Page 22

Tabitha couldn’t stop a grin from stretching across her face.

Perhaps there was a reason she came to North Devon.

For the first time in her life, she felt as if this might be where her future was.

Since there was no such thing as love at first sight, she knew she would eventually come to like Mr. Jacobs and hopefully, he would create the same kind of havoc inside her body that Nic created whenever he was around.

Up the street a group of people were gathering. The closer Tabitha walked, the louder their voices grew. Confused and panicked faces were on all of them. Something was definitely wrong. When she finally reached the group, they were standing in front of the good physician’s home.

Mrs. Stiles broke away from the crowd and hurried toward Tabitha. The older woman’s pale face and watery eyes caused Tabitha’s heart to lurch.

“Oh, Miss Tabitha.” Mrs. Stiles’ voice shook as she clutched Tabitha’s hands. “Something awful has happened.”

“Aunt Clara?” she whispered brokenly.

“No, dear.” Mrs. Stiles shook her head. “Your aunt is still at home.”

A wave of relief swept over Tabitha. “Then what is wrong?”

“Mr. Woodland found a dead body buried in the beach not too long ago.” She brought a quivering hand to her throat. “The name of the person is still unknown. Mr. Woodland is in with Doctor Cope right now.”

Both Tabitha and Sally gasped at the same time. Tabitha squeezed Mrs. Stiles’ hand. “That is horrific. Poor Mr. Woodland.”

The older woman nodded. “Yes, I can only imagine how it would be.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around her bosom. “Actually, I don’t want to imagine how it would be. I may faint dead away.”

“As we all would.” Tabitha patted the older woman’s shoulder as she scanned the crowd again.

Sickness grew in her stomach. Not another murder!

After what had happened six months ago with Lord Tristan and Lady Diana, Tabitha didn’t think she could stand it.

She prayed they found the culprit soon, or she may have to rethink staying in North Devon.

*

Nic’s mind swirled in confusion. Not more than thirty minutes ago, the doctor had identified the body.

David Griffin, nineteen-year-old son of Daniel and Lucy Griffin, had been the person Nic found buried in the sand.

He didn’t know much about David, but he seemed to be a good son and he helped his father out on their farm.

From what Nic could see while in church, David had been a charming fellow and made many girls sigh with dreams in their eyes as he walked by.

Shaking his head, Nic paced the floor as the doctor continued to examine the corpse.

None of this made sense. Two hours ago after he’d found the boy, he’d summoned the constable to have the body dug out of the ground.

Immediately, the doctor could tell David had been strangled because of the bruises on his neck.

Now Nic waited for the doctor to tell him more…

and for the constable to see if they found anything else in the sand by the boy’s burial.

Nic hadn’t had time to hurry home and inform Frederick.

He would certainly want to know since Frederick had known these people a lot longer than Nic.

Would this be the thing that ended his and Frederick’s switch?

Naturally, the real clergyman would want to come out of hiding and do his job as the town’s comforter.

Frederick would know Bible verses to give to the grieving town. Nic definitely didn’t know that.

“Look at this,” the doctor said in a confused voice.

Nic stepped closer to the table where the body had been laid. Doctor Cope had on some glasses that magnified his view, and peered at the boy’s ankle. Nic didn’t really want to get any closer. The corpse was beginning to reek badly.

“What have you found, Doctor?”

“David’s ankle was broken.” The physician raised his head and met Nic’s eyes. “I don’t recall the boy breaking his leg at all. He never came to see me, anyway.”

“Do you think it was done recently?”

The doctor bent once again and peered closer. “Actually, it looks like an old break. Perhaps a few weeks.”

“That’s very odd, isn’t it? Especially since he hasn’t come in to see you about it. I’d think the poor boy wouldn’t be able to walk.”

“Putting pressure on it would certainly make it difficult.” Cope nodded. He glanced back up at Nic. “Have you been out to visit his family lately?”

Just as Nic was ready to ask the doctor why he’d visit the family, he stopped himself when remembering he played a clergyman.

It was the man of God’s duty to visit with the families.

“If you had asked me this about three weeks ago, I would have given you an answer. I’ve been under the weather for three weeks, and I’ve only ventured out of my house these past few days. ”

“That’s right.” Doctor Cope nodded. “I had forgotten. Well, I suppose I shall leave the investigation to the constable. I pray they find this boy’s murderer very soon.”

“As do I.”

He moved away from the physician and stopped at the window, peering outside. A good crowd had gathered and Nic was certain gossip was spreading like wildfire.

Way back in the crowd, he spotted a familiar bonnet, and under it was a delicate shaped face.

His breathing quickened and he tried not to smile.

Because of these grieving circumstances, smiling was not called for.

Yet thinking about Tabitha made him grin more than he should. Especially since their luncheon.

Tabitha stood by Sally as they chatted with Mrs. Stiles and two other ladies.

Concern etched in Tabitha’s expression and tugged at his heart.

He knew what she was thinking—the same thing he’d been thinking after finding David’s body.

Nic was tired of being involved one way or another with dead people, just as he was sure Tabitha felt the same way.

Thankfully, she wasn’t involved since she and Sally had just arrived in North Devon.

Neither of them would have any reason to kill a boy in his nineteenth year, and they certainly wouldn’t have the strength between the two of them to bury the poor soul.

As much as he wanted to go outside to comfort her and reassure her they’d find the person who murdered David, he didn’t want to do it with everyone watching. He couldn’t allow the town to think he was interested in Tabitha for anything more than friendship.

One by one, the people gathered out front swung their head in one direction.

The constable and two of his men shouldered their way toward the doctor’s office.

The constable carried a bulky, cloth bag.

They’d found something! Hopefully, their discovery would help point the finger in the direction of the killer.

Nic hurried to the front door and opened it just as the three other men arrived. As soon as they were inside the house, Nic shut the door.

“Did you find something?” he asked.

The constable was a short, squatty man with a bald head. He nodded and opened the cloth bag.

“Indeed, we did, Mr. Woodland.” Sydney Burris pulled out two gold candlesticks as he aimed an accusing glare at Nic. “Do you recognize these?”

“Of course not. Why would I—” Nic closed his mouth as his recollection returned.

He did recognize them. They’d been in the church for many weeks after Lord Hawthorne had arrived in North Devon.

Frederick took special care of these candlesticks as they were a gift from the former clergyman.

These were some of the items that had been stolen!

Nic hitched a breath as panic grew inside him. He must choose his words wisely, for Frederick’s sake.

He narrowed his eyes and moved closer. “Actually, I do recognize these.” He took a candlestick away from the other man.

“These were in the church since before I took over. Not too long ago, they were stolen.” His mind clicked things together and he released a gasp, swinging his gaze to David before quickly switching it to Sydney Burris.

“Do you suppose young David was the thief?”

“Actually, that’s exactly what I’m thinking.” The constable arched a bushy eyebrow. “However, I’m quite sure he wasn’t acting alone.”

“Of course he wasn’t.” Nic gestured toward the dead body. “The person the boy was working with strangled him to keep quiet.”

“Yes, that did cross my mind, but—” Sydney took the candlestick away from Nic—“that doesn’t explain why these were buried near David’s body. Why hadn’t the killer taken these?”

Nic shrugged. “That’s something to consider. I wish I knew the answers.”

“Unless,” Sydney tapped the candlestick on the palm of his hand, moving closer to Nic, “the killer wanted to make it look like the church’s thief was dead.” He threw an accusing glare at Nic.

Inwardly, he boiled. Was the constable really trying to make it look as if the clergyman had committed the murder? Frederick had suggested that all the robberies were making the town suspect that the clergyman had something to do with it. Apparently, Sydney also thought the same thing.

Panic expanded inside Nic’s body, threatening to suffocate him. He was the acting clergyman, not Frederick. If the constable arrested the clergyman, Nic would be the one going to jail.

He swallowed the fear rising inside of him. Going to jail was out of the question. Nic was innocent—and so was Frederick. But evidence sure didn’t make it look that way.

He hadn’t prayed much in his life, but he was doing so now!