Whisper of Revenge (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 4)

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Hey.” Elias turned her to face him and searched her face. “Did you grumble to anybody? Maybe here at work?”

  She was breathing too fast. God, what was wrong with her? This was a thoughtful gift. Her secret admirer had to have searched to find an identical replacement mug, maybe on eBay. She’d thought of looking herself but hadn’t gotten around to it.

  “I don’t think so.” She swallowed. “I don’t know. But even if I did, there had to be a million different Star Wars mugs made. How would he know to buy this one?” Her voice was rising again.

  “Hey,” Elias said again. Now both his big hands were on her shoulders, gently squeezing and relaxing. “Maybe you brought it with you one day? Or were sipping from it when you went out to get the newspaper at home, stayed to chat with a neighbor? Could be one of your customers stopped to say hi, you talked for a minute.”

  She didn’t remember anything like that, although…of course it was possible. And while she also didn’t remember bringing her mug to work with her, she might have. Why would that be memorable? And, more to the point, why would someone who saw her sip from her mug remember it well enough to buy an exact copy, weeks or even months later?

  Struggling for composure, Hannah went for a smile, when really she wanted to lean on him and feel his arms close securely around her. Standing so near, she was able to see glint of gold stubble and a tiny scar on his jaw she’d never noticed.

  “Thank you. I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”

  His “probably” came slower than she liked. He squeezed her arms one last time before his hands dropped to his sides. “Hannah, has anyone asked you out recently? Or…are you dating someone already who might be trying to be romantic?”

  “I’m not seeing anyone.” No reason not to admit it. “And men ask me out once in a while, sure.” Early on, she’d been flattered. As tall as a lot of men, her face freckled and her hair carrot orange, she’d never had much draw before. Eventually, of course, she figured out why she had magically become a beacon. “I mean, the pool of local, single women isn’t that big. Doesn’t Monica tell you the same thing?”

  Except most men probably assumed, as Hannah did, that Monica and Elias had a thing going. A beautiful woman, Monica owned the Cape Trouble gallery that featured Elias’s work. He was in and out it often.

  “Subject hasn’t come up.” The unrevealing answer was typical Elias. His expression hadn’t changed at all.

  “Nobody has been especially insistent,” she said. “Most invitations have been really casual or even half-kidding.”

  “You know, if this bothers you, why don’t you give Daniel Colburn a call?”

  “The police chief? What’s he going to do? Run fingerprints? What are the odds my secret admirer has a criminal past?”

  “He could ask around.”

  “And wouldn’t that be humiliating to the poor guy trying to impress me?”

  “He should know he’s scaring you instead,” Elias said, voice hard. “But there’s probably no harm in waiting to see what happens. It might not have occurred to him that there’s an implication he’s watching you at home.”

  A chill crept through her. Hiding her disquiet, she nodded, forced a smile and said, “I’m really holding you up, Elias. But I appreciate you listening.”

  His withdrawal was subtle but real, as if he realized he had gotten way better acquainted with her in the last few minutes than he had ever intended to be. She rang up his purchase, he handed over some bills, accepted a box holding the truffles as well as his own now-full travel mug, and said, “Thanks for letting me in early. Have a good day, Hannah.” Then he was gone, the bell attached to the door tinkling.

  By the time she followed him to the door to unlock and flip the sign over, he was gone, lost in the dense fog that still cloaked the coastal town.

  Hannah wondered whether he might have crossed the street to the Shore Gallery, where lights were now on. For all she knew, he bought the chocolate for Monica, who owned the gallery, rather than for himself.

  Preferring not to picture the resulting grateful embrace, Hannah made herself return to her preparations for opening.

  But first she carried the mug back to her office and put it in a drawer. Out of sight and, she hoped, out of mind.

  *****

  Elias hadn’t let himself be distracted from his work by a woman for a long time. As he set up in the sand dunes at the old resort, where he’d trailed one particular woman like a lovesick puppy and eventually found her dead body, it occurred to him that his subconscious might be playing him.

  He didn’t think about that long-ago day often, although it was hard not to when so much was the same this morning. The fog was so dense, he couldn’t see more than a few feet from where he stood behind his easel. The unrelenting roar of the surf was accompanied by a few lonely screeches from seagulls. No blood-curdling screams, thank God. No child traumatized forever by the sight of her murdered mother.

  That was twenty-one years old, damn it. Get it out of your head.

  He waited for that moment when the fog would thin, allowing him a fleeting glimpse between dunes of the Pacific Ocean.

  This wasn’t the exact same spot where Michelle Thomsen had died, although he could have found it with his eyes closed. Only once had he allowed himself to work where her body had lain, and that had been when he painted a watercolor to serve as poster art for the campaign to raise funds to buy this old resort and save the land from being developed. He’d considered it his tribute to Michelle.

  Today, he would work in watercolor, as he frequently did. His paintings in oil sold for more, but the very nature of the watercolor medium suited the coastal scenery, the ocean and fingers of foam, the river with clinging mist, the gray, wet fog, the damp understory of a windswept forest. And, God, the rain, an ever-present reality to residents.

  An elusive memory came, something like a quick glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. He’d turn his head and there was nothing. But in this case… He would swear he had heard talk about a woman being stalked by someone who called himself her secret admirer. Where he’d heard it, who the woman had been, eluded him. Had to have been in recent years. Elias was sure the end hadn’t been good. Not like she’d been murdered, but… Frustrated, he shook his head.

  For just an instant, the sky lightened to a paler shade of gray. He reached for his brush. He wanted the moment when the ocean breeze began to shred the fog. Watching, waiting, he swirled his brush in the cup of water.

  But his thoughts reverted to Hannah Moss and he quit seeing what was in front of him. He didn’t like what was going on with her, and that wasn’t entirely because she was right: the anonymous gifts were creepy, especially today’s. But some of it had to do with what was happening to him. He’d become increasingly fascinated by her, and he couldn’t figure out why.

  She wasn’t his type. Not even close. He had always gone for slim, fine-boned blondes. No deviation. Hannah was a voluptuous, freckled redhead, far from delicate. Not a large woman, exactly, but probably five foot nine. What Elias knew was that her smile lit up a room, when she laughed she let it rip, and that damned pink wrapping paper with red hearts had clashed with hair that he’d paint in shades of glowing copper.

  In the past six months, he’d wasted an unbelievable amount of time stopping by Sweet Ideas. Before that, he’d just been glad for a local bookstore. If he wanted java, he went to Mist River Coffee, half a block away. Elias didn’t have much of a sweet tooth.

  But he had started noticing Hannah. Craving one of her smiles. There was only so often he could pretend to be browsing for a book or ordering one he’d have to pick up. She made decent coffee, and he wasn’t a connoisseur anyway. She seemed so pleased the first time he bought truffles, he’d done it again. And again. And, damn it, they were good, sharp-flavored with the scattering of sea salt adding bite to counter the sweet. Eating them was no hardship. He made his mother happy every time he gave her a box, too.

  How he’d gone fro
m an occasional stop at the bookstore – maybe once a month or so – to visiting at least every other day was a mystery to him, and not one Elias appreciated. Almost as often, he would tell himself he’d stop going by at all – and then without having made a conscious decision he’d find himself parking on Schooner Street and waiting for lights to come on inside. It was as if he was cold most of the time, and Hannah was a cheerful, crackling blaze, warming him while he was in her presence.

  A streak of blue startled him, made him realize the fog had thinned to streamers. He’d missed his moment, the first elusive glimpse of sky and water.

  Hell, he decided, the painting he had imagined would have been too dark anyway. He had to balance his vision or he’d quit making a living as an artist. Just last week, he’d taken back an oil painting that had hung in Monica’s gallery for months without selling. He’d try it somewhere else, but even for him, it evoked a pang of loneliness. The emotion had come through more strongly than sometimes. He frowned, seeing a possibility. If the lone beach walker in the painting had been going in the direction of a distant bonfire, he’d have added hope to the mix.

  Not his style, but...unexpectedly, he liked the idea.

  He laid down the first strokes on the heavy, rough-textured paper he liked, a deep gray washing into pearly gray tinged with blue, and blocked everything else from his mind.

  *****

  “You’re a persistent man.” Hannah pretended to amusement. In this suck-fest of a week, she’d done a lot of pretending while she tried to see past the mask everyone wore.

  The big, auburn-haired man who had just suggested they have dinner only smiled. Randall Bresler, who asked to be called Rand, owned the fancy new resort on the far side of the point from Cape Trouble. One problem after another had delayed opening, but it was now scheduled for July 1. Thus the meeting, held in her cramped office.

  He had approached her several months back about buying her truffles, which would be individually wrapped to be left in resort rooms every morning by the maids. He’d brought a sample of the wrapping he had had designed with the inn logo. The size of his on-going order would mean a whole lot of work for her and very possibly the addition of another part- or even full-time employee. She couldn’t see turning his offer down, though she had mixed feelings about continuing to expand her business. All she’d wanted originally was to own a small bookstore. Given the collapsing book business, adding on the fudge and truffles side had made sense, but it had become more than the modest sideline she’d anticipated. She was feeling stretched too many ways right now.

  She had trouble believing Rand could be the source of the gifts, but couldn’t rule him out completely. Big and powerfully built, he was typically blunt, but also capable of subtlety. When the ground was broken for the resort last summer, he had become a customer, buying both books and truffles. He hadn’t asked her out until mid-winter, after she’d dropped some weight. Knowing he hadn’t considered her sexy enough with a few extra pounds made her pleasant refusals firmer than they might have been.

  Today, as always, he’d shrugged as if her “thank you, but no” had amused him. But she had to wonder what simmered beneath his half-smile.

  “You don’t get where I am by taking no for an answer,” he said, echoing what she’d been thinking. “We have a lot in common, Hannah.”

  “Really? And what would that be? Do you have a young son? Do you set your alarm in the wee hours of the morning to whip up several batches of fudge before your kid wakes up?”

  “We’re business owners. We cater to the public. We offer only the best.”

  She shook her head. “I’m a small business owner. That’s all I’ll ever be. I suspect the Rand Inns will be a chain before we know it.”

  A flicker of expression in his eyes told her that was exactly what he envisioned.

  “I haven’t been dating at all,” she said. “I’m sorry, Rand. The truth is, I don’t have the energy. What spare time I have is for my son. If it was you who gave me the flowers…”

  Surprise had his eyebrows rising. “I have competition.”

  Wanting to be reassured, Hannah said, “Apparently so.”

  He stood and held out a hand. “My offers have been sincerely meant. You’re an appealing woman.” His tone was unexpectedly gentle. “But I don’t want anything to get in the way of our working together.”

  She almost laughed, able to believe that much. Randall Bresler, she suspected, was very capable of ruthlessness in pursuit of his ambitions. Rumor had it that he had harshly dealt with the screw-ups on construction this spring.

  She walked him out, to find the small, café-style tables on the sweets side of her business all occupied, and two different people browsing in the bookstore.

  Seated by the window, Mayor Gillespie lifted a hand at Bresler, who veered to greet him. A hefty man, the mayor was a particular fan of her signature fudge packed with butterscotch and chocolate chips along with marshmallow cream and nuts.

  Also sitting by himself, Ron Campbell appeared annoyed to see her emerging from the back with Rand. A city council member, he owned a coastal chain of hardware stores. She had the impression he liked being important. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he resented Rand, currently being courted by every business person in Cape Trouble.

  Because Ron was a good customer, she smiled at him, checked to be sure Alice Roberts, currently behind the counter, wasn’t overwhelmed, then went over to the bookstore side. Customers could pay for purchases at either cash register, but she wanted to be available to answer questions and offer to make orders for her regulars. Some accepted, even though she knew perfectly well they could save by ordering online themselves.

  A woman was contentedly browsing fiction. Hannah had known from her first glimpse that the other customer was Elias even though he had been crouched with his back to her, looking at something on a bottom shelf. Now he rose and pivoted to face her.

  Hannah’s heart skipped into a faster beat, but completely irrational anger balled in her stomach at the same time. Elias had stayed away for the entire week. Apparently she’d been right; he hadn’t liked having to soothe her fears. She’d overstepped.

  His retreat had stung, contributing to her other stresses.

  “May I help you find something, Elias?” she asked.

  “No.” He hesitated. “Alice said you were in a meeting. I was waiting to talk to you.”

  “Oh?”

  After a glance at the other customer, he crossed the store, stopping only a couple of feet from Hannah, who lifted her chin in defiance of the impulse to back up.

  “Have any more presents been delivered?”

  She couldn’t believe he really cared, but… He was here. Asking.

  “Actually, yes.” This one had been a whopper. “A puppy.”

  He stared at her. “A what?”

  “You heard me. Ian has been begging for a dog forever. I keep saying no. Needless to say, he doesn’t understand.” The way his face would fall had been killing her. “We’re not home enough. Especially not for a puppy. What do I do, tie him out in the back yard for ten hours a day?”

  Elias’s focus was intense once he zeroed in on her. “Tell me.”

  “I usually bring Ian with me to work on Saturdays.” And usually Sundays, too, of course.

  Elias nodded; he knew.

  “Naturally, that was the day we found a puppy tied beside the back door. He had a big blue bow tied around his neck. I don’t know how long he’d been there, but he was ecstatic to see us. Ian thought I was surprising him.” The other gifts, especially the mug, had unnerved her. This one infuriated her.

  “I’m sorry, Hannah. What did you do?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “What do you think?”

  One side of his mouth curved. “I think you now have a puppy.”

  “I should have taken him to the shelter, but how could I do that?”

  He touched her cheek, a light brush of fingertips that made her shiver. “Of course you couldn’t.”<
br />
  Her brain stuttered, but she managed to say, “He’s not potty-trained. Shuttling him in and out and cleaning up puddles has become my new hobby.”

  “You’ve fallen in love with him.”

  Of course he was right, in a way. But how she felt about a small, plump, brown-and-white spotted puppy with an eager tongue had nothing on her feelings for this man, a near stranger. Thank God he had no idea, or he’d never darken her door again.

  A crush, that’s all it was. She didn’t really know him, had a suspicion nobody did.

  Lines formed between his eyebrows, maybe at whatever he saw on her face. “Did you take a stab at—”

  “Finding out where the puppy came from? Yes. I called the shelter. I dug out last Sunday’s Tribune and called every free puppy ad.”

  “You’re so sure he was free?”

  “There’s no way he’s a purebred anything.”

  Elias nodded. “I’ll take your word for it.” He hesitated. “Anybody in particular talk to you about the puppy?”

  She made a face. “Who hasn’t?”

  She kind of thought Patrick Fletcher – call me “Fletch” – had been the first. He’d said, “What’s this I hear about a puppy?” When she rolled her eyes, he’d laughed. “At least I had enough foresight to sell you a house with a fenced yard.” Fletch was a prominent local Realtor who had found her the space for her business as well as her house.

  Oh, Lord – what if she’d had to spend the money now to fence? She had thanked him fervently.

  Since then…practically every customer had teased her about her latest surprise. Searching each of their faces, she’d wondered which one of them was responsible. Having to doubt every expression, every amiable comment, had her feeling sick.

  Elias had been watching her, no doubt reading her thoughts. Now, he lifted his gaze past her. “Our conversation is annoying several of your customers.”