The Inn at Ocean's Edge

by Colleen Coble

  Only Father could tell her.

  She rose from her seat on the pier. “I have to get back to the hotel. Thanks for everything.”

  Megan wore a worried expression. “You sure you’re okay to go back by yourself? You’re still awfully pale.”

  “I’m fine.” Claire needed to hear from her father what had happened in this place. The orca wiggled a fin in the water. “You mind if I come down and check on the orca tomorrow?”

  “Come anytime you like.” Luke glanced at his sister who gave a slight shake of her head.

  Claire saw the questions in his eyes, but she wasn’t ready to deal with his curiosity. “Did you see the way the orca wanted to help me?”

  He nodded. “They’re smart. I’m sure he sensed your distress.” His well-shaped lips flattened, and he took a deep breath. “You seemed shocked by what I told you. You don’t remember anything about being here when you were a kid?”

  Megan’s eyes flashed. “Luke, let her be.”

  “She’s fine now. Do you? Remember anything, I mean?”

  She thought about not answering at all, but his expression held intense need, not curiosity. “As far as I knew, this was my first visit here. I-I even flipped out a little in the hotel because it felt eerily familiar.” She swallowed down a choking lump. “Believe me, I intend to ask a lot of questions.”

  The glint in his eyes went out. “So you don’t remember a woman the night you went missing?”

  Megan put her hand on his arm. “Enough, Luke.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Just asking.”

  “It’s okay. No, I don’t remember a woman. I don’t remember anything. Well, other than dark trees. I kind of remember that.” She handed him back his jacket. “I’d better go now. Thanks for your help. I’ll stop back tomorrow.” She gave a slight wave and set off along the beach toward the hotel.

  The sun was low in the sky to the west, and the fading light sent shadows looming along the path. If she didn’t pick up her speed, she wouldn’t make it back to the hotel before dark. But the knowledge didn’t cause her to quicken her pace.

  What was she even going to say to her father—how did she start that conversation? She’d been lied to her entire life. Keeping something like this from her felt like a betrayal of the worst kind. Her purse felt heavy on her arm, and she wished she hadn’t brought it. She’d been gone two hours, and her father was probably worried.

  She reached a point where Sunset Cove began to curve back toward the hotel. A crab skittered across the sand by her feet, then darted into a hole when it saw her. Wrinkling her nose at the stench and flies, she waded through a pile of crunchy kelp deposited by the tide and dried by the sun. A gull cried above her, and she looked up the rock face ten feet to her right.

  Two figures struggled at the edge of the cliff, ninety feet in the air. The woman wore a pencil skirt and sleeveless blouse that nearly matched the darkening sky. Her silhouette obstructed Claire’s view of who struggled with her. Shading her eyes with her hand, Claire watched the woman’s slim figure as she tried to prevent the man from pushing her closer to the edge.

  “Hey, you! Leave her alone!” Claire looked around for some way to ascend the cliff, but the sheer expanse of jagged pink granite looming above her offered no way to climb it without gear.

  She peered up again, this time seeing the form of a man behind the woman. He wore a jacket over tan hunting pants. She got an impression of dark hair and a straight nose, but she was too far to make out his features. Neither of them seemed to notice her, and she gasped when he shoved the woman even closer to the edge.

  “I’m calling the police!” She clawed her cell phone out of her purse and dialed 911. Before the dispatcher picked up, a shriek mingled with the wail of the loons, and Claire whirled to see the young woman plummeting to the ground. She hit the sand with a solid thump, then didn’t move.

  “No, no!” Claire ran toward the woman who was spreadeagled facedown. She knelt beside her and touched her wrist. No pulse. What should she do? She knew CPR. Get help on the way first, though. She put the phone back to her ear. “Are you there?”

  “You need assistance, ma’am?” The dispatcher had a gravelly male voice.

  “There’s been a murder. Some man just threw a woman over the cliff. I saw the whole thing.” She choked out the words.

  The woman had landed on her stomach, but her head was turned to one side, and now that she was closer, Claire recognized her as the front desk clerk. “It’s Jenny Bennett.”

  “I’ll call the sheriff, and we’ll get someone there right away. What’s your location?”

  “Down the steps from Hotel Tourmaline and about a quarter mile to the north along the beach.”

  “It’s going to take awhile for the sheriff to get out there. Be patient.”

  Claire ended the call and rolled Jenny onto her back. She knelt and began CPR. It felt hopeless, but she had to try. The back of her neck prickled, but she didn’t dare stop CPR to look around. Lord, help me.

  She leaned forward to administer two breaths, but an explosion of movement from the shrubs in the maritime forest made her heart leap into her throat. Before she could turn to see what was coming at her, a hard blow struck the back of her head. As darkness claimed her, she saw the face of her attacker.

  It was the hunter from her nightmares. Only this time there was no fox attached to his belt.

  THREE

  Leaving his boat docked at the fishing community of Summer Haven behind him, Luke climbed into his old truck and headed toward home on Cliff Road. He navigated the ’75 Chevy truck along the muddy road past cranberry bogs on both sides of the unpaved track. Luke’s dad had bought this old heap before Luke or his sister had been born, and it held the smell of decades of fish, lobster, and cranberries. The seasons in Maine were summer, fall, winter, spring, and mud. Once the ice and snow melted, any road not paved turned to thick mud that turned slick under bald tires. This time of year he had the four-wheel drive engaged just to navigate the sludge.

  Luke couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying to Claire Dellamare. Could she know something about his mom’s disappearance, or was he assuming too much?

  Megan cranked her window down, and the clean air wafted in the vehicle. “I see the wheels turning in your head. Let it go, Luke.”

  “You have to admit it seems heaven sent that Claire has shown up right now. She might have the key piece of information we need.”

  “You saw her reaction. She didn’t even know she’d ever been here.”

  “Maybe.”

  His sister heaved a sigh. “I recognize that noncommittal tone. You intend to talk to her. You sure it’s not just because she’s wicked cunning?”

  The Maine term that meant cute was hardly the word for Claire. Drop-dead gorgeous was more like it. Light-brown hair tipped in honey framed a heart-shaped face and highlighted the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen. And those dimples? Adorable. She didn’t lack self-confidence either. When she’d been outraged about the orca, she confronted them without hesitation. He liked the fire in her.

  He grinned. “I only want to find out what she might know about Mom’s disappearance.”

  He rolled down his window. “Seriously, Meg, don’t you find it intriguing? Pop has always thought there had to be some connection. He tried to talk to her parents years ago, and they shut him down and wouldn’t let him speak to Claire.”

  “She was four when she disappeared. How much do you remember from when you were four?”

  He waggled his brows at her. “I remember flushing your Polly Pocket down the toilet.”

  She punched him in the arm. “And you have never even said you’re sorry!”

  “Ouch.” He rubbed his deltoid. “You had, like, a zillion of them.”

  “I had three. And that one was my favorite.” She fixed a dark scowl on him. “But seriously. Most of us don’t remember much from when we were four.”

  Now he had her. “Except traumatic things. So
if you are still mad about a Polly Pocket, shouldn’t she remember being lost in the woods for a solid year? And I’m not buying the amnesia thing. There has to be more to her forgetting she was ever here. I bet those memories will just take a little probing to come bubbling up.”

  He rested his arm on the window frame, enjoying the prickle of the wind and the warmth of the sun as he navigated the muddy potholes. He scanned the expansive cranberry fields. The green plants looked healthy and well tended. Meg had done a good job of pruning the vines. In a few months a crimson tide of cranberries would be bobbing on both sides of the road.

  He frowned when the family house came into view. The gray car in the driveway wasn’t familiar. “Someone’s there.”

  Megan squinted through the windshield. “Looks like Pop’s home health-care nurse.”

  A movement from the corner of his eye made Luke stomp on the brakes. One of their employees, Jimmy Bradley, came tearing from the fields. Though just out of high school, the boy was a good worker. He swiped at the blond hair flopping over his wide eyes, then doubled over, his chest heaving. He straightened, then gripped the top of the truck’s door and sucked in air.

  Luke got out of the truck in time to grab the kid and keep him from sliding to the ground. “What’s wrong?”

  His mind ran through the possible problems. Jimmy had been clearing some scrub in a field the farm had acquired a year ago. The next step would be to excavate for a new bog, then lay down sand before planting it. Luke had seen bear scat out there yesterday, and maybe the bruin had come back, though Jimmy didn’t seem to be bleeding.

  He lowered the boy to the road and motioned to his sister. “Grab me the bottle of water behind my seat. Hurry!” If the kid got any grayer, his face would match the pavement.

  She nodded and slid across the truck to reach behind his seat. “Is Pop okay?”

  Luke’s pulse kicked. He hadn’t even thought of his dad, but knowing the old man, he just might have gone wandering through the fields in his wheelchair to check on them. Cranberries had been his life for sixty years. “Is it Pop?” He uncapped the water bottle and handed it to Jimmy. What if their dad was lying out there dead of another stroke?

  Jimmy shook his head, and a hint of color came back into his face. “Not your dad.” He took a long swig of water, then wiped his mouth with the back of his shaking hand. “You have to come, Luke. I burned off . . . some cut brush . . . I’d heaped in a ditch.” He shuddered and sipped the water.

  Megan slid out of the truck. “It spread and you burned down a building?”

  “N-No.” The boy’s eyes were huge as he looked up at them. “I’m not sure, but I think I found a-a dead person.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Bones.”

  “What makes you think they’re human?” Luke had come across plenty of animal bones in his days, and Jimmy was a flatlander. He’d moved here from Illinois about two years ago. He might still be a little green. But what if Jimmy has found Mom? He didn’t dare to hope.

  “Hair. There’s hair too.” The boy’s face was white, and he shook his head. “I don’t want to see it again. I can tell you where to go.”

  Luke looked at Megan. “Call the sheriff, and I’ll go see what this is about.” He turned back to the boy. “What’s the location?”

  Jimmy pointed over the crest of the horizon. “The new field. There’s a ditch that runs through it. Right where it turns and goes into the woods.”

  “I know the spot.” Luke grabbed Jimmy’s arm and shoved him toward the truck. “Show me the grave.”

  Pain. Claire blinked her eyes and tried to make out where she was. Gritty sand itched her back and legs. A cool ocean breeze brushed her legs, and she blinked at the dusky sky overhead. Her fingers grazed bare flesh on her thigh, and she tugged her skirt down.

  “Ayuh, easy now.” The man leaning over her was in his fifties with kind hazel eyes in a sea-weathered face as brown as the bark on a tree. He wore a tan shirt and black slacks. “You’ve got a lump on the back of your head the size of an albatross egg.” He eased her into a sitting position.

  Her head spun, and she blinked to clear her vision. The pain in her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Only a bit of light came from the western horizon, and that small patch would be gone soon. The surf thundered to her left, and the strong scent of salt and kelp made her stomach turn even more.

  She needed to get back to the hotel. “What happened?”

  “You tell me, missy. You called the dispatcher and reported a murder. When we got here, we found only you.”

  The woman. She squinted in the dim light and glanced around, but all she saw was another deputy standing in the shadows. “Could you help me up?” The pain in her head intensified as he got her onto her feet, and she stood swaying until the agony ebbed to a dull roar.

  “Her body was right there.” She pointed to a depression by a large rock. “I checked her pulse, and I think she was dead, but I tried CPR anyway.”

  “You’re Claire Dellamare? You match the description.”

  She nodded. “How did you know my name?”

  “Your father called and asked us to look for you. Said you should have been back two hours ago. I’m Sheriff Colton and this is Deputy Waters. Your father said you rushed off all upset after a panic attack, and you’d been gone several hours. You sure you’re not imagining it?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, then reached up, wincing as her fingers probed the large goose egg on her head. “Did I imagine this?” His impertinent question was all because of her panic earlier. She’d seen people question her mother all her life, but she was not at all like her mother. Not in any way.

  The younger deputy stepped into better view. He was in his thirties with a pencil-thin mustache and pants that hung too low beneath his pendulous belly. “You might have fallen.”

  Was that a sneer? Claire ignored the avid curiosity in his gaze and tipped her chin up to face down his skepticism. “He hit me on the head from behind.”

  Colton took her arm and turned her toward the steps up to the hotel. “Ayuh, all I know is some beachcombers from the hotel found you lying here and stayed with you for the hour it took us to get here. Maybe you should get some rest tonight, Ms. Dellamare. Things might be a little clearer tomorrow.”

  She jerked her arm out of his grip. “I’m perfectly clear now. See that big rocky cliff? They were struggling there. He pushed her toward the edge, and I yelled for him to stop, but I don’t think he heard me. The next thing I knew, he tossed her over the edge.” The nausea roiled in her stomach again when she remembered the sound the woman’s body had made when it hit the sand.

  His only reaction was a slow blink of his eyes. She grabbed his arm. “You have to believe me.”

  “Then where’s the body?” The younger cop hiked at his pants.

  “Maybe the murderer took it.” She rubbed the back of her neck, but the tight knots under the skin didn’t ease. “I recognized the woman. It was Jenny Bennett from the hotel.” When a slight gasp came from Waters, she glanced over to see all color had washed from his face. “You know her?”

  “You sure it was Jenny?” The deputy’s voice choked, and his eyes were wide and horrified.

  “Positive. I met her when I checked into the hotel. I’d spoken with her on the phone, and she introduced herself.”

  Colton put his hand on his deputy’s shoulder. “Go on home and check.” Waters took off for the steps without answering, and the sheriff watched him go. “He and Jenny live together. So I hope you’re wrong, Ms. Dellamare. Waters has an engagement ring in his pocket and is planning to ask her to marry him this weekend.”

  Claire gulped. “And I just blurted it out to him.”

  He dug a metal tin of Altoids out of his pocket and popped one in his mouth. “You didn’t know. And I’m still hoping you’re just a little off-kilter and Waters finds her safe and sound at home.”

  Claire wanted to be wrong. Could she have been wrong about her attacker looking like the man in her
nightmares? “I saw him before he hit me.” She described him to the sheriff.

  “Could be any one of hundreds of hunters in this area.”

  She was beginning to doubt herself until her head throbbed again. She hadn’t imagined someone hitting her. “I’ll paint him for you. I remember his face clearly.”

  “Sounds fine, just fine, Ms. Dellamare.”

  He didn’t believe a word she’d said. “I’d better get back to the hotel. My father will be worried.”

  “Your dad seemed a mite upset.”

  “I’m their only child. You know how that can be.” She glanced at her watch. Three hours. No wonder her father was frantic.

  She let him assist her up the step, the pink granite glimmering in the fading light. Muscles she’d forgotten she had began to complain at the long walk up the cliffside. Lights spilled from the hotel windows, and tasteful yard lights illuminated the landscaping along the expansive green lawns.

  If only she could crawl into the crisp white sheets waiting in her room. She needed to have all her faculties and strength when she confronted her father about what she’d learned from Luke. But she’d never sleep now if she didn’t find out what had happened here all those years ago.

  FOUR

  Lights blazed from the hotel, and the soft tones of “My Girl” filtered through speakers placed around the manicured lawn. By the time Claire stepped into the lobby, fragrant with watermelon candles, every muscle in her body throbbed, and she limped from the pain in her right hip. She must have gone down hard on that side. Clinking glasses mingled with laughter from the lounge as she walked across the pink-granite tiles toward the elevator.

  She waited for the panic to hit her again, but she felt strangely calm and focused. At least now she knew what had caused that uncharacteristic reaction from her. When several people glanced at her out of the corners of their eyes, she looked down. She was still barefoot and had lost her shoes somewhere along the way. Her hair must be filled with debris from the beach as well, and a smear of muddy sand adorned her left leg.