is Molly close to her grandmother?”

“Very. Two peas in a pod. Molly can’t wait for her to get home.”

“Is she happy living here on the island?”

“She loves it, though I worry about her not having enough playmates. There are a few kids in town she plays with, but there’s not much variety. I’m not sure what I’ll do when school starts. Gram has offered to hire a governess, but I think she needs more interaction with other kids.”

“She seems an adult in a child’s body,” Becca agreed.

It appeared Molly was Gram’s favorite. Had Becca’s parents’ arrival upset any expectations for inheritance? And if so, how far would Max go to protect his daughter’s interests? His pirate good looks were in keeping with everything she suspected: murder, adultery—maybe even fleecing her grandmother.

As his assistant, she was in an excellent position to prove all she suspected. But not if her grandmother exposed her. She found it hard to focus on the dry research books in front of her with that worry hanging over her head. What would next week bring?

She sat back at her desk and pulled the book toward her then shoved it away and stood again. “I’m sorry, but I need a break. You mind if I take off for about an hour?”

Max looked up, his gaze lingering on his computer screen. “Go ahead. Maybe you can get me your research while you’re wandering around.”

He obviously wasn’t going to forget that. Becca nodded. “I think I’ll take a walk and see if the fresh air clears my head.”

“Stay away from the rocks on the south. The cliff edge crumbled some in the last storm. It’s not safe right now.” He bent back to his computer.

She nodded, though he was paying her no attention. Once outside in the bright sunshine, she felt she’d been released from prison. Her inner urgency to do something sprang to life as well. Maybe a stroll through the folly would give her inspiration on how to approach her grandmother.

Taking a can of soda with her, Becca followed the brick pathway through the beds of daylilies and poppies, their bright flowers cheering her spirits immensely. Everywhere she turned, old memories resurrected. Keeping her cover from being blown was going to prove difficult.

The path through the woods was overgrown. Evidently no one wandered to the folly like she used to. She pushed through the overgrown vegetation and fifteen minutes later stood behind the folly.

Cornish settlers had found their way here from the Keweenaw where they’d settled to work in the copper mines, and she gazed on the nineteenth century ruins of a Cornish cottage. Three rooms still stood, but they had crumbled even more since she was here last. Wildflower sprigs poked through the rubble in spots, and she made her way to the perch where she used to watch the fishermen casting their nets offshore.

Settling onto a large piece of granite, she clasped her knees to her chest and grew still. The wind blew her hair around her head in a swirl, and she lifted her face into the sunshine. The scent of the water and the lullaby of the waves soothed her.

A sound other than that of the wind and waves penetrated her reverie. Like someone throwing stones. She cocked her head and listened. Dusting her hands on her jeans, she got up and followed the noise. It sounded like it was down the grassy slope. A cave was this direction, if she remembered rightly.

Holding to exposed tree roots, Becca slid down the incline and followed the sound. The waves reached for her when she got to the bottom. She avoided the cold spray and scrambled around the promontory edge of land.

The cave’s opening was at eye height. She’d thought it so high up the slope when she was young. She could climb to it now if she wanted. Glancing around, she saw the footholds she could use. A sense of adventure quickened her breath. She’d always wanted to see inside. Setting her can of soda on the sand, she began the short climb toward the cave.

A pebble rattled past her cheek, then another. She glanced up in time to see a person’s head vanish from view. Seconds later a boulder rumbled toward her, gathering speed as it came. She dove against the rock face and scrabbled the last few inches to the cave.

Just in time, she tumbled into the cave, shards of rock cutting her cheek. Debris rained past the opening then the boulder hurtled past, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Dazed from the near miss, Becca sat up and rubbed her stinging cheek. Her fingers came away bloody, and she stared at her fingers incredulously. She wiped her hand on her jeans.

She leaned out of the cave opening and looked down. The boulder was big enough that she could slide out of the cave and stand on it without climbing down. Reaction set in, and Becca began to tremble. A few more seconds and she would have been lying squashed beneath the boulder.

Someone just tried to kill her. This was no accident. She closed her eyes and struggled to remember the brief glimpse of the face she’d seen above her. Nothing came. She’d seen just a flash. It was there and gone so quickly she wasn’t sure if it was a man or a woman.

Staring at the boulder, she decided it had to be a man. A woman would never have been able to shove it over the cliff. Even a man would have to be stronger than the norm.

The cave’s cold began to seep into her bones, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to climb down yet. What if the man was still up there? She glanced around the cave. The opening was large enough to allow sunlight to illuminate it to a depth of about ten feet. Darkness hid the rest.

Becca took a step, then another and another. Keeping her hand on the cave wall, she wished she had a flashlight. Who knew what kind of creepy-crawlies were back in here? The drip-drip of moisture came from somewhere inside the cave, as well as the musty scent of stale water. The light from the opening grew dimmer, and she knew she should stop and turn around, but the thrill of the unknown kept her feet moving forward.

She came to a fork in the path. No way could she go any farther. Around the corner would be total darkness. Reluctantly, she began to retrace her steps. First chance she got, she’d come back with a flashlight.

She heard a sliding noise then what sounded like breathing. Her chest grew tight. Someone was in here with her. She froze, her breath loud in the silence. Just around the corner. Barely breathing, she bolted for the cave opening as a figure leaped toward her.