“Why would I be driving around there in the dead of night?” Understanding crossed his face. “Ah. Someone thinks I set the fire myself. How? With my own jerry can, the way I was supposed to have set fire to my barn and pigeon coop?” His voice was angry.
“No, not a gasoline can this time. A Molotov cocktail.”
“A what? People still make those things?”
“I’m afraid so and this one was made with a wine bottle.” He paused. “A bottle used for homemade wine.”
“With one of my labels on it?”
The sadness in Henry’s voice made Will want to hug the old man. “That’s why I asked about the truck. I noticed you left the key in it.” He held out his hand, with the key in the center of his palm.
Henry took the key with trembling fingers and tucked it into his overalls pocket.
“Do you always leave your key in the ignition?”
“Sure. Why not, way out here in the country? Saves me looking for it in the house every time I want to go into town.”
“Does anyone know you do that?” Will asked.
“Who could? It’s not as if I have any visitors here. ’Cept for you, of course.” He frowned at Will. “You don’t believe I set that fire, do you?’
Will swore under his breath, regretting having raised the matter at all. “Not for a second.” He hesitated a beat. “Do you have a—”
“Lawyer? Used to, years ago.” He kept his gaze fixed on Will. “Maybe I should get to Essex and look one up.”
“The sooner the better,” Will said. He took the shovel from Henry’s hand. “You go in and wash up. I’ll finish this and we’ll drive into town together.”
The old man didn’t say a word, but turned and shuffled toward the house. Will drove the shovel blade into the pile of straw.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ANNIE WAS ALMOST OUT the door the next morning when the telephone called her back. She hesitated, knowing she was already running behind schedule, but picked it up on the third ring.
When she heard her father’s voice, she sighed. This wouldn’t be a phone call she could handle in a few seconds. She wished she’d let the voice mail pick up.
“You answered pretty quick,” he said. “Thought you’d be working. It’s almost ten o’clock.”
“What’s up, Pop?” She made herself sound cheery, and knew he hated to be called Pop.
“Heard there was another fire last night.”
Sheesh, Annie thought, the grapevine is better than I thought. “How’d you hear that?”
“I was talkin’ to Arnie Harris this mornin’ and he told me. How come you didn’t tell me about old man Krause’s fire?”
Old man Krause indeed. He’s only ten years older than you are, Dad. “There wasn’t really much to tell. The fire marshal’s official report hasn’t been filed yet.”
“Official report!” He snorted. “A child could figure out that Henry Krause wouldn’t set fire to his own pigeon coop. Got to be that arsonist again, only this time he’s working too damn close to us. I’m coming home.”
The pulse at Annie’s temples drummed loudly. This was exactly what she’d feared. “Look, Dad, that’s ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous! You call looking out for my own property ridiculous?”
“Dad, the fires might not have been set by the same person. That’s why Captain Andrews hasn’t made a public announcement. He’s still collecting evidence,” she said, repeating most of what Will had told her last night.
“All the more reason to come home. Things are going haywire there in the valley. What’s happened to people these days?”
“You promised Shirley…”
“I don’t recall doing any such thing.”
There was a muffled sound and Annie could hear Jack talking to someone in the background.
He came back to the phone and, in a slightly mollified voice, said, “I’m working on that. I’ll talk to you in a couple of days.”
Mystified, Annie had to ask, “What are you saying, Dad?”
He heaved a loud sigh. “Apparently I did make some foolish promise—when I was under the knife.”
Annie grinned. That dig was obviously for Shirley, likely standing nearby. “I’m shipping off that order to Harvey’s today,” she said, referring to the fine food shop in Charleston.
“Good, good. And what about that young fella?”
Young fella, as in Will? Annie felt a wickedly delicious thrill.
“Well?”
“He’s working out just fine, Dad,” Annie said. Her face heated up at the memory of last night. “Tell Shirley I’m on my way to her house to get her mail.”
“Yeah, okay. She said to open up the credit card bill and call her back to let her know the balance. I don’t know what she’s got up her sleeve,” he complained.
“Okay, Dad, will do. And you be nice to that woman, you hear? She’s a saint.”
“Humph. Talk to you later.”
Annie was shaking her head as she replaced the receiver. She hoped Shirley was going to buy something outrageously luxurious for herself.
On her way out to the truck, she paused at the door. People seldom locked up in the valley, but since the arsonist had moved closer to home, Annie decided not to take chances. She locked the door, checked that the honey barn was also locked and got into the truck. If Will arrived before she returned, he knew where to find the spare key.
She drove down to the main road, thinking of the previous night. Not the fire at the campground, but the fire Will Jennings had set. She’d tossed and turned in four hours of attempted sleep after he left. His lips and fingers everywhere, his husky exclamation as he climaxed. Annie shivered at the mere recollection.
Annie turned onto Dashwood Side Road in the direction of Essex. When she reached the junction that would take her to Rest Haven, she braked and waited. Would she have time for a quick visit with Will? To test the post-coital waters, so to speak. She grinned. Who was she kidding? She just wanted to see the guy, to be next to him, breathing in his masculinity.
On the other hand, the place would be busy with some of the unit helping Captain Andrews search for evidence. Maybe Will would be one of them. She pictured his embarrassment if she drove up. The girlfriend dropping by the workplace thing. God, do you have it bad.
She cranked the steering wheel right, toward Essex. Her first stop was Shirley’s pretty bungalow, about half a mile out. The bungalow sat on land that used to be owned by Shirley’s parents. After they sold the family farm, they built the house as a retirement home, where they lived for several years. At the time, Shirley and her husband were living in Charleston. When he died, she moved back to her parents’ place.
Annie remembered very well the first time her father brought Shirley Yates home after they’d been seeing one another for a few weeks. She was home on spring break in her third year of college and had actually been pleased that her father was involved with a woman, having seen his loneliness whenever she was home on vacation.
Over the past few years, she’d often wondered why the two hadn’t married. But recently she figured living apart might be the trick to the success of their relationship. They each had their own separate lives but still shared one together. Not for me, she thought. I want a man who’s going to be around all the time.
The involved process of paying the apiary’s bills and updating bankbooks absorbed Annie’s morning. By the time she finished at the bank, it was almost noon and she was starving. She dropped into the new café in town for a salad before heading for the post office.
“You’ve got a parcel,” the postal clerk told Annie after she finished unloading the boxes of honey. “Just came in this morning. I’ll get it for you.”
Annie finished applying the address labels and was taking her wallet out of her purse when the clerk plopped a large brown padded envelope in front of her. “All set, then? I assume you want the receipt for these boxes.”
“Oh yes, they’ll be handy at income tax time.” Ann
ie handed over the money, examining the envelope while waiting for change. The address was unknown, some place in Raleigh. But the name of the sender froze her to the spot. Cara Peterson.
“Anything else?”
Annie looked up, dazed. The clerk was smiling politely. “Uh, no thanks. That’s it for today.”
She tucked the envelope under her arm and made for the door.
HENRY HARDLY SPOKE all the way back from town. Will kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to fuss over the old man but worried about him all the same. He’d been subdued ever since leaving the office at the Legal Aid agency, but the lawyer had assured him he’d nothing to worry about. So far.
The way he’d repeated those last two words was some indication of Henry’s state of mind. Or so Will figured. He’d waited in the reception area. The wait stretched to an hour. Once, bored with the limited se lection of magazines, Will paced back and forth in front of the plate glass window of the agency on the main street of Essex. He thought he saw Annie’s head in a sea of others and felt his heart pound.
She’d said she had to come to town on business. He hoped he’d bump into her later, maybe go for a long lunch somewhere cozy. But by then, he’d be driving Henry back.
The old man hadn’t wanted to stop for lunch in town, so Will drove up to a roadside hamburger stand. The guy needed some nourishment. They ate in silence, though once Henry looked slyly at Will and asked, “So you like Garden Valley?”
“Love it,” Will said over a mouthful of burger.
“People here are good people,” Henry said. “Salt of the earth. This arsonist—that’s an aberration. You gotta believe that.”
Will frowned. What was he getting at? “I can see that,” he said, waiting for some clarification.
But the old man just stared out the windshield, hamburger half-eaten on the wrapper in his lap. After a few minutes of waiting in vain, Will gathered up his garbage, packed the rest of Henry’s meal in the paper bag for his supper and started the van. By the time they pulled into Henry’s driveway, the man looked exhausted.
He helped him into the house. “Sure you don’t want me to stick around a bit longer? I could finish cleaning out the coop.”
Henry shook his head. “Too tired, son. You go see that girl of yours. Maybe she’ll persuade you to stay in the valley.”
He had a bad feeling about leaving the old man. When Henry insisted, Will quietly slipped out the kitchen door after promising to look in on him later in the day. Henry’s remark about going to see Annie—your girl—was the best advice he’d had in a long time.
He found her in a mess. An emotional one, he realized after a heart-stopping second. He saw her through the kitchen screen door sitting at the table. She must have heard the van drive up, but the fact that she hadn’t come to greet him was the first clue that something was wrong.
“Annie?” he asked, hesitating to simply walk right in.
She raised her head and managed a wobbly smile. “Hey,” she said.
It came out like a throaty croak. His hand rested on the doorknob. “Hey yourself.” He paused. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
He gently closed the door behind him and walked over to the table.
There was a brown envelope lying on the table. Next to it, Annie had her hands on what looked like a scrapbook. It had a deep blue leather cover, which was closed.
Will sat in the chair beside hers. “You okay?”
Her smile was stronger now, though he saw the remnants of tears on her face. “I…uh…I got this in the mail today. From Cara. My…my daughter.”
From the way she choked it out, he could tell she wasn’t used to saying that word.
“Looks like a scrapbook.”
“It’s the most amazing history of her life. Well, from when she was about ten or so. Here’s the letter that came with it.” She handed him a single piece of typed paper.
Will’s eyes held hers. “Sure you want me to read it?”
“Yes, I do.”
Dear Annie,
My mother said you might be interested in seeing my scrapbook, so I am sending it to you on loan. (underlined, Will noted) Mom said that it might give you an idea of what kind of person I am, so that when we meet you’ll already know a lot about me. We started keeping this scrapbook when I was in Grade Five because that year I won the Track and Field First Place Ribbon at my school. It was for the Hundred Yard Dash. My picture was in the school yearbook and Mom said we should keep track of important events in our lives. So we started this scrapbook. There are all kinds of things in it—all about me, of course—but I am not a conceited person. I hope you like it. Maybe you have something similar? It doesn’t matter if you don’t. You can mail this back or give it to me when we meet. Whenever that happens.
Bye for now, Cara
Now he understood. Will set the letter down next to the book. “She sounds like a neat kid.”
“Very. Her parents obviously did a great job.”
“Did you pick them, or what? How did that go?”
“No, Sister Beatty—she’s the nun at the adoption agency—picked them, but I told her the kind of people I’d like.”
“Then she followed good advice,” he said. He wiped a tear off her cheek with his index finger.
Annie dug into the breast pocket of the checked cotton shirt she was wearing, took out a tissue and loudly blew her nose. “I’d show you the book, but I don’t think I could take another look at it right now. Maybe later.”
“Later is okay. Do you feel like working today? If you want to…you know…have a rest or something, I can manage on my own.”
Her laugh made him want to drag her off the chair onto his lap. “I may be emotional,” she said, “but I’m not sick. I’ll be okay, Will. But thanks.”
If she keeps staring at me with those eyes, I may drag her onto my lap anyway. He cleared his throat. “Did you mail off the jars to Charleston?”
“Yes. That’s when I got this.”
“Oh.” He peered down at the book, then back up at her. “Maybe we could both take a nap,” he suggested softly.
“Maybe we could.” Her eyes locked onto his.
He could see the desire in her eyes, but also turmoil and confusion. It wouldn’t be right to make love now, when she was feeling so vulnerable and mixed-up about the book, her daughter. Everything. “Or maybe we should—”
The chime of his cell phone solved the problem. “Damn,” he said. “Knew there was a reason I never bought one of these myself.” He was only half joking and he saw relief in her face.
He stood up to extract the phone from his jeans. Caller ID told him it was not the fire alert line, but Captain Andrews himself. “Just a sec,” Will said to Annie. He moved away from the table to lean against the counter, where he could still look at her.
“Yes, Captain.”
“Wonder if you could meet me at Henry Krause’s place in about half an hour. I know you have a special relationship with the old man, and he might want to have a friendly face when we talk to him.”
Will’s mind raced. “We?”
“The sheriff and I.”
Uh-oh. “What’s the problem?”
“Well, we found quite a cache of those empty wine bottles in one of the sheds. The sheriff wants to interview Henry.”
“Have you considered the possibility that someone else found them, too?”
“Yeah, we’ve talked about a lot of possibilities. But we also need to talk to Henry again. You coming or not?”
“I’m coming. Half an hour?”
“Right.”
Will ended the call. Half an hour. It was five now. He stared at Annie, absently tapping the phone against the palm of his other hand. Finding the other bottles was merely confirmation of what they already knew—that the Molotov cocktail had been made from something that belonged to Henry. It didn’t mean he’d made it or thrown it. So far the evidence was all circumstantial.
Except for Sam
Waters saying he’d seen the pickup on the road, just before the fire was discovered. Eyewitness testimony made the case a lot more serious.
“Trouble?” Annie asked.
“The captain found some of Henry’s empty wine bottles.”
“That doesn’t mean anything!”
“Not a whole lot on its own, but together with what Waters said, about seeing the pickup…”
She was shaking her head in disbelief. “There’s no way he did that. No way.”
“They’re having a meeting at Henry’s in half an hour. With the sheriff.”
She rose to her feet. “You’re going to be there with him, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes.” They stared at one another silently for a long moment, both knowing that the afternoon siesta was scrubbed. Finally, Will said, “I should go. I’ll call later when I get a chance.”
When he closed the door behind him, his last glimpse was her pale face, set with worry, looking out through the screen mesh. He’d have given anything to go back for one more kiss.
AFTER WILL LEFT, Annie thumbed through the scrapbook one more time—a sucker for punishment—had another cry and made herself a cup of tea. The perfect antidote, Auntie Isobel always said, for any upset.
There were certificates of merit for swimming, more track and field ribbons and lots of photographs of Cara on teams or in clubs. She was obviously a kid actively involved in life. Annie liked that, even knowing she had nothing to do with it. Other than donating a few genes. And she could see those genes in small, subtle ways. The tilt of Cara’s head toward the camera or the slight frown puckering her forehead in some of the photos. Her father’s coloring, along with his height and lankiness.
Annie closed the book. It had only whet her appetite for more. That’s when she knew for certain she was going to meet her daughter. She had to see that grin for real and hear the sound of her laughter. She took her cup of tea upstairs to the computer, booted it up and logged into her e-mail. There was a brief message from Cara asking if she had received a surprise in the mail. Annie smiled and began to type.
The Beekeeper's Daughter (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 18