Twisted Lies

by C. B. Clark

  “The situation worked out. Before long they realized they liked living on the island. Fortunately, Angus was a busy man, and his visits were infrequent.” Clara’s mouth tightened. “Once he won, he lost interest in them. And in you.” She placed her hand over Athena’s. “Your parents loved you. They never regretted anything, not you, nor living on the island. Not for one minute. You must believe that.”

  Athena struggled to digest this news. The tale was too incredible not to be true. The letters she’d found in Angus Crawford’s safe backed up Clara’s story. Her heart ached at the pain her mother must have suffered in loving a man, discovering she carried his child, and then being cast aside. To rub salt in the wound, she’d been forced to live in close proximity with her ex-lover, forever under his control.

  Her memories of her parents’ relationship were filled with laughter and affection. They’d loved each other. And they’d loved her. No question. Clara was right. They’d enjoyed living on the isolated, rugged island. She flattened her palms on the table. “Do you have any idea why Angus would have had all those photos?”

  Clara shook her head. “I suppose he wanted to keep an eye on you as you grew up.”

  Athena nodded. That was the conclusion she’d drawn. The thought of Angus Crawford creeping around and spying on her was unsettling to say the least, but his actions were also sad. He’d missed out on a relationship with his daughter, and the only way he could connect with her was through stolen photographs.

  She met Clara’s gaze. “There’s something else I have to show you.” She fished in the front pocket of her jeans and tugged out the baby bracelet and set the fragile chain on the table. “I also found this.”

  “What is it?” Clara stared at the chain.

  “I think it’s my baby bracelet.” She pointed at the inscription on the tiny gold ID plate.

  Clara squinted at the engraving. “You’ll have to tell me what it says. My old eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  “The name Margaret and a small heart are engraved on the ID plate.” Athena picked up the fragile gold bracelet and rubbed the cool metal between her fingers.

  “You found that bracelet in Angus’s safe with the letters?”

  Athena nodded.

  “Your mother must have given the chain to Angus as a keepsake after you were born.” Clara struggled to her feet. “Maybe he cared more for you than we thought. Why else would he have taken all those photos? He kept your mother’s letters and your baby bracelet all these years in his safe. They were important to him.” She pushed out her bottom lip. “That must be why he left you his estate. He didn’t have to leave you a penny. No one knew you were his biological daughter. He could have endowed everything to Russ.”

  Athena had heard enough. She jumped to her feet and planted her hands on her hips. “Angus Crawford gave me the creeps. He still does, even if he’s dead. I’ve always known he was involved in what happened to my parents. That’s why he left me his estate—guilt. That’s the only reason.”

  The doggie door burst open, and Otis squeezed through the opening. Tail wagging a mile a minute, he trotted to Athena and laid his shaggy head on her lap as if he sensed her distress.

  She buried her face in his soft fur, breathing in his musky dog smell.

  “I’m sorry, dear, but I’m having a hard time processing all this.” Clara wrung her hands. “We’ve talked about this. Angus didn’t harm your parents. What would he gain?”

  “I don’t know, but you can be damn sure I’m going to find out.”

  Clara’s cup clattered as she set it on the table. “Be careful, my dear. You may not like what you learn.” She pursed her mouth. “Sometimes the truth is worse than the not knowing.”

  Chapter 31

  Athena leaned back from the desk and stretched her aching back. Her eyes were bleary from staring at the computer screen for the past four hours. She should take a break and walk Otis.

  As if sensing her thoughts, his tail thumped from his bed on the floor by her feet. He sat up and whined.

  She patted his head. “I know, boy. You want to go for a walk, don’t you?” She studied the computer screen. “Give me ten more minutes, and we’ll go.”

  He whined again, a plaintive whimper.

  She scratched behind one floppy ear. “I promise.” She held out her hands, fingers splayed, as if he could count. “Ten minutes. Okay?”

  He plopped back down on the floor with a heavy thud and laid his head on his front paws, looking miserable and dejected.

  Guilt flooded her. He enjoyed his walks, but she had to finish her work. She stared at the document on the flickering computer screen. Her boss had sent her a preliminary case as a sort of test to see if she was ready to return to work. So far, the project wasn’t going well. She was too distracted, too shattered by all she’d learned over the past weeks.

  Ten days prior, she’d contacted Jennifer Smythe and informed the lawyer of her intention to sign over Angus Crawford’s inheritance to Russ. Jennifer had tried to talk her out of giving up millions of dollars and a thriving business, but Athena had insisted.

  Reluctantly, the lawyer had drawn up the paperwork and couriered Athena the documents. They’d arrived the following morning. She’d signed the papers, stuffed them in a return envelope, and shipped them out that afternoon.

  She hadn’t heard from Russ, but she hadn’t expected to. Really? Her inner voice chided. So why do you keep your phone at your side and check the call display every ten seconds? She assumed he was happy. He hadn’t hidden how much he wanted Angus’s business. Now he was the sole owner of Crawford Industries. And he was rich.

  Lucky him.

  Not so much her. All she thought of was Russ. Day or night, he was on her mind. She’d lost track of how often she’d awakened, tears dampening her pillow and the sheets tangled around her legs, a deep-seated ache in her heart. During the day, she was exhausted and restless and couldn’t concentrate as images of his tall, lean body, engaging grin, and golden eyes flashed before her.

  Her focus wandered to the window and the tangled leafy branches of the lilac bush outside. Eight days before, the bush had been covered in brilliant purple blossoms, the sweet, flowery scent drifting through the open window. Now the flowers had withered and dried to brown, seed-filled stalks.

  She forked her fingers through her shaggy hair. Man, she needed a haircut. Studying her fingernails, she frowned at the short, ragged tips. A manicure wouldn’t hurt either. One positive ray of light illuminated her otherwise bleak existence—she hadn’t had a drink. Not a single sip of alcohol. She was on a record-breaking roll. It wasn’t easy. She’d had cravings, lots of them, but somehow, she’d dug deep and resisted the thirst assailing her.

  So far.

  The peal of the doorbell jolted her out of her dark thoughts.

  Otis scrambled to his feet and bolted, scrabbling across the hardwood floor in his eagerness to greet whoever was at the front door. His excited barking echoed throughout the small house.

  She heaved to her feet and plodded to the door. Ever since she’d returned from Vancouver, Clara had become a frequent visitor. She brought trays of home-baked cookies, squares, and fruit pies—all from a woman who hated baking. It was as if she thought her extra dose of kindness would make up for her years of hiding the truth. So far, Athena had gained two pounds, but her inner pain was just as raw.

  With a smile fixed on her face, she opened the door. “Nice to see you again, Aunt—” Her words died in her throat.

  Otis flung his immense hairy body at the visitor, his tongue licking whatever bare patches of skin he could reach.

  “Hey, there, boy.” Russ leaned down to pet the beast attacking him.

  Like the sucker for attention he was, Otis stopped trying to climb into the man’s arms and flopped on the tiled floor and rolled onto his back. His long tail thumped as he exposed his belly, begging for a rub.

  Russ set down the brown leather briefcase he was holding and knelt and threaded his
fingers through the dog’s wiry fur. “How have you been, Otis?”

  Otis’s eyes rolled up in his head in ecstasy.

  Disgusted at her dog’s traitorous behavior, Athena snapped, “Otis, sit.” Biting back an expletive when he ignored her command, she grabbed the ungrateful animal’s collar but froze when Russ switched his attention from the dog to her.

  He was even better looking than she remembered. His tousled dark hair was longer and curled along his neck, reminding her what it felt like to run her fingers through the silken strands. Her heart bounced in her chest as she stared into the rich, golden-brown depths of his eyes. A hundred memories flashed before her…his passionate kisses…his sensuous touch…his scent… She shut the torrid thoughts down and tore her gaze from his, but she was too late. His image was seared into her brain. Unable to resist, she turned back and stared, drinking him in.

  He grinned. His eyes twinkled, and the dimple in his cheek deepened. He scratched Otis behind his ear. “He’s such a handsome boy. What type of dog is he again?”

  The dog stared at him adoringly. A thin stream of slobber dripped to the floor.

  “He’s a little bit of everything.” She grimaced. She should have left Otis in the kennel. “But mostly, he’s a big pushover.”

  Russ laughed.

  Her heart thudded even harder against her ribs at the rich, familiar sound.

  He stood, ignoring Otis’s protesting whines. “Are you going to invite me in?”

  “Why should I?”

  His smile faded. “Because I drove all the way from Vancouver, and we have to talk.” The determined set of his jaw made clear he wouldn’t leave until he had his say.

  She opened the door wider. “Come on in.” Better to get this over with than to turn him away and spend the next days wondering why he’d come.

  “Thanks.” He stepped across the threshold, and his hip grazed her arm.

  Her skin tingled from the brief contact, and she jerked back, shaken. Their extended separation hadn’t cooled her ardor.

  Not. One. Bit.

  Tall and muscular, all virile male, he dwarfed her floral-patterned living room furniture. “Nice place.”

  “Um…er…would you like coffee or something?” She bit her lip. What the hell was she doing? Why was she playing the good little hostess? She should demand to know why, after two, long, unendurable weeks of silence, he showed up looking impossibly handsome, grinning, and petting her dog as if nothing had happened. In spite of her agitation at his unexpected arrival, part of her—the weak part—was elated he was there.

  He stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his faded jeans. “Coffee would be great. Thanks.”

  Her legs were rubbery as she stumbled down the hall and into the kitchen. She nearly dropped the coffeepot twice before she finished filling the glass pot with water, set it on the machine, and hit the Brew button. She stared out the window as the coffee maker gurgled, and the comforting scent of dark roast filled the air.

  A robin swooped over the yard and landed in the long grass.

  She frowned. Mowing the lawn was another job she’d put off.

  A butterfly flitted from one yellow flower head to another. The swishing sounds of the next-door neighbor’s sprinkler and children’s laughter filtered through the glass.

  How could the neighborhood be so normal when her inner world was imploding? The skin under her arms dampened, and she tugged at the collar of her shirt, loosening the too-tight neckline. Why was he there? To thank her for signing the transfer papers? That task could have been accomplished in a phone call or a text. He didn’t have to drive a thousand kilometers.

  When the coffee finished brewing, she filled two mugs with the fragrant brew, added a teaspoon of sugar and milk to each cup, and carried the steaming cups through to the living room.

  He was sprawled on a chair, his long legs stretched out, his feet, clad in black leather boots, crossed at the ankles. The briefcase was on the floor beside the chair. Otis was curled at his feet.

  She stepped over the traitorous beast and set a cup on the oak table beside Russ’s chair.

  “Thanks for the coffee.” He smiled, and that deadly dimple she remembered so well made an appearance.

  She gulped. Was he aware of the devastating impact of his dimple? Of course, he was. Women probably went gaga over that sexy indent all the time. “I didn’t know how you liked your coffee, so I added cream and sugar.” Hopefully her tone made clear she hadn’t cared enough to pay attention to how he took his coffee. But of course she knew. She hadn’t forgotten one second of their time together. He liked his coffee strong and black. She placed her mug on the coffee table and perched on the sofa facing him, her body strung tight, her nerves vibrating.

  The awkward silence swelled and grew until it was a living entity hovering over the room, sucking out all the oxygen.

  She couldn’t stop looking at him, studying every detail. Alcohol wasn’t her only obsession.

  Shadows lurked in his hazel eyes. His normally swarthy face was pale, his five o’clock shadow heavy. Dark smudges underlined his eyes. Tension radiated off him in palpable waves.

  She wasn’t the only one who was nervous. Despite his relaxed posture and easy smile, he was as uncomfortable as she was. She rubbed her damp palms on her thighs and swallowed. “Wha—”

  “I—”

  They’d both spoken at the same time.

  And stopped.

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Go ahead. What were you saying?”

  She shook her head. “You first.”

  He rubbed Otis behind the ears and met her gaze. “I had to see you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “You…you did?”

  “I talked to Jennifer Smythe. She told me what you did.” He smoothed his hands on his jeans. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you for signing over Angus’s estate. That means a lot to me.”

  Her heart sank. She was right. He wanted to thank her. That’s why he’d come, not because of love, but gratitude. “I told you I didn’t want his money or anything else connected to that man.”

  His dark gaze pierced her. “Does that include me, Athena?”

  She sucked in a breath, and once again an awkward silence settled between them. What was he talking about? She hadn’t seen or heard from him in two long weeks. They’d made love, and that was it. No contact. She wasn’t surprised. Not really. She’d known all along he was using her to obtain Angus’s estate. What she hadn’t counted on was how much his callousness hurt.

  Otis’s ears pricked. His head tilted to the side as he scrutinized first her and then Russ as if he were trying to figure out what was going on.

  Russ shifted on his chair and re-crossed his feet.

  She gripped the edges of the seat cushion, her fingers digging into the soft fabric.

  The throb of a motorcycle roaring down the street seeped through the living room window.

  He withdrew a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket. Leaning forward, he set the paper on the table in front of her. “This is for you.”

  She released her death grip on the cushion and picked up the paper, unfolded it, and spread it flat on her lap. The paper was a legal document. She skimmed the contents. Her heart stuttered, and she reread the document.

  And read it again.

  The paper dropped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor. “What is this?” The question was rhetorical. She knew exactly what the legal document was.

  Chapter 32

  His smile dimmed. “That’s the deed to Shelter Island.”

  “I don’t understand. Shelter Island wasn’t part of our deal.” The craving for a drink howled through her like a ravenous beast, and all she could think of was a big glass of red wine. She licked her dry lips. That clear ruby color, the aroma of black currants and alcohol, the smooth, fruity tartness sliding over her tongue, the warm buzz… She gripped her mug and sipped the now-lukewarm coffee, grimacing at the bittersweet taste.

  He pushed t
o his feet, stepped over Otis’s stretched-out body, and crossed to the couch. Bending down, he picked up the deed. “Take it, Athena.” He laid the paper on her lap and sat beside her and clasped her hand. “You may not be interested in returning to the island now, but that’ll change once the shock of everything you’ve learned this past month wears off. Shelter Island is part of your heritage.”

  Her hand tingled with tiny needles of awareness where her skin brushed his. She tried not to breathe, tried not to inhale his scent—a tantalizing mix of fresh spring air and spicy cologne. She stared at the legal document as if it were a killer bees’ nest. “I told you. I don’t want the island, not now, not a year from now.” Shelter Island represented sadness and inexplicable loss. She’d never return to its rugged windswept shores, never witness the sad desolation of her old home, never again encounter the ghosts of the past.

  “I came here today because I wanted to give you that deed and thank you. But there’s another reason.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Part of our deal was that I’d help you find what happened to your parents.”

  She tugged her hand free and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I know in my heart that Angus Crawford murdered my parents. What difference does it make if I find proof? They’re…they’re dead.” Tears burned her eyes, but she persevered. “He’s dead. The law can’t touch him. Nothing will change that.”

  His brow furrowed. “I thought you wanted answers.”

  Unable to sit still a second longer, she exploded off the couch. “You don’t get it, do you? Your father did something to my parents. I know it.” She thumped her fist over her heart. “I know it in here. I don’t have to prove his guilt to anyone. Not anymore.” She huffed out a breath. “I’m done. Do you hear me? I’m done.”

  Otis raised his shaggy head, and a soft whine escaped his mouth.

  Russ rested his elbows on his thighs. “I understand. You’re afraid of what you’ll find. Anyone in the same situation would be.”

  “I’m not afraid.” She held his gaze, hoping he didn’t detect her lie. “It’s time to move on. I can’t live in the past. I’ve wasted too much of my life doing that already.” Maybe she wasn’t lying. Maybe for once she was telling the truth, a truth she needed to hear. It was long past the time she should let the tragedy go and get on with her life.