At Any Cost

by Lauren Nichols

  Rachel spoke up. “I think you should open one of them first. Maybe the cookies are personalized, and the sender’s name is inside.”

  That wasn’t a bad idea. Reopening the box, Jenna chose a chocolate iced cookie. “I’ll just wiggle one of the fortunes out. This one looks fairly loose.” The bottom fell out of her stomach when she read it, then handed it to Rachel.

  Soon, the three of them were staring at twelve identical slips of paper. Every one of them said, “Life is short. Enjoy it while you can.”

  Jenna ripped off the return address label and went to the phone. A woman with a heavy Chinese accent said, “Chang Chung’s Gourmet Cookies. How may I help you?”

  Jenna drew a shaky breath. “You can tell me who sent a box of your fortune cookies to my home.”

  * * *

  Beau pulled into the driveway, parked to the left of the inn, then shut off his engine and sank back against the seat. Okay, he was being too thin-skinned and he knew it. But he couldn’t get past that look of betrayal in her eyes. It made no difference that she’d done a quick about-face; for a full minute, she’d actually thought he was capable of the lousy, underhanded things that had been done to her. Nothing had hurt that badly in a long, long time.

  As a kid, he’d mostly walked away from the bad stuff. When Jasper had pushed him around and called him worthless, he’d simply taken off—which was pretty much what his grandfather had wanted anyway. And he’d tried to see the good inside him that he knew was there but seemed invisible to some people around him.

  That wasn’t an option now. He’d made Aunt Molly a promise and he’d take another emotional beating before he let her down. Besides, he had too much pride to leave his work for someone else to complete.

  He got out of the car, walked to the front door and rang the bell. There was no way he’d use the security code. Not because he was “in a cowardly little snit” as Jasper used to say, but because some sappy part of him wouldn’t give her any more reason to worry. She worried enough.

  Throwing open the door, Margo breezed past him, pulling on her jacket. Beau’s protective instincts flared again.

  “Margo?”

  She motioned behind her as she continued to stride toward her vehicle. Jenna and Rachel stood in the foyer. “Jen will tell you. I’ll be back soon. I need to grab something from my house.”

  With a questioning look for Jenna, he stepped inside. Instead of answering, she said quietly, “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “I’ll let you two talk,” Rachel said, then politely disappeared.

  Beau met the turmoil in Jenna’s eyes. Regardless of her soft tone, he could see that she was barely keeping it together. “What happened?”

  “Not here,” she murmured.

  To his confusion, she opened the door, walked coatless to his truck and climbed inside. A moment later, he was settled behind the wheel and turning on the heater. “Where are we going?”

  “Nowhere. I just didn’t want to talk in there.” She folded her hands on her lap and drew a shaky breath. “The fortune cookies weren’t for Aunt Molly. They were for me. He knew I’d refuse an unexpected package.”

  Beau’s heartbeat quickened. “How do you know that?”

  “Because Millie didn’t send them. Aunt Molly asked me to open the box to see if there was a card inside. There was no card—only twelve cookies with identical personalized messages. They all said, ‘Life is short. Enjoy it while you can.’ No friend would send an eighty-five-year-old woman a gift like that.”

  It was hard to control his anger. When was this going to end? “Why didn’t you call the police? I just came from there, and no one mentioned—”

  “I’ll call when Margo gets back. Unless he sees more evidence, Perris will insist that there’s nothing threatening about those ‘fortunes,’ and remind me that the package was sent to my aunt, not me.”

  “What evidence?”

  She sent him a weary look. “He had to have learned about Aunt Molly’s trip days ago to have the personalized cookies sent in time for her birthday. As far as I know, we’re the only people who discussed it.” She nodded toward the Blackberry’s pretty front door. “In there.”

  The reason for Margo’s swift departure quickly dawned. “She’s bringing back a bug detector, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. She said a man with money can pay for a lot more than ants and razor blades. She’s going to sweep for wireless cameras and listening devices. If she finds anything, Perris will have to take this seriously.”

  Now he wasn’t sure what to hope for—bugs or no bugs. “If your Mrs. Bolton planted bugs, whoever’s behind this knows about more than your aunt’s love of fortune cookies.”

  Jenna whirled on him. “Why do you keep saying whoever’s behind this? I’ve told you repeatedly that the man who tried to kill me—the man who left me for dead—the man who might’ve taken away any chance I have of conceiving a child of my own, has a name. Courtland Dane.”

  Beau went deathly still, stunned by her anger, and even more stunned by her words. The sympathy in his eyes seemed to deflate her, and she looked away. Obviously, she hadn’t meant to share as much as she had. He waited another moment before he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

  She continued to stare through the side window at the rhododendron bushes fronting the porch. “There are worse things.”

  Yes, there were. At least she was alive. But he wouldn’t offer platitudes—even deeply felt platitudes—because anything he said might seem to trivialize her loss, and there was nothing trivial about it. He could offer support. “You said he might’ve taken away any chance of you’re having a child. That sounds encouraging.”

  “My doctor said it’s still possible.”

  “Then we’ll both pray that it happens. Do you want to go back inside now?”

  She gave him a sad look. “No, if it’s okay with you, I’d rather sit out here and wait for Margo. I feel hunted in there. She shouldn’t be long.”

  “Whatever you want. While we wait, can I tell you something that might make a difference in the way you see things? I don’t want to upset you any more than you are.”

  “I don’t see how you could.”

  “Okay, then.” He drew a breath. It was time to tell her about his visit with Devona Chandler.

  She listened quietly, without stopping him, but he could tell that she didn’t have much faith in the possibility that Chandler was her tormentor. She was tied too tightly to the past and the monster who’d cut her.

  He’d finished, and she was thanking him for going out of his way to help her when Margo’s gold SUV sped up the driveway and swerved into a parking space on the right. They were both out of the truck in an instant.

  Jenna reached Margo before he did. “Success?” she asked nervously.

  Margo flashed a device about the size of a cell phone. “I thought Cole might’ve had both of them in Florida, but there was one at the house. Come on. Let’s see what this thing can do.”

  Twenty minutes later, with a music station blaring in the kitchen and forecasters on the parlor’s TV set predicting heavy snow for the northeast, the four of them talked in Jenna’s quarters. Beau took the wing chair, while Margo and Rachel pressed close to Jenna on the sofa. They’d all agreed that since Mrs. Bolton had to have planted the bugs after lights-out, that Margo’s and Aunt Molly’s rooms were “clean.” They were right. Other rooms weren’t as pristine.

  Margo’s sweep of the inn had turned up five bugs. One behind a switch plate, one in the suspended light above the kitchen’s work island, one inside a lamp in the Blue Room, and one inside the highboy that had been transferred to the dining room.

  “I don’t understand,” Jenna said, staring morosely at the last one, a disabled “pen” bug Margo had discovered among those crammed into a mug on the desk. “Don’t these things have to be retrieved to get information?”

  Margo set the now-inoperable pen on the coffee table. “Not this type—and they don’t record, they transmit and they’re
easy to get. Almost any store that specializes in electronics handles surveillance equipment. They might not advertise or feature them in their store windows, but if a troubled parent wants to know if her babysitter is letting her toddler cry too long… Well, wireless bugs and ‘nanny-cams’ are very available, and they’re not expensive. If Mom strikes out at the electronics store, there’s always the internet.”

  Beau watched Rachel squeeze Jenna’s hand, and he expelled a sigh. His head was so messed up where she was concerned, he didn’t know up from down anymore. “How far do these things transmit?”

  “That depends on the type of bug. They transmit on an FM signal, so someone could listen in just by tuning in on an FM radio while they’re parked across the street. Other wireless bugs send a signal to a receiver where conversations can be recorded. Some can send out a signal three to five miles away.”

  Jenna’s voice shook. “What about the bugs you found here? What kind are they? How—how far away is he?”

  Margo spoke gently. “I’m sorry. I can’t be sure because this really isn’t my area of expertise. All I know for sure is, you need to decide if you want to leave the bugs in place and feed this jerk false information—or get rid of them.”

  “I want them gone.”

  “Okay,” Margo said. “Let’s call Perris. He’ll probably want to remove them himself, then check the bugs and the area around them for prints. Hopefully, they’ll have serial numbers on them that can be traced back to the person who bought them.”

  She smiled a little. “I’d suggest that you get out of town for a while, but if you are in danger, and this isn’t someone’s idea of a sick joke, you’re probably safer here than anywhere else.”

  Beau watched thoughts cloud Jenna’s eyes while she seemed to work through a problem. Then she drew a breath, looked at him and raised her chin. “Do you remember what you said the other day about missing out on what life has to offer?” He nodded slowly, half afraid of what she would say next. Then she said it. “I have a self-defense class tonight.”

  Rachel touched her arm. “Jen, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’ve talked about the classes openly. The person who’s listening knows your schedule.”

  “I know, and I thank you for caring,” Jenna replied. “But he also knew my schedule on Thursday and Friday, and he knew Beau and I would be taking Aunt Molly to the airport. Nothing happened. I think he’s waiting until he can get me alone—the way it was the first time.”

  Beau spoke up. “Jenna, listen to your friends.”

  “You made me a promise,” she said, her attention fully on him again. “You said you’d take me to class and drive me home. You said nothing would happen to me while you were around. Well? Are you going to be around?”

  TWELVE

  Jenna sat silently before Chief Lon Perris’s desk, flanked by Margo and Beau. Behind them, a low spindled gate divided the reception area and Sarah French’s empty desk from the wood-paneled office proper. Perris’s black mood hadn’t improved since Margo had pointed out the electronic bugs. She’d aggravated him even more by respectfully suggesting that Jenna work with an officer on the department’s facial composite software. Since the description of “Mrs. Bolton” hadn’t produced any leads, she’d thought a computer sketch might be helpful. At the very least, it couldn’t hurt.

  Perris had gone beet-red. Clearly, he didn’t like being upstaged, particularly by a female predecessor who knew which tools he had at his disposal. Now, dropping into his chair and tipping back, he addressed Jenna.

  “As Ms. Blackburn might’ve mentioned, our facial composite program isn’t as effective as an artist’s rendering or the expensive whole-face software many big city departments are using. That’s the reason I didn’t suggest this in the first place. However,” he said after clearing his throat, “since you want to try it, Officer Troutman is setting up in the interrogation room. In a few minutes, I’ll escort you back there where you’ll be asked to choose rather basic individual facial features from a database in order to create a likeness of your guest.”

  He thought this was a waste of time, Jenna decided, but she was willing to try anything to stop this nightmare. She’d hoped to learn something from the woman at Chang Chung’s, but there was no help there. The man who’d ordered and paid cash for the personalized cookies was short and thin with average looks. There was nothing distinctive about him.

  Perris was still speaking. “Take your time. I’m sure your friends can find something to do until you’re finished.”

  Beau spoke. “If it’s all the same to you, I wouldn’t mind sitting in on the process.”

  “Neither would I,” Margo said.

  Perris sent her a smile that put her in her place. “I’m sorry, but having her posse in the room might be distracting for Ms. Harper. You’re welcome to help yourselves to coffee or a soft drink from the machine while you wait.” He nodded to a row of chairs near the door. “Out there.”

  Beau sent Perris a slow smile. “Maybe we’ll just head across the street to the diner until Jenna’s finished.” He reached out as if to touch her shoulder, then to Jenna’s disappointment, withdrew his hand before he made contact. “Call my cell when you’re finished, okay?”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  Then Margo wished her luck, and with a heavy heart, Jenna watched them leave. Beau’s feelings for her had cooled. But at least he wasn’t treating her as badly as she’d treated him.

  * * *

  Two hours later, dressed in light blue sweats with her hair tied back, Jenna entered the community center and walked with Beau to the meeting room where her class was about to begin. He laid her jacket on one of the chairs against the wall, then faced her soberly. “I’ll see you in a little while. Have a good lesson.”

  “I’ll try,” she replied.

  She was trying to stay joyful, but with conversation between them so polite now, it took a lot of work. When she’d finished at the police station and they’d all returned to the Blackberry, Beau had immediately plugged the sander back in and gone to work. It was as if he couldn’t finish quickly enough and get out of her life. Seeing her disappointment, Margo had gently reminded her that hers and Cole’s path to the altar hadn’t been easy, either, but they’d come through the tough times stronger than ever because they’d loved each other.

  “But Beau doesn’t love me,” she’d said.

  “Because he hasn’t said it?” Margo asked, then smiled. “I see the way he looks at you. This bodyguard business isn’t totally about Aunt Molly’s wishes. He cares. Give him time.”

  Her class was energizing and confidence-building, and when it ended, Jenna had the sense that she would be able to fight back if the need arose again. In fact, by the time Beau returned to pick her up, she was determined to fight back emotionally, too, and with help from God, regain the ground she’d lost with him.

  * * *

  He was seated in a dimly lit Italian restaurant enjoying a dinner of veal parmigiana with Portobello mushrooms when the cell phone in his suit jacket’s inside pocket vibrated. Daubing the corners of his mouth with his napkin, then smoothing his mustache, he retrieved it and lifted it to his ear.

  He spoke over the instrumental music—Torna a Surriento. “Yes?”

  “Trouble.”

  His tranquil mood vanished. If there was one word he did not want to hear from his associates, it was trouble. He sat back, half-hidden behind a wooden lattice panel laced with grapevines. “What kind of trouble?”

  “They found the bugs. An ex-cop friend of hers wondered how the anonymous gift-giver knew about the old lady’s penchant for fortune cookies and decided the place was wired.”

  Anger cinched his throat and he felt his face redden. He’d lost his pipeline—his deeply satisfying pipeline—to her fear and misery. “What was said before you lost the connection?”

  “We think the carpenter’s history. Or soon will be. Right after she learned that the old cells were registered to Travis, she found the bu
siness card.”

  “She blames him?”

  “She did at first, then did an about-face. But by the time she apologized, he’d had it with her. I don’t think he’ll stick around long.”

  At least that was gratifying. Travis’s alibi regarding the cell phones would hold up. But together, those phones and business card had driven a wedge between them, so they’d served their purpose. Sadly, Jenna had cancelled her credit card before the power tools Deirdre ordered could be delivered to Travis. That would’ve assured the carpenter’s departure from her life.

  “Now what?”

  He thought for a moment. “Keep an eye on their comings and goings. Use both vehicles.”

  “Way ahead of you. Gotta go. They’re just leaving the community center. I’m parked—get this—across the street from the police station.”

  “Don’t be smug. Be careful. Have you purchased the device and arranged for the rental?”

  “We’re ready to go, and the rental is in place. Are you?”

  “Yes. I’m ready.”

  * * *

  Jenna stirred in her sleep, burrowing deeper into the covers, frowning as she dreamed. Beau was barefooted in the snow, swinging an axe, chopping firewood to keep them warm. But somehow, the deep cuts in the log filled in again, and he had to start over. And she was so cold.

  Slowly coming awake, she opened her eyes in the darkness, then realized that her absurd dream was centered in reality. The temperature in her bedroom had dropped. As usual, she’d lowered the thermostat serving the first floor before bedtime, but apparently, she’d taken it too low. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It wasn’t quite two.

  Slipping into her robe, she padded barefoot through the hall, then went into the parlor where a Tiffany lamp burned just brightly enough for navigation. Briefly, she nudged the thermostat up a little, then headed back to bed. She was slipping under the covers when she heard the solid thud of a car door closing.

  Every hair on her head prickled.

  Bolting out of bed again, she hurried across the hall to the window in the empty sitting room, only half aware of the sandy grit under her feet. She peeked through the ornamental mesh—searched the area near the three stall garage to her right. Nothing moved. Nothing but the softly falling snow.