He examined the photo. “A young one.” He peered closer. “It might be that old one we saw at the springs. They can live for decades. We recently lost the oldest manatee in captivity, Snooty. He was seventy.”
The next box held old Yardley makeup, hot rollers, a jar of something called Dippity-do, false eyelashes, and hair items. She marveled over the Breck bottles, the Aqua Net hairspray, and Coppertone sun lotion. “No sunscreen for Judy.”
“I’m not sure they even had it back then. I think the goal was to get as much sun as possible.”
“That’s still my goal.” Harper pulled the last box to her. “Let’s see what’s in here.”
He sighed but knelt on the floor in front of the box, pulled the flaps loose, then lifted items out and put them beside her. “A kid’s stuffed animal, probably Annabelle’s when she was little. Lots of marine gastropods.”
“I just like saying the name. It’s more precise than sea snails.” She picked up a shell. “This looks like a Scotch bonnet.” She ran her fingers over the polished surface that looked a lot like a Scottish tam-o’-shanter. “Lots of smaller shells, land snails, and sea snails. Some she had drilled holes into.”
“Maybe she was making jewelry. Did you used to dabble in it before you started making fiber art?”
How’d he remember that? Maybe Oliver had mentioned it. Then she realized his gaze had dropped to the snail necklace at her neck. She fingered it. “I don’t make much anymore. My fiber art is more rewarding.”
His fingers scooped the necklace away from her neck. She bit back a gasp at the warm brush of his fingers against her skin.
He turned over the necklace. “That’s a nice button-top specimen. Black pearls from the bivalves on either side?”
She barely managed a nod. “It took a while to find ones that matched in size.”
“I’d like to see some of your fiber art.”
“I have several pieces I’m selling in the auction for Gulf Shore Preservation tomorrow night.”
“I’m attending that too. How about I pick you up?”
“Okay,” she managed to whisper.
He let go of the necklace, but it still felt warm from his hand when it landed back against her body. “You did a good job.”
“Thank you.” Move away, Harper. She needed to be able to breathe again.
His nearness made her mouth go dry and her pulse speed up. She didn’t want him to realize how powerfully he affected her. He wouldn’t welcome this growing attraction. She didn’t welcome it herself. Where had it come from?
He went back to searching through the box, and she managed to draw in a shaky breath. She needed to get control of herself or she would embarrass them both.
He showed her a sheaf of fabric that looked hand knit. “What’s this?”
She fingered it. “This must be the sea silk Grace told us about. I’ve never seen it made into cloth though. I’ve only seen a yarn type of material made from it. The quality of this fabric is stunning.”
The material glowed golden in the light, and it was so soft and pliable. Harper didn’t want to harm it so she placed it beside her. “I wish I knew how she made it. Anything else in there?”
“Nope, we’ve seen it all.”
“I’m supposed to go see Annabelle on Saturday. Want to go with me?” The invitation was past her lips before she could censor it.
“Sure.” He hesitated. “But I’m not sure this line of investigation will bring us any closer to who attacked my dad. Once we talk to Annabelle, I want to pay Eric Kennedy a visit.”
“Kennedy? You think he could be behind Oliver’s attack?”
“He warned you off the shell-bed site. I don’t know who cut my dad’s air hose, but I have to find out.”
She wanted to know too. None of this made any sense.
* * *
Where was she? He slammed his palms against the steering wheel and stared out over the empty water. She should have been out there at her mollusk beds. The Taylor woman hadn’t docked at the marina, and though he’d driven down every lane near the bay he could find, he hadn’t been able to locate her. Had the GPS device been knocked off, or was it malfunctioning?
His employer would not be pleased.
He’d failed all week, and he wasn’t sure what to do next. The Rice woman was back home, but he feared her policeman son would be shadowing her constantly.
He plucked his phone from the console and placed the call. “I can’t find the Taylor woman. She’s not at any of her usual haunts.”
“You incompetent fool! If the women get together and talk too much, it will be disastrous. Have you checked on Annabelle Rice again?”
“No, you told me to focus on the Taylor woman.”
“I don’t care which one you get, just do it. This has gone on way too long, and the situation is urgent!”
“I’ll drive past the Rice house and see what I can do.”
“What about the old man? Has he started talking yet?”
At least he had good news about that. “No, he doesn’t remember anything about what happened.”
“I have new information that suggests I need to get him out of the way. He’s had an investigator poking into my business, and it appears he may know the truth. I can’t allow him to awaken and tell anyone. I want him dead and the report from the investigator destroyed.”
He’d have no problem breaking into the house. And hacking into computers was a piece of cake. “It will cost you.”
“And I’m prepared to pay! Get the job done, and I’ll pay you then. No more upfront money. I can’t trust your competence.”
He gritted his teeth. “Fine. I’ll try to get it done this weekend, and I’ll expect payment immediately.”
“I’m tired of your ‘tries.’ Get the job done, or I’ll hire someone who can. This has gone on too long.”
“Why don’t you come down here and do it yourself? This isn’t as easy as you think,” he snapped.
He heard a click and dead air. He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat, started his car, and turned around to get back to the main road.
Losing this job wasn’t an option with his son’s life on the line. And fortunately, this new job would be easy.
16
Lights sparkled onto the lawn of Edgewater Park and down to the water in the approaching dusk. Harper felt ill at ease in her slim-fitting black cocktail dress and heels as she strolled through the oceanic wonderland erected on the lawn to showcase the displayed sea art. She was much more at home in shorts or a bathing suit. Ridge looked magnificent in a sports jacket though, and she had to make a conscious attempt not to gawk at him.
Light classical music played in the background—probably Oliver’s suggestion to the planning committee. Bach’s distinctive Suite no. 1 floated under the flow of conversation and champagne.
He touched her arm. “I’ll get us something to drink.”
Since Ridge wasn’t watching, she let her gaze wander over his gleaming dark hair and wide shoulders. When he was out of sight, she wandered over to the display of her art. Her big mural made from sea silk, pearls, and mollusks depicted Bear in a water setting. The bids on it were already more than she’d hoped to raise for the Gulf Shore Preservation Society.
She spotted Eric Kennedy talking with an older woman who from the resemblance had to be his mother. An elderly man in a wheelchair was with them. Harper didn’t want to talk to him, but as she turned to go the other direction, the woman with him beckoned to her with a smile.
Harper’s gut tightened, but she pasted on a smile in response and went to join their small group.
The woman took Harper’s hand in a warm grip. “You’re Harper Taylor, aren’t you? I just love your beautiful fiber-art pieces. I’ve bid on every piece you donated. Fine craftsmanship, my dear.” She released her and laughed. “I’m forgetting my manners. I’m Elizabeth Kennedy, Eric’s mother. This is my husband, Tom.” She touched her husband’s shoulder.
Tom looked very ill. His
skin color was yellowish and his lips were colorless, but his blue eyes crinkled in a smile, and he took Harper’s hand in a surprisingly strong grip. “I’ve heard so much about you, Ms. Taylor. Your mollusk beds sound promising for the environment. I wish I were strong enough to go out and see them.”
“Thank you. It’s going incredibly well.” She shot a glance at Eric, who was scowling. Should she mention his opposition? Surely his parents knew.
Elizabeth caught the glance and reached over to clasp her son’s forearm. “I know Eric has had his reservations, but those beds aren’t harming the burial grounds.”
“We don’t know that, Mother.” He shook off her hand and stalked off.
Elizabeth watched him go with a sigh. “That boy always was a bit of a hothead. Don’t let him deter you.”
Ridge stepped into view, and Harper waved to him. He spotted her and came across the lawn toward her, balancing a plate of appetizers atop two cups of punch.
She rescued the cups and took a sip. “Thanks. This is Ridge Jackson. Ridge, this is Elizabeth Kennedy and her husband, Tom.”
Elizabeth held out her hand, and Ridge took it. “Are you related to the famous Hyannis Port Kennedys?”
“Oh no. People often ask that, but there’s no connection at all. My husband is a simple boat builder, and I’m a doctor.”
Mr. Kennedy’s “simple” company sold more boats in Florida than any other, and its billboards dotted the highway system. Harper hadn’t realized the connection. “Good boats.”
“We’ve had a happy life.” Elizabeth’s brown eyes grew shadowed. “My husband has been ill though.”
“Elizabeth.” A trace of admonishment creased Tom’s features. “They aren’t interested in our personal troubles.”
Harper touched his arm. “I’m sorry to hear this, Mr. Kennedy. I’ll pray you feel better soon.”
He patted her hand where it still rested on his forearm. “Thank you, my dear. You’re a sweet girl.” He looked up at his wife. “Let’s go browse the food table. I’m a little peckish.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth smiled at Harper and Ridge. “Nice talking to you both.” She walked away beside her husband as he manipulated the electric controls of his chair.
Ridge frowned as he watched them. “Is their son here too? They seem much nicer than Eric.”
“He stalked off when his mother told him my beds weren’t causing any harm. I can’t imagine anyone voting for the man. I didn’t realize his connection to the boat manufacturer.”
“We should tell the police to check out his whereabouts when you and my dad were attacked. I’m going to contact the sheriff’s office about it. I have the detective’s phone number.” He set the plate of food down on a nearby table and pulled out his phone, then shot off a text.
“It’s hard to believe Eric was the assailant. He’s passionate about the health of the Gulf, but most politicians don’t get their hands dirty.”
Ridge slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Maybe not, but he’s got a lot of anger.” He picked up his plate again. “You eat anything yet? The shrimp wontons are delicious.” He held out the plate.
She took a wonton and bit into it. “Good. Lots of ginger.”
Looking around the milling crowd, she saw Ridge’s sister. “There’s Willow.”
He turned to follow the direction of her gaze. “Mom is with her. We’d better go say hello.”
She forced herself to nod and walk with him. She’d met Willow and Christina many times over the years, but they’d never made a secret of their disdain for her.
They reached the two women, and Ridge brushed a kiss on his mother’s cheek and gave his sister a brief hug. They were both in long, elegant dresses. Willow was in a silvery gray, and Christina wore a black number that made Harper’s appear as if it had been pulled off a Goodwill rack. She always felt dowdy in their company.
Christina speared her with a cold stare. “Harper, how nice to see you.” Her tone implied it was anything but nice.
Harper’s face felt stiff, but she smiled. “I think we’re raising quite a bit of money for the foundation.”
Christina didn’t reply but tilted her head to look up at her son. “How’s your father?”
“Pretty chipper. He should be released in another day or two.”
“That’s good.”
Harper felt distinctly excluded as they continued to talk about Oliver’s condition. She glanced around. Eric stared at her with malevolence. She shivered and averted her gaze. Maybe Ridge was right about him.
* * *
Annabelle limped from the kitchen to the sofa. Scott carried her coffee for her while Mark trailed behind with a green smoothie he’d made. He’d arrived yesterday and had been here to greet her when Scott brought her home from the hospital on Thursday.
Scott set the coffee cup on the end table beside her, and Mark handed her the smoothie.
“Thanks, boys.” She smiled with fondness at her sons. They were so different. Scott was blond like her while Mark had his father’s dark coloring. She couldn’t be prouder of them and the lives they’d led. They were both God-fearing men and were active in their churches and communities. It had been hard to raise them alone, but if she had to leave them soon, she could go to the Lord with her heart happy.
Mark’s dark-brown eyes examined her. “That bruise on your face looks worse than it did yesterday.”
She touched it and flinched. “It will fade.”
“Will these injuries keep you from starting your treatment?”
She pondered the question a moment. The chemo might make her more prone to bleeding. Would the doctor decide to delay it? “I guess we’ll see. But if it’s postponed, it won’t be by more than a few days.” She reached for her younger son’s hand. “It will be all right, Mark.”
“But what if it’s not?” His Adam’s apple wobbled as he swallowed. “We can’t lose you, Mom. I’ve been talking to Chelsea about moving to Orlando.”
“Absolutely not! Your career is in New York. Chelsea loves it there. Don’t overreact, honey. I’m going to be fine.”
Scott shifted toward the window and peered out. “Someone’s here in a black truck.”
Annabelle glanced at the clock above the fireplace. Ten o’clock. “Harper is supposed to come by today, but she never said what time.”
Scott scowled and marched toward the door. “You’re not up to visitors.”
“Don’t you dare scare her away!” Wincing, she struggled to her feet and shuffled after Scott. “I want to see her.”
He paused and looked back at her, then sighed. “Fine. Go sit down. I’ll let her in. She’s got a guy with her. Big dude with broad shoulders. He come with her the other day?”
“No, she was alone.” Annabelle returned to her seat and took a sip of the smoothie, shuddering a little at the faint bitter taste of the kale underlying the sweet taste of the blueberries. Mark was determined to make her well.
Scott’s greeting at the door was curt, and she sighed. His cop instincts were on high alert at the moment. She smiled and turned carefully as footsteps came toward her. The tall man with her resembled Chris McNally from Supernatural a bit, right down to the thick black hair.
Annabelle held out her hands. “My dear Harper, there you are. I’ve been looking forward to your visit.”
Harper rushed forward, then stopped and surveyed her. “Annabelle, you’re all bruised up. Did you fall?” Her narrowed eyes turned to glower at Scott and Mark as though she suspected them of attacking Annabelle.
Scott pulled over two more chairs from the dining table and gestured for them to have a seat. “Someone kidnapped her Tuesday night, and she fell out of the trunk to escape.”
Harper gasped and sat beside her. “Are you really okay?”
Annabelle patted her hand. “I’m fine. And who’s this with you?”
Harper glanced at the man. “My, um, business partner. Ridge Jackson.”
Ridge gave her and her sons a nod, then sat on o
ne of the chairs. “Someone tried to kidnap Harper late Tuesday night too. He used ether, but I arrived at her boat before he could haul her off.”
Annabelle gasped and turned to Scott, whose frown had turned thunderous. “This is my son Scott. He’s a police detective.”
In rapid-fire manner Scott shot several questions at them, and Ridge answered them. Scott and Ridge exchanged a long glance. Scott thrust his hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts. “It might be coincidence that they were both attacked shortly after connecting, but I’m not a big believer in coincidence. Especially not when it involves my mother.”
Ridge gave a curt nod. “I’m with you. Not sure how to go about figuring out what this is all about. Harper’s attacker didn’t say anything.”
Annabelle took another swig of the smoothie. “We only met each other a few days ago. There can’t be any connection.”
Her words rang hollow though. She didn’t want there to be a connection, because she didn’t want Harper to be in danger. She faced Ridge. “Any idea who might want to harm Harper?”
“A sleazy politician warned her off the location of the mollusk farm she’s set up. I had thought it might have something to do with that, but with your attack, I’m not so sure.”
Harper glanced at Ridge, and Annabelle felt the connection between them. She suppressed a smile. They were more than business partners. If not now, they soon would be.
“We have some things for you,” Ridge said. “We found your mother’s best friend, the one who discovered her body. She gave us your mom’s belongings.”
“She kept them all this time?” Annabelle couldn’t believe it.
“There are four boxes.” Ridge rose and went toward the door.
“We’ll help carry them in.” Scott motioned for Mark to follow him.
With the men out of the room, Annabelle took Harper’s hand. “I’m so glad you came back. You seem troubled. Are you okay?”
Harper stilled, then shook her head. “I’m scared.”
“I am too,” Annabelle said. “I am too.”
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