Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense)

by Jill Winters

“We rolled the dice and we lost. Like I said—it's business, it's not personal.”

  “Sometimes it is.”

  Caleb gave Michael an assessing look. “You're a good kid, Mike,” he said.

  “Pfhh...kid...” Michael mumbled. “Coming up on thirty...”

  Caleb gave a short laugh that was more like a wheezy exhalation. “Well. You're a good old man then.”

  With a grin, Michael rolled his eyes. “Yeah thanks. And I'm not good. I'm a rotten bastard,” he said half-heartedly. “And too old to change.”

  Even though Michael had said the comment jokingly, Caleb didn't choose to receive it that way. “Wait till you get to be my age before you give up on yourself. And speaking of that—what ever happened between you and Colleen?”

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  “Meaning that I know you two went out a few times and I know she really liked you, and according to her mom, it never really went anywhere. So…”

  “See, this is the problem with dating your friend’s niece…”

  Caleb held his hands out. “Hey, there’s no problem. I was just curious. Colleen’s a good girl. Smart, too.”

  Michael nodded in agreement. “Definitely, she is.” He wasn’t going to deny that Colleen was nice, and being that she was a teacher, he wasn’t going to deny that she was smart. While they were at it—lauding Colleen—he could also mention that she was cute, too. But there wasn’t much point discussing this since he wasn’t about to tell the guy who had become his closest friend that there was no real connection and he just “wasn’t that into” his niece.

  Instead, Caleb filled the gaps of the conversation. “You could use a nice girl in your life.”

  “Hey, I’m not gonna argue with that,” Michael admitted.

  “Maybe you’ve been alone so long, you just don’t know how to do things differently.”

  Caleb might be right about that, and Michael knew it but had never been the type who enjoyed analyzing himself. “Anything’s possible. Listen, I’ll have the boat back soon.” With that, he gave Caleb a handshake goodbye and left.

  While Michael was on his way out of the pub, he saw Jake Irish on the far side of the restaurant, emerging from a wall panel. Jake carried four bottles of wine in his twig-thin arms. “Damn, I always forget that's there,” Michael muttered to himself, referring to the well-concealed entrance to Caleb's cellar. The door to the cellar was paneled in the same fashion as the wall, so it was camouflaged well. After setting the wine bottles down, Jake turned back to straighten the picture that hung there.

  Something struck Michael then—but it didn't make it to the forefront of his mind until much later, on his way back to Chatham.

  He drove back to his townhouse. It was situated in a row of narrow, but tall brick buildings, each with a two car garage in back. He slid the Acura in beside the blue Nova. When he came inside, he sat down on his couch. And waited, it seemed. It felt like he was waiting for something, but he didn't know what exactly.

  He picked up the television remote, but just as quickly, set it back down. Soon he would head back to Chatham. He had told Nicole that he had some errands to do today and now it seemed he was done already.

  For a few minutes, he just sat there in silence, waiting to know what he wanted to do next. Time stretched on with the quietness. He had never really noticed how soundless his place was. How still. How empty. The coffee table was glass with sharp edges. The couch was leather and cold to the touch. He waited. But for what? Drummed his fingers on the sofa. For the first time in a long time, he was lonely.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  The earth was cold and hard as Nicole struggled with her shovel. The steel blade fought against the solid square of earth, but it was like a teaspoon carving into frozen fudge. Raw air abraded her face as sunset came upon her. In the last hour, the sky had dimmed to a grayish blue with clouds like vague apparitions, smoky streams across a darkening landscape.

  She clutched the handle of the shovel and pressed down again. When she stepped up on the blade, adding the pressure of her weight, she finally broke through the top surface of the garden. Again and again she did this, until she was scooping out luxurious heaps of dirt; it seemed counterintuitive but the deeper she dug, the silkier the soil became. Heavy puffs of her breath sounded in her ears. Scarf dangling, she pressed on, unearthing rocks and long-forgotten roots in their grave. Finally the question began to nag at her: was it really likely that Aunt Nina, having been ill and weak, had expended this kind of effort? To dig up her garden and then re-pack the dirt this thoroughly?

  With a sigh made hoarse from exhaustion, Nicole gave up. Just then, a light went on above her. She glanced up. It came from a small circular window on the side of the Bloomingdales' house, up on the top floor. The attic, she assumed. That reminded her, she would need to sort through Nina’s attic before her inventory of the house was complete.

  A sharp, ferocious wind blew right through her then, whipping her ponytail into her eyes and violently shaking the trees. Suddenly frigid, Nicole dropped the shovel. Squinting against the force of the wind, she scurried around to the front of the house. Even after she slammed the door shut, she could still hear the cold—the shuffle of leaves, the creaking of branches, the rabid tingling of the wind chimes that hung from the elbow of the porch light.

  Exhaling a shuddering breath, Nicole dropped her coat and scarf by the stairs. Flopping down on the living room sofa, she grabbed the chenille throw and wrapped it around her shoulders. At once the warmth of the house and the throw seemed to seep into her bones. She heard Puddle’s little footsteps before the shaggy dog appeared beside her.

  “Hi, baby,” Nicole said, smiling. Puddle jumped up on the couch, landing half on Nicole's lap. Lovingly, she stroked the dog's fur; both of them sighed, inevitably for different reasons.

  Suddenly a beep sounded from her cell phone, left on the table beside her.

  After dialing in, she listened to her voicemails. Message one: “Nicole, this is your mother. Did you forget you have a mother? I haven't heard from you. (Pause; implicitly for some kind of apology.) I know I said I was coming maybe next weekend, but now I'm not sure when I'll be able to come down. My work schedule just got shifted. But I'll let you know. Okay, call me back, please.”

  Message two was from Cameron: “Nic, it's me. Where are you? I miss you. Haven't heard from you. Call me.” She opted to save both messages and set the phone back on the table. She knew she had to catch up with her family and friends soon, but it was not a priority right now. Settling back in the cushions, she considered what to do next—and it wasn't long before curiosity became frustration.

  Flowers.

  The word kept playing in her mind. What did it mean? If not a reference to Nina's now-defunct flower garden, then what? Tired, Nicole swung her legs up and lay back, resting her head on the arm of the couch. Restlessly, her eyes moved across the room as she contemplated—and that was when she saw it.

  Abruptly she sat up. (Puddle was visibly put off by the disturbance, and moved onto the next cushion.) Across the room, on top of the weathered sideboard, was the potted hydrangea plant she had found by the front steps when she had first moved in.

  Between then and now, the petals of the three frilly white flowers had curled slightly. Flowers...

  She walked over to the sideboard. The plant had not come with a card, although at the time she had just assumed it was a “welcome to the neighborhood” gift. Now she wondered. She picked up the pot, looked underneath it and all around it. No identifying note of any kind except for the plastic flag in the dirt that gave the scientific name of the flower. It had never occurred to Nicole to pull this flag out, but now she did. When she brushed the dirt off, she saw print along the bottom, some kind of logo. Jade's Flower Shop on Main.

  Hastily, she grabbed her phone. Forget booting up her laptop for an Internet search. The quickest way would be to call Information.

  Thirty seconds later, she was tapping her fingers on the
sideboard, tensing up with each unanswered trill. Finally, the line clicked and a recorded message began to play. Hello. Jade's Flower Shop hours are 9:30 A.M. to 5 o'clock P.M... Glancing at the clock on the wall, she cried, “Damn it!”

  “Hello?”

  “Oh—hello. Um, are you still open?”

  “Just about to close,” the woman said. Her rusty voice was almost masculine; it made her sound both elderly and unapologetic. “Do you need to place an order?”

  “No, but this is about an order. A hydrangea plant that was sent to me several days ago. About two weeks ago actually. Could you tell me who sent it? The card must have gotten lost in the delivery process.” Nicole supplied the address and the name “Nina Corday” and waited.

  When the woman came back on the line, she said, “No, in fact the card was not lost in the delivery process. That order was a pre-order by phone.”

  “Pre-order, what does that mean?”

  “It means the order was placed in advance.” Impatiently, Nicole rolled her eyes. Of course she understood that much; what she needed to know was the significance of it.

  “I understand, but how can you be certain there was no card?”

  “The box on the order form is checked for 'No card',” she explained. “Often times people pre-order because they want to guarantee that a specific flower will be in stock.”

  “Okay, well, can you tell me who ordered the flowers?” Crossing her fingers, Nicole thought, Please don't tell me there is florist-client confidentiality.

  “Let's see here...like I said, it was a phone order...pre-paid by check...”

  “Uh-huh, okay,” Nicole coaxed. Her fingers had tightened on the phone. “Who paid for it?”

  “Let me see...oh, here it is. A 'Nina Corday,'” the woman replied.

  Confused, Nicole shook her head. “No, Nina Corday was the name of the woman who was living in this house. I meant—”

  “That was the name on the check,” the woman said, sounding helpless at this point.

  “But—”

  “Anyway, like I said, we're closed.”

  Actually, she hadn't said that. But when the line clicked and the dial tone sounded, it was rather a moot point.

  When Nicole set her phone down, she realized that her hand was trembling. Nina had sent the flowers to herself? Or rather—to Nicole? No, that didn't make sense.

  Then Nicole recalled what the florist had said about pre-ordering a specific flower. The flower itself had to be a clue. Nicole re-read the little plastic tag. Hydrangea arborescens.

  Now it was time for an Internet search.

  She booted up her laptop, tapping her foot on the floor waiting for her icons to appear, and then clicked on-line. Hydrangea arborescens, she typed. A scroll of search results appeared. Scanning down, she noticed one word that seemed dappled across the whole screen: Annabelle. The Annabelle plant. Annabelle hydrangea. Annabelle flower.

  A memory in the back of her mind suddenly jumped to the front.

  Puddle was on her heels as she darted down the hall, recalling her first night in Nina's house, in the library and the book—the book that had been turned the wrong way. Of course it had not been haphazardly put away like that. It had actually been a clue.

  Now Nicole climbed up the rolling ladder and skidded to an abrupt halt in front of the familiar green book with white lettering. The Selected Works of Edgar Allan Poe. She pulled the book off the shelf and opened it—this time gingerly so no “loose” page would fall out. And there it was. The poem entitled Annabel Lee.

  Eagerly, Nicole re-read it, her eyes seeing the words in a new, inscrutable way. Images danced around her, still just out of reach, urging her to remember.

  I was a child and she was a child,

  In this kingdom by the sea:

  But we loved with a love that was more than love -

  I and my Annabel Lee;

  With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

  Coveted her and me.

  For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

  And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

  And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

  Of my darling -my darling -my life and my bride,

  In the sepulchre there by the sea -

  In her tomb by the sounding sea.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “If you gotta go, you gotta go,” Nicole needlessly assured her shivering dog, whose fur whipped furiously in the wind, but who was nevertheless determined to pee.

  As she led Puddle back up the porch steps, Nicole suddenly heard a familiar voice. “Hey you.”

  Her face broke into a smile at the sight of Michael approaching. “You're back!” she said, unable to hide her enthusiasm.

  “There was no answer at the front door, so I took a chance on the back. Hi sweetheart,” he added to Puddle, bending down to rub the dog's head. She was up on two legs, her front paws reaching up toward Michael's thigh. Then he focused his gaze on Nicole and said again, “Hi sweetheart.” His tone was softer then, more of an intimate endearment.

  With Puddle’s business complete, the little dog turned around and trotted right back up the porch. After they were all warmly inside, Puddle went straight to her food and water bowls.

  Smiling at Michael, Nicole asked, “So how did it go?” and started to shrug off her jacket when he suddenly pulled her to him. Momentarily startled, she yelped a little laugh and then his mouth was on her.

  The kiss was ardent, almost unrestrained. Nicole held onto him, kissing him back. There was no denying the blatant sexuality of what was happening. In moments they were stumbling through the living room, heatedly making out.

  “Let’s go upstairs to my room,” Nicole said on a breath.

  Michael’s mouth raked down her throat. Then his lips were back on hers, his tongue suddenly aggressive. “I missed you today,” he whispered thickly, and held onto her as if trying to possess her. There seemed to be an intensity about him today, an emotion, something insistent.

  It didn’t take long for them to reach the bedroom, and even less time for Michael to strip off her sweater and bra. Now she was barely standing up, but rather he was holding her up. She felt like she was sweating everywhere. She peeled up his shirt and reached for the fly of his jeans.

  Suddenly, he put his hand on hers to slow her down. And then he kissed her lips again, passionately but more slowly. But she became feverish again, kissing him harder, reaching for his fly, grinding up against him, digging her fingers into his arms.

  Within moments, he had her jeans and panties down and she was naked before him. In a blur, he was naked, too, and they were falling back onto the bed.

  Indefinite time passed as he worked his mouth and hands over what felt like every inch of her, suffusing her lower body with scalding heat, stoking an almost painful desire. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Nicole tried to keep up with him and with her own desire, but she couldn't find a steady rhythm, an order to this chaos, and before long her legs were strained around his hips and he was pushing himself inside her.

  Slightly, she winced, and then their mouths seemed to break apart at the same moment. As Nicole turned her face to try to catch her breath, Michael seemed to realize. With a brief, gruff laugh he pressed his forehead to her shoulder. “Oh, man...” he breathed, “this is getting hot...”

  She couldn't find the strength to laugh at the understatement or simply to agree with him. She stroked his back and kissed his bicep. “I love how you smell,” she said softly.

  When she ran her palm over his cheek and gazed up at him, Michael paused. Looked down at her. She couldn't read his face, but his expression seemed serious. When he spoke his voice was thick and low. “We should slow it down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because...you're special to me.”

  At that, she smiled. Nothing would ever ruin this, she decided. Mich
ael’s the one, she thought and reached up to kiss him. Their kiss was gentle and lingering until passion broke like a dam again. Michael was breathing hard, licking the shell of her ear, running his hand down between her legs, and soon she was writhing beneath him. “Here...” he said gruffly. “Touch me.” He covered her hand on his cock and squeezed, closing his eyes, as his full thick shaft nearly pulsed in her hand. Nicole shifted her position and replaced her hand with her mouth, closing her lips around him, and felt him grip her hair with his fingers. It had been a long time since she had done anything like this, but it felt natural right now. Suddenly he was coaxing her head up.

  Before she knew it, she was on her back again, and Michael was dipping his head down between her legs. Nicole began rocking on the bed. This would never work, now she was too turned on, too impatient.

  “No...I don't want this,” she implored, trying to pull him up.

  Michael stopped what he was doing, looked up at her. Huskily, he asked, “What do you want, sweetheart?”

  “I want you,” she breathed and pulled on his neck. He must have understood, because he slid up next to her so they were face-to-face again. Now their bodies were sandwiched close together as both lay on their side, facing one another. “Are you on birth control?” he said. She shook her head no. “Hang on, I'll get something. I think I've got a condom in my wallet.”

  He started to sit up, but she said, “No, I'll get it,” because she was closer to where they had dropped their clothes. She turned her back on him and began climbing toward the edge of the bed, when suddenly she heard him say, “No!”

  Abruptly she was grabbed, the air nearly knocked out of her as Michael pulled her back and she landed flat on her back on the bed. “I'll get it,” he insisted raggedly, and in seconds he was back, on top of her again, leaning up on one elbow, with a condom in the other hand, and it was kind of a strange moment. She wasn't sure why he had stopped her from getting the condom herself. Was he afraid she'd see a photo in his wallet or something? A photo of a wife or girlfriend? No. She pushed the thought out of her mind completely. This was their perfect moment and she wasn't going to ruin it. Instead, she teased him, “And why were you carrying a condom in your wallet?”