Page 56

CHAPTER ELEVEN

M olly chattered the entire way to town. Max tried to answer her questions, but his attention kept wandering to the woman beside him. Becca hadn’t wasted any time in gaining an ally in Gram. How had she done it? There hadn’t been time last night, and he’d been up early this morning. There were so many undercurrents in this situation, he felt he was swimming against a whirlpool in Lake Superior.

He pulled up in front of the Korpela home. Molly hopped out, and he promised to pick her up in the morning. Saija waved from the doorway. Becca waved back with what seemed to Max to be extreme vigor. They’d certainly become friends in one short visit.

Becca seemed to have a way of getting to people. Even Max had to admit he found her appealing. She was more than lovely to look at, and she had a dogged persistence he admired. Whatever had brought her here, she wasn’t a quitter.

“Ready for lunch?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m famished.”

They ate in a smoky room, and Becca kept remarking on how delicious the pasties were. Max had forgotten the way people who didn’t live in the Upper Peninsula found pasties so unique. It was such a staple up here. The rich mixture of beef, rutabaga, potatoes, and onions combined into a savory pie with a thick folded crust.

“So tell me where you grew up,” Max said. He tried to keep his tone light and conversational.

Becca shot him a glance that told him she knew exactly what he was up to. She took a bite of her pasty and took her time about chewing.

“I grew up in Chicago. This is a world apart from there.” Maybe if he offered some background of his own, she’d be more forthcoming.

“I love shopping in Chicago,” she said. “The stores along Michigan Avenue seem endless.”

“Laura always liked it too.” He shouldn’t have said anything about Laura. Becca already thought he killed his wife. At least that was the only reason he could find for the suspicion he often found in her eyes.

“How did you meet your wife?”

“I was teaching history at the University of Chicago, and she was my assistant.”

Becca nodded. “She was quite lovely.” She colored and dropped her gaze. “From her pictures, I mean. I only knew her as a child, but even then she attracted a lot of attention.”

Max narrowed his gaze, and stared at her. He wanted to know more about the time she’d spent on the island, but he knew better than to ask. She would just clam up. This whole thing had him so perplexed he didn’t know which way was up. “Yes, she was.”

“I was raised in Wyoming,” she said. “Which seems strange to me now. I haven’t been there in nearly five years.”

At last she was opening up. “Where did you go to school?”

“Indiana University.”

“What was your major?”

“English Literature.” She didn’t meet his gaze, and he wondered if she was lying about that. It would be one place for Adam to start looking.

“Do you still keep in touch with friends there?” he probed.

She nodded. “My roommate and I got an apartment together when we graduated. She was from Chicago too.”

“Was she upset when you took off to the great north country?”

“It was good timing. She was about to go off to Europe with her parents for the summer”

“What’s her name?” He tried not to show his excitement.

Becca looked away and pointed out the window. “There’s Tate. Wonder what he’s doing here?”

Max turned to look and saw Tate talking to an older man dressed all in denim and wearing a Tigers hat. “That’s Bob Chester, the boat builder. Tate has been saying he wanted to buy a new sailboat. Guess he was serious.”

“I was under the impression Tate and Shayna had some money problems,” Becca said.

Max looked at her sharply. “You don’t miss much,” he said.

“I overheard them arguing about money.”

“I think they do okay, but Tate thinks she spends too much.”

“Does she?” She twisted her dolphin necklace around her index finger.

“Don’t most women?”

“You sound a little bitter. Was Laura a spendthrift?”

He was supposed to be questioning her, but she somehow always managed to turn things around. Max stood. “We’d better get out to the Ojibwa burial ground.”

Becca dropped her napkin on her plate and stood. “Whatever you say.”

“I’ll remind you of that later,” he said with a grin. He liked her even though he didn’t trust her. He wished he didn’t.

Her long stride kept up with him. “What are you hoping to find at the burial grounds?”

“Names, anything that might jog an idea for this book. It’s amazing what you find in a cemetery.”

They drove along a dirt track with encroaching bushes brushing the truck at each side. Becca was clinging to the armrest with grim determination on her face as the truck bottomed out on several of the pits in the road. Though the rain had stopped, the moisture had turned the road into a muddy quagmire.

“Sorry,” Max said. “It’s the only way out here.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s beautiful out here.”

Max hadn’t noticed, but now that she’d said something, he saw the lush greenery and timberline with new eyes. “No one comes out here much anymore.” He pulled into a nearly hidden lane and stopped the truck. “We have to walk from here. It’s about ten minutes.”

The sound of the waves was muffled by the trees. “The Lake is just over the cliff here.” Max held the brush for her, and they stepped into the clearing. Broken headstones amid thick grass dotted the clearing at the top of the cliff. Beyond it rolled the white caps of Lake Superior, louder now without the trees.

“What a charming spot.” Becca approached the closest headstone and knelt down to look. “Rose Running Horse. Died 1875 when shot by a hunter.”

“See what I mean,” Max said, scribbling down the notation. “There’s a story in those simple words. What was the hunter doing? Was it accidental or murder? Was she where she shouldn’t have been?”

“I’ll never understand the creative process,” she said. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I think you have the most amazing voice in fiction today. I’d read your laundry list if there was nothing else coming.”

A flush of pleasure heated his veins. “Is that why you contacted me?” When she looked away, he felt cold. This was just another ploy to breach his defenses. She was calculating and knew how much her words would affect him.

“Over here,” he said curtly. He stalked to another row of tombstones. “Write down anything interesting you see. I’ll check the next row over.” The sooner he figured out what she wanted from him and got her off the island, the better.

Becca’s hand ached from writing. Max had turned all prickly when she told him how much she liked his writing. She knew it wasn’t that though. It was when she couldn’t tell him her admiration for his writing is why she’d called him. She hated these half truths. A Christian was supposed to be honest, and she’d been anything but forthcoming. She’d comforted herself with the knowledge that she hadn’t exactly lied , but the assertion was failing to bring her relief from her guilt.

She needed a break. Max was clear over at the other end of the clearing, and she was too tired to go tell him. He’d never miss her for a few minutes. She saw a path lined with rock that led along the cliff face to a set of steps carved from rock. The sun was hot now that the storm had blown past, and the glistening sand beckoned.

She put her pad and paper down on a flat rock and walked along the top of the cliff. There was a rope to hang onto as she went down the rocky steps, but it looked rotten and frayed, so she didn’t dare put too much faith in it.

As she neared the bottom of the steps, she began to hear a tuneless whistle. Curious, she wandered in the direction of the sound.

A man stood stretching his fishing nets over the rocks. His muscular back was clad in a faded blue shirt, and she couldn’t see his face. His curly black hair glistened with perspiration.

She thought to back away and continue on her way undetected, but the man turned and saw her. His features came into focus, and she recognized him. Greg Chambers, Saija’s cousin.

“Hello,” he said, shading his eyes with his hand.

“Hi,” she said, praying he didn’t recognize her. That knowledge with Saija was dangerous enough.

“You visiting here?” he said. He dropped his net and came closer.

Becca’s gaze traced the line of strong jaw and firm lips. He’d been cute as a seventeen-year-old boy. He was handsome and virile as a thirty-eight-year-old man. She’d spent her last summer here mooning over him. He’d helped the gardener one summer and had been at the house nearly every day, though he’d paid more attention to Laura than to her.

“Yes, at the Baxter’s house,” she said.

He stopped then and his gaze probed her face. “Becky. You’ve come back.”

Heat rushed to her face. “Hello, Greg.”

“You weren’t going to tell me who you were,” he stated. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“You can’t tell anyone you saw me,” she said.

He frowned. “What’s going on?”

“I’m trying to find out what happened to my parents, and I don’t want anyone to know who I am,” she said. “So please don’t give me away.”

He looked past her, and his genial face changed, and she saw anger and hatred vie for control of his face. “Here comes your murderer,” he hissed. He stepped back and began to spread his net with jerky movements.

Becca turned and saw Max coming toward her across the sand. He wore a scowl identical to Greg’s.

“I wondered where you’d gone,” he said. “I’m ready to go if you can tear yourself away from the young Adonis here.”

The contempt in his voice rattled Becca. “I—I’m ready,” she stammered.

“You got something to say, say it to my face,” Greg spat, turning to face Max.

“You’re not worth my time.” Max’s lip curled.

“Hotshot writer, you think you know it all,” Greg’s face grew crimson. “You didn’t know enough to keep your wife happy, did you?”

Max’s hands curled into fists. “We were perfectly happy until you interfered.”

Becca was beginning to get it now. Greg must have been the other man she’d heard about.

“You just couldn’t stand for her to be happy, could you?” Greg stepped closer and thrust his face into Max’s. “You won’t get away with it. Someday people will know you killed her.”

His face crumpled, and Becca thought he was going to cry. She could see his hands shake.

“I didn’t kill my wife,” Max said quietly.

Greg’s face flushed even more. “She and I were going to move to Marquette and start a new life. You couldn’t stand that, could you?”

“You’re delusional, Chambers. You weren’t the first man in Laura’s life. She liked the excitement of the chase. Once she caught a man, she grew bored with him. It was just a matter of time before she dumped you. I’m sorry for you, I really am, Chambers.” He turned and grabbed Becca’s arm. “Let’s go.”

“You’re wrong!” Greg shouted after them. “You’ll pay, Duncan. I’ll make sure you pay.”

Becca could barely keep up with Max. His angry strides carried him past the steps, and she tugged at his arm and pointed. “We go up here.”

He turned and helped her mount the first step. “You go first.” His voice was terse and angry.

Becca dared a peek at him. A muscle in his jaw worked, and she could sense a coiled strength in him. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Stay away from Chambers,” he said. “He’s bad news. I’m not convinced he didn’t have something to do with Laura’s death. He was the last person to work on the motor.”

“Could he have wanted to kill you and not Laura?” Becca was breathless as she struggled up the steep steps.

“Laura seldom went out in the boat with me.”

“Why did she go that morning?”

Max reached the top of the cliff where Becca stood. “I’ve never figured that out. I was going fishing, and she hated the smell of fish. She said she wanted to talk to me.” He shrugged. “Maybe Chambers was right, and she was really leaving me. She might have wanted to get me alone where no one could hear us yell at one another.”

Becca felt rattled as she walked back to the car with Max. She wasn’t finding out much about her own parents, but Laura’s death was steeped in mystery as well.

Max fairly vibrated with anger as he drove back to the house. It always upset him to see Chambers. And even though he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he’d been overcome with jealousy to see Becca talking to the man. She deserved someone with more integrity than one who was willing to get involved with a married woman.

He reined in his thoughts. Where had that come from? Becca was a deceiver of some kind and she deserved whatever she got. He needed to keep his distance. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. It was easier said than done.

He parked the truck in front of the manor and jumped out. Becca followed him inside.

She put her hand on his arm as they reached the porch. “I’m sorry, Max,” she said. “I hate that Laura hurt you, and that you’re still in pain over it.”

Looking down into her earnest blue eyes, Max believed her. Whatever she might be hiding, her compassion and gentleness was evident. “Thanks,” he said. The tension began to ebb from his tight muscles. His hand covered hers, and she blushed but didn’t remove it.

“I know you’re suspicious of me, Max,” she whispered. “But I’m no threat to you.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said in a low voice. “I think you’re dangerous to my peace of mind, Becca Lynn.” She was so close now he could feel her breath on his face. He gave up the struggle and bent his head to kiss her.

Her lips were warm and welcoming, then he could feel her withdrawal before she actually pulled away.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she said.

“Why not? I’m not taken and neither are you. Are you?”

“N—no,” she stammered. “But I don’t want you to repeat a past mistake. I’m your assistant, just like Laura was. It might be another case of being in close proximity.”

She might have a point. He dropped his hand from her arm. “You’d better go inside,” he said.

She gave him one last look then rushed inside. He could have sworn he saw tears on her lashes, and he hoped they weren’t his fault. He waited a few minutes then went inside.

“You had a phone call while you were gone,” Shayna said. “Your friend Adam.”

Max was wishing he hadn’t asked Adam to check out Becca. She might be hiding something, but he wanted to believe it was nothing that concerned him. He nodded to Shayna then went to his office to call Adam.

“What’s up, buddy?” he asked.

“You sure you gave me the right name?” Adam asked.

“I’m sure. Why, what did you find?”

“There’s no record of a Becca Lynn at Indiana University. And the address you gave me belongs to Sherri Lambdon.”

Max hung up the phone. Everything Becca had said was a lie. So much for believing her lies. He wanted to toss her out on her ear, but Gram would have a fit. It would take more subtlety than to confront her like a raging bull.

He glanced toward the stairs. She would be gone with Gram this afternoon, and her room would be empty. Maybe he could discover some clue to her true identity—and even more importantly—to what she was doing here on Eagle Island.

He waited until he saw Becca go off with Gram then went to the bedroom. In two minutes, he’d found her purse. Her picture on her driver’s license was dark but easily identifiable as Becca. The name on it didn’t sink in at first. Rebecca Lynn Baxter. Laura’s cousin.

No wonder she’d offered to help Gram. She was here to make sure she was Gram’s heir. Max gritted his teeth. She couldn’t be allowed to take away what belonged to Molly.