The Inn at Ocean's Edge

by Colleen Coble

He let Claire take the chair closest to the swing, then dropped into the other one and reached for a cookie. Peanut butter.

  “Paper?” Claire’s voice was husky.

  Aunt Nan gave the swing a push with her pink-tipped bare toes. “And, Luke, the least you could have done was call me with the news that the real Claire’s bones were found on your property.”

  He winced. “Sorry, Aunt Nan. It was in the paper? Danny said there would be no official announcement until the DNA came back.”

  “The reporter said she had a scoop. I would assume the sheriff is reaming out someone as we speak.”

  A child chasing a dog raced around the side of the house. The little boy’s bright-red face held an ear-to-ear grin as he scooped up the puppy and carried it back to the side of the house.

  Luke swiped the condensation from his glass. Danny was likely livid. Who had spilled the news?

  Claire picked up her glass. “Do you have a copy of the paper? I’d like to see it.”

  “Got it right here.” His aunt reached beside her and pulled a newspaper from under her e-reader. “Front page.”

  Luke watched Claire as she took the paper gingerly. “I wonder if someone leaked it to embarrass your family. Maybe Andy Waters.”

  Aunt Nan tightened her ponytail. “Or Danny himself. You give the man too much credit, Luke. I wouldn’t put something like this past him.”

  Claire passed the newspaper to him. “Why would he leak it?”

  “He doesn’t like you much, Claire. Maybe he wanted everyone to believe you’re an imposter.” The picture beside the headline was of a little girl with blond hair. Claire at age four. He scanned the article and found one surprise. “The article confirms that Priscilla is the one who found you.”

  “I noticed that.” Her eyes were shadowed, and she ran her finger around the beaded moisture on her glass. “Nancy, do you know if your sister ever met my parents?”

  “Whoa, where did that question come from?” Luke laid the paper aside. “Of course not.”

  “Actually she did, Luke.” Nan curled her legs under her. “Vicky and I both met your parents, Claire. I was helping her make cranberry jam when your parents stopped by with you in the car. They bought some things. Does it matter?”

  “You said your sister heard a child crying. How tight was money back then?”

  “Tight,” Nan admitted. “The cranberries were just starting to produce.”

  He saw where Claire was going and it was crazy. “You can’t seriously think my mother had something to do with young Claire’s disappearance.”

  “Right now I don’t know what to think.” The warmth she usually showed him seemed lost in the steely slant of her mouth and the hardness along her jaw. “They were found together. What if my dad paid your father to hold the real Claire for a while?”

  Her suspicions rocked him back in his chair. The problem was, nothing was off the table because nothing was as it seemed. “I think I’d better talk to Pop.”

  “And I’ll talk to Harry.”

  Of course her father was golfing. Where else would he be but schmoozing on the golf course while her whole world fell apart? The wind at her back, Claire marched along the path to the greens. It wouldn’t be the ideal place for a confrontation, but this morning’s revelations had taken place in front of a dozen guests and hotel employees. Luke had gone to talk to his dad while she talked to hers.

  She spied her grandpa’s hat first. With his plaid beret cocked at an angle and his matching knickers, he would have been at home on the greens in Scotland. Careful to avoid a spiderweb, she paused between two box hedges and watched them putt. Maybe Grandpa Timothy would tell her more than her father would.

  Once her father sank his putt, she started forward. Her sandals sank into the soft grass, and her feet were wet by the time she reached their cart. “I need to talk to both of you a minute.”

  Her father frowned. “Can it wait, Claire? We still have nine more holes to play.”

  His terse tone tore at her heart. The last time she’d seen him he said he loved her, but there was no love in his cold blue eyes. “It can’t wait.” And to make doubly sure he knew she was serious, she moved in front of the cart. He’d continue only by running her over.

  “Fine. What’s wrong now?”

  Her grandpa put his putter in the bag nestled in the back of the cart. “What isn’t wrong, Harry? Have a little compassion for your daughter. She just found out you’re not the man she thought you were.”

  Her dad’s face went red, and he turned the key on the cart. “Get out of the way, Claire. Your mom has talked me to death. I can’t discuss this anymore.”

  She stepped to the side of the cart, then reached in and turned off the key. She pocketed it, then folded her arms across her chest. “You lied to me, Dad. You didn’t find me and rush me to see Mom. One of the workers here at the hotel found me and called you and the sheriff. It’s all in the transcript.”

  Best not to mention she’d heard the first-person account from Priscilla herself. The last thing she wanted was to get the woman in trouble. The transcript was public record.

  Grandpa put his big hand on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “I’m sure there’s some answer, Claire. Give your dad a chance to answer without sending him to the gallows before he explains.”

  Any other time she would have tucked herself under his arm and looked up at him with adoration. He was one of her favorite people in the world, but everything felt off now. Different. He wasn’t her jokester grandpa, the one she could come to with any problem. She wasn’t even blood.

  “Did you know about any of this, Grandpa? The affair, Kate’s birth, the fact that I’m not really Claire?”

  His hand left her shoulder and went to rub his forehead. His fingers left a smear of dirt on his skin. “I knew some of it, honey. I know it’s been a shock. We’ve kept quiet all these years to protect your mother.”

  “Are you trying to give Dad time to concoct an answer?”

  Hurt flashed through his hazel eyes, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Just trying to bring some balance to the discussion.”

  Nothing would ever be the same again. Not between her and her grandparents, not between her and her parents. Even Francisca and the rest of the Castillo family would keep their distance when the truth came out. She caught her breath at the sheer magnitude of how her life was likely to change.

  She curled her fingers into her palms. “You know what really doesn’t make sense, Dad? If you’d just said you got the call I’d been found and rushed to get me, I would have accepted that. But you brought up something even weirder. You said I looked like Claire so you just took me home. That seems to indicate that you likely knew you were never going to find the real Claire. Did you kill her?”

  The words were out before she could stop them. A cry escaped, and she put her hand to her mouth. Until she’d spilled that accusation, she hadn’t realized where her suspicions had taken her. But it made a horrible kind of sense.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Claire.” Her grandfather folded his long legs into the passenger side of the cart. “Give your father the key and go calm yourself before we talk about it anymore. I’m surprised you’d say something so outrageous after all Harry has done for you.”

  A band tightened in Claire’s midsection. Her grandpa believed it too. She’d seen it in a flash before he turned away. “What happened, Dad? I’m sure it was an accident. I don’t believe you’re capable of murder.” She leaned forward and put her hand on the steering wheel. “Who am I? I have to know.”

  Her father stared straight ahead, his jutting chin betraying his stubborn refusal to look at her or to speak. His lips were pressed together so tightly, they’d lost all color. He got out and stepped up to his ball. His jawline was as hard as the granite boulders around the golf course as he whacked the ball. It veered off to his right, and he muttered an expletive under his breath before climbing back in the cart.

  She put her hand on his should
er, then removed it when he flinched at her touch. Numbly, she dug the key out of her pocket and leaned over to put it in the ignition. Without saying anything more, she stepped away from the cart.

  Harry’s cell phone rang and he pulled it out. “That same number again.”

  Frowning, he touched the screen. “Dellamare.” He listened for a moment. “Look, I’m not coming down there now. I’m sure I’m not a match anyway. Parents usually aren’t, and I’ve got enough on my plate with this. Thanks for calling, Doctor, but it’s not possible.” He ended the call.

  “Kate’s doctor?” Claire couldn’t believe he’d been so abrupt.

  Her father shrugged. “She’s getting a blood transfusion at the clinic in Summer Harbor.”

  “And you’re not even going to go? She’s your daughter!” Claire looked to her grandfather for support.

  “Claire is right, Harry. You should go down there. You might be a match for her.”

  “It’s not likely. She’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Her father started the cart and pulled away.

  Claire stood with her mouth dangling open. If he wouldn’t go, the least she could do was check on Kate. She took out her phone and called Luke, who was pulling up outside his father’s house. He promised to meet her at the ferry in half an hour.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The living room held the odor of the beef and cabbage cooking in the Crock-Pot. Meg put down her book when Luke entered. She held up her finger to her mouth and shushed him, but he shook his head and went to stand beside their father sleeping in the recliner. “I need to talk to him. It’s important.”

  Pop’s lids fluttered at the sound of Luke’s voice booming in the living room. He snuffled, then finally opened his eyes. He reached for the red hanky in the pocket of his overalls and dabbed his mouth. “Luke. What time is it?”

  “About four.”

  “Need water.” Their father made a grab for the glass on his side table and missed.

  Meg got up and took it to him, then held the straw up to his lips. “Drink, Pop.”

  He slurped up some water, then leaned back. “You look all spleeny about something. What’s up?”

  Luke glanced at his sister and shook his head. Looming over their father would get his back up so he went to sit on the sofa. “There have been some new developments.”

  Megan put down the glass and went back to the sofa. “We saw the newspaper. The second body we found on our property was the missing child, Claire Dellamare.”

  “That’s only part of it.” He stared hard at Dad. “Claire’s father told her he found her in the woods. Obviously the child he took home wasn’t his daughter, but then, who was that child he found in the woods? If he found another girl who’d somehow gotten lost in the woods, shouldn’t someone have reported her missing?”

  “Seems likely.”

  “That’s what I thought. I had Danny check, and there’s no child of that age who went missing in this area. So whoever had Claire before didn’t report her missing. She wonders if her father paid for her. Maybe her parents were hard up, and he saw her resemblance to his daughter so he offered enough money that they couldn’t pass up.”

  Megan’s expression showed she was still suspicious. He clasped his fingers together over his knee. “Pop, you and Mom met the Dellamares.”

  “Did we now?” His father dabbed at his mouth with the hanky again.

  “Aunt Nan told me they stopped by here and bought some cranberry jelly and other items. Do you remember?”

  “Son, that was twenty-five years ago. I’m hardly likely to remember something from so long ago. If Nan says it’s so, she might be right, but thousands of tourists have stopped here.” He struggled to sit up straighter in the recliner. “You’re saying Dellamare killed her?”

  “I don’t know anything much for sure. Pop, Mom’s remains are at the funeral home now. We’re having a memorial service on Tuesday.”

  Pop’s eyes widened and he scowled. “Wicked stupid is what it is! Why put us all through that?”

  “You don’t have to come,” Meg said.

  “People will wag their tongues if I don’t.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Since when do you care what people say?”

  He chewed on his lip. “What time?”

  “Two,” Luke told him. “At the church.” When was the last time Pop had come to church? Maybe Christmas ten years ago.

  Pop grunted and fumbled for the TV remote. “I’ll think about it.”

  Luke followed his sister into the kitchen. “You think he knows more than he’s telling?”

  Meg went to the coffeepot and measured grounds into the filter. “He didn’t act suspicious in any way. Nothing about meeting the Dellamares stood out to him. Um, Luke, I accepted the job. Have you heard from the Coast Guard about a transfer yet?”

  “Not yet.” He couldn’t tell her he hadn’t even asked. It appeared there would be no miracle for him. He would have to learn to deal with the cantankerous old man in the other room. He couldn’t see Claire ever living in this old farmhouse either. “I need to meet Claire at the ferry so we can take my truck to Summer Harbor. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Claire stood outside the hospital room with Luke by her side. A nurse wheeling a dinner cart clattered by reeking of chicken, and the place smelled like it had been newly waxed. The door stood slightly ajar, and the muted sound of the TV news filtered through the opening.

  “I hope Kate’s alone,” she whispered to Luke. “Thanks for meeting me here. I was mortified when I heard how Dad talked to the doctor. None of this is her fault.”

  Luke put his hand on the door. “Want me to go first?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not that cowardly.”

  She touched the smooth metal door and gave it a push. Hooked up to monitors, Kate lay in the hospital gown with her hands crossed behind her head as she watched television in the pale-green room. With the beige curtains shut, shadows lined the space. Her lightly copper-colored hair was loose on the pillow.

  Claire’s shoes squeaked on the tile, and Kate glanced up. Her half smile vanished, and she punched the button to lift her head even more. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see how you are.” Claire crossed the floor to stand beside the bed.

  Luke stepped to the window and opened the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room, and Kate squinted but didn’t object. The sunlight streaming on her face showed more color than the last time Claire had seen her.

  Claire poured her some fresh water and held out the cool glass. “You’re looking better.”

  Her eyes wary, Kate took the glass and adjusted the straw to sip from it. “Thanks.” She handed the cup back to Claire. “Harry isn’t with you?”

  Claire bit her lips at Kate’s desolate expression. “I’m sorry, Kate. I wish I really were a Dellamare. I would give you some bone marrow if I could. From what I gathered from my dad’s side of the conversation, your doctor thinks you need that transplant as soon as possible.”

  “That’s right. But there’s always the hope that they’ll find a match in the donor database.”

  Claire put the cup back on the stand. “You don’t have to be a relative to give bone marrow? I could get tested.”

  Kate’s lips smiled but her eyes didn’t. “It would be a long shot if you’re not a relative.” She plucked at the crisp white sheets. “I’m not convinced about the identification of the child’s bones. Can’t you see the resemblance between us?” She tugged at her hair. “I wish I’d never dyed this.”

  “We have a similar look, but they say everyone has a double.” Was Kate well enough to hear Claire’s suspicions about how her father had searched for a lookalike? Maybe not just yet.

  Claire turned at the slapping of flip-flops behind her. A woman about her mother’s age came through the door. Her hair was caught up in a messy bun, and she wore denim capris and a white shirt that showed off toned arms. Her nails were short and bare, and she wore no makeup.

  She froze w
hen she saw Claire and couldn’t seem to look away. Some dim memory made Claire inhale and freeze in place. She’d seen this woman before, but where? The details of the room fell away, and her ears filled with roaring. She closed her eyes and saw trees looming at her. She heard a little girl call out a name. Not Claire’s name, but what was it? The memory was gone too quickly to snatch and hold it.

  “Claire?” Luke touched her shoulder.

  Her knees felt weak when she opened her eyes. “Sorry, I felt a little light-headed for a minute.”

  “Sit down.” He guided her to one of the bedside chairs.

  The woman jerked her gaze away and went to stand on the other side of the bed. “Kate, you scared me to death.”

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  Ah, Kate’s mother. She’d worked for Claire’s mother so surely they’d met when she was a baby. Vertigo hit again, and she realized they couldn’t have met. Not when she wasn’t really Claire Dellamare. Mary Mason had left the Dellamare employment before the real Claire’s fourth birthday, well before she’d ever taken the real Claire’s place. So why did Mary seem so familiar?

  “Why didn’t you call me? I would have brought you in.”

  “You left in such a hurry . . .” Kate held out her hand to Claire. “Mom, this is Claire. And her friend Luke.”

  He murmured a greeting as Claire rose and grasped Kate’s mother’s cold fingers. “Nice to meet you, Mary.”

  Mary winced when Claire spoke her name. “You too, Claire.”

  Claire couldn’t look away from the warm green lights in Mary’s eyes. The vertigo came again, and she finally managed to look away as she sank back onto the seat. She couldn’t quite decipher the expression in the older woman’s face. Curiosity or distaste? Longing or revulsion? Mary masked her emotions well.

  Mary went to plump Kate’s pillows. “When are you getting out of here?”

  “I thought I was getting out soon, but the nurse just told me the doctor wants to keep me overnight. Would you mind getting me some toiletries and clean clothes?”

  “I’ll do that right now.” Mary nodded at Claire and Luke, then rushed toward the door as if she couldn’t wait to get away.