by Patti Larsen
“Only that you seem to be in a bad mood a lot lately,” he shot back. “Like, all the time. All you do is complain these days, Fee, about Petunia’s, your supposed friends, tourists.” He tossed aside his napkin and did stand this time and I didn’t try to stop him. “Makes me wonder what life is going to be like with you after all.”
So, intellectually I understood he was venting, blowing off steam, that the man I loved and adored didn’t mean anything he was saying. Yes, my practical brain was all over that explanation. The only problem? My brain wasn’t in charge at the moment and my ego, that nasty, back-biting, anxiety ridden driver behind the emotional wheel of testiness decided that she’d rather be offended than let Crew have his steam blowing episode and threw her token in the ring.
“If I’m such a pain in the ass to be with, why do you even want to marry me?” I was on my feet, too, and oh my god did I really say that out loud?
Crew stared at me, eyes wide, chest heaving a little, hands dropping to his sides while tears burned and my throat seized up, just barely keeping me from sobbing.
What the hell was this?
He moved first, crossing to me instantly, hugging me tight, one big hand against the back of my head, pressing my cheek into his chest while he whispered things to me I couldn’t make out but it didn’t matter. The words themselves had zero meaning. It was the comforting embrace of his arms that I cared about.
It was Crew I cared about.
“First fight,” he said, voice thick.
“Um, I seem to recall you yelling at me before now,” I said, words muffled by the fabric of his shirt.
Crew chuckled, that favorite sound that captivated and aroused me in equal measure. “Smart ass Fleming.”
“Bossy pants Turner.” I leaned back and kissed him. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” He rested his forehead against mine. “I shouldn’t take my mood out on you. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Robert?” I hated to bring up my cousin but Crew nodded without his return to anger.
“You guessed it.” He kissed me back then let me go. “Forgive me?”
I didn’t respond with my voice, instead grasping his hand and squeezing it, as much compassion and love on my face as I could muster.
Crew nodded, squeezed back. “Dinner was delicious,” he said. “I’m just not in the right frame of mind to share it with you.” He half turned, grabbed his jacket from the other stool at the kitchen island, bending to scratch Petunia behind one ear. “I should go.”
I didn’t want him to. I was right about one thing—we needed to figure out how to be together if this marriage of ours was going to work. I hated to see him hurting, struggling, and could only imagine as the tough-guy hero he was the last thing he wanted was for me to watch him go through such emotional turmoil. How much of this had he hidden from me the last three years? I’d seen his irritated frustration often enough, but the struggle, the genuine and difficult tug-of-war he played with himself, with his need to do the right thing and the fact he was so often met with resistance here in Reading, had to take a toll.
The idea that we should leave here, run away from home after the wedding, hit me hard, so hard he noticed, turning toward me with eyebrows raised while I struggled with what to say.
“What’s wrong?” There was my protector again, concern for me overshadowing what he was feeling and I reached for something, anything to say to give him reprieve from his inner turmoil.
“Dad and Malcolm,” I said. “They told me what happened. With Fiona Doyle.” How had I failed to fill Crew in?
He stood there in silence when I dumped out the details, watching his face darken further, though not in anger, his concern so clear I suddenly wished I’d kept my mouth shut and hadn’t said a word. This wasn’t helping, especially when, after I ground to a halt, he grasped me gently by the shoulders and shook his head.
“I want you to back off this, Fee,” he said. “Stay out of it. Or do you want to be the second missing Fiona? Because that’s where this is heading and I’m really worried about you.”
He knew just the wrong thing to say, didn’t he? To get my back up all over again? “We’ve had this conversation often enough I think you know the answer before I give it.”
Crew tensed, jaw tightening. “I’m trying to keep you safe.” His hands fell away, the guarded look returning, cutting me off from his heart.
Argh, I couldn’t win for losing. “You’re trying to control me,” I said. “Something Dad failed at so I’m not sure why you think you’ll succeed.” Oh, Fee.
Fee. Seriously.
Crew turned and left without another word, stomping up the stairs, closing the door at the top firmly enough I knew he wanted to slam it but had too much control. I stood there in my kitchen, hugging myself, scowling at the stairs, knowing I’d just jabbed him harder in the heart than I could have contrived to by bringing up Dad.
Sigh.
The door chimes echoed, drawing me out of my apartment and my bad mood and into the foyer. To my surprise, I found Tyler Hendy crossing toward the kitchen, his face tight and pinched but a free man. I held out one hand to him, not sure what to say and he stopped, exhaled, nodded to me.
“Hi, Miss Fleming,” he said. “I just came for my stuff. I know you probably don’t want me staying here anymore.” Both hands dug into his pockets, a forlorn and baffled look crossing his face. “Thanks for your hospitality, all the same.” He swallowed hard. “I totally understand, honest. I know I look guilty.”
You know what? He might have looked the part according to the evidence, but anyone could have stolen his club and used it to frame him. There were more than enough people in Jack Nethersole’s life who wanted him dead, thanks, for me to jump to conclusions about Tyler.
“Let me get you some dinner,” I said. “You must be starving.”
He instantly perked, a faint, hopeful smile on his face, making him seem a lot younger than he actually was. Almost like a little kid needing reassurance everything was going to be okay. Was that the face of a murderer?
I sat him down at the kitchen peninsula and dug out the remains of supper, Mom’s Sheppard’s Pie an absolute favorite and a quickly reheated meal Tyler consumed at the speed of light. I laughed and offered him more, amazed at how easily he could pack it away and wondering how he stayed so slim, finally handing over a slice of chocolate cake he groaned his delight over.
“Tyler,” I said at last, “who would have reason to frame you for Nethersole’s murder?”
He shook his head, sipping his milk. Was he really that wholesome? “I don’t know,” he said. “But I told the sheriff, anyone could have stolen my club. We all left our bags when we were drawing our lots for the first tee-off. There were a ton of people around, so it honestly could have been any number of folks.” He took another giant bite of Mom’s cake. “I wish I knew,” he said around chewing. “Whoever did is probably the murderer, right?”
Likely. “Are you cleared to play tomorrow?”
He nodded, enthusiasm returning. “Your mayor is quite the powerhouse,” he said. “Dragged a judge into the sheriff’s office and between the two of them had me released lickety-split.” He seemed baffled all over again. “I’m just grateful to get to play, especially when I’m finally in line to win.”
“I hope all of this won’t affect your game.” I put the milk away, leaning against the counter, watching him while he polished off his dessert.
“I’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ve faced adversity before.”
“Like Santé Fe.” I waited for him to nod. “Jack’s cheating.”
“I caught him at it.” Tyler sighed, shrugged, elbows on the counter, milk glass held loosely in both hands. “At first, I didn’t believe it. This was Jack Nethersole. I’d been following his career for a while, admired him, you know?” Tyler finished the milk, slowing turning the glass in his grasp, fingers slipping over the condensation. “Never meet your heroes, ma’am.” How sad. “Anyway, I took w
hat I saw to the PGA, but without proof… it sounded like sour grapes. So I dropped it, but I’ve been watching him ever since. And he knew it.” His eyes met mine. “Maybe someone who had motive to kill him knew it, too, and used that to frame me.”
Made sense. Poor kid. “You don’t have an alibi.”
He set the glass down carefully. “Alone in my room isn’t much of one, I admit. But I do have the history logs on my internet use. Maybe that will suffice.”
It certainly should. I nodded and he grinned suddenly as if I’d given him the hope he needed. Tyler straightened then, smiled, his resilience inspiring. “I’m going to win tomorrow,” he said. “Just watch me. And put all of this behind me.”
I let him go, retreating to bed with a lot to think about, my dreams plagued by Vivian screaming, a dark shape running away and the silent, cold hand of a small boy sinking under the water when there was nothing I could do to stop it.
***
Chapter Thirty
I had hoped Crew’s temper would have been reduced to a soft simmer by the time morning rolled around. But my tentative text, backed by embarrassed regret I’d reacted the way I had, was met with nothing.
Okay then, silent treatment it was. Grrr.
But when lunch came and went with no response—me refraining with the kind of epic restraint that meant agonizing emotional turmoil on my part I could barely function around let alone think through—I finally did the cowardly thing and messaged Jill.
Her reply came as a surprise. He’s not here, she sent. Got a call, rushed out of the office early this morning.
Huh. At least maybe he had a reason for not texting me back. Though, again as the day unfolded and afternoon turned toward supper without a word from him I finally caved and sent a second message.
I’m sorry. I love you. Please call me.
Pathetic, but I was done being mad over nothing. Because it really was nothing, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like Crew’s protectiveness was new, or him asking me to mind my own damned business wasn’t something I’d heard enough times it hadn’t lost its edge. No, this was about Crew’s bad mood and me not being able to hold ground for him like he always did for me.
It also had me thinking about what he said, in anger or not. Was I complaining all the time? I huffed over the small bathroom sink in the communal washroom off of the dining room and thought about it as I tucked away my cleaning supplies. And came to a harsh conclusion on my part.
Yup. I’d been moaning and griping for months now. Anyone less than Crew would have rolled on out of Dodge before now, surely. I stared at myself in the mirror, taking in my tired face, my undone hair, how shabby I looked. Wow, and he was even remotely attracted to me, let alone wanted to marry this? I touched the nest of hair at the nape of my neck where it had fallen loose from my ponytail, the frown lines between my eyes and made a decision.
One way or another, I was done complaining and making Crew listen. I had to find a way to lighten my load, whatever that meant, especially if I wanted this marriage to stick.
First things first? A shower, maybe even style my hair. Makeup? Wow, I hadn’t worn anything much more than mascara and lip balm in over a year. Time to up my game. I was worth it. Making myself feel beautiful was worth it. And so was the man I loved.
I was heading for the kitchen when my phone rang and ducked into the sitting room to answer when, suddenly breathless, I recognized the number. The moment I hit the green button I said her name in a tremulous voice. “Siobhan?”
Her reply was equally as wobbly. “Fiona, dear child,” she said in her Irish accent, sounding weak, and so very far away.
“Siobhan.” Now that I knew who she was, it was a struggle not to cry when I said her name the second time, heart breaking. “I know everything. They told me, finally. And I’m doing what I can to find out what happened to Fiona.”
She coughed softly, said something garbled, tried again. I finally made out her words, though my brain had to piece together what was missing from the in and out of her ability to string them together. “You don’t know everything. I’ve kept it from them, dear. For you.”
I didn’t say anything, terrified if I interrupted she’d vanish again. So tenuous, this connection across the Atlantic, to a woman I didn’t know but to whom I felt a powerful connection.
“She called me,” Siobhan said. “My darling girl, Fiona. Once, after she disappeared.”
She what? “Why didn’t you say anything?” What possible motive—
“Unlike Malcolm and John,” Siobhan said, voice strong enough now I made out every word easily despite her accent, “I believe my daughter is still alive.”
Wow. Just. Wow.
“She confessed her love for the Patterson man,” Siobhan said, strengthened voice retaining its power. She still slurred slightly, was clearly suffering the effects of her stroke yet, but her mind was sharp enough to deliver the message she’d meant to give me, I guessed, in person. “She said they had plans to run away together, that my daughter was in possession of something of enormous value and feared for her life because of it.”
I immediately thought about the treasure hoard and swallowed hard. After all, Grandmother Iris had been pursuing the very same, hadn’t she? And her circle of girlfriends… one of which whose husband had sent her coded love letters with clues to the book Crew’s grandfather wrote made me suspect perhaps all four of the friends were in on the hoard. Not to mention the odd encounter with Vivian French’s own grandmother, the dear woman lost in dementia who mentioned the doubloon.
How many had been in on the initial group looking for Reading’s ill-gotten gains? And was I the only one still looking or was this, perhaps, part of the reason the Pattersons were locking me out?
That thought hadn’t crossed my mind until now and it wasn’t until the sound of Siobhan’s heavy breathing alerted me something was wrong on her end that I jerked back to the here and now.
“Fiona is out there,” she whispered. “Find her, dear. For me.” And then, she hung up. Or the line went dead. Regardless, the result was the same, leaving me shaking and staring at my phone like it was going to bite me.
My mind went to Teddy Patterson, to Fiona, to Marie. If Fiona had found evidence of the treasure along with poaching her husband, would Marie have had her killed? People would do anything for love, and money tied in, too?
Family. Money. Love. Such a tangled web…
Which flipped a switch in my brain and got me thinking about Jack Nethersole. I drifted to my computer, the memory of a passing comment from one of the suspects triggering my curiosity. I did a quick internet search out of intuition and froze.
I knew who did the deed, though the why made me sad. I just had to find Crew so I could tell him.
Trouble was, my now urgent texts continued to go unanswered, as did my knock on his door. And when I stopped at the sheriff’s office, Robert’s petulant expression and sneering, “Who cares where he went?” did nothing to help me track down the man I loved.
I considered confronting the killer alone and shook that off as I stood on the sidewalk outside Crew’s office. I’d be the next murder victim if I was that stupid, and Crew would be the one going to prison. He was right about me being more careful. I could call Dad and actually considered it, thumb hovering over quick dial before I shook it off and, instead, ran home for my car.
The lodge. He was probably at the lodge.
That was another dead end and, by the time I was pulling out of the large parking lot and onto the road, it was getting dark. No message from Crew, no hint or whisper. I called Jill this time and assaulted her with a question the moment she answered.
“What did Crew say before he left this morning?”
She hesitated a moment before answering. “Not much,” she said. “Just that he had new evidence and to sit tight, that he’d be back to arrest the murderer.” She sighed. “I hate it when he does that.”
Me too. “Jill, have you heard anything from him since then?”
Another pause, longer. “No,” she said, now sounding worried. “I haven’t. And he said he’d only be a few hours. You haven’t either?”
I shook my head, pulling over to the side of the road halfway down the mountain, into a logging drive to get out of the way of traffic while my heart pounded so fast and hard I thought I might pass out. “Tell me you think he’s okay.”
“Of course,” she scoffed. God, there was that hesitation again. “I’m going to take a drive. See if I can find him.” I could hear her moving on the other end of the line. “If you find him…”
“Same here.” I hung up, tossing my phone aside, grasping the steering wheel in both hands, forcing myself to breathe. The thing was, Crew could take care of himself. He was a grown man, wasn’t he? And if he knew what I did, who the murderer really was, he would have been cautious, right?
Except he’d been worked up, angry. Would his fight with me make him careless? No way, not Crew. But maybe the killer got the better of him and…
And.
Please, let the last words I said to the man I loved not be those angry ones I’d spoken in the heat of the moment.
I pulled myself together, reaching for my phone. Sure, I was overreacting, but I was still going to call my dad, damn it. Crew could be mad at me if he wanted. But if his life was in danger, I was going to need all the help I could get.
I looked up as I raised my phone to my cheek, my headlights shining down the dirt track and into the trees, hitting the taillights of a pickup in the distance. Honestly, there’s no way I could have known it was Crew’s truck, not from so far—had to be a quarter mile in—but I knew.
My heart knew.
I was out and running, calling his name, my phone left behind, everything left behind as I stumbled and staggered deeper into the trees, the lumber track turning to stumps and piles of brush as I neared the white outline of his sheriff’s truck. It was his, all right, dark and silent and when I came to a panting halt next to the driver’s side door and saw him sitting behind the wheel I almost screamed.