The Inn at Ocean's Edge

by Colleen Coble

  THIRTY

  A low cloud of gray hovered over the horizon, and the sea breeze hinted of rain as it stirred the white sheers on either side of the glass doors. Tendrils of fog swirled through the evergreen branches in the distance. Claire stuck a few pins in her wind-tossed hair, then headed down to meet Luke. She opened the door and came face-to-face with her mother, who held a tissue to her nose and peered back through red-rimmed, puffy eyes. Dad stood right behind her, and he was white as well. “Mom, Dad.”

  Her mother dabbed her eyes. “We need to talk to you, honey.”

  She stood aside for them to enter. “Of course.”

  Uncertain how to comfort her mother, Claire stood with her hands awkwardly at her side. “Are you all right, Mom?”

  Her mother shook her head, and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. Claire had never seen her mother in such a state. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, and she’d cried off every bit of makeup. Dad looked more controlled, but he shifted from foot to foot.

  Her mother went to perch on the side of the unmade bed. “You tell her, Harry. I can’t.”

  Her father wandered over to the desk and flipped through the black binder of hotel information as if he couldn’t look her in the face. Claire barely breathed as she waited for him to speak. She glanced back at her mother who was crying again. Claire shivered at her expression of desolation.

  Her father turned to face her. He tugged at the neck of his button-down navy shirt. “Everything Kate said is true, Claire. She’s my daughter. I haven’t seen her or her mother in at least seventeen years. I’m sorry.” He glanced at his wife. “The affair was a terrible mistake. After all we went through, I knew Lisa was the woman I truly loved.”

  That was it? But looking at her father’s face, she knew another blow was about to be delivered, and she fisted her hands.

  Her mother twisted the tissue in her hands. “Tell her the rest.”

  Dread curled through Claire’s midsection. “What’s Mom talking about?”

  He passed his hand over his hair and exhaled. “It’s about when we found you.” He glanced at his wife as if he hoped she’d stop him, but she kept her head down and didn’t look at him. “After Claire wandered off, your mom had a nervous breakdown.”

  He hadn’t said you. Claire grabbed the back of the armchair for support.

  “The doctor admitted Lisa to a mental hospital for observation after she took a bottle of pills. I was desperate to find Claire, so I came back here on the anniversary of her disappearance. I knew I had to bring Claire home or I’d lose Lisa too.”

  Claire gave a slight nod. She wasn’t their daughter. The evidence stared her in the face. God, give me strength.

  “I found you in the woods. You were alone, and you looked so much like our Claire that I was sure I’d found you, even though you didn’t recognize me. So I just . . . took you home with me. I never bothered to find out where you’d been. All I wanted to do was get to the hospital so Lisa could hold you.”

  She clearly understood what he wasn’t telling her. “You didn’t want to run the risk of someone proving I wasn’t really Claire Dellamare so you kidnapped a lone little girl in the woods and took her out of state before anyone could object.” The strength sagged out of her legs, and she sank onto the cushions of the chair.

  “I guess that’s the bald truth of it, honey.”

  Rage began to simmer in her belly, burning its way to her cheeks. “So what you told me about trying to find out where I’d been that year was a lie. Right?”

  Red spotted his face, but he held her glance and nodded. “I couldn’t lose you and your mother. I had to bring you back.” He glanced at his wife. “She’s forgiven me.”

  “I have forgiven him, honey, and you need to do the same.” Her mother rose and knelt in front of where Claire sat still stunned in the chair. “This doesn’t change how we feel about you, Claire. You’re our daughter and no one else’s. Someone else may have given birth to you, but no one loves you like we do.”

  Claire felt nothing as her mother’s hands clung to her. Numbness encased her limbs. She couldn’t think, couldn’t get past the crushing news. She rose and brushed past her mother and went to gaze out the window onto the balcony. The sight of a few sailing ships, their white sails billowing in the wind, normally calmed her. But not today. Maybe nothing would calm her ever again. Her throat was too tight to force a syllable past it.

  Stolen.

  Harry Dellamare had stolen her from someone else as if he had the perfect right to claim anyone he wanted. As if his own wants superseded the grief he caused another family.

  She whirled and faced him. “Where is my real family? I have to know.”

  He held out his palms in a gesture of entreaty. “I don’t know, Claire. I just don’t know. You’ll always be our daughter. Please try to remember that. What happened doesn’t change how much we love you.”

  Her eyes burned. She had to get out of here, away from his lying face. Running for the door, she ignored her mother—no, Lisa’s cry. These weren’t her parents. She had no idea who they were anymore.

  Kate swiped angrily at her wet face as she pulled her Volkswagen behind her mother’s car parked in front of her uncle’s house. Stop being such a baby. What had she expected from her father and sister—open arms? And how stupid did they think she was? Only a blind person would swallow that story about Claire not being a Dellamare. She and Claire both had their father’s blue eyes.

  Maybe he’d confessed to her before Kate showed up, and they’d concocted that ridiculous story. When the car lurched to a stop, something pink rolled out from under the seat. Her old doll, Miss Edith. She’d evidently forgotten her the other day after cleaning her mom’s closet. She picked up the doll, worn from so much love when she was little. For some reason, she tucked the doll under her arm for moral support.

  Slamming the car door harder than necessary did little to relieve her agitation. Her legs were weak, and her head spun as she went up the steps to the house and banged open the door without knocking. She was going to need a transfusion soon. Her mother and uncle were right where she expected to find them—on the back deck drinking coffee.

  Her uncle had constructed it last fall, and the cedar deck held everything important to a bachelor like him: huge grill, patio furniture, a pergola, a beer keg, and a mini fridge. The rosebushes used for landscaping had been Mom’s idea, and their fragrance mingled with the scent of coffee wafting through the open kitchen window.

  Her mother leaned back in a chaise with her feet up and her favorite red mug in her hand. Her hair was in its usual ponytail, and she wore white shorts and a pink tank top.

  Her bare feet hit the floor as soon as she saw Kate. “What’s wrong? Do you need to go to the doctor? You’re very pale, and your color is off.”

  Kate dropped onto an upholstered chaise and laid the doll in her lap. “I’m pretty weak. I should probably go see the doctor tomorrow. But that’s not the problem, Mom! You won’t believe what my father is trying to pull now.”

  Frowning, Uncle Paul set his coffee mug on the side table. “Kate, you have got to stay away from him!” He must have just come back from lobstering because he still wore his floppy hat and his blue plaid long-sleeved fishing shirt.

  She scowled at him. “Too late. I told him, his precious daughter, and his wife who I am. And you know what they said? They told me Claire isn’t their daughter at all! They said a little girl’s remains had been found and identified as Claire Dellamare. Do they think I’m stupid?”

  All the color ran from her mother’s face, and her mouth sagged. Her hand shook as she set her coffee down. “Kate, you didn’t.” She put her hand to her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She leaped up and ran to the edge of the deck where she bent over.

  Kate’s legs barely held her as she went to her mother’s side and touched her as she retched. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  Wiping her mouth, her mother sat back on her haunches. “Could you get the wa
ter bottle from my purse?”

  Kate went to her mother’s purse beside the chaise and dug out the bottle and a package of tissues. After uncapping the bottle, she spilled some water on a tissue, then knelt beside her mother again and handed the water to her. “Here. Are you all right?” She dabbed her mother’s face with the damp tissue.

  Her mother’s green eyes narrowed. “Oh, Kate, you have no idea what you’ve just done.” She looked at her brother. “Paul, what are we going to do?”

  “Shut up, Mary.” He rose and paced the deck boards. “Let me think.”

  Too weak to stand any longer, Kate went back to her chaise and sank down. Spots danced in her vision, and she leaned forward to put her head between her legs. The roaring in her ears prevented her from hearing the conversation between her mother and uncle. She didn’t understand why they were so upset. There was no way her father could take away the blueberry barren. He might be rich, but he couldn’t buck the law.

  The strength began to seep back into her limbs, and her head quit spinning. She sat up and settled back on the chaise. No sudden movements or she’d be flat on the floor. Only her mother remained on the deck with her. An engine revved, then the sound of tires on pavement drifted around the house.

  “Where’s Uncle Paul going?”

  Her mother perched on the deck railing. “He’s gone to take care of some business.”

  Her color had come back, but she seemed unwilling to look at Kate and seemed more interested in watching the hummingbird feeder a few feet away. She leaned over and plucked a rose from the bush, then began to shred it.

  “Mom? Are you all right?”

  She still didn’t look at Kate, and her voice shook. “You don’t have any idea of the damage you’ve done. Your selfishness could very well destroy this family. I’m finding it hard to even talk to you right now, so I’m going to go home. Lock up when you leave.”

  Her selfishness? It was her mother’s selfishness that had gotten all of them in this predicament.

  Without a glance at Kate, her mother slid off the railing, went down the steps to the yard, and continued around the side of the house. Moments later an engine started, and Kate saw her gun her car down the dirt road, a plume of dust spewing behind.

  Her mother hadn’t even stayed to make sure she got home safely. Kate wasn’t sure she could drive home without passing out. She was sure Dr. Bain would have no choice but to give her a blood transfusion. She picked up her cell phone, then called the doctor’s office to let them know she was heading in. She stood and her vision began to blacken again. There was no way she could drive. She called Shelley and asked for help, then sat down to wait with the doll clutched to her chest.

  Once she was stronger, she intended to get to the bottom of what had just happened.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Birds chirped and splashed in the copper bath that led into the green, secluded garden, and Claire smelled the sweet aroma of blooming lilac bushes. She caught a glimpse of Luke sitting alone on a black iron bench and ran along the stone path toward him.

  His eyes wide, he rose as she cried out his name. His arms opened, and she rushed into them. Her arms circled his waist and she buried her face in his shirt, smelling of fabric softener and laundry soap. His embrace was a haven she never wanted to leave. How did she deal with this? Where did she start looking for her family?

  He kissed her head. “Your heart is fluttering like a bird. What’s happened, honey?”

  She forced herself to be still, to soak in his strength a moment, then raised her head. “My dad s-stole me, Luke. He found me in the woods and just . . . took me.” She told him what her fa—no, Harry—had said. It was going to take awhile to get used to not thinking of them as her parents.

  His dark eyes grew somber as he spoke. “The first thing we should do is check the records of any missing children from that time. It should be easy enough to find out who you are since you were kidnapped.”

  “You’re right!” She slapped a hand to her forehead. “I was so upset that I didn’t stop to think. Your friend Beau should be able to track down my family easily enough.”

  He nodded. “Here comes Priscilla. I’ll make a call to Beau while you talk with her a minute. It may not really be necessary to question her now we know you were kidnapped.”

  She released her grip on his T-shirt and turned to wave at Priscilla Loughenberry. The food and beverage manager wore her turquoise uniform and a perky smile. A sparrow hopped closer, its bright eyes on a crumb by Claire’s feet. She was just like that bird, hoping to scoop up some small bit of information.

  As Priscilla drew nearer, Claire’s smile faded. Wait a minute. Priscilla had told her she had found her in the hotel’s garden. Yet Harry had told her he’d found her in the woods and had taken her home. And Priscilla had given her other kinds of details like her father crying. She’d never told him she’d spoken with Priscilla. Who was telling the truth? She’d been so upset by her father’s admission that she hadn’t compared the stories.

  Claire motioned for Priscilla to have a seat beside her on the bench and struggled to maintain a friendly expression. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me again. I won’t keep you long. I’m sure you’re exhausted from working.”

  The wind tossed Priscilla’s short salt-and-pepper hair, and she tucked it behind her ears. “It’s no problem, Ms. Dellamare, though I don’t know anything I can add to what I already told you.”

  “I apologize. I was upset when we spoke, so I’m a little murky on the details.” She saw the other woman relax against the back of the bench. “I’d just like to go over it again. You said you were the one who found me in the garden, correct?”

  Priscilla nodded and launched into the identical story she’d told the first time, right down to the note on her top. Claire watched her face as she spoke and saw no sign of deceit. The food manager held her gaze and spoke as if she’d told the story a thousand times. Could Harry have been lying? And if so, for what purpose?

  Claire reached down and picked up the bread crumb the sparrow was still eying, then tossed it to him. “How quickly did my father arrive?”

  “He flew in on his plane about three hours later. I kept you in the kitchen decorating cupcakes.” Priscilla smiled at the memory. “You mentioned another name, but for the life of me, I can’t remember it. We never did figure out who you were asking for. You had a bit of a lisp.”

  Another discrepancy that should have warned her mother. “My mother didn’t come with my dad?”

  Priscilla shook her head. “He told me she was ill, but seeing you would be enough to get her back on her feet. He was very appreciative of our help and tried to give me five thousand dollars. I turned it down, of course. I’d done what anyone else would have.”

  Claire could picture the scene. She’d often seen Harry throw money around like that. Though he demanded good service, he paid well to ensure it. If only she could remember. She closed her eyes and tried to summon up the taste of cupcake icing and sprinkles, but there was no sweet taste on her tongue.

  Only the bitterness of betrayal.

  The birds chirped overhead, and the wind rustled through the trees as Luke stood waiting on the phone to talk to Beau. He’d walked far enough away from the two women that he wouldn’t disturb them, but he was getting tired of the elevator music. The hold time had already been five minutes, and he looked back at Claire to make sure she was doing all right. Her face turned away from him, she still sat on the bench with Priscilla.

  Beau finally came on the line. “Sorry for the wait, Luke. What’s up?”

  Luke told him what Harry had said. “So could you check and see who reported a little girl missing about the same time?”

  “What?” Beau’s voice sharpened. “I’m sure no child was reported missing. I’ve been over and over those old files in the past week.”

  “You might not have noticed it since it wasn’t really connected to Claire’s safe return.”

  “Hold on.”

  T
here was a click, then classical music came back on. Great. He leaned against the rough bark of an oak tree and watched a porcupine lumber out from under a shrub. The animal meandered across the path and disappeared into the woods again. Luke eyed Claire again and saw the tension in her outline. What was Priscilla telling her?

  The music in his ear cut off, and Beau’s voice came back on. “Luke, the sheriff wants to talk to you. Hang on.”

  Several clicks jittered across the line, then the sheriff spoke. “Beau tells me you think there’s a little girl who went missing about the same time Claire was found. Well, whoever that woman is.”

  Luke tensed at the hostility in Danny’s voice. “That’s right.”

  “Bunch of baloney is what it is. Claire Dellamare is the only missing child we’ve had in these parts during my lifetime. Where’d you hear such a crazy story?”

  “Harry told her he found her in the woods and just took her. If that’s what happened, wouldn’t her real parents have reported her missing?”

  “I’d sure think so. Tell me exactly what Dellamare said.”

  “He told Claire as soon as he saw her, he knew she was his and that he just snatched her up and took her to Lisa, who had been committed to a mental hospital after a suicide attempt. Of course, now we know she never really was his daughter, so where is the outcry from the parents of a child literally kidnapped by him?”

  “Luke, I’m telling you, I think there’s way more to this story than we know and that the pretty woman masquerading as Claire is playing you for a fool. All these stories coming out.” His voice was thick with disgust.

  “Someone attacked her last night. What did you find when you got to the hotel?”

  “Well, yes, something happened last night. I found no sign of a break-in, though. So if there had been an intruder, he had a passkey to the door.”

  “Claire was clearly traumatized. I saw her this morning, and she was still very upset.”

  “The hotel room had been torn up some.” Danny’s admission held reluctance. “But for all I know, Claire might have torn it up herself.”