Heron's Landing: The Complete Series

by Iris Morland

  She looked at him, but what could she say? So she looked back up at Andromeda, sparkling in the black blanket of the sky. She shivered.

  “I knew you were cold. Do you ever have a coat?” Jaime pulled off his and placed it on her shoulders, just like he had down by the river. He didn’t move his hands away from her shoulders, though. The heat of his hands seeped into her.

  She looked up at him.

  “Why are you here—with me?” She whispered the words, so quietly she didn’t know if he’d heard them.

  But by the light of the moon and the light through the kitchen window, she could see his jaw tighten. He still didn’t move his hands away from her arms, though.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just…wanted to see you.”

  Her heart clenched. She breathed a cloud into the cold night.

  You’re breaking my heart. You’re breaking my heart and all I can do is let you. Her throat closed and every word she’d ever learned disappeared. It was just Jaime, and the night, and the cold, and the way he looked at her.

  “They’re going forward with the investigation. Adam told me this week. They’re not charging me with anything, but I know it’s me they want to talk to.” The words seemed wrenched from him, and she couldn’t help but be touched that he’d told her.

  She covered his hands, still on her arms, with hers. “I’m sorry, Jaime. I wish I could help you.”

  He stepped away, but he didn’t leave. Bereft of his warmth, she shivered, despite the heavy coat hanging from her shoulders.

  “How do you do it?” Jaime shook his head, a sad smile on his handsome face. “You’re the person my mother always warned me about.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She always said that the most dangerous people were the ones who treated you like you were worthy of their respect. The people who listened to you.” He looked up at the stars with her and breathed toward Cassiopeia, “The people who make you want to be a better man.”

  She wondered if Jaime Martínez knew he could crumble a girl’s heart with words just like those.

  They stared at the sky in silence. Grace swallowed, her mouth dry and her throat constricted. But then Jaime pointed, and he asked, “Do you know which constellation that is?”

  She almost laughed, and she found her voice after a moment. “That’s Andromeda, the daughter of Cassiopeia. Chained to a rock but saved by Perseus from a sea monster, and then she marries him. Perseus, not the sea monster. The usual kind of Greek myth.”

  “Huh,” he said. “It would’ve been kind of awesome if she’d married the sea monster, though.”

  “How would that be awesome? That sounds awful.”

  “Maybe the sea monster is misunderstood. Maybe he was just lonely.”

  Grace gave him a look, and he grinned. “Are you turning the sea monster into a Nice Guy who just wants women to like him?”

  “Hey, sea monsters need love, too.”

  She reached out to push him, but he caught her hand before she could. He wouldn’t let her go. They grappled, with Grace laughing and Jaime soon encircling her with his arms. But the body-lock quickly transformed into an embrace, and Grace could feel every inch of him against her body.

  He didn’t let her go. She felt his breath puff against her ear, brushing the strands of hair falling from her usual braid. Now his coat seemed too warm, and her cheeks heated. She couldn’t look at him, but she did manage to raise her hands until they pressed against his chest, clad only in a thin t-shirt. His heart pounded beneath her palm.

  Leaning toward her, she could hear his barest whisper. “Graciela,” he murmured. “Graciela, Graciela.”

  She trembled. She gripped fistfuls of his shirt, like it were her only lifeline. He’d never called her that before. Suddenly her plain name became something new entirely, his mouth and lips and voice transforming her into a creature she had never met before.

  He was only inches from her cheek. From her mouth. She closed her eyes.

  He kept saying Graciela, murmuring other words in Spanish. She knew this was his admission that he couldn’t say the words to her so she would understand. These words were for him alone.

  She’d studied enough Spanish to catch a few words, but they all swirled together until she didn’t hear words, just sounds. Movement, emotions. Inevitability.

  When she opened her eyes, she tilted her head back, because she wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t care if he broke her heart. What did it matter? It wouldn’t stop the way she felt about him. And even though he’d said that kiss at Sadie and Robert’s wedding had been a mistake, he looked at her like he wanted to repeat it—over and over again.

  But instead of kissing her, he buried his face against her neck, against her shoulder, hiding himself. He muttered words. He gripped her close. She pressed her cheek to his heart, and the sound of it pumping blood soothed her.

  She could feel the tension roiling through him, like he was fighting with himself. She didn’t understand it. She didn’t know why it had to be this way. But she wouldn’t ask why.

  I don’t want to hear the answer.

  His lips brushed her cheek, and then she was free. Her body seemed not her own, like she’d floated to another plane and was watching from above. She felt herself grip air where once she’d gripped his shirt. She swallowed. His eyes ensnared her, his brows furrowed. He breathed quickly. She wished she could see him better, but the moon had moved behind a burst of trees and now darkness wrapped around them worse than before.

  The back door opened. They both jumped.

  “There you two are,” Adam said, poking his head out. “It’s cold as balls out here. Jaime, aren’t you freezing your ass off?”

  Jaime shrugged, stepping in front of Grace, as if to shield her. “I’m warm-blooded. I’ll live.” He followed Adam inside.

  Grace took a deep breath, glanced at the stars, and went back inside, too.

  When she sat down in the couch in the living room, Joy was looking at her, like she wanted to crack her open and shake out her secrets. She looked away, staring at nothing in the corner. A sob choked her, and she wished she could lock herself in her room and cry the night away. She didn’t even know what she’d be crying about anymore, but at this point tears seemed the only option.

  “Well, I better go,” Jaime said.

  Jaime was about to leave when Adam remarked, “Wait, is Grace wearing your coat? Grace, let him have his coat so he doesn’t get hypothermia.”

  Her name seemed strange now. She longed to be called Graciela instead. She looked at her family, and she realized she hadn’t said anything.

  “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled. She shrugged out of Jaime’s coat and handed it to him without looking in his face. “Have a good night.”

  His fingers brushed hers. “Thanks.”

  Then silence. The front door closed, and everyone around Grace seemed determined to say nothing and draw out the silence until it was painful.

  “I’m going to bed,” she announced to no one in particular. She stood up and raced upstairs, shutting her bedroom door and closing her eyes, trying to calm her pounding heart.

  She didn’t know what to think, or to feel, or how to act anymore. She was tied up in knots. It made her think of that line in Jane Eyre, when Rochester was trying to get Jane to confess her feelings, about how they were connected by a string hooked onto their ribs. And if you were to leave I'm afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I'd take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me.

  She collapsed onto her bed. The tears wouldn’t come. She was too tired, too heart sore. Too full of emotions she could barely comprehend. She did, however, hear her door open and someone sit on the bed next to her. She felt a hand on her back, and someone saying her name. She smelled a light, rose perfume, and she knew it was Joy.

  Joy didn’t try to tell her it’d be all right, or that she understood, or that she should confess it all. Instead, she just sat with her, letting her
know she wasn’t alone. And then when her eyelids became heavy and she fell into a restless sleep, Joy quietly left.

  6

  A dam gathered the team that morning for a staff meeting. Jaime sat in the back, while the rest of his coworkers stared straight ahead at their boss, ignoring him as best they could. Some, like Kerry, would glance at him periodically, as if they could impart some kind encouragement from a look. Others, like Chris, acted like he wasn’t even in the room.

  Jaime rather wished they’d all leave him alone. Tired and irritable, he gripped his coffee mug and sipped the hot brew, wondering if he could call in sick because he hated every person at this table.

  Not everyone, though. He didn’t hate Adam. Adam was doing his best to do right by him and keep the entire town from knowing about the missing money and how the trail led to Jaime. Jaime still didn’t understand how that was the case, and when he’d asked for details, Adam had grimaced and said that they were told by their lawyer and the investigator that that should remain confidential.

  Jaime swallowed, watching Adam talk. Of course it was a secret. They’d accused a man of theft and would throw away the key, all before showing any evidence that said man was, in fact, a thief.

  “The lead investigator, Thomas Jennings, will be here today to talk to the staff. No one has to speak with him,” Adam was saying, looking at everyone at the table. “No one has been charged. I would recommend that if you do decide to speak with Sheriff Jennings, that you consider your words and how they will reflect not only on yourself, but on River’s Bend as a whole. I can’t forbid you from saying what you wish, of course.”

  Jaime knew that the local police in Heron’s Landing had brought in Sheriff Jennings early on in the investigation, mostly because Heron’s Landing only had two local cops that had no real experience in these kinds of matters. Few crimes beyond car break-ins and public intoxication ever occurred in this tiny town. The last murder had occurred over thirty years ago, and few of the residents locked their doors at night.

  “How long is this going to take?” Leah asked. Leah hosted the wine-tasting classes and was a bit of a curmudgeonly older lady. She lived alone with her calico cats, Patsy and Mrs. Witherspoon, and preferred feline companionship to most human friends. That being said, she enjoyed giving the wine-tasting classes and explaining wine to anyone who had an ear to listen.

  “It shouldn’t take more than a half hour,” Adam replied, “if you decide to talk to Sheriff Jennings. Again, let me emphasize that this is completely voluntary.”

  Chris crossed his arms, harrumphing a little. “Why are they asking us questions when it’s pretty clear who’s responsible for all of this?”

  Jaime set his coffee down. No one turned to look at him, but it still felt like everyone was staring at him. His temples pounded, a headache threatening.

  “As I said before, no one has been charged.” Adam’s voice was firm, even slightly angry. He gave Chris a hard look. “I know this might be difficult to remember, but everyone is innocent until proven guilty.”

  Chris didn’t reply, but Jaime knew the man wanted to give Adam a biting reply.

  He appreciated Adam coming to his defense, but at the same time, he hated that his best recourse was saying as little as possible. He’d have to act like he’d done nothing wrong by being blasé and going about his business, when really he wanted to confront every person who thought he was guilty and maybe shove their face into some manure. Was it petty? Yes. But the satisfaction of getting to do something like that would be worth it.

  Adam dismissed them, and the team trailed out of the room. Jaime returned to the kitchen, but it was difficult to concentrate. His head hurt, although the one consolation was that Eric had called in sick today. At least he didn’t have to put up with his sous chef’s behavior while trying to keep his cool around Sheriff Jennings.

  While deveining shrimp, Jaime heard a booming voice outside, one he didn’t recognize. He glanced at the clock: one o’clock. That must be the sheriff. He immediately tensed, ripping apart more than one shrimp as a result and having to toss them out.

  He waited. And waited. He heard Adam and then Chris talk to the sheriff. He told one of his interns to finish deveining the shrimp while he worked on a sauce to go with the shellfish. His head still pounded, and he wished he’d taken some Advil before having to meet with the sheriff.

  By two o’clock, the reckoning came. Jaime knew he was under no obligation to talk. But he was also aware that not talking could be seen as an admission of guilt. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, but how was anything about this fair or right? He gritted his teeth, scrubbing his hands clean just as Sheriff Jennings entered the kitchen.

  The sheriff could be described as a large man, and a very red one at that. His cheeks were red and chapped, his hands red, and when he smiled, you saw more red gums than teeth. His nose took up most of his face, and a spotty beard covered his cheeks and jaw. Jaime couldn’t determine his age: at one moment he looked about his own age, and then in another, he could be someone’s grandfather.

  “Hello everyone,” Sheriff Jennings said in a voice louder than necessary in the small kitchen. “Your boss already told you why I’m here today. If anyone would like to talk to me or has any useful information, let me know. As it is, I’m simply collecting information right now. Don’t mind me, eh?”

  Jaime dried his hands. He was shaking, he realized. When the sheriff caught his gaze, the older man gave no hint that Jaime was the one he really wanted to talk to. But his smile turned into what could only be considered a smirk, like he’d spotted his prey and was just lying in wait for it to fall into his trap.

  Refusing to lie in wait, Jaime went up to Sheriff Jennings, extending his hand. “Jaime Martínez. I’m the executive chef here.”

  The sheriff looked him over before offering his hand. He pumped Jaime’s, gripping it so hard he was sure he could feel his knuckles cracking. “Nice to meet you,” the sheriff said, a slight drawl to his words. “What are you making today?”

  “Shrimp risotto. Have you eaten here at River’s Bend before, Sheriff?”

  “Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure. But I’m sure whatever you serve will impress me.”

  Jaime smiled tightly. “Of course.”

  Sheriff Jennings then offered to speak with Jaime alone in Adam’s office. The rest of the kitchen staff seemed to freeze, watching the proceedings like scared rabbits. Jaime accepted, following the sheriff out. It rather felt like he was being led to the gallows.

  Keep your cool. Don’t say anything stupid. You haven’t done anything wrong.

  Part of Jaime felt like he was guilty, though. Part of him felt like he needed to confess his sins, even though none of those sins had anything to do with stealing money from his place of employment.

  The only sin you need to confess lately is thinking about your boss’s sister way too often.

  His heart twisted. He thought of Grace’s expression as they’d stood together outside under the stars. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin. How he’d almost kissed her but couldn’t bring himself to make that mistake again. How he’d been weak and called her Graciela, and how she hadn’t pushed him away like she should’ve. She should’ve told him to go to hell. But she’d clung to him and leaving her that evening had taken all of his strength and then some.

  Sheriff Jennings sat down in Adam’s chair, forcing Jaime to take the chair across from him like some kind of subordinate. He also noticed that the sheriff had shut the door. He refused to be intimidated, though: he gazed straight at him, waiting expectantly, and praying that the sheriff couldn’t hear his pounding heart.

  Sheriff Jennings glanced at a folder filled with a jumble of documents, then pulled out a notebook from his pocket. “You don’t mind if I take notes, do you? Jamie, right?” he said, pronouncing his name like Jay-mee.

  “Jaime, actually,” he replied, emphasizing the h-sound at the beginning. He was used to people getting his name wrong, but
he knew the sheriff was merely trying to unsettle him.

  “Oh, sorry. I’m not very good at names, you know.” He laughed like he’d made a joke, but Jaime simply waited. “So, where are you from, Jaime?”

  “I’m from St. Louis, actually.”

  “Yes, but where from originally?”

  Jaime dug his thumbnail into his palm. “From St. Louis, like I said.”

  The sheriff made a note, frowning. “Are your parents from St. Louis?”

  “They’ve lived there for over thirty years, but they immigrated from El Salvador in the early ‘80s.”

  The sheriff nodded, like he’d finally gotten the answer he’d been looking for. “Are they legal?”

  Jaime dug his thumbnail deeper into his skin; the bite of pain kept his voice steady. It was as if he could transfer his frustration into physical sensation, and it worked—for now. “They’re permanent residents, yes. They’re currently seeking citizenship, however.”

  “And do you like America? Or have you felt like you’d like to return to—where was it?—El Salvador?”

  “I’ve only visited El Salvador three times. My parents, though, they miss it occasionally. But they were happy to escape before the civil war got worse.”

  Sheriff Jennings scrawled his notes, flipping pages and pages, like Jaime had imparted years’ worth of information. He continued to ask questions about Jaime’s heritage, his parents, their immigration status, and never once did he ask about the missing money. Nothing he asked smacked blatantly of discrimination or racism, but Jaime could feel the sticky, rancid edges of it nonetheless. In the sheriff’s eyes, Jaime was a foreigner, and thus was already suspicious.

  And the worst part was that Jaime couldn’t fight against this assumption without making the situation worse for himself.

  The only question semi-relating to the investigation the sheriff asked was, “Have you ever had money troubles?”

  Who hasn’t? he thought. It’d only been after a few years at River’s Bend that Jaime had felt like he was in a position to feel comfortable with his income. Before that, it’d been all about scraping and saving and living paycheck to paycheck, if he wasn’t in school or interning somewhere. His parents had lived similarly, despite his father’s work as a professor. There never seemed to be enough money, no matter how many hours worked.