by Laura Scott
Trina took another bite of her French toast, thinking about what had happened more than fifty years ago. “Any idea who else may have been with Lucy on the boat that night?”
“We’ve been trying to find that information, too,” Jazz admitted. “Leon Tate won’t talk to us, and Carla’s mother hasn’t been all that forthcoming either. Although she did mention that Justin’s best friend at the time of the accident was some guy named Benjamin Maynard.”
“Benny Maynard?” Trina sat up straighter in her seat. “Are you sure about that?”
“I’m sure.” Jazz frowned. “Why? Does that name ring some familiar to you?”
Trina swallowed hard and reached for her coffee. “Benny was a friend of my uncle Ricky.”
“Really?”
She nodded slowly, her mind whirling. “Yes, George Amos, Benny Maynard, and my uncle Ricardo Delrosa were all good friends.”
“Wow.” Jazz leaned forward eagerly. “Where is your uncle Ricky now? Any chance we can talk to him?”
Trina slowly shook her head. “No, unfortunately, my uncle passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Jazz reached over and gently squeezed her hand.
She nodded, remembering how her uncle had fallen down the stairs to his death. All because he couldn’t stay away from the pub.
“What about George?” Jeremy’s question pulled her mind from the memories of the past. “Would he know anything about what happened all those years ago?”
Trina instantly regretted opening her mouth about her uncle being Benny’s friend. “I doubt it. George has a drinking problem; I have a feeling he won’t be coherent enough to tell you anything about something that took place over fifty years ago.”
“Would you mind if I tried?” Jazz pressed. “If he doesn’t remember, that’s fine, but I’d like to check just in case.”
She forced a smile. “I’ll ask him for you. I think George is more likely to open up to me than to a stranger.”
Jazz exchanged a glance with her brother, then nodded. “Okay great. Thank you.”
“No problem.” Trina looked at her plate of half-eaten food, her appetite gone. She wished she hadn’t come to breakfast with Jeremy.
Her role here in Clark County was to protect the citizens of Clark County while dealing with eliminating the meth labs. Delving into her own family history was not something she wanted to do.
She had a bad feeling nothing good would come from poking a sleeping bear.
7
The minute Trina finished eating her French toast, she stood to leave. Jeremy didn’t want her to go but knew that he was being ridiculous as she’d be back in a few hours for Garth’s wedding.
“Thanks for breakfast.” Her smile seemed strained. “I’ll see you at the ceremony.”
“I’ll save you a seat.” Jeremy walked her through the mansion to the front parking lot.
She lifted a brow as if put off by the thought of sitting beside him, but she didn’t say anything as she slid in behind the wheel. With a quick wave, she drove off.
The urge to tail her was strong, but he knew following her again might be viewed as stalker-ish, so he turned away.
Today was Jemma and Garth’s day. Trina was a deputy more than capable of taking care of herself. His role was to support Jemma and Garth during their wedding.
When he returned to the dining room, he found Jake seated at a table. His drawn features betrayed the extent of his jet lag.
“Hey.” Jeremy dropped down beside his older brother. “You look like you could use more coffee.”
“Yeah. I’m too old for this,” Jake muttered. He lifted his mug and took a sip. “This better be the last wedding for a few years.”
Jeremy studied the eldest McNally. Jake wore his dark brown hair longer than the rest of the brothers, and he was the tallest of them all, too. “Did you come alone this time? Or did you bring what’s-her-name?”
“Brianna Murphy,” Jake responded as if without thinking, then grimaced. “No, things—uh—didn’t work out.”
They never did with Jake, but Jeremy didn’t bother to point that out. “How are things going in Dublin?”
Jake lifted a shoulder. “Good, I guess. But I’m feeling the urge to move on.”
That wasn’t anything new either. Jake didn’t stick around in one place for long. The guy had a knack for making money through investments in a variety of businesses, and Jeremy wondered what he’d been doing in Ireland.
Before he could probe Jake for more information, Jonas and Bella arrived. Jonas was walking without any assistive devices and without difficulty, which was amazing since he’d just gotten his left lower leg prosthesis seven weeks ago.
“Hey, Jake, Jeremy.” Jonas lightly punched them both in the shoulder before dropping down into a chair. “It’s good to see you guys again.”
“We just saw you at Jazz’s wedding in June,” Jake pointed out. But then he nodded at Bella. “However, it is great to see you again, Bella.”
“Thanks.” Bella was a pretty, spunky brunette who’d used her bulldozer of a personality to break through the walls around Jonas’s heart. “It’s a wonderful day for a wedding, isn’t it?”
“If you fancy weddings,” Jake muttered.
“Come on, sourpuss, cut our little sister a break.” Jeremy was annoyed with Jake’s attitude. “She deserves this after everything her lousy ex-husband put her through. Garth really loves her and is a great role model for Trey.”
“I know, I know.” Jake held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, guess I need more sleep.”
“Take a nap,” Jonas advised. “Don’t take your exhaustion out on the rest of us.”
Jake grunted, drained his cup, and rose to his feet. “Later.” He disappeared through the dining room, hopefully taking Jonas’s advice to go to his room for a nap.
“Something wrong?” Bella asked with a frown. “He seems upset.”
“He’s jet-lagged and apparently isn’t seeing Brianna Murphy any longer.” Jeremy shrugged. “Could be the breakup is bothering him more than he wants to admit.”
“Oh, I remember Bree from Jazz and Dalton’s wedding. She was lovely,” Bella gushed. “Her accent was adorable.”
Jeremy remembered thinking that Jake and Bree made a cute couple and wondered what was really going on. At thirty-five, Jake was the oldest McNally, yet apparently the least likely to settle down.
Maybe he’d have time press Jake for more information later. Jake might not be one for staying in one place, but he wasn’t normally this surly. He felt certain something more was bothering his older brother.
He looked at Jonas. “Did you get the task list from Jemma? She’s putting us to work.”
Jonas grinned. “Nope. She told me all I have to do is show up on my own two feet.” He gestured to his leg. “Mission accomplished.”
“In that case, you can help me decorate the gazebo. Jemma wants that white see-through flimsy stuff draped in a way that frames the gazebo opening where they’re exchanging their vows. We also need to put the blue and gold bows on the pillars.”
“I don’t know,” Jonas hedged. “I might fall.”
“Why would you fall just from standing? Aren’t you the one who’s trying to learn how to jog with your prosthesis?” Bella flashed a wide, innocent smile. “I’m sure you can handle draping a few yards of tulle.”
“Spoilsport,” Jonas groused.
“Faker,” Bella returned.
Jonas grinned and gave her a quick kiss.
Jeremy felt a pang of longing as he watched the banter between Jonas and Bella. After losing his leg in Afghanistan, his younger brother had not only learned how to walk again, but he’d learned how to laugh and fall in love.
As much as he told himself he wasn’t interested in getting married, he couldn’t deny that seeing Jonas, Jemma, Jazz, and even Jesse all happily paired up and settled down made him realize how lonely he was.
Did Jake feel the same way? As th
e two steadfast bachelors, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe, just maybe, they were actually missing out on something great.
The image of Trina Waldorf flashed in his mind. She’d been absolutely beautiful, casually dressed in her pink slacks and white blouse, reddish gold hair framing her face. He’d admired her as a deputy but even more so now.
She hadn’t been gone for a full hour, yet he already missed her.
Not a good sign. He was fast becoming obsessed with a woman who had no interest in him.
Trina had been anxious to get away from the McNally B&B, but now she couldn’t seem to think of anything other than the family whom she was growing fond of.
It was all Jeremy’s fault. He was messing with her mind. Getting in the way of her mission. She enjoyed Jemma and Jazz; the twins were doing a nice job of bringing revenue to Clark County. Trina recently helped Jesse and his new bride Carla with some trouble they’d had over the Fourth of July holiday.
Yet she was having trouble putting Jeremy in the same category as the other McNallys. He didn’t fit neatly in the friendship box where he belonged.
It wasn’t smart to admit how attracted she was to him. Not just because he was handsome, that was a trait all the McNallys shared. But because of how he seemed to care about the meth lab and seeking justice.
She was looking forward to seeing him later that afternoon for Garth and Jemma’s wedding.
Enough. She really needed to focus on something else for a while. Like maybe the man who’d assaulted her in the Pine Cone Campground.
If only she’d gotten a glimpse of the perp. Humiliating that she’d allowed some meth-head to get the drop on her. As a trained cop, she should have been able to hear him come up behind her. Meth addicts weren’t known for their ability to sneak up on people.
She wasn’t dressed for duty, but that didn’t stop her from taking a drive through the Pine Cone Campground, slowing down as she reached the area where she’d seen the yellow, rust-stained trailer.
It was gone now, of course, and she despaired of ever finding it. How was it possible the owner of the trailer continued to be one step ahead of the cops?
As she rounded the next bend, she was surprised to see a sheriff’s deputy squad parked off to the side of the road. The deputy on duty was Alex Rhine, and it appeared he was just sitting behind the wheel, staring out at nothing.
She slowed her vehicle, then pushed the button to lower the window. “Hey, Alex, what’s up?”
“Oh, hey, Trina.” He flashed a belated smile as if he’d been caught daydreaming. “Thought you were off today?”
“I am but figured I’d drive through the campground anyway.” She sighed. “No sign of the trailer, huh?”
“Not yet. But I’ve been questioning the campers in an effort to uncover a lead.”
“And?” She couldn’t help feeling hopeful.
“So far nothing.”
She let her breath out in a whoosh. “That sucks.”
“I know, but don’t worry, we’ll find it.”
She nodded and lifted her hand in a wave. “Later, then.”
He waved back, then put the squad in gear and headed off in the opposite direction.
After stopping at the grocery store and throwing in a load of laundry, Trina found her apartment claustrophobic. Normally she loved sitting around on her days off, after all, her job consisted of constantly being out and about, patrolling the county.
But not today.
She thought about the information Jazz sought about who may have been on the boat that night over fifty years ago when Lucy Tate drowned. Bombay Pub opened at ten thirty in the morning on Saturdays, and she knew George would be there waiting to claim his spot at the bar. She didn’t really want to talk to George Amos, but she knew it would be far better to approach him when he was sober than waiting until later in the evening when he wasn’t.
She went back outside and walked up Main Street to Bombay. As expected, George was seated inside at the bar with a full beer in front of him even though it was only eleven in the morning.
Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile on her face as she crossed over to sit on the stool beside him. “Hey, George.”
“Trina!” George acted as if he hadn’t seen her in eons rather than yesterday at lunch. Then again, it was possible he didn’t remember anything about the day before. “What are you drinking?”
“Oh, nothing for me, thanks.” She waved the bartender away.
“Come on, Trina, a man shouldn’t drink alone.”
Especially not at eleven in the morning, but she didn’t voice the thought. “Actually, George, I wanted to ask you about Justin McNally.”
“Justin?” George squinted at her. “Heard he and his wife passed away about six years ago now. Something about a train crash, or maybe it was a plane that went down.”
“Yes, that’s true, they passed away in a train crash. But you grew up here and knew Justin when he was a teenager, didn’t you?”
George shifted his gaze from hers and lifted his glass to take a large gulp of his beer. “Yeah, but that was a long time ago. Who was that handsome guy you were with, huh? You got a new boyfriend or something?”
“He’s just a friend.” Her cop instincts went on full alert. George was acting as if he didn’t want to talk about the past. Because it brought back bad memories of Lucy’s death? Or because there was something to hide?
“Your uncle Ricky would be proud of you.” George stared deep into the amber depths of his glass before taking another healthy sip. “You gotta let me know if that boyfriend of yours gives you any trouble. I’ll be happy to give him a stern talking-to.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend. Can we please go back to Justin McNally for a minute? I’d like to know if you remember who Justin liked to hang out with.”
“Your uncle Ricky.” George glanced at her, but then looked away. “Can’t really recall who else.”
Again, her instincts screamed something was amiss. “Not you?”
“Oh, well, sure.” George appeared flustered. “But I was a year younger than Justin and Ricky, so I can’t say I was close to them back then.”
“You weren’t on the boat the night Lucy drowned?”
George startled, making the beer slosh in his glass. It was already half gone, or it would have spilled. “Why are you asking about that night? Lucy’s drowning was a terrible accident. Those of us who knew her, especially Justin, have suffered enough over the years. No sense in dragging up those bad feelings all over again.”
Interesting how he avoided answering her question. If not for her gut telling her there was more to this story, she would have left it alone.
“George, please.” She placed her hand on his forearm. “I know it’s painful to talk about, but this is important. I really need to know who was on the boat that night. I assume Ricky and Justin were there, along with Lucy. Who else?”
There was a long pause as George stared down at his drink. “I dunno.”
She didn’t believe him. Leaning closer, she gently squeezed his arm. “Don’t lie to me, George. Were you on the boat that night?”
“No!” The sharp denial startled her. “I had no part of what took place, and you can’t force me to talk about it.”
Whatever he knew was festering deep down. Was that the reason he came to Bombay each day to drink himself into oblivion? “George, please. I’m not asking to get you or anyone else into trouble. I’m only asking for names, nothing more.”
But he was already shaking his head. “Are you arresting me, Trina? Is that what this is about?”
“Arrest you for what, George?” She was beginning to worry about him. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Again, a long pause as he avoided her gaze. Patrons, mostly tourists, were making their way inside the pub for an early lunch.
Finally, he turned to face her. “I got nothin’ to say. I wasn’t there on the boat that night, and I don’t know anyt
hing about what happened to Lucy.”
“Okay, I understand.” She tried to smooth things over. “I’m sorry to bring up painful memories. You must have cared about Lucy.”
“She was beautiful.” His comment surprised her. “Like a rainbow on an otherwise cloudy day.”
The way he waxed poetic made her smile. “Sounds like you knew her well.”
George shrugged and took another gulp of his beer. “She deserved better.”
“Better than what?” Trina was afraid to press too hard, knowing it wouldn’t take much for George to shut down again.
The older man grimaced and shook his head. “Better than what happened to her.”
“Do you think her death was Justin’s fault?” She felt as if she were dragging the story out of him inch by painful inch.
George opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he hunched his shoulders. “I dunno. I wasn’t there. I heard he was driving the boat. Everyone in town knew he liked to go fast despite the no wake rule after dark. Probably was his fault.”
“And that’s why Lucy fell overboard? Because Justin was driving too fast?” There were still holes in the picture George was painting for her.
“Maybe.” George’s tone lacked conviction. She wanted to press for more information, but she didn’t think the older man was willing to open up.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
George nodded, then finally looked her directly in the eye. His were dull with resignation. “If you want to know more, you should talk to Abe Crowley.”
“Abe Crowley?” She turned the name over in her mind, trying to remember who he was. “You mean the owner of the McNally Bay Boat Rental?”
George nodded and polished off the last dregs of his beer, signaling for the bartender to fill it up again. “Abe was there that night, and he’s lying if he tells you otherwise.”
“I will talk to him, thanks, George.” She patted his arm. “I appreciate you telling me.”
“You didn’t hear it from me.” The steel underlying his tone gave her pause.
Clearly, whatever had taken place on Lake Michigan all those years ago had continued to fester below the surface.