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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

M ax pretended not to notice Becca come rushing inside with her lipstick smeared and her face flushed. He tried to stifle the feelings of jealousy that rose to choke him. He failed. Gritting his teeth, he tried to recapture his thoughts on his manuscript, but it was no use. He’d lost the muse.

The rest of the family sat around the living room. Gram was knitting in her chair, Molly’s new kitten playing with a ball of yarn at her feet. Shayna had come in a few moments ago, but she was morose and grim as she flipped through the channels on television. Tate was in a near stupor on the couch. A normal evening at the Baxter house. Luckily, Molly was already in bed.

He heard Becca rush upstairs then her door slammed. Moments later Nick came inside. A tiny spot of lipstick was at the corner of his mouth. Max found his gaze drawn to it. He simultaneously wanted to throttle his brother and quiz him at the same time. He controlled himself.

“Fun evening?” he asked casually.

“It was okay. Did you tell them all the news?” Nick asked Gram. He walked past Max and dropped onto the couch next to Tate.

“What news?” Shayna’s frown eased as she looked up.

The click of the knitting needles stopped then resumed at an even faster pace. “I did not,” Gram said. “But now that you’re all here, I might as well. I’ve decided to leave Windigo Manor to Becca.”

There was a collective gasp from all parties in the room. Max curled his fingers into his palms. “What about Molly?” he asked.

“You’ll all have a share,” Gram said. “Molly too. But Windigo Manor should go to the eldest Baxter. Will was my eldest son, so his child should inherit the house and enough money to keep it up.”

“You don’t even know if she is Will’s daughter!” Shayna moved restlessly.

“I’ve seen enough to believe it,” Gram said. “Her mannerisms are very like Will’s, and she looks like him. The longer I’ve watched Becca, the more I’m convinced.”

“She could look like him and still be his niece and not his daughter,” Tate said, rousing enough to take part in the discussion.

“You should think about this,” Shayna said. “Tate and I have been here for you all these years. Becca has been here like two minutes. It’s not fair!”

“I agree.” Becca stood in the doorway. Her face was pale and set.

Max noticed the strain around her mouth. “So you got what you came for. I hope you’re pleased.” He couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice.

“I don’t want the house or the money. I told her that.” Becca swallowed, and the long line of her throat moved. Then she shivered as though cold. “I can’t live here, Gram. I have school to finish.” There was a pleading note in her voice.

“You can come back when you’re done,” Gram said.

“I’m not Will’s daughter!” Becca sounded near tears.

Max found it hard to squelch the sympathy for her that kept rising in his chest. Maybe she hadn’t planned it. She seemed so innocent. He reminded himself how Laura could appear the same way.

Gram’s face softened with love. “Whoever is your father, you’re my own dear granddaughter, Becca. I’ve seen the spirit you have, the tender love in your heart, and you love God. Those are all the very qualities I want for the person who is fit to care for Windigo Manor for future generations.”

Tears sparkled on Becca’s lashes. “You haven’t seen Jake or Wynne in years. They’re more qualified than me—especially Jake. Wait until you meet them.”

“What am I—chopped liver?” Tate slurred the words and staggered to his feet.

Gram sighed. “Tate, you’ve had too much to drink. Let’s discuss this in the morning.”

Tate made a sweeping motion with his arm and almost fell. “We’ll discuss it now,” he shouted. “I’ve served you faithfully for years, and this is the thanks I get?”

“You tell her,” Shayna muttered. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Gram then at Becca.

“It’s about suitability,” Gram said. “I love you, Tate, but you’d have this place mortgaged within a year to fund your drinking and gambling.”

“I don’t gamble,” he protested.

“You lost fifty thousand dollars last week, so what would you call it?”

“Playing the stock market. There are always risks.”

“But you seem to seek out the riskiest propositions out there,” Gram said. “You haven’t shown me you can handle money. I’m sure the amount I’ll be leaving you will be gone in weeks. I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be.”

Max wanted to protest but he knew it would do no good. Then Gram looked at him.

“You could have handled the estate with great skill and dedication, Max. But you’re not my own flesh and blood.”

“Molly is,” he reminded her. His chest felt tight.

“She is,” Gram agreed. “And I love her dearly, you know that. But I must do what’s right, and I think this is the right thing for all of us.”

“Why are we even talking about it?” Becca asked. “You’re going to live many more years, Gram. We won’t have to worry about this for a long time. By then Molly may be grown up, and you can leave it to her.”

“I know you’d all like to think I’m invincible, but these past few months have clearly shown me how fleeting life really is,” Gram said. “I hope to be around to dangle great-grandchildren on my knee, but I’m nearly seventy. And days like today I feel every minute of that time.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Becca went to her grandmother and knelt by her chair.

Gram smiled and patted her face. “See what I mean? You have a heart that yearns to help, Becca. That’s a rare thing. You’ll care for Windigo Manor.” Her hand dropped to her side, and she stood. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Remember I love you all, and no one will be left out of the will. You’ll all have your share.” She patted Becca’s head then left the living room.

Becca slowly rose then sat in Gram’s vacated chair. “I suppose you all hate me now,” she said.

Max watched her as her lips trembled. She was a good actress. Really good. Even Tate seemed taken in by her.

Tate’s face softened as he watched her, and he leaned forward. “Hey, if it can’t come to me, I’m glad it’s you, Becca. And you’ll never toss me out on my ear, right?”

Becca smiled. “Of course not, Tate. We’re family.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “Oh why are we talking like this anyway? Gram is going to live a long, long time. And I’m going to prove I’m Becca Baxter, daughter of Mason and not Will.”

“I don’t see how you can prove that,” Max said. “You heard Gram. She’s convinced. With all parties concerned dead, there will be no proof.”

Becca paled further and she looked down at her hands. “I can try,” she whispered.

“Well, I for one, think Gram made a good choice,” Shayna said.

Max glanced at her in surprise. He’d thought she would raise more of a fuss than that.

Shayna saw his expression. “What, you think I can’t see Becca is real quality? I admit I was angry for a few minutes, but there is plenty of money to around. I’m convinced she’s not lying now.”

Becca’s eyes widened. “You thought I would lie about that?”

“You lied once,” she pointed out.

Becca’s lips tightened. “And I confessed. I could have kept my mouth shut.”

“Gram was sure to leak it as soon as you told her.” He thrust his hands in his jean pockets.

“She recognized me!”

“I’m not doubting you’re who you say you are. I saw your I.D. Though I guess you could have forged that.”

“I didn’t forge anything. I’m telling the truth.”

“So you say.” He wasn’t sure why he was goading her like this. He didn’t doubt she was really Rebecca Baxter. The truth was obvious. Now. But he didn’t like being lied to.

She swallowed and looked away. He didn’t know why he liked looking at her so much. She was striking in a way that made it hard to ignore her the way he wanted. High cheekbones and a riveting smile.

“Lay off her, Max,” Shayna said sharply. “You can make someone bleed with that tongue of yours. She’s entitled to Gram’s estate. More so than the rest of us.”

“I can’t take any more of this. I’m just going to bed.” Becca got up and went toward the doorway to the entry.

Max knew he should apologize. Gram could leave her money to anyone she wanted. But the words stuck in his throat. Becca’s coming had robbed his daughter. It would be hard to forgive her for that.

Becca wasn’t crying by the time she got to her room. She was mad, furious in fact. She hadn’t asked for any of this. All she wanted was to find out what really happened to her parents. Now here she was, not even sure who her father really was, hated by the rest of the family, regarded as a traitor by a man she was beginning to suspect she could love.

“I hate this, Lord,” she said petulantly. She grabbed a pillow from the bed and clutched it to her chest before sinking on the floor. “None of this has turned out like I thought it would.”

So who killed her parents? Fate? Or did a murderer lurk behind some smiling face she had grown to trust? She didn’t believe any of them were capable of cold-blooded murder. Maybe she should just give up and go back to school.

No. She wasn’t going to quit this time. She was done with quitting. Giving up was why she was still in school at age twenty-eight. She changed majors so many times Jake had jokingly called her a jack-in-the-box instead of a jack of all trades. Maybe he was right. She’d hopped from goals so many times, she’d lost count. But this was too important to mess up. She would stay the course.

But only if God helped her. It was too hard to do on her own, and she realized that was what her problem had been. She was trying to prove she could do it instead leaning on Him. He could give her the strength to see this through.

She got in her pajamas and crawled under the covers. A bloated moon shone through the window. She read her Bible then turned out the light. Laying in the dark, she prayed for strength of purpose and for God to show His will for her life. Maybe she was supposed to be caretaker for this property. She wanted to be open to what God had in store for her. She finally drifted to sleep.

She dreamed she was underwater. Seaweed wrapped around her neck, choking her. She fought the long green strands, tugging on them with all her might as she struggled for breath. The cold water of Lake Superior numbed her limbs, and she flailed against the creeping paralysis.

The seaweed turned into a pillow pressed against her face and a hand on her throat. Becca couldn’t see her assailant, but came awake and began to fight with all her might. She struggled against the muffling folds of the pillow. Her thrashing wrapped the bedclothes around her in a tight embrace, but she managed to get one leg free and kicked out with her right foot.

The pressure on her throat lessened a fraction, and she flung out an arm, connecting with someone’s face. She felt whisker stubble, then the pillow fell away, and a dark figure dashed from the room. Her vision was too blurry to make out any features. Sick and shaken, she rolled onto the floor and lay there. She drew air in past a sore throat and rubbed her neck.

She should call for help, but she knew she’d never get more than a squeak out past the pain. Rocking to her hands and knees, she retched weakly, but nothing came up. Sucking in her breath, she tried to slow her racing heart.

She grabbed the edge of the bed and managed to get to her feet. Her legs trembled and she swayed as she walked toward the door. Max. Becca wanted Max. His strength and calm assurance. He would know what to do.

Holding to the wall, she wandered down the hall and rapped on his door. There was no answer. She knocked again a little louder. When there was still no response, she twisted the doorknob and stumbled into the room.

“Max?” Flicking on his light, she saw his bed was empty.

She leaned against the doorjamb, not sure she could stay standing. Could Max have been her attacker? She didn’t want to believe that, but Molly had the most to lose by Gram’s decision. If Becca were out of the way, Molly would get a full share with everyone else.

“Becca? What’s going on?” Max stood behind her.

Still fully dressed, his hair was rumpled. Was he disheveled from the struggle with her? Heartsick, she wobbled where she stood.

“What’s wrong?”

“So—someone tried to kill me,” she rasped out.

His face changed from mild concern to amusement. “Were you dreaming?”

She tilted up her chin to expose her throat. “Does this look like a dream?”

His face darkened, and he examined her neck, touching it with gentle fingers. She flinched, and he sucked in his breath. “Who did this?”

“I don’t know. Where were you?” She winced at the accusation in her voice.

He scowled. “Molly woke up with a nightmare as I was going to bed, and I laid down with her for a while.”

That explained his rumpled appearance. Maybe. Becca wanted to believe him.

“Show me,” he said. He took her arm and helped her back down the hall.

In spite of her suspicion, Becca couldn’t help feeling better as she clung to his arm.

He flipped on the light in her room. Her bedclothes were in a heap on the floor where she’d left them, and one pillow was beside the bed.

“I woke up with a pillow over my face and someone choking me,” she whispered.

“Man or woman?”

“Man. I felt whiskers.” Becca glanced at Max’s face and examined the whiskers on his face and chin.

“Quit looking at me like that!” he snapped. “You have to know I wouldn’t hurt you, Becca.”

She wanted that to be true. She nodded. “Okay, but you have to admit it looks suspicious.”

He didn’t answer but strode forward and grabbed the blankets from the floor. Tossing them onto the bed, he glanced around the room.

Becca saw something at his feet. “What’s that?” she asked, joining him in the middle of the room. She knelt and grabbed a familiar fountain pen. She turned it over to reveal the initials MD. Max Duncan.

She remembered when she first came here and he wouldn’t let her use this pen. No one used it, he said. Something squeezed at the hope she’d nurtured. “I think this is yours,” she said.

He glanced to the pen in her hand. “My pen. How did it get in here?”

“You tell me.” Tears burned the back of her eyes. “I’m going to call the sheriff.” Expecting him to leap toward her, she backed away from him toward the phone on the dresser.

“I’m not going to attack you,” he said.

His face softened with a plea she had to steel her heart against.

“I don’t know how my pen got in here, but obviously someone wants to implicate me in this attack. Call the sheriff.” He held out the phone.

Becca snatched up the phone and dialed. When the dispatcher answered, she told her what had happened, and the woman said a deputy would be out in a few minutes.

“It wasn’t me,” Max said when she hung up the phone.

“Then how did your pen get here? You always have it in your pocket. You wouldn’t even let me borrow it in your office.”

“Someone must have taken it.” He patted his pocket. “I didn’t realize it was missing. Surely, if I’d attacked you, I’d have a better story made up.”

Oh, how she longed to believe him. She felt hurt and shattered inside by his betrayal. One minute he’d kissed her and the next he tried to choke her. Was he some kind of psychotic?

He took a step toward her, and she shrank back. Consternation filled his face. “Becca, you’re killing me.”

He was the one trying to murder someone. She held out a hand to ward him off. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll scream.”

He stopped and shook his head. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered.

“What’s going on?” Gram stood in the doorway. Her robe belted around her ample figure, she blinked sleepily.

“Someone tried to choke Becca. The sheriff is on his way. She thinks I tried to kill her.”

“Oh my dear, are you all right?” Gram stepped into the room and put her arms around Becca.

Becca burst into tears and buried her face against her grandmother’s shoulder. “I’m scared,” she sobbed. “I want to go home. I want my mother.”

Gram patted her shoulder. “There, there. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’m sure it wasn’t Max who tried to hurt you, but we’ll figure it out.”

Why would no one believe her? The proof was still clutched in her hand.

Her hand.

She dropped the pen on the floor. “I shouldn’t have touched it,” she said. “The sheriff will want to dust for fingerprints.”

“It was likely someone who broke in and took Max’s pen to implicate him.”

Becca knew she’d find no ally in Gram. She wouldn’t want to believe anyone in the house could be guilty of attempted murder. But the stakes had been raised by Gram’s announcement, and Becca knew it would take a miracle to live long enough to collect any inheritance.