by Becky Wade
“Good morning!” A middle-aged woman entered the dining room, followed by a man of around the same age and two college-aged kids.
“Good morning.” This must be the Durant family from Oregon, who were staying for three nights. Willow hadn’t met them previously, because Valentina had checked them in on Saturday. Three days a week, Valentina worked at Bradfordwood. On Saturdays and Sundays, Willow’s days off, Valentina took over for her at the inn. “I’m Willow.”
“Liz Durant,” the woman replied. “This is my husband, Dale, and our kids, Cody and Madison.”
“Nice to meet you all.”
Madison wore her blond hair board straight, while her brother Cody wore his blond hair shaggy. It was somewhat unusual to host college kids at the inn. Most of the guests were either married couples further along in years or women enjoying a girl’s trip.
Everyone in the family, except Liz, was dressed for golf. An early tee time probably explained why they’d arrived at the start of the B&B’s 8:00–9:00 a.m. breakfast service window.
“What brought you to Merryweather?” Willow asked.
“The kids are both in school here in Washington,” Liz answered. “They had a three-day weekend, so we decided to drive up and spend it with them here. A friend of mine recommended the inn.”
“Wonderful. Are you enjoying your stay so far?”
“We’re having a great time,” Dale said. “We’ve been playing a round or two every day.”
“Everyone except me,” Liz said. “I sit in the clubhouse and drink coffee and read books. They think they got the better end of the bargain, but they don’t know what I know.” Liz and Willow exchanged smiles.
The Durants made their way through the breakfast buffet line. A couple came down for breakfast next, followed by two sisters.
Willow replenished the juice, made sure everyone had butter within reach, and ran to fetch an additional set of salt and pepper shakers. The whole time she was aware of Cody Durant’s gaze following her.
As she made her way around the table refilling water goblets, Cody scooted his chair back slightly and looked up at her. “Are you Willow . . . Bradford? The model?”
Willow hesitated. The rest of the guests were talking about the weather. Cody had kept his question private by asking it in a low tone of voice. Still. This was the first time she’d been recognized by a guest since coming to work at the inn. She didn’t want him to pair her, the woman serving breakfast at the Inn at Bradfordwood, with the much more public persona of Willow Bradford, model.
She bought time by leaning forward to pour water into his glass.
These days, even the world’s most successful models weren’t household names. Many of them wished they were and cultivated fame for fame’s sake. They regularly shared aspects of their lives with their hundreds of thousands of followers on Instagram or Twitter or Snapchat. They jostled for chances to be interviewed. They did outrageous things to garner press. They hungered for attention, and so they enjoyed it when photographers tailed them because it made them feel special.
Not Willow. She’d never courted that kind of notoriety. Yes, she enjoyed receiving encouragement from girls like Charlotte. But she wasn’t a showman at heart. She didn’t crave the spotlight. She loved that no one bothered her here in her hometown, that she could still live a normal life, that her freedom and independence were intact. The only time she put herself out there was for Benevolence Worldwide.
“I never imagined I’d run into Willow Bradford here. But you look just like her, and this place is called the Inn at Bradfordwood.” Cody seemed social, like the type of college guy who had girlfriends and planned parties and talked his buddies into road trips. “Are you her?”
Sigh. “Yes.”
“The model?”
“Yes.”
He grinned. “Wow.”
“I’m running my mom’s inn while she’s overseas, until the manager she hired arrives.”
“Awesome.”
“Listen, I’m trying to keep a low profile.”
“Yeah?”
“So please don’t mention my presence here to anyone. Okay?”
“Cool.” His blue eyes turned soft. “Any chance I can . . . take you out while I’m in town? How about going out for drinks tonight?”
Was Cody past the legal drinking age? If so, barely. She felt a generation older than him. She had more in common with his mom. “It’s nice of you to offer, but I never date guests.” This was a brand-new rule. Since guests were usually over sixty, married, or female, she hadn’t needed to institute this rule until now.
She pretended not to notice Cody’s stare as she poured water into his sister’s goblet.
“I’ve been reading newspaper articles from the seventies online,” Corbin told Willow and Charlotte the next afternoon. They were sitting in the inn’s kitchen, which Charlotte had recently nicknamed League of Justice Headquarters.
In response to his statement, Willow avoided looking at him, as usual. Charlotte twirled a piece of her hair while staring at nothing.
Irritation needled him. Corbin was used to people giving him their full attention.
“Did you know that bowhead whales can live more than two hundred years?” Charlotte asked.
Corbin furrowed his forehead. “What do bowhead whales have to do with newspaper articles from the seventies?”
“Oh! Um. Nothing.” Charlotte smiled. “I was just thinking about it and thought I’d tell you guys. Whale trivia. Do you like the game Trivial Pursuit?”
“What does Trivial Pursuit have to do with newspaper articles from the seventies?” Corbin asked.
“I don’t really like Trivial Pursuit,” Willow said. “I like Nertz way better, even though I’m not very good at it.”
“I’d be happy to smoke you at Nertz anytime,” Corbin said to Willow. “How about tonight?”
“I’m busy.”
He’d known, of course, that she’d say no. But whenever he provoked her she tightened her lips, which made her look like a drop-dead gorgeous kindergarten teacher who was losing her patience. So provoking her was pretty much his favorite thing.
“Nertz? How do you play that?” Charlotte asked.
As Willow explained the game to Charlotte, Corbin watched Willow the way a mountain lion watches its prey.
What would it take to persuade her to kiss him with those kindergarten teacher lips? What would it feel like to have that mouth beneath his—
Stop it, Corbin.
Good grief, his mind was getting hard to control where she was concerned.
Willow had sat in his kitchen the other day in her red coat, every line of her elegant and untouchable and filled with that calm confidence thing that never failed to do him in. At first, all he’d been able to think was how good it was to have her in his house. He’d felt like a pirate who’d finally kidnapped the one woman he’d always wanted most.
But then, when he’d tried to talk to her about their breakup, he’d been able to see in her eyes, her words, her body language just how much he’d injured her four years ago. His sense of victory over having her in his house had turned to ashes.
Both he and Willow were children of parents who’d abandoned them. It wasn’t easy for either of them to invest themselves in someone who might desert them.
He hated that he’d been the one to break her trust.
His relationship with Willow had once been critically important to him. He’d never intended to risk it, but that’s what he’d done, through carelessness. He hadn’t been nearly as careful with Willow as he should have been. Maybe because he’d let down his guard. Maybe because he’d grown too sure of her.
And now he couldn’t stop dreaming about her.
Clearly, too much time had passed since his last girlfriend. Which must be why he was losing his mind. Neither remorse nor recurring dreams were usually his style.
The girlfriend he’d had before his shoulder injury, he’d been unable to stand after his shoulder injury. He
hadn’t had a girlfriend since.
Finding a new girlfriend was easier for him than brushing his teeth. So he should go out and get a beautiful, friendly girlfriend who’d be star-struck and wouldn’t ask anything of him. That’s what he should do.
Willow wasn’t friendly. In fact, she’d spent years hating him. She wasn’t star-struck by him. Thousands of men would kill to date Willow, and she could have her pick of any of them. He definitely couldn’t count on her not to ask anything of him. Chances were, she’d ask something of him. And he’d give it. And then he’d have the rug pulled out from under him as soon as he made a mistake because, just like the last time, she’d be unwilling to hear him out and give him a second chance.
She’d end up rejecting him. Again.
So no. He didn’t want to date Willow.
But he did want to kiss her.
“As I was saying.” Corbin broke into their conversation about Nertz. “I’ve been reading articles from the seventies online. About serial killers.”
That last part got their attention.
Charlotte’s eyebrows climbed upward. “Why serial killers?”
“Because it turns out that several of the women who went missing in the seventies were victims of serial killers.”
“How many serial killers were there in Washington in Josephine’s era?” Willow asked.
“Several. Ted Bundy ring a bell? By the way, Charlotte, you’re not allowed to look up anything about Ted Bundy or serial killers in general on your computer or phone. The information on those guys is disturbing.”
“You think Josephine could have been one of their victims?” Charlotte asked.
“I think it’s possible. Some of their victims have never been found.”
Willow nibbled on the edge of her lip. Heat flared inside Corbin in response.
“Do we have any reason to think that Josephine may have been targeted by a serial killer?” Willow asked.
“She wasn’t a runaway or a prostitute or a hitchhiker, which helps her chances of not being targeted by a serial killer,” Corbin answered. “But she was young and pretty, which hurts her chances.”
“How did the serial killers dispose of the bodies?” Willow asked.
“Most of them dumped the bodies in remote locations.”
Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “Note to self. Don’t be a victim of a serial killer.”
“If Josephine’s body was dumped in a remote location,” Willow said, “and hasn’t turned up in the past forty years, I think we have zero chance of finding it now.”
“I’ll do more research,” he said. “I’ll look for similarities between Josephine and any of the serial killers’ victims. And I’ll look into more solved and unsolved missing persons cases from that time period.”
“Great!” Charlotte wrote in her notebook. “Will you report back on that at the next meeting?”
“If that’s okay with the boss here.” Corbin gestured to Willow with a smile.
“The boss grants her permission,” Willow stated.
Charlotte’s phone rang. “It’s my mom.” As soon as Charlotte answered the call, Willow rose and carried the cookie plate and their mugs to the sink. No doubt she didn’t want to be forced into a private conversation with him.
Her pale hair slid against her black sweater. She moved with easy grace.
Charlotte disconnected and began stuffing her things into her backpack. “My mom’s here to get me because she’s making me go to my brother’s soccer game.” Eye roll. “She says there’s like three cars outside, Willow, with people in them. And a few more people standing near the front door.”
“Hmm?”
Corbin’s senses switched to alert. “Are you expecting more arrivals today?”
“No. All of tonight’s guests have already checked in.”
“Mom wanted me to tell you that she thinks it’s weird,” Charlotte said.
Immediately, Corbin went into motion. “Wait here, Charlotte. I’ll go see what’s going on. Then I’ll walk you to your mom’s car.” He exited through the back door.
———
Willow watched Corbin vanish.
“Corbin’s really cool, don’t you think?” Charlotte studiedWillow as she settled both backpack straps over her shoulders.
“Yep.” Nope. Maybe very, very appealing but not cool was most accurate.
“How come you two broke up?”
Willow rinsed out the mugs and plate and loaded them into the dishwasher. “The reasons are complicated. I’d rather not drag you into it.”
“I’m, like, usually the person who all my friends come to for advice. Just so you know.”
Willow grinned at the girl.
She’d been hesitant at first about investing in Charlotte and her quest. It had turned out that her commitment to Charlotte had come with one big downside: having to see Corbin biweekly. However, knowing Charlotte was a joy. Willow hadn’t realized she needed a Charlotte Dixon in her life until she’d had a Charlotte Dixon in her life.
“Do you think you’ll ever date Corbin again?” Charlotte asked.
“No. I think we’re good like we are.”
“Bummer. If you change your mind, let me know, okay? Uncle Corbin and I are pretty close. I think I could help you out with him.”
Corbin shouldered in through the back door. His mouth formed a flat line, and his eyes glowed with irritation. “The people out front are fans of yours, Willow. They found out that you’re working here, and they’re waiting to see you.”
“What?” How in the world could they have found out . . . “Oh.” Cody. She’d asked him not to mention her presence at the inn, and he’d agreed. But the temptation to broadcast her whereabouts must have proven too great.
“They saw on Twitter that you’re here,” Corbin said. “Some jerk posted a picture of you. Who would have done that?”
“A college kid stayed here with his family for the past three nights. I know that he recognized me, so I’m guessing he’s the one.”
“Where is he?” Corbin asked. “I’ll go strangle him.”
“They checked out this morning.” Her mind spun as she tried to sift through the ramifications of Cody’s tweet.
“I told them that they were on private property and asked them to leave,” Corbin said. “Some of them did, but two didn’t. One of the two looks like he’s twenty-five and weighs about three twenty. He had the nerve to tell me that I was on private property, too. He’s not smart enough to understand that there’s a difference between being invited and uninvited.”
Willow could only imagine how fascinated her fans must have been to see Corbin Stewart emerge from the inn. His “help” had no doubt thrown fuel onto the fire of their interest.
Corbin pulled his phone from his pocket. “Do you want to call the police, or do you want me to do it?”
“I’ll call.” She didn’t love the idea of involving Merryweather’s small police force, but she liked the idea of strangers loitering outside the inn far less. Much of the time, her guests were here alone.
“Do you think the people out there are dangerous?” Charlotte asked.
“No,” Willow answered firmly. “Merely pesky.”
After Willow’s brief conversation with the police, Corbin escorted Charlotte to her mom’s car. Willow sat at the kitchen work alcove and ran a search on Twitter for her name. As suspected, Cody had been the culprit. He’d taken a photo of her without her knowledge at breakfast yesterday morning. The photo captured her in profile talking with one of the guests.
She heard Corbin return. He stopped near her shoulder to examine the tweet centered on the computer screen. “Is this what the college kid posted?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How long ago?”
“Last night.”
“Can you ask him to delete it?”
“Yes. I have a phone number for his parents here somewhere.” She pulled up contact information for the Durants and phoned the cell number listed. When Liz Dura
nt answered, Willow explained the situation. Liz apologized profusely and assured Willow that she’d ask Cody to delete the tweet immediately.
After they hung up, Willow checked the reservation system. Her heart sank. “Every available room for the rest of the month has been filled since the tweet posted.”
Corbin made a growling sound. “Can you put a freeze on new bookings between now and when the manager your mom hired arrives?”
Willow nodded.
“I think you’re also going to need to cancel all the reservations that were made since last night. It’s not safe for you to be here alone with people who made a reservation just because they want to be near you.”
She thought it through. He had a point. She blew out an irritated breath. “The inn’s revenue is going to take a hit.”
“Maybe. But given a choice between revenue and your safety, your mom will choose your safety.”
The doorbell rang. The two uniformed police officers, both male, broke into huge smiles when they saw Corbin. They thanked him again and again for bringing donuts by the station.
The officers explained that they’d escorted Willow’s stubborn fans from the property and given them a warning. They assured Corbin that they’d add the inn to their patrol and swing by multiple times to make certain the trespassers didn’t return and that no new fans of Willow’s arrived. They encouraged Willow to call them if the problem persisted or if she had any questions.
“Those two were in awe of you,” Willow said when the officers had gone and she and Corbin stood facing each other in a kitchen that all at once seemed too silent and private.
“Most people are in awe of me.” Dimples marked his cheeks. It was the first glimpse of mirth she’d spotted in him since he’d learned of the people gathered outside the inn. “It would be nice if you were in awe of me.”
“You can’t have everything, O Famous Quarterback.” She tossed her red coat over her arm and reached for her purse.
He held the back door open for her. “Bradfordwood is gated, right?”
“Right. And the house has a security system.”
“Is anyone else staying there?”
“Only me.” She locked the door behind them, and they walked side by side along the dirt path that wove through the trees for about fifty yards to the inn’s gravel-covered parking lot.