At Any Cost

by Lauren Nichols

  A floorboard creaked behind her, and Jenna spun around.

  “It’s just me,” Beau said quietly. “I heard it, too. Don’t worry. No one can get in without tripping the alarm, and that should discourage anybody.” He’d pulled on jeans and a dark sweatshirt, but he was barefoot, too. Picking up a length of baseboard, he continued to keep his voice low. “Stay here. I think I heard a car leave, but I want to look around.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Jenna, please.”

  “No.”

  They moved into the hall, passing her quarters and approaching the parlor. He reached around the corner and felt for the dimmer switch—turned off the lamp. Then they were in the foyer where the lighting was also muted.

  “Call the station,” Beau murmured. But Jenna was already slipping behind the desk and reaching for the phone. Maybe it was nothing, she thought, praying it was true. Just a traveler who’d lost his way and turned around in the driveway. If it was nothing, Perris or whoever answered the call would just have to understand.

  But why would a traveler open and shut his car door? To check his position? Was the snow that deep? Jenna picked up the handset.

  Her heart shot into her throat when the front door opened, and a small, dark figure moved inside.

  “Stop right there!” Beau shouted. He hit the light switch, flooding the foyer with two hundred-fifty watts of startling chandelier light.

  Aunt Molly’s blue eyes went wide with horror.

  For a long second none of them moved. Then, releasing a ragged breath, Beau lowered his weapon, leaned the baseboard against the desktop and pinned a disbelieving look on their pint-sized intruder.

  Jenna rushed around the desk to her. “Aunt Molly, what are you doing here?”

  “I live here,” she said, fully recovered now and removing her black pillbox hat. She handed it to Jenna, then loosened the frog fasteners on her matching coat. “I couldn’t stay away when I might be needed here.”

  Beau still looked stunned. “Where’s your luggage?”

  “The airline lost it. They say it’ll be here tomorrow.” She nodded at the keypad behind the desk. “Now somebody better push some buttons and reset the security system, or it’s going to get noisy around here.”

  A creaking noise came from the staircase above, spinning the three of them around. Wrapped in a canary-yellow pile robe, Bernice Gates peered down at them from the railing, curlers in her tinted red hair and a shocked expression on her face. “Jenna?” she asked timidly. “Is everything all right?”

  Fifteen minutes later, after assurances and introductions had been made and Bernice had returned to her room, Molly sat beside Jenna on the parlor’s sofa. As she sipped decaffeinated tea, she explained her unexpected arrival. “After I called back and you told me about the cookies, I was so upset, I booked a flight to Pittsburgh. I took a taxi from there.”

  Beau sighed. “You should’ve called me. I could’ve saved you a bundle.”

  “Thank you, but you had other things to do, and the money meant nothing to me.”

  That was certainly true, Jenna thought. Her aunt often said that the only thing money was good for was helping others and buying the things we needed. Other than that, it was only so much paper and tin.

  “My driver was a lovely young Asian woman who kept me entertained the entire way home with stories about her life in Taiwan. It was quite enjoyable.” The lines in her face deepened then. “With the snow coming, I was afraid that if I didn’t leave immediately, I might not get home for Thanksgiving.” She set her tea cup aside. “Now tell me what Chief Baboon had to say about that gift box so we can all get some sleep.”

  She wasn’t pleased with the report, but she was glad Jenna used the department’s facial composition program—even though it didn’t turn out that well.

  “What about contacting the cookie company?” Molly asked. “Did anyone do that?”

  “I did,” Jenna said. “Then Perris tried his luck, but the man who sent them paid cash, and no one there could give us a description.” She lowered her voice. “I wish you’d stayed in Connecticut.”

  Molly rose. “I’m exactly where I want to be. And now it’s time I toddled up to my room. It’s nearly three o’clock, and I need my beauty sleep.”

  Jenna bent to hug her. “Night, Aunt Molly.”

  “Good night, dear. I’ll see you when the sun makes an appearance.” She patted Beau’s arm. “You get some sleep, too.”

  “I’m on my way right now. I’ll follow you upstairs.”

  Molly started into the foyer, then suddenly turned to glance between the two of them. “On second thought,” she said, “why don’t you go on ahead? I just remembered something I have to discuss with Jenna.” She wrinkled her nose. “Girl stuff.”

  Beau paused for a moment, silently doubting her excuse. Then he said good-night and climbed the stairs.

  Molly didn’t speak until they heard his footfalls on the floor above them. “What happened?”

  “What happened?” Jenna repeated.

  “Between you and Beau. When I left, the two of you were smiling at each other like lovebirds. Now you barely make eye contact.”

  Jenna glanced away, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. “It’s a long story.”

  Molly led her back to the sofa. “I have all night.”

  “You need to sleep.”

  “I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Tell me what happened.”

  * * *

  The aroma of coffee brewing woke Jenna the next morning. Glancing at her clock and seeing that it was already eight-thirty, Jenna showered and dressed quickly in jeans and a rose-colored sweatshirt, then made her way to the kitchen. Beau stood beside the coffeemaker, waiting for the carafe to fill. Beyond the kitchen window, it was snowing again.

  “Good morning,” she said, trying on a smile. “Thanks for starting the coffee.”

  “You’re welcome. What time did you two finally get to bed?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, wishing he’d smiled back. She took two heavy white mugs and the sugar bowl from an upper cupboard. “Four o’clock? A little after?” She retrieved a container of half-and-half from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. He looked good in a hunter-green short-sleeved knit pullover and jeans—far better than he should have after being up during the night. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Better—or at least longer—than you did.”

  “I know. I’ll be a zombie by midday.”

  He watched coffee drip into the carafe for a few moments, then glanced briefly at her. “I vacuumed the sitting room while you were asleep, so in a few minutes, I’ll wipe the floor down with a damp rag. Unfortunately, it has to be cleaned with mineral spirits, too, and I’m hesitant to do that with Aunt Molly and Mrs. Gates here.”

  Jenna took her time taking a spoon from the silverware drawer. “Bernice is undoubtedly gone for the day, but we can ask Aunt Molly what she wants to do when she gets up.”

  The coffeemaker began to spit and gurgle. Shutting it off, Beau filled their mugs, then watched while she stirred sugar and creamer into hers. When she looked up, his gaze had softened slightly, and Jenna felt her heart quicken. Maybe he was coming around. Please, God.

  “So other than not getting much sleep, how are you doing?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing’s changed. I’m still afraid, and I’m trying not to be. Sometimes I think I’m successful. Sometimes I know I’m not.”

  His grim expression told her he’d recognized that. “I find myself thinking about all the things that have happened.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Yeah, I know. But my thoughts are probably different from yours. I’ve been thinking that this sort of thing could go on forever without any real harm coming to you. If Dane’s the guy doing this—and I know I’m pushing my luck, using the if word—it was pretty gutsy of him to cut you and risk everything he’d worked for. So why, now that he’s a wanted man, would he hire people to mess with you—not get ri
d of you? If this Mrs. Bolton could plant bugs, razor blades and one of my business cards—and access your password-protected computer—what would’ve prevented her from picking the lock on your room and quietly killing you in your sleep?

  Jenna felt herself pale. “What a lovely thought.”

  He softened his tone. “You know what I mean. If he wanted revenge, that would’ve been more straightforward.”

  The phone rang, and Jenna froze, wondering absurdly if discussing Courtland had conjured him up.

  “I’ll get it,” Beau said, already moving. “It’s probably someone wanting to book a room.”

  “Thanks,” she returned, knowing that should’ve been her first thought. Not every phone call was related to her fear.

  This one was.

  Beau gave her the handset. “It’s Detective Caspian from the Detroit PD.”

  Jenna took the phone quickly. “Detective? Is there news?”

  “Good morning, Ms. Harper. Nothing definite, but after we spoke a while ago, I had some time, so I did some more digging. I can’t tell you where he is now, but four months ago, an acquaintance of his spotted someone who looked like Dane in Barbados.”

  “Four months ago?” she repeated. “But you said none of his associates had—”

  “I know. This guy was never questioned because we didn’t know about him. He did relay the information to our department, but…I’m sorry…there was a mix-up and it never got to me.”

  Jenna felt a tiny ray of hope. “Did he speak to Courtland?”

  “No. I just got off the phone with him. He said that he called to him, but when the man spotted him, he dissolved into a crowd of tourists.”

  “But he’s sure it was Courtland?”

  “Not a hundred percent, but he feels confident that it was.” He drew a breath. “Now, I know it’s not what you hoped to hear. But if he was in Barbados in June or July, he could still be there.”

  “Or not.”

  “Yes. But he’s a wanted man, and airport security is tighter than ever now.”

  Did that also apply to ships? There was a lot of water between the lower Antilles and the United States, but that was small comfort. Somehow she didn’t see the same airport-security vigilance being attached to tourists on vacation. She saw Beau’s questioning look, then shook her head to tell him it wasn’t bad news.

  “That’s about all I have for you now,” Caspian went on. “I just wanted you to know there’s a chance he’s not even in the country. I hope that makes you feel a little better.”

  Jenna hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. “To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel. But thank you for calling—and caring.”

  “Glad to do it. Bye, now.”

  “Goodbye, and thanks again.”

  Jenna replaced the handset, then walked back to where Beau still stood beside the coffeemaker. She answered the query in his eyes. “There’s a chance Courtland’s been living in Barbados. An acquaintance believes he saw him there this past summer.”

  “That’s good—with respect to what’s happening to you.”

  “Yes, it is,” she said, feeling her stomach quake. “If he’s still there.”

  THIRTEEN

  The wind blew, light snow flying by the window as the weatherman on the kitchen’s small TV tracked the northeast’s first big snowstorm of the season. Aunt Molly had made an appearance around nine-twenty, dressed in a long navy velveteen skirt, and a pink-and-navy paisley blouse, but Jenna doubted she’d be in them for long. Losing sleep had taken the bounce out of her step. She’d be napping soon. Her flagging energy aside, however, she’d been overjoyed to learn about Jenna’s conversation with Detective Caspian.

  She took a warm croissant from the basket Jenna placed on the table, then spread it with butter and orange marmalade. “Have they notified the Barbados authorities?”

  “I’m not sure. Caspian didn’t say.” The low growl of the snow blower carried to them from outside as Beau continued to clear a driveway that didn’t need clearing yet. But he’d wanted something to do, probably because there was nothing for him to do, and the distance and tension between them was making them both uncomfortable.

  “Well, call me vengeful, but I want to see that horrid man extradited and sent back here to stand trial.”

  “Likewise,” Jenna replied, filling their teacups. She dredged up a smile she didn’t feel, and changed the subject. “Reverend Landers’s wife phoned a little while ago with a reminder to be at the fellowship hall by 10:00 a.m. on Wednesday to start preparing the turkeys. She was glad to hear you’d come back early.”

  “Oh? Is she short of help?”

  “Actually, no. Counting Bernice and the others who’ve come in for their anniversary, she has sixteen volunteers to serve and bus tables, and quite a few of them are also donating pies. I offered to bring a few, too, but she said we didn’t have to since we’re making the dressing.”

  They were discussing her visit with Millie when the kitchen door opened, and Beau stepped inside. Careful of the snow on his boots, he stayed on the mat. His smile was for Aunt Molly.

  “Hey,” he teased. “You’re up.”

  “I am, indeed. Did you miss me?”

  “Absolutely. And now I’m leaving.”

  Molly chuckled. “You must’ve missed me a lot. Where are you going?”

  “The new building supply house out near the mall.” He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I’ve been hesitant to clean the sitting room floor because the fumes from mineral spirits can be nasty. In fact, Jenna and I talked about moving you and Mrs. Gates elsewhere to avoid the fumes.”

  Clapping her hands together, Molly exclaimed, “What a lovely phrase!”

  Beau frowned curiously. “What phrase?”

  “Jenna and I. But go on.”

  His rugged features clouded, and feeling horribly uneasy, Jenna busied herself buttering a croissant she didn’t want. She loved her aunt’s unbridled honesty, but she really wished she’d bridle it when Beau was in the room.

  “Anyway,” he said, ignoring Molly’s words, “I did some phoning this morning, and E-Z Builders has a citrus-based solvent that will be a lot easier on our respiratory systems. I’m going out there to pick some up.”

  “I’ll get my wallet,” Jenna said.

  He finally spoke to her. “No, I have an account there. We can settle up later.”

  Of course he had an account there, Jenna thought, embarrassed. He was a contractor, not a friend who was doing her a favor. He’d just add the cost to the bill. “Be careful on the roads.”

  “The highway crews have been around, and the snow’s only deep where it’s drifted. I should be back in an hour or so. I want to stop at my shop afterward and grab a set of kneepads.”

  He opened the kitchen door, then stepped out on the enclosed back porch. Wind whistled around the corner of the inn. “Don’t forget to lock up behind me.”

  “I won’t. See you soon.”

  “And on that happy note,” Aunt Molly said, “I shall finish my croissant and carry my tea back up to my rooms.”

  Jenna stared at her, startled. “Why? You just came downstairs.”

  “Because I’m tired, and when he gets back the two of you need to talk through this thing or there’ll be no fixing it.”

  Tears stung Jenna’s eyes. “I tried. When I apologized, he said things between us were fine, but as you can see, they’re not. It’ll take a miracle for him to forgive me.”

  “Then talk to the Man in charge of miracles.” She scanned Jenna’s clothing. “However, since the Lord helps those who help themselves, it wouldn’t hurt for you to look irresistible when Beau comes back. We Harper women have always dressed for our men. You look lovely in your sweatshirt, dear, but unfortunately, the message it sends is take me to a sporting event. Not meet me at the altar.”

  * * *

  His cell phone vibrated as he brushed snow from the windshield of his slowly heating rental car. Eager for an
update, he pulled it from the inside pocket of his dark topcoat.

  “Yes?”

  “How close are you?”

  He recognized Thug Number Two’s voice—the short, skinny one. “Forty-five minutes.”

  “The carpenter’s gone, and she’s alone.”

  A rush of anticipation heated his blood. “Make sure the sled can’t be seen from the road. I don’t want some idiot stealing it before it serves its purpose.” Ending the call, he slid inside the Chrysler and double-checked the instrument panel’s GPS against the page he’d downloaded from the internet. Both waypoints—the “parking” and “destination” coordinates—were correct. He then took a handheld GPS from his pocket and did the same, though there was only one waypoint on the display.

  He knew he probably wouldn’t need the portable unit. The snowmobile’s tracks would be easy to follow. But he wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He turned on the defroster, waited for the windshield to clear, then headed for the small restaurant down the road to have a leisurely breakfast before he went to work.

  The storm that had been forecasted was well on its way. He couldn’t have chosen a better day.

  * * *

  Beau drove through the blowing snow, his wipers keeping time with the Eddie Rabbit tune on the radio. He had a new “ear worm.” Usually it was a song that wouldn’t go away. Today it was the constant repetition of Aunt Molly’s less than subtle words. During the past week, he’d come very close to thinking in “Jenna and I” terms. But having her doubt his integrity had taken a sledge hammer to any thoughts he’d had about a future with her. He couldn’t be with a woman who didn’t trust him.

  He cruised down Main Street where two firemen in cherry pickers fought the wind while trying to string lights and garlands high over the street. He beeped and waved, and Joe Reston and Ray Blair waved back. Across the street at the bakery, one of the cashiers was hanging a huge wreath in the long, wide plate glass window. And suddenly all that pre-Christmas joy made him feel lonely.