Ophelia

by Jessica Lynch

  Was she alone?

  She yanked the pink bedspread back, exhaling roughly when she saw that Lucas had tucked the Louisville Slugger into bed with her.

  Part of her wanted to take the bat with her when she left the room. It was a crutch, something that helped her feel safer. She reached for it before shaking her head. No. Turner was gone. The night was over.

  Time to face the day.

  As Maria climbed out of the bed, she glanced down at her wrinkled nightclothes. She patted her hair, wincing when she felt the snarls and tangles. Her head felt heavy, her eyes itchy. She avoided the gilded mirror hanging in the Rose Room because she refused to see what that bastard had reduced her to.

  She almost headed straight for her room, intending to jump into the shower and rinse his touch off of her. Too much of last night was coming back to her in a rush, her skin crawling as she remembered the feel of his body as he tried to climb on top of her.

  Anger was stronger than revulsion. Her hand itched for her bat, not because she wanted to protect herself, but because she still wanted to bash his head in.

  There was one emotion stronger than anger, though. Concern. Not about herself. She was fine. She proved it when she chased Turner out of her Ophelia.

  But Lucas?

  He took care of her last night. Now it was her turn to make sure he was okay.

  Pulling on the hem of her rumpled nightshirt, she shrugged. The shower could wait. Besides, everyone she cared about had already seen her like this, including two strangers. What was the point in getting changed? She’d rather hunt down her brother.

  The Rose Room was on the second floor so she decided to check to see if Lucas was in his bedroom. She skirted around the door that led to the Blue Room—she knew Turner was gone, but still—and headed towards Lucas’s room. The door was closed. She knocked on it twice, opening it when she didn’t get a response.

  No surprise. He wasn’t in there.

  The bed was unrumpled, the sheets tucked in perfectly, the blanket spread across the king-size bed. Lucas never made his bed. Ever since he was a kid, he left it a mess. The only time it looked like this was once a week when Maria stripped the bed, washed the linens and made it herself.

  Lucas hadn’t slept in there.

  Maria blinked, suddenly unsure. Had he left her?

  No. He wouldn’t do that. Not her brother.

  Dragging her feet, Maria headed down to the first floor. Lucas wasn’t in his room. There was one more place she could check before she started to worry that he was missing.

  And there he was.

  Lucas was sitting at the kitchen table, his usual seat. There was a sheet of lined paper in front of him. A stack was set to his side. She could see from the doorway that scribbled writing covered the surface of most pages. The pen in his hand was flying as he wrote something down.

  “Lucas?”

  “Maria.” He set his pen down before standing up. “How did you sleep?”

  She yawned, the lingering grogginess making it seem like she was wading through hip-deep water as she trudged her way into the kitchen. She hated taking pills. They always left her feeling off.

  “Okay, I guess. How about you?”

  “I got some rest,” he said.

  Remembering his bed upstairs, she wasn’t so sure about that. She looked at him, really looked at him, and realized that he hadn’t sleep. There was no way. The shadows returned under his eyes. So did the stubble on his cheeks.

  “You look busy.” He looked like hell.

  “I have been.” A determined jut of his chin managed to hide the echoing yawn that he swallowed back. He gestured with one broad palm at the papers that covered her tabletop. “I needed to make arrangements in case that outsider returned.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Mmm.”

  Maria frowned. He couldn’t.

  Even as she sat huddled against her front door, it never occurred to her that Turner might come back. Both Deputy Collins and Caitlin cleared all of Ophelia. A quick peek in the Blue Room revealed that Turner might have been running scared, but he wasn’t running stupid. He hadn’t left anything behind, no matter when he might’ve cleaned the room out of his belongings.

  So why would he return again?

  She gulped, her throat tight. In the light of day, there were a couple of reasons he might that she hadn’t thought about last night. He paid for five nights in advance; he only stayed for three. Since his stuff was gone, he’d already come back once. What if he wanted to finish what he started?

  What if he wanted revenge?

  Her voice shaky, she asked, “What’s your plan?”

  “Let me ask you something, Maria. This place… Ophelia—do you still want to keep it? Open it to others, invite them into your home?”

  “It’s my dream. For seven years, it’s all I’ve wanted.”

  He nodded. That’s exactly what he expected her to say.

  “Lucas. Please. It was one bad guy. I don’t want want to shut down because of one bad guy.”

  “I know.” He moved back towards the table, picked up one of the sheets. None of it made any sense to Maria. “I’ve been thinking. Figuring it out. He never would’ve been able to get into your room if it was locked—”

  “Do you think I don’t know that? No one in Hamlet locks their doors!”

  He went on as if she hadn’t had her outburst. “—and I know the locks here aren’t good enough. Security isn’t good enough. I will fix it. I’ve detailed a plan for you. Locks that can keep guests both in and out. Maybe on a timer, I don’t know. Cameras. Locked windows. Anything that’ll keep you safe.”

  Calming slightly now that he wasn’t immediately shutting Ophelia down, Maria took the paper from him. She glanced at it, shaking her head when she caught on to what he was proposing.

  She offered the sheet back to him. “I don’t think Frank or the other guys could do work like that. It’s very… extensive, Luc.”

  “I’m going to get you the best. I’ll go outside if I have to, spend what I have to. Money means nothing. I need it done fast and I need it done well. I won’t chance anything happening to you again.”

  Maria’s stomach tightened. “He won’t come back,” she insisted, pretending she was trying to assure Lucas when it was a struggle to believe it herself now. “He won’t.”

  “No. He won’t.”

  There was that chill again. Just like last night. He sounded so cold when he said that, she couldn’t help but shudder. Maria kept her back to Lucas. Something told her she didn’t want to see the look on his face.

  “But,” he said softly, the change in tone drawing Maria to reluctantly look at her brother over her shoulder, “that doesn’t mean the danger isn’t real. You want to keep Ophelia open?”

  “Yes. You know I do.”

  “Then you’ll do this. For me.”

  There wasn’t much Maria wouldn’t do for Lucas.

  She turned around. When she asked this next question, she wanted to see his reaction.

  “I let you install the locks, and you won’t push me into turning guests away?”

  “That’s right.”

  He was lying. Lucas was a phenomenal liar, but Maria knew better. He had a tell. It was a tiny one, barely noticeable, but she’d known Lucas her entire life. Whenever he was telling a lie, his left eyebrow rose just a little. The tiniest lift.

  She saw it then. Lucas was never going to let her open Ophelia again. And Maria didn’t have the strength to argue with him over it.

  He sat back down. “I’m going to finish working on this. I’m not leaving anytime soon. Why don’t you go take a shower while I’m here?”

  She had to look really bad for Lucas to make such a suggestion. “I will. I—”

  A communicator chimed, the buzz filling the kitchen. Maria recognized it as her radio. One problem: she had no idea where she left it.

  “It’s by the fridge,” Lucas said, without even looking up from his work.

 
It was. She went over to the counter next to the refrigerator and grabbed her radio. She almost didn’t answer it—the last time she got a call hadn’t exactly worked out well for her—before stubbornly jabbing the receiver button.

  “This is Ophelia. Good morning.”

  The last voice she expected came booming out of the radio:

  “Miss De Angelis, this is Deputy Collins. I’m calling on behalf of the sheriff. How are you today?”

  “Fine.” Was it a lie? She didn’t know.

  “I’m glad to hear that. I have some news that might make you feel even better. We found the man who attacked you last night.”

  “You found Turner?” Oh, Lord, was Lucas right? Turner was still in town. Was he on his way back to Ophelia? “Where was he? Can I see him?”

  She had a few things she had to say to him.

  “Unfortunately, no. The sheriff has given me permission to confirm that the outsider’s truck was found about two hours ago. It appears that Mr. Turner lost control of his vehicle and slid into the valley surrounding the outskirts of town. It’s just been confirmed. Turner was inside the truck when it crashed.”

  “Is he…” She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  Lucas was openly listening to the conversation. Setting his work aside, he pushed his chair away from the table. “Do you think anyone could survive that?” he asked Maria.

  No. She did not.

  Dead. The outsider was dead.

  Turner was dead.

  She wanted to bash his head in. She threatened to kill him if he touched her. But she didn’t want him dead.

  Her legs buckled beneath her. Lucas, watching for just a reaction, flew out of his chair and caught his sister before she crumpled on the floor. Holding her up, he brought her back over to the table.

  Once he had her settled in her chair, he went back to where the communicator dropped from her limp grasp. With a quick flick of his finger, he turned it off before returning to his sister. Lucas rested his hand on her shoulder. He peered deeply into her pale blue eyes, searching for what, she had no clue. “Are you doing alright, Maria? You have nothing to worry about now. He’s gone.”

  “Gone,” she repeated.

  “I’ll have to go down there and see for myself. For your sake. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I guess.”

  Dead.

  Turner drove all over the country, she remembered. His livelihood was his truck. Sure, she had him running scared. Would he really miss the wide maw of the gulley on the way out of town?

  Was it really an accident?

  “They’ll need me to act as coroner.” Right as he said that, the radio on the table buzzed. Lucas’s radio. It was a distinct sound, a short chime that was different from the loud pulsing ring Maria was used to. “The sheriff’s signal. Just like I thought. Cait’ll want me down there to check the scene, too.”

  “Luc, wait—”

  Lucas picked up his radio. Thumb poised over the receiver, he looked over at Maria and waited. His face was absolutely expressionless. No sign of surprise. No sign of remorse. Nothing.

  The words tripped over themselves on the way out.

  “I just… did you—”

  She stopped.

  It wasn’t possible. There was no way Lucas could have had anything to do with Turner’s fate. His truck was only just found. Lucas had an alibi—he was with her all night.

  Right?

  Maria couldn’t stop her thoughts from racing.

  She thought of the white pill he pressed her to take and how it knocked her out. She thought about how it was so obvious that Lucas hadn’t slept at all. And she thought about the two-hour gap between when she first buzzed him and he showed up at Ophelia.

  What would she do if she caught the smallest lift of his left eyebrow?

  Maria shook her head. “Never mind, Luc. Go. Take care of that. We’ll talk later.”

  “About locks,” he said decisively. “And Ophelia.”

  But not Mack Turner.

  “Si.”

  9

  Present Day

  With a flick of her wrist, Maria laid the dough on top of her individual pot pies. A quick and practiced pinch along the edge, plus a stab in the middle with her fork to let the steam vent.

  There, she thought, satisfied. Saturday dinner prepped and ready. All the homey dish needed was forty minutes in the oven and she’d have her favorite comfort food for supper.

  Just like every Saturday.

  Maria stifled a sigh as she wiped her flour-dusted hands with the dish towel.

  Every Saturday.

  Nothing ever changed in Hamlet.

  She was grateful for the sameness, the routine, the way she knew what to expect of tomorrow because it was almost exactly the same as yesterday. Honest, she was. That one night, more than a year ago, was the pinnacle of excitement for her—and she’d take a hundred Saturdays locked up tight in Ophelia with a glass of milk and a chicken pot pie before she lived through discovering another man sneaking into her bed.

  Her lips curved. Unless, of course, that man was Sly.

  Just thinking of the deputy was enough to have Maria humming a meaningless tune under her breath as she cleaned up her kitchen. Her tan complexion, no doubt, went ruddy with the red of a giddy blush. Her Sly.

  She would have to tell Lucas eventually. Part of her was kind of surprised that he didn’t already know, though she had to admit that that was probably because most of the gossip that spread like wildfire usually burned right through Ophelia. Without Maria to pass—or, well, start—the rumor, it fizzled and died until no one knew that the doctor’s sister was in love with an outsider turned deputy.

  No one knew, actually, because she hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to tell Sly how she felt about him. That was something else she would have to do. Sly was patient, but she wasn’t sure he would wait forever.

  Shrugging off the weight of his expectations, Maria grabbed the sheet tray holding the pot pies she spent the morning prepping. Just as she opened her fridge and slipped the tray inside until she was ready to bake them, a loud buzzing screech filled the kitchen, causing her to jump.

  If she dropped that tray, she would’ve killed her brother.

  She knew that call. That buzz. Lucas thought he was funny, figuring out how to make the most obnoxious, high-pitched scream of a ring for his channel. It was her fault, too. Maria recently tried to pretend that she hadn’t heard it and he just looked at her in that knowing way he had. And then he made it louder.

  It was her habit to leave her radio in her bedroom. That way, if she needed it, she knew where to find it. That buzz was certainly loud enough for her to hear halfway across the house. For once, though, she had carried it into the kitchen with her.

  Of course she had.

  Twisting the knob to set the right channel, she answered the call by pressing her thumb against the receiver button on the side. “Ciao.”

  A rush of static came through the radio. Someone on the other end must have held down their own button to allow the sound to filter into her kitchen. A second later, she heard the muffled sounds of an argument. There was a fight going on over the radio.

  Maria waited. She knew exactly who was calling.

  The pair of idiots divorced three years ago and they still managed to bicker like an old married couple.

  “Luc, give it here. Let me talk to Maria.”

  “Hush, Caity. I’m trying to talk to my sister.”

  “Hand it over.”

  “No.”

  “Give it—”

  A crackle, then the radio went dead. Maria could only imagine the argument that her brother and his ex-wife were having across town. Rolling her eyes, she didn’t bother setting the radio back down. Lucas would win. He always did. It was only a matter of time.

  “Maria?”

  A small smile curved her lips. “Si, Lucas?”

  He let go of the radio button long enough to cover half of his sigh. Maria could just make
out the tail end of it—and knew that he meant for her to. After so many years, he gave up on insisting that she speak only English. Didn’t mean that it didn’t bother him whenever she slipped into Italian.

  Which only made her do it more. Annoying her big brother no matter how old they got, she reserved that right as the little sister.

  “Remember the discussion we had recently in regards to the future of your bed and breakfast?”

  “When I said I wanted to reopen Ophelia and then you told me that I would never get to have another outsider stay here so then I patted you on the head and told you that you were adorable?”

  She heard a bark of laughter erupt from Caitlin. Lucas’s one-word response was a drawl that let her know that her smart-ass response had hit a nerve: “Precisely.”

  “Yes.” Maria bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. He would be able to hear it in her voice. She knew he would. “I seem to recall that.”

  “You were right.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Caitlin’s voice cut in. “Yeah, I heard it, too. Luc said you were right. Savor this moment, Maria. I would.”

  “Ignore Caity. She’s actually on her way out.” The sheriff sputtered in the background. Following his own advice, Lucas also ignored her. “I have a guest for Ophelia if you’re willing to take one on.”

  Maria gripped her radio tightly. “I’d love to!” she blurted out before Lucas could take it back.

  “It’s an outsider—”

  She didn’t care. Lucas might think that she judged all outsiders based on one, but she never did. She never would.

  “—a woman, named Tessa Sullivan.”

  Though she had to admit, she felt even better to hear that the guest would be a woman.

  “You don’t have to do this, Maria. I’ll figure something else out if—”

  Lucas was giving her an out. No, no, no. She needed this.

  “I’ll do it.”

  She expected him to try to convince her to change her mind. Ever since they were children, Lucas always accused her of being too impulsive. He would want her to take a minute to think, to be sure, to know that she was really okay with inviting another outsider into her home.