She drew in a deep breath and shoved the doubts away. She was Colin’s wife. If she didn’t believe in his recovery, who would?
The door bell rang, and she frowned. She didn’t want to see anyone until she had her game face back on, but as the bell rang again, she knew that she had to open the door. Her car was in the driveway. If she didn’t answer, someone might think she’d gone into labor, was lying helpless on the floor, and they’d probably call 911 and bring out the whole damn town to save her.
She marched to the front door and flung it open, feeling decidedly grumpy. Jason Marlow stood on the porch. Jason, with his light brown hair, brown eyes, and lazy grin, had grown up with her and Colin, and was also a deputy in the Angel’s Bay Police Department. He was a good guy, but unfortunately he’d come at the wrong time. She was too tired and frustrated to be polite.
“Jason, I do not need any more food.” She eyed the paper bag in his hand. “The people in this town must think I’m eating for five. I won’t be able to get through the door soon.”
“Good thing this doesn’t have food in it. Can I come in?”
“Can I stop you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re in a mood.”
“No, I’m not. I’m the Angel’s Bay saint, haven’t you heard?” She walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. Jason shut the front door and followed her into the room.
“I’ve never thought of you as a saint, Red,” he drawled.
“Don’t call me that.” Jason had been mocking her red hair and freckles since junior high school. “So what did you bring me?”
“I’m not sure I should give it to you anymore.”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her enormous stomach. “I didn’t ask you here. I didn’t ask you or anyone else to bring me anything. God, Jason, when is it going to stop?”
His smile faded as he met her eyes. He knew she wasn’t talking about the ever-arriving food. “I don’t know, Kara.”
She drew in a shaky breath as the baby gave her a good strong kick, reminding her to buck up. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You can say anything to me. And I didn’t bring food, I brought paint.” He pulled the can out to show her. “Colin never got a chance to finish the trim in the baby’s room.”
“He will when he wakes up,” she said for the hundredth time. She’d already refused help from her brothers, her father, and her next-door neighbor.
“When Colin wakes up, he’ll be too busy to worry about paint. Let me do it, Kara. Let me finish the room for you.”
“You don’t think he will wake up, do you?” She could hardly believe she’d said the words, but now they were out there, hanging thick in the air between them. “Do you?” She waited for him to deny it, and saw the conflict in his eyes. When he didn’t answer, she said, “You need to go home and take your paint with you.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. It doesn’t even matter what you think, Kara. Colin’s return to the living doesn’t depend on your happy, positive thoughts.”
“It might. You don’t know.”
He set the can on the coffee table. “Colin’s recovery depends on whether or not the swelling in his brain goes down, and whatever other physiological things have to happen. You don’t have the power to bring him back, so stop putting that weight on yourself. It’s not good for you, and it’s not good for the baby.”
“How dare you tell me not to believe in my husband’s recovery?” She was itching to fight someone and, unfortunately for Jason, he was the closest.
“I didn’t say that. And you’re not pissed at me, Kara. You’re mad at yourself, because you’re the one who’s having doubts. You’re afraid Colin won’t wake up, only you can’t let yourself say it out loud. So you’re putting the words in my mouth instead.”
He had a point, but she didn’t want to admit it. “That’s not true. I don’t have any doubts, but if you want to paint the damn trim, then go ahead and do it. And I suppose you could fix the leak in the bathroom sink, too.”
“Anything else?”
“I want to hang a picture in the baby’s room. My grandmother gave it to me. It’s in the garage. And the kitchen floor could use a good scrubbing when you’re done with that, not to mention the toilet and the shower.”
“Now you’re pushing it.”
His words drew a reluctant smile from her, then she sighed. “You were right what you said before. I am worried that Colin won’t wake up, but I’m terrified that saying it out loud will make it come true.”
“Worrying doesn’t stop anything, nor does not worrying make something happen. It just makes you feel bad.”
She hated his pragmatic attitude, but she knew he was right.
Jason sat in the armchair across from her. It was Colin’s favorite chair and she almost asked him to move but managed to stop herself just in time. He’d think she was a complete lunatic.
“I know it’s his chair,” Jason said, with a gleam in his eyes. “I was with him when he bought it.”
“You were the one who convinced him to get the expensive leather version. Thanks for that,” she said dryly.
“He was already halfway there; I just gave him a little push. Leather lasts longer.”
“You were always there for Colin.”
“Not the night he was shot,” Jason said darkly. “I called in sick that day. It should have been me who was watching Jenna Davies’s house. It should have been me who got shot. I’ve wanted to tell you that for three months, but I couldn’t find the words.”
She stared at him, not sure she was happy to have heard his confession. Colin hadn’t mentioned he was taking Jason’s shift that night. But it wasn’t as if the attack on Colin had been directed at him; he’d simply been caught in the line of fire while doing his job.
“Should I blame you for being sick?” she asked Jason.
“I blame myself.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You didn’t do anything wrong. And Colin was doing his job, a job that he loved.”
“You’re letting me off the hook that easily?”
“If you want to work off your guilt, Mrs. Marson’s dog left some presents in my backyard. Maybe you could take care of them for me.” She paused, holding his gaze. “But I don’t really need you to do chores around here, Jason. I just need you to be my friend and call me out when I’m being a stupid, emotional girl.”
Jason smiled. “The last time I called you a stupid girl, you threw a piece of cake in my face. The icing was coconut, which I’m allergic to, and twenty minutes later I had red welts all over my face, and my throat started closing up. You almost killed me with that damn cake, so if you think I’m dumb enough to call you a stupid girl again, you really are a . . . well, you know what.”
She grinned back at him. “I already apologized for that.”
“Because your mother made you.”
“We were in the fifth grade. You pissed me off.”
“Colin made you mad, too, but you kissed him.”
“Not until the seventh grade—and that’s because he called me a beautiful girl.” The memory made her smile. “It was my very first kiss. Colin was so nervous his lips only hit the corner of my mouth, but it still gave me a thrill. I think it took him two months to work up enough courage to try it again.”
“Yeah, and I think he talked about that kiss for every minute of every hour of every day of those two months,” Jason said with a roll of his eyes. “I told him if he didn’t hurry up, I was going to kiss you myself. I think that’s what made him get off his ass.”
“Probably. He was always trying to keep up with you, and you certainly had plenty of girls at your beck and call.”
“Not you. You only had eyes for Colin,” he said.
There was an odd note in his voice that made her a little uncomfortable. She suspected Jason had had a little crush on her when they were teens, but he’d never said anything, and he’d certainly never done anything. He was loyal
to Colin. “Well, it was all a long time ago. Although I wish we could go back to those carefree days.”
“You’ll have good days ahead.”
“I really hope so.”
Jason gazed into her eyes. “Kara—for the record—I think Colin is going to wake up.”
“Me too,” she whispered.
“Then get the hell out of here and let me paint.”
FIVE
Lauren hadn’t meant to drive to the Ramsay house. After checking in on her father at the café, she’d headed to the market to pick up some food to restock the fridge. But on the way to the store she’d found herself driving through town, taking in the sights, and somehow she’d ended up on the narrow road that led to the old house on the bluff where her sister’s body had been found.
Before a fire had taken down the east wing of the building, the Ramsay house had been a mansion, three floors, six bedrooms, four baths, and numerous other rooms, including a movie theater. It had been built as a luxurious summer home in the 1950s by a wealthy media mogul named Bert Ramsay, and its owners had had massive parties entertaining celebrities who spent weeks in the summer on the beach or on the Ramsay yacht.
After Bert Ramsay died, the house was inherited by his children and later his grandchildren, each generation choosing to spend less time at the mansion. Eventually, the Ramsay house was basically a ghost during the winter and an occasional rental property in the summer. Most of the time it sat empty, making it the perfect location for late night teenage party action.
Until Abby’s lifeless body was found in the basement.
The Ramsays had sold the property after Abby’s murder, and it had gone through several owners since then. Lauren had heard that the house was haunted by her sister’s screams. She hated to think that Abby’s spirit was trapped in that house, so she chose to believe that people were just imagining sounds based on the fact that someone had died there.
Who’d tried to burn the house down? Local kids playing with matches? A new owner who wanted to collect on the insurance and rebuild a house that wasn’t haunted? Someone with a guilty conscience who couldn’t stand the constant reminder?
Drawing in a deep breath, she turned off the engine, got out of the car, and began to walk toward the house. It was almost noon, the sun high in the sky, but she still felt spooked by the tall trees that threw dark shadows along the path. Her unease deepened when she reached the front door. It was ajar and as she hesitated for a moment, a breeze made it move slightly on the rusted hinges, as if someone were inviting her in.
She bit her bottom lip, feeling crazy for even considering going inside. If there had been any clues to Abby’s murderer, they were gone by now. Yet something drew her forward. She pushed open the door and stepped into what had once been the grand foyer.
There was no furniture in the entryway or any of the front rooms that she could see, and the wood bore signs of smoke and water damage. A mirror on the wall was broken in several places and part of the carpet had been pulled up from the stairs.
Access to the basement was through the laundry room just off the kitchen. She knew because she’d come to the house once during her senior year in high school to party with Shane and some others. They’d gone down to the basement so no one would see the lights from the road.
Every muscle in her body tightened as she debated her next move. Logically, she knew there was nothing to fear. It had been thirteen years. Abby’s killer was long gone.
Or was he?
What if whoever had killed Abby wasn’t some drifter, but someone in town, someone who was still nearby?
A gust of wind ripped through the trees and the front door slammed behind her, rattling the windows. Lauren jumped. Get over it! The wind was always strong along the bluff; the house was not haunted. It was just old and empty.
Straightening her shoulders, she headed into the kitchen and then the laundry room. She opened the door that led into the basement. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she stepped onto the landing.
Had Abby been afraid that night? Had she felt the same sense of foreboding? Or had she entered the basement with no idea of what was about to happen to her?
Lauren flipped the switch at the top of the stairs, but there was no electricity. A stream of light came through a small window near the ceiling, putting the basement in a shadowy light. She moved slowly down the steps. The room was long and narrow and empty cement planters ran along one wall. An assortment of tools and gardening equipment were heaped in a corner, and a couple of empty beer bottles and cigarette stubs dotted the floor, remnants of a party—but how recent? Did the local kids still come here? Hadn’t they learned anything from Abby’s murder?
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she began to shake. This was where Abby had stood in the last moments of her life. Lauren could feel her sister’s fear. Her breathing came fast and shallow. The air was too thick, the musty smell suffocating—or maybe it was the knowledge that someone had stood in this spot and pulled a rope around Abby’s neck, squeezing the life out of her. How terrified she must have been, looking into the eyes of her killer, knowing that she was dying.
Lauren tried to draw in a breath, but her chest felt tight. She had to get out of here. She needed air. She needed to breathe.
Before she could move, the door above her banged open and she looked up in shock. A man stood in the shadows at the top of the stairs. He wore dark pants and a big coat, but she couldn’t see his face.
She’d left her cell phone in the car. Oh, God!
Her heart beat in triple time, and adrenaline raced through her body.
He flashed a light on her face, blinding her. She put up a hand in protest. “Who’s there?” she demanded, forcing some strength into her voice.
The man turned the light toward the ceiling as he moved down the stairs.
She instinctively backed up, but there was nowhere to go. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” She grabbed a rake. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it was all she had.
“I was going to ask you the same questions.” He stopped, his gaze narrowing on her face. Surprise flashed in his eyes. “Are you Lauren Jamison?”
“How did you know that?” she asked quickly. He had blond hair and light eyes, an attractive face, a warming smile. Her tension eased slightly.
“I’ve seen your picture,” he replied. “I’m Mark Devlin.”
The movie producer.
“I didn’t expect to find you down here,” he continued. “In fact, I was just at your house. Your father didn’t mention that you were headed this way.”
“You need to leave my father alone. You’re upsetting him.”
“He didn’t seem upset. He knows I’m trying to help.”
“By making a sensational movie about Abby’s death? My entire family was ripped apart by her murder. We can’t live through it again. You should drop this project.”
He frowned. “I understand it’s painful, but don’t you want to find out who killed your sister?”
“Of course I do, but if the police couldn’t figure it out, what makes you think you can?”
“I have a fresh eye, a different perspective, and the benefit of time. That’s the key in cold cases. Over many years, people often remember things. They feel free to speak out. I’ve already learned something that the police didn’t discover.”
“What’s that?” she scoffed, sure that he was going to throw out some meaningless piece of information just to make her think she should get involved with his movie.
“Two days before the murder, Abby and her friend Lisa were spotted sitting in a car outside their volleyball coach’s house around ten o’clock Saturday night.”
“So?”
“So their volleyball coach was a young, married man in his early twenties, Tim Sorensen. From what I’ve gathered, a lot of his female students had crushes on him.”
“I knew Mr. Sorensen. He also taught biology, but I don’t understand what you’re getting at. You thi
nk he was involved with my sister?”
“I think you should ask Lisa why she told the police that she and Abby never left her house that night.”
“They were probably dropping something off—uniforms or the extra bag of balls or something. Where did you even get this information?” she asked suspiciously.
“Kendra Holt.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“She’s a local woman. At the time of the murder, she was having an affair with the man who lived next door to Sorensen, and she couldn’t afford to be placed at the scene. She got divorced a few years ago and now isn’t concerned about her reputation or her former husband. Ms. Holt also told me that it wasn’t the first time she’d seen the girls on the street.” He paused. “I’ve tried to get in touch with both Lisa Delaney and Mr. Sorensen. Neither one will talk to me. I also passed the information on to the chief of police. I’m not trying to take the police out of this, just to help them along.”
“Lisa was Abby’s best friend,” Lauren said. “She was questioned thoroughly about everything that they’d done in the weeks preceding Abby’s death. I’m more inclined to believe her than some woman who was having an affair and thought she saw my sister in a car. Lisa and Abby weren’t old enough to drive, so whose car were they in?”
“Good question. Maybe you should ask Lisa.”
“I spoke to Lisa several times after Abby died. I asked her to tell me if there was anything that Abby was into that she didn’t want my parents to know about, and she said there wasn’t.” Lauren shook her head, disliking the doubts Mark Devlin was putting in her head. “If you’re suggesting that my sister was involved with a married man, who was also her teacher, you’re out of your mind. Abby was fifteen. And Lisa would have told me about Mr. Sorensen if there was anything to tell. You’re on the wrong track.”
“It’s possible,” he said with a small, conceding nod. “I do have other suspects.”
One of those other suspects had to be Shane. “I’m not interested in your theories.” She set down the rake and moved toward the stairs.
On Shadow Beach Page 6