by Debra Webb
Now Chase was confused again. “Failure at what?”
Shirley leveled her gaze on his once more. “To find the truth, what else? Until just recently the entire case was a complete mystery. Now, since the inn opened, a major portion of what actually happened has been revealed—none of which is as a result of the chief’s superior investigating skills.”
Chase followed her reasoning. He hadn’t considered that his uncle might feel humiliated that someone else had solved the Carlyle murder. But there was still one very large unanswered question. What had happened to Wayne Fraley? If neither Dorothy Carlyle nor Martin Maxwell had had anything to do with his murder, who had?
A thought plowed into Chase’s brain…one he dared not speak out loud.
What if his father had killed himself? What if he couldn’t bear the idea that Melissa was dead? Would a man really feel that strongly about a woman with whom he hadn’t even had a physical relationship? Could he have loved her from afar more than he did his own son?
The bottom dropped out of Chase’s stomach. Maybe that’s why the chief had said those things to him this morning. Maybe he knew.
Disappointment and dread pooled in Chase’s gut.
He wouldn’t allow himself to think that. Couldn’t bring himself to believe that his own father could have deserted him in such a way. But was it any easier to believe that he’d been murdered and that his murderer was walking around free to this day?
“Give your uncle time,” Shirley went on, dragging Chase back to the present. “The chief will get past the fresh hurt in time. Once he finds who murdered the Bellamy girl, he’ll even get over the reopening of the inn.”
Chase nodded. He knew how heavily this case weighed on his uncle. It troubled Chase, as well. He hadn’t realized until now how badly his uncle had wanted to keep that old place in the past. Maybe Chase hadn’t taken the time to consider how much dragging that past into the present might hurt the man who’d raised him when he’d had no one else.
Pushing to his feet, Chase said, “Thanks for your insight, Ms. Shirley. I think I’ll take a look at the chief’s file on the Bellamy murder and see if there’s anything we may have missed.”
Shirley made an agreeable sound. “That might not be a bad idea. The chief’s being awfully possessive on this one.” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “We both understand why, but that doesn’t make for the most objective investigating.”
Exactly the conclusion Chase had come to. As much as the chief wanted to keep him out of this, he couldn’t. Chase was involved. His father’s murder had something to do with that inn and its past. There was nothing Chief Benton Fraley could do to protect Chase from that fact. And now someone else had been killed. The possibility that a local had resorted to murder merely to prevent the inn from succeeding seemed unlikely. Unless he or she had something else to hide.
His mind working, sorting through the possibilities, Chase ventured into the chief’s office and shuffled through the files on his desk. The one on the Bellamy murder was surprisingly light. Chase opened it to find the chief’s report consisted of a single typed page and a list of names of Beverly Bellamy’s family and friends.
What startled Chase was the missing forensics report. He sifted through the papers on the chief’s desk, carefully checked each drawer and file cabinet, but found nothing.
He didn’t like the idea gnawing at him. This wasn’t right. Then again, maybe the chief had the report with him. Perhaps he had met with a person from the forensics lab on the mainland. He had said that one of the technicians was coming to take a second look, though Chase had heard nothing about it. Only one way to find out.
Chase took the file and closed himself up in his own office. He sat behind his desk, picked up the phone and entered the number he already knew by heart. Anticipation surged through his veins as he waited. His hopes were dashed when the voice that answered after the second ring was not Olivia’s.
He shook his head at his foolishness. “Edna, this is Deputy Fraley. Is the chief there by any chance?”
“No, sir. Haven’t seen him since he left with you this morning.”
For one beat Chase considered asking to speak with Olivia. Just to see if she was all right, of course. But he thought better of it. “Thanks, Edna.”
Chase hung up. Cursed himself for the idiot he was. He’d let all that the chief said this morning get to him. He wasn’t obsessed with Olivia. He simply liked her, wanted to know her better. What was wrong with that? Nothing. His uncle’s suspicions were unfounded. Olivia had nothing to do with this murder. She certainly had nothing to do with the inn’s past problems.
Somehow Chase had to find out what had happened to Beverly Bellamy. Maybe then Olivia, as well as the inn and the town, would be free of this curse once and for all.
* * *
“I’M GOING HOME before the storm hits.”
Chase looked up at Shirley, who stood in the door of his office. He hadn’t even been aware she’d opened the door. If she’d knocked, he definitely hadn’t heard her.
He blinked, looked down at the papers spread on his desk then back up at her. “I guess I lost track of the time.”
“Past five,” she said, shouldering into her coat. “Weatherman says it’s gonna be a mean one.”
Chase glanced out the window for the first time since he’d sat down. The sky was dark. The branches of the trees lining the street whipping in the wind left no doubt of what was to come. Rain, thunder and lightning. Maybe even a little hail.
“You’d better get home,” he said to Shirley. “I’ll hang around a little longer to see if the chief’s coming back.”
“Don’t forget to switch the phones over.”
“Will do.”
He heard the door close behind her as she exited the suite of offices that made up city hall. The phones were switched to the 9-1-1 dispatch operator on the mainland after business hours. If an emergency came up, dispatch would contact the chief or Chase. Between the two of them there was always a representative of the badge on the island. And most folks knew to call him or the chief directly after hours.
Chase dropped his gaze to the pages in front of him. He’d spent the past few hours calling every relative and friend of Beverly’s. Her parents had already answered the chief’s questions and didn’t understand why they had to do so again. Chase hated putting them through the pain, but instinct pressed him to do just that. He’d asked the routine questions first, then tossed in a couple about whether Beverly had mentioned seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary at the inn. He’d gotten exactly what the chief had said: nothing.
He had almost let it go at that, but then he’d called the next name on the list, then the one after that, until he’d called every friend and relative on the chief’s list. Chase’s confusion grew as he did so. No one else on the list had been contacted. The chief hadn’t questioned a single friend or relative other than the parents.
Admittedly, Chase had learned nothing new, but that wasn’t the point. The chief should have made those calls. That he hadn’t was bad enough; that he’d lied about making them was far worse.
Chase flipped through the Rolodex and punched in another number. This one for the forensics lab. He recognized the voice of the technician who answered. “Hey, this is Deputy Fraley over in Cliff’s Cove,” he said by way of greeting. “I know it’s late, but I just have a quick question. Were any of your techs planning to come back out to Lost Angel Inn for a second sweep of the crime scene?”
The answer wasn’t the one he wanted to hear. Several seconds elapsed before Chase found his voice. “Thank you.” He hung up the receiver, his instincts humming a warning now.
Why would the chief lie? Why had he told Olivia to hold off on her renovations because forensics was coming back to do a second sweep?
The body had been released today. The funeral was the day after tomorrow. It didn’t make sense to keep the crime scene off-limits if there was nothing else to find.
Chase mu
lled over this morning’s vandalism. If there hadn’t been a murder, he could picture some local vandalizing the place in an attempt to thwart the inn’s continued operation. Some folks just didn’t think it was right to disturb the ghosts of the past who surely lived there. But Chase knew everyone in this community. There wasn’t a soul he could point to who would kill anyone.
Beverly Bellamy’s friends and family had checked out. There was no apparent motivation among the small, close-knit group. Not one knew of anyone with a grudge against her.
None of it made sense.
And there was the fact that Olivia was the one who generally did the locking up. Was she really the intended target? Who would have known her routine? Probably Ralph, Clara and Edna. Chase couldn’t see any of them wanting to harm Olivia or Beverly.
He gathered the contents of the file and strode back to the chief’s office, pausing long enough to switch the phones as Shirley had reminded him. Chase might as well call it a day. There was nothing more he could do here. All he wanted to do right now was to find his uncle and have a nice, long talk. Get past all this subterfuge. Get all the cards out on the table. They had a murder to solve. This was no time to be keeping secrets. And Olivia might very well need police protection.
As he turned away from the chief’s desk, something snagged his attention. Frowning, Chase moved closer to the massive mahogany desk. The corner of a manila folder peeked out from beneath the blotter pad.
He lifted the pad with its weeks of scrawled notes and pulled the unmarked folder from under it. Dread buzzing in his ears, he opened it to view the contents.
The name Olivia Hamilton jumped off the very first page.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE RAIN had started.
Livvy poured herself a brandy and moved to the parlor’s front window. When a storm blew in off the sea, it was a sight to behold.
The kind of storm coming in on the tail of a hurricane wasn’t so romantic, but this kind, the plain old storm that built up as a result of the changing season or maybe simply as heaven’s way of showing off, tugged at Livvy’s senses. She felt oddly alive as the thunder rolled and the flash of light in the distance followed at its own leisurely pace. The surface of the water grew restless, reacting to the brewing natural phenomenon.
Though she was completely alone in the inn on this jagged thrust of earth where the land met the sea, she didn’t feel lonely just now. The atmosphere felt charged with energy. The house stood tall and strong against the wind. Livvy felt protected within these massive walls.
“Now there’s an ironic thought,” she mused out loud.
Two days ago she’d been certain she would never feel safe here again. Maybe the old inn was trying to comfort her. After all, she’d spent her life savings to restore it. And now she had nowhere else to go.
If whoever killed Beverly intended Livvy harm, what could she do? Run? Leave behind all she’d invested in the inn? She’d had to walk away from one life, she wasn’t doing that again. Fear was not going to send her running…not ever again. Not ever again. She had to be strong…couldn’t let the terror get a grip on her.
An ache sliced through her. There was no way she could leave this inn. She was a part of it now. She felt as if she’d always been here.
No matter what the chief or anyone else thought, Livvy had recently concluded that fate had brought her here to rescue this grand old place. To rescue this place as her doctor, that detective and two loyal friends had rescued her three years ago.
She downed her brandy and poured another, wincing at the liquor’s burn, then surveyed the room, proud of how well it had turned out. All summer long her guests had been awed by the renovations she had done. Of course, she couldn’t take credit for the more intricate work, that had been Christopher’s doing. Cleaning and painting had been the extent of her contributions. But she wasn’t ashamed of her part. Those things had been every bit as necessary.
She thought of Ralph’s reaction to this morning’s vandalism, and her chest squeezed painfully. It was difficult not to understand how he must feel. Part of her wanted to be angry that his comment had sounded so disloyal, but the other, more rational side recognized that he was only human. Who wouldn’t think just exactly what he had?
She’d considered the same herself. Maybe reopening the inn had been a mistake.
But it was done. There was no undoing it. Closing up now wouldn’t bring Beverly back.
The brandy went down a little more smoothly this time. Knowing she shouldn’t, Livvy poured another and decided to take a nice, long soak in the tub.
She turned out the lights and checked the front door, then slowly, sipping the brandy perhaps more for courage than she would have liked to admit, she checked the rest of the exterior doors downstairs. Except for one. That room was still cordoned off with the yellow tape, and the chief had reaffirmed his orders that very morning that no one was to go inside.
Holding her breath, Livvy did ensure that the door leading from the corridor into that room was secured. She breathed easy once more when she found it locked tight.
Taking her time, she climbed the stairs, noting that with the help of the brandy her old injury scarcely ached as she made the arduous journey.
Turning her thoughts to more pleasant subjects, she hoped she would be able to proceed with the painting and carpeting of the east wing soon. With that behind her as well as the courtyard renovations, the property would be fully restored. From that point forward she would only have to worry about normal maintenance. If her busy seasons went well, perhaps she could start to put a little something away for a rainy day.
She laughed at the pun. It was a rainy day and outside the money she’d set aside for the new carpeting and fountain restoration as well as minimal operating expenses until the Christmas season arrived, she was pretty much broke.
Livvy filled the deep, claw-footed tub with steaming water. Her bathroom was the largest in the house and romantically decorated, except for the safety bar she’d had installed for helping herself out of the tub. She tried not to use it, however there were times when it was essential. But she wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself.
She was alive. In celebration of that wondrous fact she lit the candles that sat here and there in the room. Some scented, some not, but all providing the desired cozy illumination.
With a couple of big fluffy towels nearby, she eased into the tub. The hot, steamy water closed in around her, immediately relaxing weary muscles. Once she’d settled back to soak, she finished off her brandy and set the little glass next to her shampoo on the antique table she’d chosen as a kind of tubside service center. Steam wafted up around her, wound around the soft glow of the candles.
With that peaceful image on her mind, she shut her eyes and told herself to close out all other thought. Just relax. Let go of the worries. The sounds of the storm rumbled outside. The rain splattering relentlessly. Wind whining and moaning, punctuated from time to time by the grumble of thunder. Once in a while a stark bolt of lightning would brighten the dimly lit room, a vivid contrast to the faint glow of the candles.
The brandy had calmed her so thoroughly that she might have a tough time staying awake through the bath. The sweet aroma of roses and lilacs scented the air. This serene place out on a cliff’s serrated edge was what she’d sought…what she’d longed for when she’d been searching for a place to start fresh. Solitude broken only by the interesting and diverse guests of her summer and Christmas seasons. Being her own boss, forging her own destiny.
A new beginning in something as close to paradise as she could find. This remote New England spot had been it. Far away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the world. A place deeply infused with the past. And the inn. She smiled. God, it had been everything she’d wanted. Beautiful in a rugged sort of way. Brimming with mystique and history.
The only thing she hadn’t found was true love.
Livvy’s eyes popped open on that thought. She hadn’t been looking for love
. How could she possibly ever trust herself or anyone else to recognize the real thing?
She couldn’t.
Her mind immediately conjured Chase Fraley’s handsome face, defying her conclusion.
She sighed softly, her body instantly heating on the inside at the mere thought of him.
Knowing full well she shouldn’t, she allowed her eyes to close once more and the finer details of Chase to invade her senses. The nice fit of his uniform. He was tall, broad-shouldered. Strong. The sandy color of his hair gave him the all-American-boy look, as did the vivid blue of his eyes.
But that strength and that beauty could morph into something else, something evil, she knew firsthand.
Chase Fraley wasn’t James Hamilton, a part of her protested. He’d been protecting her from the chief’s wrath the last couple of days. Had put himself directly in line for the full brunt of that wrath.
That spoke highly of him.
Made her want to know him better.
Could she let herself feel that way? Really feel that way? The attraction was there, but she was so afraid to trust herself.
But she had needs.
For the first time in too many years to remember, she recognized those needs. She wanted to be touched.
She allowed, just for a moment, her mind to float…permitted the powerful feelings of desire that Chase elicited to take over.
She remembered the feel of his strong fingers when he’d touched her…the sound of his deep voice. The caring way he looked at her.
She wasn’t blind, she’d seen the longing in his eyes. He had feelings for her that went beyond professional concern.
A new reality invaded the soft thoughts. Livvy blinked, her glorious state of relaxation shifting into tension.
What she’d seen in Chase’s eyes couldn’t have been desire for her, she argued. She was ugly, plain. Hadn’t James told her that often enough? She jerked at the rush of memories that spilled into her mind. His ranting that he couldn’t even remember why he’d noticed her. And now there were the hideous scars left from the numerous surgeries after that plunge down the stairs.