At Any Cost

by Lauren Nichols

  Chuckling, Aggie pulled several single-serve creamers from the pocket of her black apron and dropped them on the table. “I’m not even going to ask what the Mad Hatter’s tea party has to do with any of this,” she said, starting away. “I’ll bring your orders right out. You two can fight over the bill when the time comes.”

  “We’ll do that,” they called in unison—then shared a soft laugh.

  Beau tugged a paper napkin from the dispenser and waved it like a flag of truce. “Okay. War’s over. Let’s talk business.”

  “All right. Monkey business first.” Jenna stirred a creamer and packet of sugar into her coffee. “It’s fairly obvious that my aunt put you up to this lunch invitation. Why?” It took him a moment to answer, but when he did, she believed him.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think she’s worried about you, and hoped that talking to me might…I don’t know…make you feel better. Does that sound right?”

  Nothing would make her feel better until Courtland was behind bars, but after two years, she feared that wasn’t going to happen. He was too sly, too slick and too rich. Despite Aunt Molly’s suspicions, she couldn’t believe the Chandlers were behind this. “Maybe.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?”

  She shook her head. What good would that do? She’d just end up looking like a victim in his eyes. She didn’t want pity from anyone, particularly the strong, confident man she found herself thinking about too often. “Sorry. I can’t.”

  “Too personal?”

  “Yes.”

  He studied her for a long moment, his gaze drifting over her hair and face as though committing them to memory. Then he nodded. “Okay. I’ll back off. But if you change your mind, I’ll be around, and I don’t betray confidences.”

  That was good to know, she thought as Aggie crossed the dining room with their soup and salad. But there was another reason she didn’t want Beau involved. She’d seen—and felt—what Courtland was capable of. He was dangerous. The fewer people taking an interest in her life, the better—for her and for them.

  Talk moved to the carpeting versus hardwood issue and while they ate, Jenna opted for refinishing the hardwood. It would take longer, but in the end it would look lovely and the upkeep would be easier. That led to a discussion of other rooms and other ideas, and Beau suggested something that she’d actually considered herself.

  “Your entryway is fairly large, so it wouldn’t take much to create a small vestibule just inside the front door. You could add an additional door or set of doors to keep the rain and snow out of your foyer. And it would be added security for…your guests.”

  That got her attention. “Added security?”

  He pushed his empty plate aside and dragged his coffee cup forward. “Considering the security system you’ve had installed and the fancy mesh covering your ground floor windows, I think you’ve given security a lot of thought.”

  “I’m…I’m responsible for the safety of my guests,” Jenna replied, wondering how much Aunt Molly had told him during their take-Jenna-to-lunch conversation. She knew her aunt wouldn’t betray her confidence. But Beau seemed to know that the ivy-patterned ornamental mesh she’d had installed was for her benefit, too. “What would something like that cost?”

  Beau took a small notebook and pen from his back pocket.

  She had the ballpark figures in her coat pocket, and they were discussing the church’s upcoming bazaar over their pie and coffee when an old friend waved to her from the red Formica lunch counter at the front of the diner. Jenna waved back, and Charity’s favorite octogenarian made his way past the noisy tables to their booth.

  Elmer Fox was a tall, balding, walking bag of bones in a dated black-and-red plaid Woolrich jacket who couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. He carried a matching billed cap with earflaps in one hand, and a white coffee mug in the other.

  Jenna moved over as the old man slid in beside her and parked his coffee on the table. “Hi, Elmer,” she said. “What do you know for sure?”

  He gave a low horsey laugh, his blue eyes dancing behind rimless bifocals. He included Beau in his reply. “I know it’s pretty cold out and summer’s a far sight away. I expect I’ll be draggin’ out my long johns soon.”

  Jenna smiled. “Think we should all pack up and move to Florida?”

  Elmer chuckled. “Well, now, if we did that, there’d be no one to tend my coal fire, and you’d miss out on the nice surprise I got for you.”

  “You have something for me?”

  “Not with me. Out at my place.” He ground his back against the booth, scratching an itch. “I was lookin’ through some boxes in my attic yesterday and came across some old photos. Ladies in great big bonnets, tintypes of the old Brighton Hotel before it burnt—” His rheumy blue eyes twinkled. “Even found a few of ladies in them old-fashioned bathin’ suits. Hats, stockings, dresses down to their knees. I suspect them getups would get a few chuckles today.”

  Jenna never heard another word. Just then one of the waitresses dropped an empty tray and it waffled noisily to the floor. Instinctively, she turned in the direction of the sound—and her breath froze in her lungs when she spotted a man in a booth across from theirs who appeared to be staring at her from behind gray-tinted glasses.

  Chills drizzled through her, but she couldn’t look away—not even when the man in the dark parka and black watch cap turned his attention back to his newspaper.

  Her rapid pulse began to slow. Okay, the man’s features were similar…but the nose was all wrong, and what little hair she could see beneath his cap was too light. He wasn’t Courtland. He was simply someone’s visiting relative, or a tourist who’d stopped for a meal before checking out the area’s huge elk herd. Maybe even a local resident she didn’t recognize. Charity was small, but she didn’t know everyone.

  Beau reached across the table to touch her hand and she jumped.

  “You okay?” he mouthed.

  Jenna nodded, then flashing a smile, she shifted her attention to Elmer who had segued from a discussion of turn-of-the-century swimwear to the current trends that he just couldn’t abide.

  “Times were better back then. Folks could leave their doors unlocked and their keys in their cars. Now we got kids listening to rap music, walkin’ all over their pant legs, gettin’ tattoos and piercin’ every ding dong thing the Lord gave ’em.” He nodded across the room, again drawing her attention to the man in the parka. Though Jenna no longer saw him as a threat, an uneasy feeling moved through her. She watched nervously as he retrieved the cane hooked to the back of the booth, then rose, picked up his newspaper and limped toward the front register.

  “It ain’t just kids who’ve lost their minds, either,” Elmer grumbled. “That goober over there’s got an earring, too—saw it when he came in.” He blew out a breath. “Then again, I don’t expect much from a fella who can’t even use his cane right.”

  Amused, Beau played devil’s advocate. “Come on, Elmer. We both know every generation has to do their own thing. In your day, it was spats and raccoon coats. In mine, it was Big Hair rock bands.”

  With a rusty laugh, Elmer levered his bony frame out of the booth. “Guess you got a point there.” He shifted his gaze to Jenna. “Well, I’d best git on home. My stories will be comin’ on the TV. I’ll run them pictures over to you one of these days soon. I need to sort through ’em again first—divide ’em up. Maybe give some to Bertie down at the historical society.”

  Gathering her coat, Jenna slid out of the booth to give him a hug. “I’d love that. If you’re sure you want to part with them.”

  “Sure as sand on the beach,” he chuckled, squeezing her back. “I’ll see you soon. Say hello to your aunt Molly for me.” He winked. “Now there’s a fine-lookin’ woman.”

  When Elmer was out of earshot, Beau took Jenna’s coat from her and held it while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. “He watches soap operas?”

  “Apparently.” A
tiny shiver moved through her when he freed her hair from her collar. Murmuring a thank-you, she stepped away to pick up one of the checks Aggie had left, then pulled her wallet from her coat pocket.

  “Please,” Beau said. “Let me get that. I did invite you to lunch.”

  “Sorry. We’ve been over this. I’ll pay my way, and you pay yours.” She expected him to argue, but he didn’t. Instead his dark eyes warmed, inexplicably making her think of sipping hot cocoa before a roaring winter fire.

  “Okay. I’ll get it next time.”

  There would be a next time?

  “For now, though, we’d better pay up, grab Aunt Molly’s order and make tracks before I get my walking papers. The woman I work for is a real tough cookie.”

  * * *

  Fat flurries fell to the sidewalk and dotted Beau’s navy sweatshirt as Jenna walked with him toward the lot and their respective vehicles. She knew she should be enjoying the fresh air and the thin rays of sunlight breaking through the overcast sky. Especially since she spent so much of her time indoors. But hard as she tried, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the unsettling quarter-sized depressions in the snow. Cane tracks.

  “Beau?” she asked hesitantly.

  He glanced down at her. “Yeah?”

  “What did Elmer mean when he said the man in the parka wasn’t using his cane correctly?”

  He studied her for a moment, concern back in his eyes. Then he answered matter-of-factly. “The guy appeared to have a problem with his left leg, but he held his cane in his right hand. It looked strange since the point of using a cane is to take pressure off the injured limb. Why do you ask?”

  Jenna worked to keep her voice from trembling. “No reason. I just wondered.”

  He didn’t believe her. She could see it. They’d reached her white Jeep Liberty with the Blackberry’s pretty floral-and-berries logo on the door. “Well,” she said. “Thank you for lunch. It was nice to get out for a while.” She pressed her remote and the doors unlocked. “I guess I’ll see you back at the inn?”

  He handed her the takeout bag, that questioning look still clouding his eyes. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I need to check on something before I head back.” He smiled. “That is, if my boss says it’s okay.”

  “She does,” Jenna replied, managing to smile back. Opening the door, she set Aunt Molly’s food on the passenger’s seat, then slid behind the wheel. “Now, if she was paying you by the hour, not the job, she might feel differently. But yes, take all the time you want.”

  “Thanks.” He pulled his keys from his jeans pocket and started toward his truck. “See you soon.”

  “You, too,” she called. Then with her smile crumbling, Jenna shut the Liberty’s door, started the car and drove out of the lot. She turned onto Main Street, searching the sidewalks and shop entrances for that limping man. Was that Courtland behind those dark glasses? “Dear God, please, no,” she whispered.

  The past rushed back and she began to shake, felt her heart pound as images unfolded beyond the rhythmic slap of her windshield wipers. She saw hands like steel bands clamp her wrists—felt his hot, harsh breath on her face, saw the quick flash of the blade—

  No! She would not let the rest of the memory come. She would not allow herself to become that fragile, frightened woman again. The man with the cane was simply a man with a cane, and the charges on her credit card were easily explainable mistakes.

  Maybe so, a fearful voice whispered in the back of her mind. But it’s beyond coincidence when flowers are sent to three funeral homes in memory of decedents who shared your last name.

  To Jenna’s right, a bubbly, middle-aged friend with a frizz of flame-red hair exited the Quick Mart, still laughing and looking back toward someone inside. A funky giraffe-head shoulder bag swung at her side. Jenna tooted her horn and waved, and always-pleasant daytime police dispatcher Sarah French waved back. Jenna swallowed hard. Since she’d returned to Charity she’d only shared her attack with three people: Aunt Molly and her two best friends. She’d felt strongly that the fewer people who knew about it, the better her chances of staying hidden. But now… Maybe it was time to speak to Sarah French’s boss.

  * * *

  Unconcerned with the flurries that continued to toss and blow, Beau waited until Jenna’s white SUV had faded from view, then cautiously walked the lot, following those cane marks in the snow. He wasn’t a tracker—far from it—but he’d noticed something disturbing after Jenna mentioned the limping man. The guy’s cane marks appeared consistently on the sidewalk and at the entry to the lot, but then gradually disappeared. By the time the man reached the empty space where his vehicle had been parked—a car, not a truck, from the looks of the tire tracks—the only marks in the snow were the man’s footprints.

  So was the cane just a walking stick, not a staff used to take pressure off a bum leg? he wondered. And if that was so, why the limp? Sympathy? Or subterfuge?

  Slowly, Beau brought his hands to his hips, then looked around and exhaled raggedly, his warm breath fogging the air. This was nothing he should be getting involved in—absolutely none of his business, despite Aunt Molly’s request for help. Still, he couldn’t silence the thoughts running through his head. Jenna’d had the Blackberry’s first floor windows covered with ornamental mesh as soon as she’d purchased the inn, and today she’d ignored the booth he’d chosen for a seat that afforded her a view of the dining room and front door. Then there was her jittery reaction to the man with the cane. When he combined those things with her current lifestyle, the only conclusion he could draw made him uneasy.

  Something nasty had happened to her in Michigan. Something she feared would be repeated. But what?

  What was she so afraid of?

  THREE

  Jenna strode inside the Blackberry, moved to the security pad behind the desk and reset the alarm as the door locked behind her. The small surveillance screen beside the key pad showed a portion of her porch and driveway, one of her first purchases when she’d bought the inn. A note from Aunt Molly lay on the desk blotter next to it. The McGraws had arrived, and taken the Rose Room. They were out now, seeing what Charity had to offer.

  Setting the takeout bag on the desk and shrugging out of her coat, Jenna tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach and called out to her aunt.

  “Up here,” Molly sang out. “I’m just about through.”

  Jenna hung her coat in the closet at the bottom of the stairs, then hurried up the steps, passing the wide landing where three tall, chalk-white Nativity figures sat on a raised platform surrounded by mini-lights and greenery. Touching a fingertip to her lips, she transferred the kiss to the infant Jesus’s head, then continued on. In a moment, she’d entered the Blue Room where her great-aunt was putting the finishing touches on the queen-size bed with the hand-carved, darkly stained headboard.

  The Blue Room was one of their most popular, full of romantic florals in shades of blue with layers of white sheers beneath heavy navy drapes held back with silky, braided ties. The tall armoire and mirrored dresser matched the headboard, and the ornate brass drawer pulls, crystal boudoir lamps, Oriental rugs and gilt-framed Victorian prints added another level of period romance to the room.

  Molly plumped the crocheted accent pillows on the bed. “You’re back early.”

  “But apparently, not early enough.” Shaking her finger, Jenna scooped up the discarded linens from the hardwood floor. “I would’ve helped if you’d waited for me.”

  “Now, Jenny, I’ve been doing this for fifty years, and Lord willing, I’ll be doing it for another twenty.” She walked around the bed, trying to hide her concern behind a bright smile. “Now tell me about your lunch with Beau. Did you have a good time?”

  “Yes, it was very nice.” Her stomach lurched again as she remembered the unseen eyes behind the limping man’s tinted glasses. She longed to tell her aunt about him—hear Molly say in that calm, reassuring way of hers that she was jumping at shadows again. She wanted to hear he
r say that she was safe now, and simply reacting to the fraudulent charges on her credit card. But Jenna loved her too much to add to her worries. In a little while, she’d call the Michigan police to see if there was any news.

  “You really should go out more,” her aunt chided. “Be with people your own age instead of hanging around here with an old relic like me. What did you and Beau talk about?”

  “Renovations. And you’re not an old relic—not according to Elmer Fox.”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “What’s that silly old flirt saying now?”

  Jenna grinned. “He thinks you’re a fine-looking woman, and he’s right. He found some old photographs and tintypes in his attic and said we can look through them if we want.”

  Jenna carried the sheets through the doorway to the laundry chute in the hall. Years ago it had been a dumbwaiter, but now served to escort clothes and bedding to the basement’s laundry room. If she thought bringing up Elmer would derail her aunt’s interest in her lunch with Beau, she was wrong.

  “You couldn’t have talked about renovations the whole time,” Molly persisted, following. “Did he mention if he was seeing anyone right now? And by seeing, I mean—”

  “I know what ‘seeing’ means,” Jenna returned. “And no, he didn’t.”

  “Well, this is just my opinion, but you could do a lot worse than that young man. He goes to church, he’s got a thriving business, and he’s not half bad to look at.”

  No, he wasn’t. But she wasn’t looking for someone who’d always be looking for someone else. “Trying to get rid of me, Aunt Molly?”

  “Of course not, but it’s time you thought about settling down with a good man.”

  The doorbell rang as Jenna unlatched the spring-loaded cream-and-pink door that matched the striped wallpaper, and she quickly tossed the sheets inside. “I’ll get that,” she said, glad to end the conversation. “My turn to do some work around here.”

  She didn’t have to check the monitor to see who was on the porch. A peculiar-looking woman peered through the wide, etched-glass side light to the left of the front door, her gloved hands clutching the sides of her bulky gray corduroy jacket together. Beau’s idea to divide the long foyer into a vestibule and entry gained more merit. The temperature outside was only in the low forties, but the poor woman looked frozen.