Passionate Kisses

by Various

  “No? Why not?” The same thought plagued Sophie, not only because these were her grandparents they were talking about now. Something about it didn’t make sense. “But doesn’t most of the evidence say he probably did? I mean, they couldn’t ever prove anyone else was there that night.” What kind of police work was that? Man, if she’d been around then, there would have been a lot more answers in the first twenty-four hours.

  “I know.” Francine wrapped a lock of hair around one finger and twisted it close to her face. “But I think he loved her too much.”

  “Too much? Then maybe he did kill her. Jealousy and all that, you know.”

  But Francine shook her head. “I read romance novels, you know. Lots of ’em.” Her cheeks pinked. “And the hero, see, if he grows up with the heroine and writes her poetry and marries her straight out of school and takes her away to live in a place where it’s the two of them forever and forever–” She stopped for a breath. “He’s not gonna kill her. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Sophie hadn’t ever heard Francine speak so much in one sitting. But those are books, she wanted to say. Fiction. Romance novels didn’t come true in real life. That was why spinsters and widows and heart-broken singles who lived in the apartments around Sophie read them. To escape. To pretend.

  She closed her eyes and tried to get Lucas’s face out of her head. Honestly, being the heroine of a romance novel didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world right now. She was sorely short on happy endings. And maybe Francine was right about Petey. If he’d written about capturing the moon and the stars and burying his heart down deep for the woman he loved, how could he have turned around and killed her?

  “Wait a minute.” Sophie sat straight up and grabbed the poem, then grabbed her notes from the library and pulled them from her purse so quickly she ripped the edges off. “That’s it,” she said aloud. “I bet a million dollars that’s where it is.”

  Not from there, but from here

  Not from the top but from the bottom

  Across the never-ending water you will find the treasure…

  “Miss Smithwaite?”

  “Tell me about the point,” she said. “That piece of land across from the lighthouse.” She tried to remember what it looked like from the shore. East of the lighthouse, the beach curved away from the road and reached out into the water a few hundred yards. They’d filmed a few shots of it for the opening of the episode. Wild and uninhabited, it created the perfect eerie setting for a piece about unexplained murders.

  And according to what she’d read that afternoon, it was still protected from development, thanks to her father. She scanned her notes to be sure she was remembering right. Only a few acres, it didn’t look like much. Mostly trees and sand, as she recalled, although Lucas’s mother had recommended it for fresh air and a good place to walk. Lucas himself had pointed it out from the top of the lighthouse the night he’d chased her up there. Then he’d pulled her in for another kiss, so she’d forgotten all about it.

  “Who owns it now? Do you know?”

  Francine shook her head. “I don’t. It’s a pretty place to walk, though. There’s a little path I take sometimes, goes right through all the trees. It’s prettiest at sunset. There’s this open space in the middle, no trees, where all the light comes in” She smiled and lost about ten years. “It’s beautiful. I haven’t been in a while, though. I’m sure it’s overgrown.”

  Sophie read the poem again. Read her notes again. She had no actual proof. Her journalism professor would tell her to abandon the story, since she had nothing of substance to report. But her communications professor would have told her to keep looking. To believe her hunch. To take the question and its answer and turn it into yet another question.

  It made sense. Anyone could see it from the lighthouse. They would have looked at it every day. And it would have been worth a lot, maybe not the millions Nutty Nellie claimed, but a lot of money nonetheless. Sophie glanced at the clock. They didn’t have much time before dusk. She stood and tested her ankle, then decided a good wrapping would keep it steady for the next hour or so. She wouldn’t go alone this time, no way. Not with everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. But she didn’t have many choices left when it came to escorts. She couldn’t call Lucas. She no longer trusted Lon.

  “Francine, you want to take a walk with me?”

  Chapter 35

  Twenty minutes later, Francine stood on the front stoop and peered at the fog rolling in. “You sure you want to? It’ll be dark pretty soon.”

  “Then we should get going.” Sophie had no intention of wandering around the beach after the sun went down. She checked her cell phone–full signal. Patted the pocket of her jeans–small knife, no good for anything but scaring off a mouse, but it was there all the same. She didn’t think she needed anything else besides her only pair of decent walking shoes. The poem, she’d memorized, and she knew the general direction they were headed. Francine would keep them both on course.

  Francine locked the front door and led the way across her driveway. Instead of taking a straight path to the access road now blocked off by police tape, she veered right and headed toward town. Sophie trotted behind. Her ankle felt close to normal, thanks to another round of ibuprofen and a bandage wrapped almost up to her knee. She’d tucked her hair under a baseball cap and spritzed on some bug spray for good measure. Glamorous TV host, my ass. The tabloids should see her now.

  After a couple hundred yards, Francine crossed the road. She held a flashlight in one hand and flicked it on as they reached the beach. Though the sun still hung in the sky, fog coated the ground, and the horizon had already disappeared behind it. A lone car passed them, and Sophie ducked her chin. She didn’t need to be recognized. She crossed the sandy shoulder and joined Francine.

  “It’s down there.” Francine pointed to a spot where the trees parted slightly. To their left, the lighthouse loomed up, but they headed away from it.

  Not from there, but from here

  Not from the top but from the bottom…

  With every step, Sophie’s heart sped up. Was it this easy? Had the treasure been here all along, not stashed in the lighthouse but someplace visible from it? Their progress slowed as the grasses grew thicker. Of course, no one had seen the poem. No one had known where to look.

  Every day you seek it

  And every day you see it…

  Petey and Miranda could have stood in the lighthouse and looked down on this land, less than a quarter mile away. They could have dreamed about the house they’d build here and the children they’d raise here. Close to the lighthouse but not in it. Near the ocean but not on top of it. Caught up in her thoughts, she tripped over a root and had to catch herself with both hands.

  “You okay?” Francine stopped.

  “Yes.” But she took advantage of the moment to stand up and catch her breath. Her heart wouldn’t slow down, no matter how many long inhales she drew. A fluttering sensation rose up in the back of her throat. A flush crept onto her face, and sweat broke out across her forehead. Oh, no. She couldn’t have another panic attack. The timing was inconvenient, to say the least. This time it would be pines and gritty sand spinning out of control in her peripheral vision instead of striped wallpaper and floral carpet. And her guardian wouldn’t be driving by in the nick of time to save her.

  Sophie pushed out a breath, drew in another, closed her eyes and then forced them open as wide as she could. Why did this keep happening?

  Francine’s cool hands took one of hers. “Miss Smithwaite?” Her face was wavy, but there. “Take some deep breaths.” She kept her hand in Sophie’s, and Sophie would have thought it odd except it was actually helping calm her. She closed her eyes and listened to Francine’s soft, high-pitched voice.

  “Another one now. One. Two. No, don’t exhale yet. Now let it go. Another. One...”

  How long they stood there, oddly connected, Sophie had no idea. But she didn’t pass out. And the ground stopped s
pinning. After a few minutes, her breathing matched Francine’s count. Her heart stopped thudding against her breastbone. She opened her eyes, and Francine took her hand away.

  “Are you better now?”

  Sophie looked at the ground, embarrassed. “Why did you do that? How did you know it would help?”

  “My mother had panic attacks. Often. Sometimes several times a day. That was the only thing that helped her.” Her fingers twisted together at her waist. “I guess maybe it was strange for you.”

  “But it helped. Thank you.”

  “They’re funny things,” Francine said as they made their way into the trees. “They come out of nowhere.”

  “No kidding.”

  Their progress slowed, and the path Francine had spoken of was indeed narrow and overgrown. In several places Sophie had to pull low-lying branches away, and twice they slapped back onto her wrists, drawing blood. As they went, she tried to look up and gauge the distance both to the water and back to the lighthouse. She’d glanced at a map at the library showing the property markings, funny squiggles that ran parallel to the road and the ocean. Two acres? Maybe more? And her father had successfully won a case against the town to prohibit developing it.

  But why? That had been her original question when she first read the article. Why would an eighteen-year-old challenge the zoning of a proposed four-house development? He’d left the town one month after the ruling. Why would he have cared?

  Now she understood. Her grandparents had owned it. Petey had bought it for Miranda. She still had to locate the deed, but it must exist in the town records somewhere. Her father must have wanted to keep and protect it for as long as he could. Maybe he’d dreamed of bringing his own bride back here. Of raising his own children here. She stopped short behind Francine, who pushed aside one last prickly stalk and stepped into a wide, sun-dappled clearing. Sophie followed her with halting steps.

  “Oh my God. This is beautiful.”

  I have bought for you, my heart.

  I have buried it deep below…

  Cut down some trees, slice through the fog, and she knew the lighthouse would stand behind her. Still working all those decades ago, it would have blinked its light across this clearing. Beautiful. Private. And to the right people, worth more than millions.

  One day, my love, my only, it will be ours.

  This beacon of love will guide us home…

  This was the treasure, the place they were standing right now. This land. It had to be. Sophie closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, a mix of rich pine and saltwater. She could stay here forever.

  The thought startled her, and her eyes flew open. “Francine? I think I know what Petey was talking about.”

  Silence. She turned and found herself alone.

  She glanced at the path they’d followed, then across the clearing to where it continued on the other side. “Francine?” Had she gone on ahead, decided to slice a few stubborn branches out of the way for the rest of their trek?

  A twig snapped, and Sophie jumped. Damn nerves. She couldn’t see the ocean from inside the thickly grown trees, but she could hear the tide coming in, slapping the shore. The temperature had dropped, which meant the fog was creeping its way inland. Sophie could feel its heavy wetness in the air. She took another long look in every possible direction. Still nothing. It was as if she’d walked out here alone.

  “Hello? Francine?”

  Where the hell had she gone?

  * * * *

  “Shit.” Bruce Wallace, part-time EMT and full-time attorney up in Bluffet Edge, leaned back in his desk chair. “They got no idea who jumped you?”

  “Nope.”

  Rich looked up from his seat by the switchboard. Lucas stared at the TV and cracked his knuckles. Posters peppered the walls: latest corps procedures, sexual harassment policies, upcoming CPR refresher course. A few takeout containers lay scattered across the table in the middle of the room, and strong, stale coffee gave the place a caffeine high Lucas would smell until his dying day. The three of them stared at the TV hanging in the corner of the building that doubled as home base for the Lindsey Point Rescue Squad and the local police department.

  “At this point there have been no arrests made in the assault on local resident Lucas Oakes,” the redheaded reporter said to the camera. Willow Diamond, read the name across the bottom of the screen, and Lucas wondered if her parents had given her that name or an agent or producer somewhere along the line. She had a conventionally attractive face, symmetrical and made up to look perfect and plastic, the way most TV personalities did. Even Sophie.

  Damn it. Stop thinking about her.

  He scowled at the television. Why did they all put on those artificial appearances? Stupid straightened hair and too much makeup hid the real Sophie Smithwaite, the one he’d seen on the beach and atop the lighthouse and in his bed last night. Rumpled. Flushed. Sexier than hell.

  Rich found the remote on the table beneath a box of cookies and turned up the volume. “Police chief Gavin O’Brien is not releasing any names, but he did report earlier today he has two persons of interest in the case.”

  “Really?” Rich looked at Lucas. “You hear anything about that? Got any idea who they are?”

  He shook his head. Would have guessed maybe Tom Allen, but the guy had been out of town since yesterday afternoon, according to his landlady. He didn’t drive a white car, anyway. Lucas had already asked around. No, creepy as he was, that guy likely wanted some attention and nothing more. He’d probably put out a chair near the highway and sell autographs when the piece on the lighthouse finally ran. Lon had given him a ten-second interview spot near the end of the episode, and you would have thought the guy was in the running for an Oscar.

  The main phone lit up as a call came in. Another came in right behind it.

  “Lindsey Point Police and Rescue,” Rich said into the receiver as he turned down the TV.

  Bruce picked up the second line and repeated the words. “Is this an emergency, sir?” His gaze flicked in Lucas’s direction. “Can you see anything from where you are?”

  “We’ll send a car out there and check it out,” Rich was saying at the same time. “Thank you.”

  Lucas looked from one to the other. What the hell? A chill worked its way under his skin.

  “Any other vehicles?” Bruce asked. “No? A little while ago? Did you get a license plate number?” He jotted something on the notepad beside him.

  “No, stay put. Police’ll be there in a few minutes, might want to ask you some questions.” Rich hung up and reached for the chief’s direct line. “Looks like Lindsey Point’s little adventure isn’t over,” he told Lucas. “Man, we haven’t gotten this much action since since you won the state football game and the celebration parade down Main Street got a little outta hand.” He grinned. “Remember all the cheerleaders flashing the crowd? And Danny Mason toasting the crowd with a forty-ouncer, right in front of the chief?”

  Lucas did.

  Rich chuckled. “Good times, man.”

  “You got something down at the point?” Bruce asked him.

  “Yup. Lady was out walking her dog, said she heard someone yelling down by the cove.”

  “I got a guy said some woman was standing in the middle of Patchwork Lane waving her arms and flagging him down. Right by that access road near the cove, yep.”

  Lucas cracked his knuckles. Someone yelling? Someone waving down a passing motorist? Sophie wouldn’t, would she? Was she that reckless? Of course she was. But he’d figured she’d left town hours ago. His ears burned. What if she hadn’t? What if, instead, Sophie had gone back down to the beach to do some sleuthing on her own?

  Lucas did his best to shut off his thoughts. He’d let these guys handle it. His head was pounding, and he needed sleep. Big-time. He grabbed his truck keys from the hook by the door, hung there by habit the minute he’d walked in twenty minutes ago. He’d been coming down to the station twice a week since he was sixteen. Some things didn’t cha
nge. Didn’t need to.

  Try something different...for once...

  Lucas jammed his baseball cap over his head. He was done getting involved or worrying about her or rescuing her. Besides, nothing said the two emergency calls had anything to do with her. Just because something was going on down by the cove didn’t mean Sophie was in the middle of it.

  Rich stood, stretched, and dumped the last of the coffee into the sink. He started a fresh pot, heavy on the grinds and light on the water, the way everyone there liked it. He glanced at Lucas. “What’re you thinkin’?”

  “Nothing.”

  “We got it covered. You don’t need to go down there.”

  “You sure?”

  “You got a fuckin’ concussion less than twelve hours ago. Go home and get some rest. We need you, we’ll call you.”

  “All right.” He didn’t much like it, but Rich was right. Doc had told him to take it easy. So he’d watch a couple sitcoms, take another hot shower, and hit the sheets. Predictable, Sophie had called him. Safe, she’d said. Fine. He’d be both of those things tonight and like it, while she went running to the tops of lighthouses and tromping on balconies to flaunt safety and predictability right in the face.

  Chapter 36

  Sophie heard breathing. Somewhere in the trees, beyond where she could see, someone was standing there watching her.

  “Francine?” Her voice shook. It wasn’t Francine, of course it wasn’t, because why would she hide in the shadows when she’d brought Sophie all the way out here? She squinted into the waning daylight and tried to make out a figure. All she saw, no matter which way she turned, was trees.

  “Listen, come on out here and talk to me. What do you want?” She tried to sound stern and confident, but to her own ears it came off more like a squeaky Minnie Mouse. No one answered.

  But a moment later, something snapped in the underbrush, and Sophie ran. She didn’t know who the hell was out here with her, but she wasn’t sticking around to find out. She left the path and headed straight through the trees. Once or twice she caught the glint of water, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to dead-end herself at the shoreline. Decent swimmer or not, faced with the choice, she’d rather keep both feet on the ground than chance an evening swim in the open ocean. She cut a wide circle and tried to get her bearings, aiming for the main road instead.