“Okay,” he said slowly, “if we assume this is the ring she was wearing, can I ask how you got hold of it?”
She gestured toward the door. “A bald eagle gave it to me last night when I was on my way over here. It was perched on the light rack on the roof of your truck.”
She saw him stiffen, his gaze darting to the door, then back to her. “A fully mature bald eagle, or the younger one ye fed the pie to?”
Birch grew a little concerned when she realized he had the same really focused look in his eyes the eagle had had last night. “This one had a white head and tail feathers,” she said softly. “Only it was covered in dried mud or something. It looked sort of beaten up, and one wing drooped a little, so I figured it got caught in the same storm you did.” She gave him a tentative smile when he didn’t say anything, because she really, really didn’t want him to think she was crazy. “Do you suppose eagles can communicate with one another; like when they find a food source they can go back and tell their buddies where it is? I saw a Discovery Channel special that showed how bees come back to the hive and do a little dance to . . . Anyway,” she went on when his eyes narrowed. “This one could have been the mom or dad of the bird that was here last week . . . couldn’t it?”
“Did ye get close enough to touch it?”
“No,” she assured him, shaking her head. “It was perched on the roof of your truck. It shifted its stance and the ring hit the windshield, rolled down the hood, and fell on the ground in front of me.”
“Did the eagle say anything to you?”
Still unable to read his expression, Birch dropped her gaze to his socked feet. “I’m not crazy, Niall. I know I told you at the river that the tree talked to me, but that was . . . it was just my way of coping with my fear of drowning.” She looked up. “My dad tried to teach me to swim when I lived with him, but every time my head went under I felt like the water was crushing me to death. So thinking about it later, I decided that while I was stuck against the bridge, I talked to the only thing keeping me from falling in that cold, dark river. And I imagined the tree talked back because it . . .” She looked at his socks again and hugged herself on a shudder. “Because it was better than screaming and screaming and not having anyone hear me,” she ended on a whisper.
“Ah, lass,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms and pressing her head to his chest. “Hush now, don’t cry.”
“I never cry,” she mumbled into his shirt.
He released her just enough to sweep her off her feet, then walked to the living room area, sat down on the couch with her in his lap, and slid his fingers in her hair when she hid her face in his shirt. “Aye,” he said thickly, “the sun reflecting off your beautiful eyes must have tricked me into seeing a tear.” He gently tilted her head to look at him, his own eyes softened with concern. “So ye found a mature eagle perched on my truck, and it gave you the ring and then . . . what?”
“I, um, I walked up the driveway a short distance and gave it one of your sandwiches.” She leaned against him with a heavy sigh. “I reinforced its belief that the gullible lady who lives here gives out food in exchange for trinkets, didn’t I?”
Niall took the ring out of her hand and also sighed. “I’m afraid so. But in this instance, I would say it was a fair trade. I only wish we could find out how the eagle got hold of it.” He held the ring up in front of her. “If ye know about jewelry, can you tell me anything about this piece? It appears old.”
Happy to be off the subject of eagles, Birch turned the stone toward him by turning his hand. “I’m ninety percent sure the ruby and diamonds are real, and that the setting is quite old. The insignia on this side,” she went on, turning his hand again, “appears to be some sort of family crest, and the one on this other side could be the family motto, but I don’t recognize the language. My best guess is the ring is from an eastern European country, or might even be Russian.”
“Would ye mind if I held on to it awhile?” he asked. “I know someone who might be able to trace the ring’s origin, which could help lead us to whoever’s after you.”
“You can keep it for all I care.” She tilted her head back. “Daddy told me about Leonard Struthers—or rather, Jacques Rabideu—being found dead on the same day I was run off the road,” she admitted softly, not hating the man enough to want him murdered. “And that he may have crossed a family of professional con artists. Dad said there are actually several families operating in Canada.”
“Aye, he told me the same thing when he came to the station the day he arrived. And since ye feel certain this is the ring the woman in the white car was wearing,” he said, holding it up to see again, “it may tell us which one of the families Rabideu was involved with. So,” he went on, lifting his hips just enough to slide the ring in his jeans pocket, then capturing her chin to look at him. “Will I hear another knock on my door tonight, and maybe this time have the pleasure of making love to an awake woman?” he asked, his grin lighting up his eyes.
Birch went perfectly still. “What are you talking about? You and I . . . we didn’t make love last night.”
“No? Are ye saying you usually wear your pajamas inside out, then?”
Birch pulled her oversized top away from her chest, only to gasp when she saw the label in front instead of the back as well as on the outside. She lifted a leg to look at her pants, but seeing they were on correctly she went back to staring at the label on the shirt, trying to remember if she might have had an erotic dream. People sleep-walked, but could a person actually have sleep-sex?
Finally realizing the mountain she was sitting on was shaking with silent laughter, Birch scrambled off his lap and rounded on him. “We did not have sex last night. I want you to admit right now that you’re just teasing.”
“Aye,” he said, pushing himself to his feet and pulling her into his arms again. “But only because I can’t resist seeing your eyes fill with fire,” he murmured as he bent and kissed her gaping mouth.
Birch couldn’t stop herself from melting into the maddening man and kissing him back, even as she tried to remember the last time anyone had teased her. Imagine pretending to think she’d brought a ring over here to ask for his hand in marriage. And then implying they’d had sex but that she’d slept through the whole thing.
Like she could ever sleep through his lovemaking.
She leaned slightly away. “I . . . ah, I’m wide awake now.”
He touched his forehead to hers with a groan. “And so is your mother. I believe I just heard her calling to you.”
Birch pushed away from him with a gasp and swiped her robe off the floor. “Dammit, I forgot.” She stopped trying to find a sleeve hole and glared at him. “This is all your fault. What in hell am I going to tell her?”
He walked to the counter and picked up the basket, walked back, and held it out. “Tell her you were worried I might be hungry after sleeping twenty-four hours and thought you’d be a good neighbor by bringing me breakfast.”
“Yeah. Okay. That’ll work,” she said, finally getting her robe on. She neatly tied the belt, combed her fingers through her hair to smooth out the tangles, then took the basket from him just as she heard her mother call her name. “So how do I look?”
“I’m sorry to say a lot less tousled than the last time ye left here in pajamas,” he said dryly. He opened the door only to have Shep come barreling inside, then followed her out. “She’s over here, Hazel,” he said, actually waving at the woman and then lowering his hand and holding it out to Birch.
And like an idiot, she automatically reached out and shook it.
“Thank ye, Miss Callahan,” he said a bit loudly, continuing to pump her hand as her mom came across the yard toward them. “After sleeping all day and night, your sandwiches were just what I needed to finish feeling like myself again. Good morning Hazel. Can I ask if ye have any news on Johnny?”
Birch watched her mother
’s eyes, slightly narrowed in suspicion, dart between the two of them before finally settling on Niall. “I stayed at the hospital until Johnny was out of surgery. The doctor told Macie everything went well, and that he should be able to go home tomorrow. So I booked Macie and Cassandra into a motel until then.”
Birch slipped the basket over one arm, slid her other arm through her mother’s, and started toward the house. “Come on, Mom; let’s let Chief MacKeage eat his breakfast in peace.” But she stopped in front of Niall’s truck when she spotted dried bird droppings splattered all over the roof and running down the windshield. “Looks like you’re going to need another bucket of hot, soapy water,” she said, stifling a snicker when she saw Niall also looking at his truck and having no problem reading his eyes this time, since they perfectly matched his scowl. She could not, however, stifle a laugh when he muttered a nasty curse in French—completely slaughtering the word with his Scottish brogue.
Wanting to head off any questions about why she’d taken breakfast to her neighbor wearing pajamas, Birch decided to ask one of her own. “So, Mom,” she went on as she started across the yard again, “what are your plans for today? Because I thought we could go to this nice little artisan shop in town and you could give me your opinion on a purse I’m thinking of buying.”
“Oh, sorry, but I’m afraid I already have plans.”
Birch stopped as they reached the walkway and slid her arm free. “What plans?”
“Just plans. So tell me, when did you start making your bed first thing in the morning before you even get dressed?”
Damn, she should have messed up her blankets and pillow last night. Heck, maybe she better ask Cassandra for pointers on sneaking around. No, wait; she just had to ask her mom. “Now that Noreen’s no longer here, I’m trying to stay ahead of the mess. Speaking of which,” Birch rushed on, deciding to redirect the conversation, “I’m going to call a house meeting to discuss dividing up the chores. And just so you know, I’m including Emily so she’ll feel like a valued member of the household. She can vacuum and dust and even help with the meals by setting the table.”
Birch realized her plan had worked almost too well when she saw her mom’s eyes darken with sadness. “That poor child; she didn’t say two words at dinner last night. I really don’t understand why some men feel they have to prove their manhood by terrorizing women and children.”
“Now, Mom,” Birch said gently, touching her arm. “We had this discussion when we agreed I’d take this job even though it was a live-in position. Remember my saying you have to be careful about letting the women’s circumstances break your heart? Children are far more resilient than most people realize. What’s really important is that Emily will learn right along with her mother that not only do they have choices, but that there are plenty of people willing to help them.”
“But I’m not sure how to act around Emily,” Hazel whispered. “I don’t want to appear as though I pity her. Or Francine, for that matter; I’m afraid I might say the wrong thing.”
“Just be your happy self, Mom. Emily’s only a few years younger than Cassandra, and you two have become good friends. Do the same with Emily; find out what her interests are and encourage her to pursue them.”
“Cassandra’s an amazing artist,” Hazel said, her smile returning. “She showed me some of her pastels, and I told her to take them around to the artisan shops and see if they might be interested in selling them on consignment. I’m glad you weren’t upset that I left her in Millinocket with Macie; Cassandra can be quite a mature young woman when given the chance to feel needed.”
“I think it was a wonderful idea to have her stay with Macie, and I agree there’s a lot more to Cassandra than first impressions,” Birch said as she started up the walkway.
Hazel caught her sleeve to stop her, glanced toward the house, then stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Can I ask what your first impression of Francine and Emily was?”
“A very scared mother and daughter. Why? What’s your impression of them?”
“That’s exactly what I thought, too—at first,” Hazel said softly. “But when I came back from Millinocket and went up to my room, I . . . well, I realized someone had been snooping around. Did you go in my bedroom yesterday looking for something?”
“No. I spent the morning cleaning the kitchen and dealing with all the stuff the committee women brought over. What makes you think someone was in your room?”
Hazel shook her head. “Everything in my bureau drawers was right where it should be, but . . . messy, like clothes and items had been pushed back and forth as if someone were looking for something. I don’t want to accuse anyone,” her mother rushed on, “and it never occurred to me that we should lock our bedroom doors. But when you think about it, Birch, we take in complete strangers we know nothing about.”
“Well, shit,” Birch muttered. “Being my first live-in position, I never considered that could be a problem. If we keep our bedroom doors locked, it’s going to create an atmosphere of mistrust. But I also want everyone to feel secure.” She cocked her head. “Did you notice if anything was missing?”
“No, not that I could see. I checked my jewelry box and it didn’t look like it had even been gone through. It was mostly my bureau, and it seemed that every drawer was touched. It also looked like some of the boxes on the floor of my closet had been pulled out and gone through, then shoved back in.”
“But your jewelry box was completely ignored?”
Hazel nodded, then shook her head. “I’m not saying Francine or Emily was in my room, but if you weren’t looking for something . . . well, I don’t know what to think.”
“Neither do I, at the moment,” Birch said, giving her a quick hug, then stepping back with a smile. “Let me kick this around in my head for a while and see if I can’t come up with a solution.”
Her mother’s smile returned. “It might be as simple as providing each resident with a small lockbox for their more precious possessions. I think you were wise to have us leave our more expensive jewelry at the bank, although I do wish I had my emerald necklace and earrings.”
“You only wear those emeralds with your beige gown,” Birch said in surprise. “And both are a little dressy for Spellbound Falls, don’t you think?”
“They’re not too dressy for Aeolus’s Whisper.”
“You’re going up to Nova Mare? Who with?”
“I didn’t say I am going,” Hazel said quickly, heading for the house. “I merely wish I had my emeralds in case I want to dine there. And if I might suggest, chére,” she continued as she walked up the stairs, “the next time you feel compelled to call on your neighbor before you’ve dressed, you might want to wear something other than those ratty old pajamas under your robe.” She opened the screen door to let Mimi in the house, then looked back and gave Birch a wink. “And try to remember the tag goes in the back on the inside,” she drawled, disappearing into the kitchen.
Chapter Twenty-one
Birch sat in her new executive office chair that had been delivered yesterday, a warm cup of coffee resting on her belly and her socked feet propped up on her beautiful new desk, and stared at the matching floor-to-ceiling bookcases on the opposite wall as she tried to decide whether or not to tell Niall what she suspected about her newest residents. Based on Hazel’s certainty that her room had been searched, Birch had been keeping a closer eye on Francine and Emily No-Last-Names for the last two days and had started wondering if, rather than running for their lives, they might actually somehow be connected to both the white car and Jacques Rabideu’s murder.
Three or four families of con artists operating in Canada, Claude had said. And weren’t children indoctrinated into most family businesses starting in the cradle, such as ranching and farming and fishing and even the circus? Heck, Birch figured she had known more about guns by age eight than most adults ever would.
But what k
ind of parent made a thirteen-year-old play the daughter of an abused woman? Because if that truly were the case, the really scary—or very sad—part was that Emily was one hell of an actress. But who better to get inside a women’s shelter than a mother and child? And of course it had to be two people fleeing for their lives, so one could be a lookout or a distraction while the other one searched.
But searched for what? Because someone was definitely searching for something; the deciding factor for Birch occurring this morning after sneaking home from Niall’s just before sunrise. Intending to grab clean undies on her way to the shower, she’d stopped in mid-reach and started opening all the drawers of her bureau. She’d checked her jewelry box next, rushed over and opened her closet, then slowly backed away at the realization her room had been methodically searched sometime during the night.
And they’d ignored her jewelry, just like they had her mother’s, which implied that whatever they were looking for didn’t fit in a jewelry box. Birch scanned her office, only able to assume it had also been searched, since it was still a mess of unpacked boxes, making it impossible to know if anything had been disturbed. But surprisingly, at this point she honestly didn’t care, figuring she’d much rather have strangers pawing through her stuff than be run off the road. Merde, if they would just tell her what they were after, she’d help them look.
No, the only thing stopping her from confronting them or even telling Niall what was going on—which on the surface would seem the wiser thing to do—was the possibility she might be wrong. She was running a safe house for women, meaning she was in the business of trust. And if word got out she’d asked the police to investigate one of her residents for merely suspecting something . . . well, the new Spellbound Falls’ Crisis Center would be dead in the water less than six weeks after opening its doors.
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