“It is. Let’s eat, and then I’m hoping you can drive me to my place so I can pick up my car? I hate not having it.”
“Sure, no problem.” Serena closed her menu and signaled for the waiter hovering in the warmth at the top of the stairway. “Yes, I’m hungry—especially for him.” She giggled.
Addie took a sip of her water from the goblet on the table and choked.
Serena’s brows furrowed, and she glared at Addie. “What? What’s so funny?” She smirked, then broke out laughing.
“Serena, you’re too funny. Now I see why you really wanted to come here. You’re just a flirt.” She lifted her water glass in a toast. “Cheers, but he is kind of cute,” she whispered behind her hand as the waiter approached their table. “You go girl.” She grinned.
“No, no, no, it’s not what you think. I just need a bit of a pick-me-up.”
“Yeah right, that’s what it’s called, is it?” Addie snickered.
Serena tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and beamed up at the handsome, chiseled-featured waiter, her eyelashes fluttering like frenzied butterflies.
Addie groaned from behind her menu.
Chapter Eighteen
A pounding noise woke Addie with a start. It took her a few seconds to figure out that she was in the hotel room. She turned to the bedside clock. Red digits glared 7:00 a.m. She moaned and rolled onto her side, cuddling under the duvet. The banging sound continued. She opened her eyes and listened closer and realized the clatter was coming from her door. She fumbled for her robe at the foot of the bed and staggered toward it. A red head appeared on the other side of the peephole.
“What is going on,” she muttered and flung the door open. “Do you have any idea what time it is—on a Sunday morning, no less?”
“Good morning.” Serena’s freckled face beamed back at her.
Addie looked at the steaming cups of coffee she held in each hand. “Okay, come in.” Her face softened. “But to what do I owe the pleasure of this early-morning awakening?” She inhaled the coffee. “Mmmm, smells perfect.”
“I knew a good cup of coffee would get me past the door.” Serena stepped inside. “We’re going to the harbor today, remember?”
“What I said was . . . I might be able to go, but I have a lot to do, and this is my only day off.”
“Look, we’ve both had a rough week.” Serena sat on the end of the bed. “A day off to have some fun is exactly what we both need, right?”
Addie heaved a deep breath. “I guess. But it’s only seven.” She pointed to the clock. “I’m sure the shops don’t open till nine or ten at least.”
“They open at nine, so you have plenty of time to shower and get ready. I wanted to catch you before you raced off to your musty old attic.”
“Definitely not a worry at this time of the morning.”
Serena’s bottom lip quivered.
“All right.” Addie yawned. “Just let me wake up a minute.”
She showered and dressed, and they were out the door and driving toward the harbor by quarter to nine. A Sunday morning sleep-in and a leisurely coffee with an eleven a.m. start would have suited her better, but Addie had a gnawing feeling that Serena was up to something this morning. However, Serena was right; it had been a tough week, and they were both due for a bit of fun. She sat back and smiled when the seawall came into view. She rolled down her window and took a deep breath.
“See, you can feel the tension release already, can’t you?” Serena pulled into a side street off Marine Drive and parked at the curbside. “Besides, any later and parking would be an issue. It gets pretty busy down here on Sundays.”
“I never thought of that.”
“Yeah, any later and we might as well have parked at our shops and walked down.”
The morning flew by. Serena made certain they stopped into every shop along the drive. She said it would not only give Addie a glimpse into what treasures could be found in the unique shops down here but was also a great way to network and meet other merchants outside the Town Square.
Addie had to agree. They had fun exploring the souvenir, antique, and vintage clothing stores, and of course there was no shortage of bars and quaint restaurants along the seawall. It would be well worth her time to market around this area during the summer high season, because as far as she could tell, there weren’t any bookshops.
Serena checked the time on her cell phone and grabbed her stomach. “My, oh my, just look at the time.”
Addie eyed her. “Your stealth mode button must be malfunctioning. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. My tummy is just signaling it’s time to eat, and I know the perfect place.” She pointed toward a sign that simply read “Fish ’n’ Chips.”
Addie stayed quiet, although her inner BS radar was beeping and whirling.
Serena bypassed a lovely table for two with a harbor view and chose a table set for four, near the back.
When the server brought their clam chowder and fish sampler platter, Addie motioned to the two other place settings. “You can take these if you like.” She didn’t miss the sly look that passed between Serena and Miss Dimple Cheek.
The waitress’s dimple winked from her right cheek. “I’ll just leave them for now.”
“Are you waiting for someone?” Addie blew on her chowder, her gaze held steady on Serena. “This is the tenth time you’ve looked over my shoulder.” Addie glanced behind her, trying to see what Serena was looking at, but nothing stood out. Giving up trying to understand her friend, she continued to eat.
Spoon halfway to her mouth, Serena’s face lit up, and she waved. “I hope you don’t mind, but . . .”
Addie twisted around in her chair. “Marc?”
“Hi, I took the afternoon off and hoped . . . well . . . thought, maybe you might still want to take that drive to Pen Hollow with me after lunch?” He twisted his ball cap in his hands.
Addie turned toward Serena, who was beaming like the Cheshire cat, and glared at her.
“Won’t you join us?” Serena pointed to the empty chair beside Addie.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense.” Serena waved her hand over the platter. “We have plenty.”
“Go ahead.” Addie motioned to the open spot next to her. “After all, it’s Serena’s party and I’m just along for the ride, apparently.”
Serena waved the server over to take Marc’s drink order as he made himself comfortable.
Addie took a sip of her water. Her hand remained gripped around her glass as she placed it back on the table. Marc reached for a scallop from the platter. His hand grazed over hers. She felt the heat rising up under her collar and creep across her cheeks.
“Well, I do hate to eat and run,” Serena piped up, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “But you two have an excursion to make, and I should get home and finish my laundry since I’m back to work tomorrow.” She tossed a twenty-dollar bill onto the table and left.
Addie’s lips creased to a thin line. So she had been set up, just as her gut feeling had warned her earlier. She shifted in her chair to look directly at Marc. “Let’s get on with this. It seems that you and your partner in crime have gone to a lot of trouble to make this chance meeting happen.” Her eyes stung with tears she was fighting to hold back. Tears of embarrassment about their kiss, about what he might have overheard in her shop yesterday, tears of the loneliness she felt and the fears that had haunted her since David died. David, who was the love of her life—or so she had thought, until now. She was so confused, and she bit the inside of her mouth to keep her tears in check.
“I’m not sure what I’ve done to get you so hostile toward me. But—” For a brief moment, his face softened.
How could she tell him she wanted nothing more than for him to hold her in his arms and kiss her again? For a fleeting moment, she almost relented, but then she caught herself and hardened her heart.
Marc stirred his uneaten food around his plate. “It’s no
t what you think, it’s only that I—”
“Really? Then you tell me just what it is that I’m thinking,” she snapped, straightening her shoulders.
He shook his head, let out a throaty sigh, pressed his hands against the table edge and shoved his chair back. Addie’s heart sank. She knew she had pushed him too far this time.
Chapter Nineteen
Silence filled the car on the drive to Pen Hollow. Addie glanced at Marc occasionally, longing to talk about what had happened between them, but she couldn’t find the words, because she wasn’t sure what had actually taken place or why she had responded the way she had, or why he was really here, or why . . . there were too many unanswered questions. His eyes remained steadfast on the traffic and the road, and she sensed that he wouldn’t be receptive to a discussion right now anyway, so she bit her tongue.
She did notice his attire for the day and inwardly approved. It was the first time since their initial meeting that she’d seen him out of uniform, and she decided she liked his casual look of denim and a T-shirt. He definitely could fill out a pair of jeans nicely—something his bulky police issue hid.
At the summit of the Pen Hollow Highway, he pulled his Jeep Cherokee to the side of the road at the switchback curve that had been the scene of her father’s accident. She started shaking. He turned to her, his eyes filled with tenderness.
“Do you still want to do this?”
She looked at him, took a deep breath, and nodded.
“Good.” He placed his hand gently over hers and squeezed.
His touch ran up her arm. She quivered and withdrew her hand.
His eyes dropped. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I’m . . . I’m just jumpy right now.”
He reached into the back seat. His hand grazed across her shoulder. Electricity raced through her, and she grasped her tightening chest.
“Are you okay?” He pulled a briefcase from the back.
She nodded. Her mouth went dry, and the hold on her chest twisted. His eyes narrowed and he studied her face.
“If this is too much, I understand.”
“No, it’s not . . . no . . . this is something I have to do.” She smiled weakly. How could she ever explain that she was reacting this way because of him, and not so much because of being at the scene of her dad’s death? Or, maybe it was all of it, mixed up together. She put her hand on the door handle. “I’ll be fine. Where do we start?”
He took the envelope of pictures out of his case. “Follow me,” he said. “We’ll try and retrace the accident as best we can based on the photos.”
She got out. Her eyes scanned the repaired guardrail, and her shoulders slumped. “Can you tell where his car actually went through?”
“I’m sure there are welding seams if we look close enough.” He came around to her side of the Jeep and kneeled in front of the barrier. He pulled a photo out of the envelope and placed it across his knee. He studied it, stood up, and stepped back. His eyes darted back and forth between the picture and the rail. He took a few steps to his right and stopped.
“This looks like the same angle, if I’m not mistaken.” His eyes narrowed, and he peered back at the photo, then at the guardrail. “Yes, I’m sure of it. What do you think?” He held out the photograph.
She leaned in for a look and nodded her head. “I’d say so. Where’s the one of the skid marks?”
“Here.” He pulled out another picture.
“So, this is where . . .” She stepped back and looked down at the asphalt. “The inside car skidded against his and sent him careening through the rail?”
“By my calculations, I’d say so.” Marc stroked his chin and gazed down the highway. “I’m going to try and re-create in my mind when this all started. I’ll be back in a minute.”
The top of his head quickly disappeared behind a ridge in the twisting decline of the narrow highway. Addie studied the photo she was still holding in her hand and tried to picture what exactly had occurred that night. Judging the point of impact by the calculations they’d made, she went over to the rail and peered down. Her head spun. It was a good three-hundred-foot drop down the side of a sheer cliff to the rocky bottom.
Her heart thudded against her chest wall, and she clutched at her collar. Her breaths came short and fast. Her knees buckled. She grabbed on to the guardrail for support. “Oh God, Dad, how horrible for you.” Sliding to the ground, she leaned her head against the cold metal railing, struggling to fill her lungs.
She didn’t hear Marc return, but when arms wrapped around her, she knew his feeling and the musky scent of his aftershave.
“Oh, Marc, it’s so awful. I can’t believe he ended up down there. He never stood a chance.”
He pushed strands of hair from her face and tucked them behind her ear. “I know. It must be rough on you to finally see this.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face. “It is, but I need to, because I had a hunch this wasn’t a single-vehicle accident, and I needed to see it with my own eyes.” She sat up straight and looked into his pinched face. “What did you find? . . . Is there anything of use back there?”
He took a deep breath. His eyes never wavered from hers.
“Well? What did you find? Were the state police right, or—”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think it’s just as you suspected from the beginning.” He turned away and stared off into the distance.
“You mean . . . he was murdered?” The words caught in the back of her throat, and she leapt to her feet. “Crap! Now, six months later, how on earth are we supposed to catch this . . . this murderer? Why couldn’t they have just listened to me in the first place?” She pounded her fist against the top of the guardrail.
“I can’t and won’t make excuses for fellow officers, but my guess is that they had no evidence of foul play and filed their report based on his apparent speed and the road and visibility conditions at the time.”
“But the skid marks should have been enough proof that there was foul play, don’t you think?”
“Maybe, but as they said, it had been foggy, and the rubber marks could have happened anytime. There have been a lot of near misses on this curve, and . . . some that weren’t lucky, like your father.”
“I know, but—”
“The best I can calculate, the other vehicle sped up behind him and followed side by side, nudging him onto the shoulder in a couple of spots where I found faint signs of skid marks. By the time they reached the top of the incline, here”—he pointed to the shoulder in front of the repaired guardrail—“they must have been traveling pretty fast. I’m guessing your father was trying to get in front of him but didn’t know about the switchback at the top. Then, right here, two skid marks appear to collide, and, well . . . that’s where it looks like your father’s car left the road.”
Her face crumbled, and tears stung her eyes.
“Come on, let’s head back. There’s nothing more we can find here. It’s been too long for any evidence of proof to survive. We’ll”—he cleared his throat—“I’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
“What way is that?”
“Put in some footwork and find the evidence elsewhere.” He offered a weak smile and held her door open.
“You’re not getting rid of me that fast, mister.” She frowned up at him as she settled into her seat.
She heard him chuckling as he closed the door and walked around to his.
“Look, Marc. If you think for one minute that I’m going to let this go . . . well . . . well you’ve got anoth—What? What’s so funny?”
“The look on your face.” He snorted. “You are the most confusing and stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”
“Yes . . . so I’ve been told.” She folded her arms and glared at him.
He smirked and shook his head.
The return trip to Greyborne Harbor was quiet, but the air was no longer filled with uncomfortable tension. Addie stared out the window, lost in
her thoughts, and tried to put all the pieces of her father’s death into perspective. Her mind darted from one recent occurrence to the other. When they pulled into her hotel parking lot, she turned to Marc.
He glanced sideways at her. “What?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it.
“If you want to say something, then please just say it. The tension between us has been unbearable, and I can’t stand it anymore.” He parked and turned off the ignition.
“It’s just that . . .”
“Come on, you can spit it out. I’ve never known you to hold back before.”
“Okay . . . here goes. Tell me if I’m nuts.” She chewed her bottom lip.
He hung his head. “Not exactly the direction I was hoping this would go, but—go on.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay . . . how did my aunt Anita die?”
“Your aunt? Why?”
“’Cause . . . I’m wondering now if it’s all related.”
His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.
“You know. My break-ins, Blain’s murder, my father’s?”
Marc leaned his head back and frowned but didn’t say a word.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I’m thinking, and I’m not sure what I think. I guess I haven’t thought your aunt’s death might be related.” He turned his head toward her. “What on earth made you think it could be?”
“It would make sense if it were.” She excitedly leaned toward him. “Think about it. My father had just left her place, and he was run off the road and killed. A week later, she dies. I inherit her complete estate and now I’m plagued with break-ins. So it appears that someone is looking for something they think I’m in possession of now.”
“But what? So far nothing’s been missing in these break-ins. It’s all so random.”
“I know, and at first I thought it was someone trying to run me out of town for . . . well, who knows what reason . . .” She waved her hand. “None of that matters now when you look at the whole picture.”
“What picture? Your dad dealt with some shady types. It could have been any of a hundred people. Your aunt was old and sick—”
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