Stormcatcher

by Colleen Rhoads

  “You’ve got that look on your face,” Jake observed.

  “What look?”

  “The one that says you’re trying to convince yourself of something. You get a little vertical line between your eyes, and you scrunch your nose up like this.”

  Wynne laughed at her brother’s imitation of her. “I do not.”

  “You do. I think you want to keep the handsome Simon at arm’s length, and thinking he could do something sinister is a way to do just that.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said. She turned and stalked toward the house. “Just because you’re playing house now doesn’t mean you have to foist your version of happiness on every single person.”

  “You’re not every single person. You’re my sister. I want you to be happy.”

  Jake sounded amused and she wanted to hurt him. “I am perfectly happy with my life.” She strode along the pine-strewn path ahead of him. Her words sounded hollow, even to herself.

  Jake fell into step beside her. “What kind of life is it to be traipsing all over the world with no real place to call home?”

  “It’s the same life you had for years,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah, but I had no idea how much better hearth and home were.”

  “You sound positively evangelistic about it.” The corners of her mouth twitched and she clamped her lips together. She would not laugh. It would just encourage him.

  He caught her by the arm and stopped her headlong plunge toward the house. “If I am it’s because I sense you’re a little lost right now, Wynne. I want you to be happy, but I don’t want to see you grab the first available man who happens by. And you haven’t been worshiping much lately, have you? I can always tell.”

  She decided to ignore his comment about worship. She would fix that soon.” If I were stupid enough to grab the first available man, I would already be married.”

  “True.” Jake sounded resigned. “Gram is home now. She’s wondering where you are.”

  Wynne began again toward the house. “I’m eager to see her!”

  Bob’s Eats bustled with residents of Turtle Town. Though as the only place to eat in town, it could have gotten away with poor food, the choices were surprisingly tasty and the coffee hot and fresh. Simon pushed past a group of men who stank of fish and scanned the room. He didn’t really know who he was looking for. Many of the men in the dining room were Ojibwa.

  He stopped the waitress, Rhonda. “Hi, Rhonda, do you—”

  She interrupted before he could ask her. “I heard about Jerry.” Her eyes were red.

  He’d forgotten she’d dated his cousins—first Brian, then Jerry. “Yeah, it’s a shock.” He pressed her arm. “Hey, do you know Old Robert? Is he here?”

  She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes that had escaped the band at her neck and pointed to a man sitting alone at a table in the corner. “There.”

  “Thanks.” Simon wove through the tables and stopped in front of the table. “Robert?”

  Dressed in a red plaid shirt and jeans with suspenders, Old Robert’s eyes had dark bags, and he sported a two-day’s growth of beard. He took a sip of his coffee then pushed the other chair out with a booted foot. “Sit.”

  Simon pulled the chair out farther then sat down. “Did you talk to Wynne Baxter this morning?”

  The old Native American man took his time about answering. “I talk to everyone at the dock. She the pretty gal with dark curly hair?”

  “That’s her. You told her to leave the boat where it lies. You indicated she might be in danger if she disturbed it. Do you have any information about where it is, or who sank it?” He’d finally said it—admitted someone had to have sunk the boat. Was that easier to believe than that the design was flawed?

  Old Robert shook his head. “I’ve seen the signs. The thunderbird is angry and wants the water graves to be undisturbed. Poking around old wrecks is wrong. Let the dead rest.”

  Simon leaned forward. “You are on the water all the time. Have you seen anything that might indicate the boat was sunk on purpose?”

  “I see many things. Some things are better left alone.” The old man stood and dropped several bills onto the table.

  Old Robert knew something. Simon stood, too. “Please. Tell me what you know. I have to know the truth.”

  “No good can come from stirring up a hornet’s nest. Go home. Forget about the yacht. Your cousin and your friend are dead. Nothing can bring them back. Revenge isn’t worth the price.”

  “I don’t want revenge, I just want to know what happened. Besides, the sheriff thinks I did it.”

  “There will be no proof of anything if the boat is never found. Leave it alone.” Old Robert turned and walked toward the door.

  Simon didn’t try to stop him. The old man wasn’t giving up any information. If he even knew anything. Maybe he just liked to act like a wise man and issue portents and ominous warnings.

  “Want to order something?” Rhonda stood at the table with her pen and pad in her hand. Simon’s stomach rumbled. “I take that as a yes,” she said with a laugh.

  “I guess I am hungry.” Simon smiled and grabbed the menu. “Bring me a beef pasty and some fries. Coffee, too.”

  “You got it. Old Robert have any information?”

  “Not really.”

  “I figured as much. He likes to act important. I wouldn’t take anything he said as gospel.” She tucked the pen into the pocket of her apron and went to the kitchen.

  Simon’s head had begun to ache. He was never going to figure this out. Lake Superior was vast. It was a long shot to even look for the yacht. Maybe Old Robert was right and he should leave it to the sheriff. The lawman had no proof Simon had done anything, and he wasn’t likely to find any. A deep voice interrupted Simon’s thoughts.

  “Mind if I join you?” The sheriff didn’t wait for an answer to sit in the seat Old Robert had vacated.

  “It’s a free country.” He wasn’t in the mood to be grilled anymore today.

  “Finding anything?” the sheriff asked.

  All the doubts about continuing to look vanished at the other man’s skepticism. “It’s early days yet. I’ll find Superior Lady.”

  “I did a little poking around today, Lassiter. Your cousin was the kind of guy who stepped on a lot of toes. Quite the womanizer. Did you just get tired of it finally? Why not get it off your chest and tell me all about it?”

  “Any results back on the autopsies?” Simon asked.

  “Not yet. What do you think I’ll find?”

  Simon rose and threw his napkin on the table. “You can have my dinner, Sheriff. I find my appetite is gone.” He rushed past the waitress and hurried out the door. The sheriff might not have any real evidence yet, but if he figured out the fight, would that be enough to bring changes against him?

  EIGHT

  Wynne swung lazily on the porch and watched the stars come out. She saw a sweep of headlights, then an unfamiliar truck stopped. She recognized Simon as he got out. The surge of excitement that swept through her took her aback. Maybe Jake knew her better than she knew herself.

  Simon smiled when he saw her. “I just stopped by to tell you I found Old Robert.”

  “Old Robert?”

  “The Ojibwa fisherman you talked to. I think he knows something, but he’s not telling.”

  “You talked to him? What if you made him mad and he comes looking for me because I blabbed?” Wynne wouldn’t want to face the old fisherman on a dark night. She shivered.

  Simon took her hand and squeezed it. “I don’t think he’s dangerous.”

  It was hard to think with his strong fingers holding hers. “Someone on this island is.”

  “I want to believe the boat was faulty.”

  Wynne’s words dried on her tongue as they stared at one another a moment. “But you don’t think so, not really.”

  “We’ve got to find that yacht.”

  “We can hit it fresh tomorrow.” Her earlier doubts swept away. She coul
d trust this man. The crunch of gravel caught her attention, and she turned to see a big luxury car stopping in front of the manor.

  A short, heavyset man dressed in neatly pressed slacks got out. The scowl on his face deepened when he saw them. “I thought that was your truck, Lassiter,” he growled.

  Feeling Simon’s tension, Wynne glanced up into his face. His grip on her fingers had tightened to a painful squeeze.

  “Roger, what are you doing here?” he said through tight lips.

  Roger. Wasn’t that the name of the manager who had been fired just before the boat went down? Wynne’s curiosity kicked into gear. She gave a tentative smile, but the angry man didn’t notice. He continued to glare at Simon.

  “I’ve been looking for you. You sicced the law on me. I told the sheriff you were just trying to throw suspicion off yourself.” Roger smiled grimly. “I think he believed me.”

  “I didn’t tell the sheriff anything about you.” Simon’s tone was cool.

  Roger gave a snort. “Yeah, and I believe that about as quick as I’d believe I could drive this car across Lake Superior. You’ve had it in for me since day one, haven’t you?”

  “I didn’t make you embezzle the money, Roger.”

  Roger winced. “I was going to pay it back!”

  “How?”

  Roger just scowled. “My business is doing just fine. If you’d just been patient, I could have paid you back.”

  Simon pushed on relentlessly. “You still can. Did you hope the fire would kill Jerry? When it didn’t, maybe you decided a boat accident would be a safer choice.”

  Roger was shaking his head before Simon finished talking. Wynne didn’t know what to think. Roger seemed full of anger, but it was more a righteous indignation at the thought that someone suspected him of murder.

  “I should have known better than to try to talk to you,” Roger said bitterly. He got in his car and slammed the door. The engine roared to life, and gravel kicked from under the tires as he sped away.

  Wynne felt shaken though it wasn’t even her problem. She suddenly realized she had Simon’s fingers in a death grip. She’d held onto him through the entire confrontation.

  He didn’t seem to mind.

  Returning the pressure of his fingers, she smiled up at him. “I feel like we just lived through a waterspout.”

  “And that describes Roger. He’s all blow.” Simon stood looking down into her eyes.

  A shiver started at the base of her neck and worked its way down her spine as she looked into his eyes. She told herself it was just a reaction to seeing her brother and sister so happy, but deep down she knew Simon had always intrigued her.

  She swallowed. “I smell tonight’s meat loaf. The least I can do is make sure you get fed tonight. Come with me.” She tugged at his hand then finally released it when they reached the front door.

  “You don’t need to do that.” His protest was weak.

  He followed her inside where Max and the rest of the family greeted him. Gram rose and went to him, and he kissed her cheek. “You finally decided to come home?”

  “Did you miss me?” Her bright blue eyes twinkled as she looked at him.

  “Always.” She took his arm, and he led her toward the dining room.

  Wynne tailed behind, ashamed to notice her nose was out of joint at the way Gram hijacked Simon. But what did she expect? Him to suddenly find her overwhelmingly attractive? What a laugh. Wynne could just imagine what Amanda had been like—probably a blonde with perfectly coiffed hair, expertly applied makeup, clothing that shouted Saks and diction that betrayed her education at an Ivy League school.

  He wouldn’t be interested in a bohemian type like her. She didn’t wear shoes half the time. And her education had come from a plain-Jane variety Midwestern college. The way she’d found a job in her field had more to do with her tenacity and passion than her education.

  Besides, she wasn’t interested in him, so why was she piqued at his lack of interest?

  Wynne resolved to catch up with Becca and forget what the handsome Simon was up to. She moved beside her sister. Isabelle began to fuss.

  “I’ll take her,” Gram said. “I’m not hungry anyway. You young ones get started, and I’ll join you as soon as I get the baby settled down.”

  Before Wynne realized what was happening, she found herself herded by Becca toward the seat Gram had vacated next to Simon. Becca had a self-satisfied look on her face as she grabbed the back of the chair across the table from Wynne and pulled it out. Wynne crossed her eyes at her sister, and Becca gave a smothered giggle.

  “Something wrong?”

  Wynne’s face went hot as she looked up into Simon’s quizzical face. “Not at all,” she stammered.

  He held out her chair and seated her. His manners were impeccable, and Wynne wondered what he’d do if she knocked over her water glass or used the wrong fork. She kept her eyes cast down toward her plate so he couldn’t see her expression. Was she being unfair? It wasn’t a crime to be well-mannered. She didn’t know what was wrong with her.

  Maybe Jake was right, and this was all part of her defenses. She didn’t want to be hurt again, and Simon might be the man who could do it if she weren’t careful. Putting her napkin in her lap, she turned to Skye, who was seated on her other side. As she chatted with her sister-in-law, she found herself listening with one ear to Simon’s conversation with Max, who was seated across the table from him.

  Her hostility rose the longer his cologne wafted around her. His deep voice grated on her nerves until she thought she’d scream. He had too much money and too much polish. And if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was trying to annoy her on purpose. Why couldn’t he hurry up and eat and get out of her hair?

  Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

  NINE

  Simon’s steps sank into the heavy carpet as he followed his cousin down the hallway. A faint paint smell emanated from the pale taupe walls, and he figured they’d been painted over the weekend.

  The secretary ushered them into a conference room, gave them coffee and discreetly left them alone.

  “I don’t know what the big hurry was to read Jerry’s will,” Simon grumbled. “I’ve got more important things to do.”

  “Me, too. This shouldn’t take long.” Brian took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. “Tastes like it was made this morning.”

  Simon pushed his own cup away. He hated stale coffee, but he hated even more to wait. Drumming his fingers on the table, he crossed his legs.

  Before he could complain again, Eric Wattrell came in. The attorney wore a black suit and pink shirt that made his cheeks look even more florid. His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore a perpetual expression of surprise.

  He nodded at Simon and Brian. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Setting the sheaf of papers he carried down on the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down, then took a pen out of his pocket and arranged it precisely on top of the papers.

  He’d always been too rigid. Simon suppressed a grin as he wondered what Eric would do if he stood and upended the table, sending his carefully placed papers flying across the room.

  Too bad he couldn’t do it.

  Simon laced his fingers together. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve got a lot to do.”

  “Quite.” Eric adjusted his preppy glasses on his nose and pulled the first paper toward him.

  “Were you aware Jerry changed his will?”

  Simon and Brian exchanged glances. Simon put a question into his and Brian shook his head.

  “When did he change it?”

  “The week before he disappeared.” Eric glanced down at his papers.

  Simon wasn’t sure where this was heading. “And?”

  “And you are the recipient of his estate.” Eric uttered the words as if they held great portent.

  The weight of the pronouncement made Simon fall back against his chair. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Jerry’s half of the business and all his
personal belongings are to go to you. Which means, in effect, that with your existing ten percent, you hold a controlling interest.”

  “Guilt money,” Simon muttered. He didn’t know what to think. “It’s not like there’s anything to leave. The business is in the hole. But I suppose it made him feel like he was giving me something as he was taking my fiancée.”

  “That was Jerry for you,” Brian agreed. “Always one for a grand gesture.”

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” Simon told his cousin. “I’ve been wanting to put some more money in the business and now I can easily do it.”

  Brian brightened. “Great! I’ve got some new design ideas.”

  At least Jerry’s death had brought Simon and Brian closer, if that were possible. It felt good to be part of a team. But Rooney was going to have a heyday with this new information.

  The white-capped waves bounced the boat on their crests, then let it plunge toward the bottom in a rhythm that Simon loved. He planted his feet on the polished deck boards and lifted his face to the sunshine.

  “Makes it all worthwhile, doesn’t it?” Wynne asked.

  Joe cut the motor, and the yacht slowed then bobbed in the water like a duck. Simon lowered the anchor as a gull cawed, then swooped over the water as if to see if he’d thrown in a tasty morsel.

  She joined him at the railing. “This is quite a ways from where we last searched. Isn’t this off the normal navigation path?”

  “A bit. But the sonar looks interesting.” There was something he couldn’t read in her eyes, and he wondered if she thought he wasn’t searching as hard as he could. He started to defend his hunch then shut his mouth.

  Bjorn licked his finger and held it up to the wind. “Looks like we might have a gale today. We’d better make this quick.”

  Joe leaned over the side. “It doesn’t look as deep here.” He and Bjorn went into the bridge area.

  Simon nodded. “The bottom is only about seventy-five feet down. But it’s murky today from the waves.” The light scent she wore was enticing. He stepped closer and drew in a deep whiff. “If I tell you that you smell like cotton candy, will I get smacked?”