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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T he sheriff had taken Max’s favorite pen in for fingerprints, though he’d muttered something about it likely being an attacker from the village.

Max couldn’t blame Becca for being suspicious, but it hurt all the same. The evidence seemed overwhelming. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to have lost the pen during a struggle with Becca.

But he hadn’t been there. He curled his fingers into the palms of his hands. Becca was in danger, and he needed to do something about it. But how could he when she suspected him of the murder attempt? The helpless feeling made him feel caged.

The entire household was still assembled in the living room. Was it his imagination or did everyone look at him with suspicion? Molly rubbed her eyes and leaned against his chest.

“Let’s get you to bed, baby girl,” he said. He stood, cradling her against his chest. “I’m bushed. I’ll see all of you tomorrow.”

“How can you think about sleeping at a time like this?” Shayna demanded. “Who knows if someone will creep back in and murder us all in our beds?”

“I think you’re being melodramatic,” Max said dryly. “Becca seems to be the target. And I need to figure out why.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tate sat slumped in a chair by the window. “Someone really killed her parents, and they don’t want her to discover their identity.”

“I don’t believe that,” Nick said. “I still think it was an unfortunate accident.” He shot a glance toward Becca. “Sorry.”

“Then why is someone trying to kill Becca? You’re not making sense Nick.” Max shot his brother a quelling look.

Nick shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.” He rumpled his hair and slumped back in his chair.

Becca looked pale but composed. Max had to admire her spirit. She’d answered the sheriff’s questions with quiet composure. Her bruised throat looked sore, and he wanted to throttle whoever had hurt her like that.

His gaze wandered around the room. Someone didn’t want Becca to inherit Windigo Manor.

Mrs. Jeffries wandered in with her housedress rumpled and the collar askew. “I heard the Windigo tonight. I knew something bad was going to happen. Maybe it was the Windigo himself that attacked you,” she told Becca.

Becca flinched and wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t think so, Mrs. Jeffries. God wouldn’t let a demon harm me.”

“It’s just a superstition,” Shayna said.

“There are demons in the world,” Becca said. “But they can’t harm a Christian. I’m not afraid.” She said the words with a hint of defiance, and Max admired her spirit.

“I’m not nearly as worried about some mythical creature as I am about a flesh and blood person who is targeting Becca.” Molly was asleep by now, and he cradled her gently.

“You’ll see,” Mrs. Jeffries said with a sniff. She dropped the tray of tea onto the coffee table with a clatter and stalked out of the room.

“You’ve offended her,” Gram said.

“She’s getting worse,” Max said. He stared after the housekeeper. Could Mrs. Jeffries be behind this? Maybe she was upset about Gram leaving the house to Becca. He resolved to feel her out tomorrow sometime and see if she harbored any animosity toward Becca.

“See you in the morning,” he said, carrying his daughter out of the room and up the stairs. He put her into bed then stood looking out her window at the moon shimmering on the Lake.

He saw a figure flit between the trees. An animal? He stared through the gloom but didn’t see anything else moving. He turned and exited Molly’s room and went down the back stairs through the kitchen and out the backdoor.

The scent of dew hung heavy in the air, and pine scent wafted to his nose as he trod over pine needles into the woods.

Once in the woods, he stopped and cocked his head, listening for any sounds other than crickets and the wind soughing through the treetops. Nothing.

Maybe it had been his imagination. He retraced his steps to the house and went inside. He found Becca in the kitchen putting her cup into the dishwasher.

She flinched when she saw him and started to turn toward the door.

“Becca, wait,” he said.

He could see her visibly shrink as he approached where she stood by the sink. “It wasn’t me in your room tonight,” he said urgently. “I want to help you figure it out. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“At least not until your manuscript is done, is that it?”

Her caustic tone stung. “That’s not it at all! I—I care about you. I admit I’m flat out scared that this is more than we think it is.”

“ You’re scared? What about me?”

He put his hands on her arms, but she didn’t pull away. “Let me help you. I thought maybe there was something developing between us, Becca, something special.”

“I did too,” she admitted. Her blue eyes searched his face.

“Don’t let unfounded suspicion destroy it,” he whispered. His right hand trailed up her arm. She flinched as he touched her neck. “I’d like to kill whoever did this to you.”

Her eyes widened, then he leaned closer and kissed her, relishing the taste of her, the scent of her perfume.

She held herself stiffly at first then returned his kiss. He held her close then buried his face in her fragrant hair. “Let me help you,” he whispered again.

She pulled away. “It really and truly wasn’t you in my room tonight?”

“I swear it wasn’t, Becca. Get a Bible and I’ll take an oath on it.”

“I believe you,” she said. Her hand stroked his cheek. “Actually, I don’t think he was as grizzly as you are tonight.”

Her hand was soft and warm, and he pressed his cheek against it. “I want to keep you safe. Let me walk you to your room.” He had to let go of her soon, or he wouldn’t be able to walk away.

It had been so long since he felt such tugging toward a woman. The passion he’d felt for Laura had been youthful infatuation. When he’d finally seen her real personality, Molly was on the way. What he felt for Becca was different. He admired her as a person first, her integrity and determination. What did she feel for him? He didn’t think he was ready to find out yet.

She went ahead of him up the back stairs and down the hall to her room. “Goodnight,” she whispered, staring up at him.

He wanted to kiss her again but stepped back instead. “In the morning we’ll see what we can discover about all this. Call me if you need me.”

“I will.” She stepped inside the room and flipped on the light then shut the door.

He went to his room and undressed. Lying on the bed, he felt a sense of hope he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.

The next week passed with Becca on tenterhooks. She spooked at every sound and shadow and tried never to be alone. Max’s gentle attention was like water on a parched garden as he escorted her to church and followed her around in the evenings.

On Monday morning, Becca woke to the sound of birds chirping. She rolled over and looked at the clock. Nearly nine o’clock! She’d be late for work. She quickly showered and rushed downstairs.

The house felt empty. She wandered through the dining room and saw Shayna and Tate on the back patio. She stepped outside and lifted a hand in greeting. “Where is everyone?”

“Gram went to town with Nick. She wanted to stop at the store for something. I think she just wanted to get out for a while,” Tate said. “Max took Molly out to the graveyard. Today is Laura’s birthday, and Molly wanted to take flowers to the grave.”

“That’s sweet.” Becca snagged a cinnamon roll from the tray in the middle of the table then poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot.

“What’s on your agenda today?” Shayna asked.

“I want to work on Max’s notes then tackle the last of Gram’s filing. I’m about done with inputting everything into the computer.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Becca shook her head. “Thanks but I’ve got it under control. What are you going to do today?”

“I might go to the mainland. My spa is having a special, and I desperately need a facial.” Shayna rubbed at the side of her face. “This wind is so drying. Tate is going along. He has some business to attend to.”

Becca wished she could get away from her worries for a while. But she had work to do. She finished her roll and went to the office. Since Max was gone, she decided to work on Gram’s work first. She pulled out the last stack of papers to be filed and began to sort them into piles.

Halfway into the stack, she ran into an envelope. May darling , it said on the outside. Was it to Max? Her hand hovered over the flap. She knew it was none of her business, but maybe it was related to her parents’ deaths. With a decisive flip, she opened it and pulled out the single sheet of paper. Her gaze traveled over the flamboyant writing. It was signed by Laura.

Who was it written to? She glanced at the beginning. My darling, it said. Max or the man she’d been seeing? Intrigued, she began to read:

My darling, I can’t tell you how eager I am to be with you always. Soon this boring life on the island will be a thing of the past. I know you’ll love San Francisco. We’ll meld into the crowd and no one will ever find us and drag us back here again.

But we must be careful. Max suspects something, and if he discovers our plans, I don’t know what he’ll do. Something drastic. He’ll stop at nothing to make sure I’m miserable.

He was staring at me last night, and I could almost swear I saw murder in his eyes. So be careful, my darling. Next week we start our new life.

Yours forever, Laura.

Her hands were shaking. Becca rubbed her slick palms against her jeans then fumbled as she put the letter back into the envelope. Had Max killed Laura? She was frightened of him. Had he seen this letter or had Gram found it and stashed it here?

Becca wanted to believe the tender kisses he’d given her, wanted to trust the honesty she saw in his eyes. But it might get her killed. All the bright hope she’d felt growing this past week seeped away.

She was living in a fairytale. Max couldn’t be ruled out of the equation. The most she could do was stay on her guard and try to sniff out the truth.

She stuck the envelope back into the drawer and pulled up the financial program on the computer. By the time the morning was over, she’d put the last of the receipts in the computer.

Gram came in. “You work too hard,” she scolded. “Every time I see you, you’re working on something. Max is gone. Why don’t you take it easy this morning?”

Becca managed a smile. She wanted to ask her grandmother about the letter she’d found, but the words stuck in her throat.

Gram leaned over and touched Becca’s throat. “The bruises are fading. How does it feel?”

“Still a little sore but okay.” Becca pushed away from the desk. “I got your books in order.” She told her grandmother the balance in the various accounts.

A look of distress crossed Gram’s face. “Are you sure about the balance?” she asked slowly. “I rarely look at the books. Max takes care of all that, but I thought--.” She broke off and looked away.

“Yes, I connected to the Internet to balance the books. It’s totally up-to-date.”

“I see.” Gram seemed pale and she turned to go. “I think I’ll lie down a while.”

“Is everything okay?” All thoughts of confronting Gram about the letter faded as Becca eyed her grandmother’s pallor.

“Fine, fine,” Gram said. “I’m just a little tired.” She patted Becca’s arm then went out the door and up the steps.

Becca tidied up the desk and grabbed her pen as Molly came running into the room. “Hi!” she said.

Becca turned to face her. “Did you have a fun morning?”

Molly nodded. “We took flowers out to my mother’s grave. Dad promised we could make cookies this afternoon. Want to help us?”

Becca was conscious of Max’s presence as his broad shoulders filled the doorway. “Your dad is going to bake cookies?”

“Hey, you don’t think I can do it?” He flexed his muscles. “Come along, and let me show you how a real man bakes cookies.”

Becca laughed and got up from her perch on the chair. “Aren’t we working?”

“Not today. I’m lazy, and I need to spend a little time with my daughter.” He stepped aside to allow Becca through the doorway. “Lead the way to the kitchen.”

She went down the hall with Molly’s hand in hers. Mrs. Jeffries scowled when they invaded her kitchen, but she merely muttered and got out of the way when Max told her what he’d planned.

Max took an apron from the hook and dropped the loop over his head then tied it on in back. He found a smaller one for Molly while Becca grabbed the red one just like his.

“Now you need a chef’s hat,” she said.

“I never figured out why they wore those tall hats,” he said. “I’d be worried it was going to drop off into my baking.”

Molly giggled. “I want to make chocolate chip cookies.” She pulled the large tin of sugar toward her. “I get to measure!”

“Hold your horses,” her father told her. He got down a large stoneware bowl and rummaged in the cabinets. “I know there have to be chocolate chips in here somewhere.”

Becca went to the pantry and found them beside the cake mixes. “Here they are.” She put the bag of chocolate chips on the counter beside Molly.

Molly picked them up and started to dump them in the bowl. “Hold on,” Max said. “You’re rushing me. This takes time and finesse. A master chef cannot be hurried.”

Molly huffed but settled back to watch her father get out the sugar and butter. “I want to measure,” she said again.

“Fine.” Max pushed the measuring cup and butter toward her.

She cut the butter carefully along the line and dumped it in the bowl.

Watching them work together, Becca hid a smile. Max looked completely at home in the voluminous apron with his dark head bent close to Molly’s smaller one. For a moment, Becca imagined them a family here, cooking dinner at night, helping Molly with her homework, cuddled on the sofa in front of the television.

She pushed the mental image away. Those kinds of dreams were too distracting right now.

The three of them worked in camaraderie for half an hour then the aroma of fresh-baked cookies began to fill the air. Molly claimed the first cookie, and her face was soon smeared with chocolate. Becca had the next one and pronounced it perfect, even if it was a little overdone.

She was conscious of Max’s smiling gaze on her. Oh how she wanted to believe the expression in his eyes.

“What did you do all morning?” Max asked.

“I finished Gram’s accounting,” Becca said. “It was quite a mess. I’m not sure she even knew how much money she had in the various accounts.”

“She’s a smart cookie. I imagine she knows what she’s got.”

“Maybe.” Becca decided not to mention to Max how Gram had seemed upset. She wished she dared ask about the letter from Laura.

Molly took a tray of cookies and milk up to Gram’s room, and Max hopped up and sat on the counter. “Today I realized I want what you have, Becca.”

“What’s that?”

His face reddened. “A relationship with God. Molly needs Him too.”

Becca’s heart gave a leap of joy. “Max, that’s wonderful!”

“I’d been thinking about it when we first moved here and I got to know Gram and her faith. I saw something I wanted. But when Laura died--.” He shrugged. “I guess I blamed God. But thanks to you, I’m seeing how much I’m missing. And how much Molly is missing.”

This seemed proof that he couldn’t have tried to hurt last week. Becca smiled so much her face hurt. “Want me to call the pastor?”

“I already did. Molly and I stopped by to see him on the way home. He prayed with me and I know God was just waiting to welcome me home like the prodigal son. I’m ready to face life again.”

She couldn’t speak, her heart was too full. God had answered her prayers.

He squeezed her fingers. “How about we make a date for the island picnic on Saturday?”

She’d heard about the picnic. There would be log-rolling contests, and bake-offs as well as tree climbing and log-cutting just like in the old days. “Okay.”

She just wished she could rid herself of the last niggling doubts she had about Max.

The phone rang, and he answered it. “It’s for you,” he said, handing her the phone.

Jake’s deep voice gladdened her heart even more. “Ready for some company?” he asked. “Wynne and I will be there tomorrow.”