"It was part of family counseling, although my Dad only went once, so it wasn’t much of a family experience."
"Did it help to talk things out?" He'd had his own sessions with an Army psychiatrist and hadn't found them at all helpful. However, if he were honest, the lack of progress was most likely his fault. He'd gone under duress, and hadn't been willing to open up.
"It didn't help me," Alexa said. "My mom might have gotten something out of it. She loved to talk about how badly my dad had treated her, and the doctor was paid to listen. She got to vent to her heart's content. The only other person she had to talk to was me, and I wasn't much help. I was a kid. I didn't know what to say. I just knew I had to keep things together until she got back on her feet."
"That was a big burden, feeling responsible for someone else's happiness," he said quietly. "Especially when that someone was your mother. It's supposed to be the other way around."
"It was what it was. I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the next. I couldn't let myself look too far forward, because I'd trip."
He was beginning to understand a little better why she'd lost contact with him and why she'd stopped dreaming. Her reality had been too much to deal with. She'd had her hands full with her mother. He just wished she would have confided in him. Then she would have had someone to vent to, and maybe he could have helped.
Alexa paused as they reached the stairs leading up to the Wellbourne house. "Here we are."
He glanced up at the castle-like house that dominated the bluff. Two stories tall, wide and sprawling with a turret and a widow's walk, the house was as intriguing and majestic as it had always been. He hadn't spent much time on this part of the beach after Alexa left. It had made him miss her too much.
The gate leading to the cement stairs was open, so they climbed the three flights to the top of the bluff.
"Do you think the house is empty?" she asked.
"I would imagine so," he replied. His gaze came to rest on some broken glass beneath a now open window. "But I don't believe we're the first ones here."
"Another break-in," she muttered. "Do you think the police know?"
"I'll call Drew later. We might as well take a look inside first."
"What if the police come and think we're the ones who broke in?"
"We'll convince them otherwise. Come on."
"And you're the one who said I have all the bad ideas."
He grinned. "Well, maybe things have changed a little." Walking over to the window, he brushed away the remnants of glass with the sleeve of his shirt. "I'll go in and then come around and open the door."
He climbed through the window, landing in what appeared to be a den. Ignoring the urge to start investigating, he headed through the room to the front door where Alexa was waiting.
"Wow, it's as grand as I imagined," she said as she stepped inside and looked around the foyer with its two-story high ceiling and spiraling staircase.
"It is impressive," he agreed.
"There's still some furniture here," she said, waving her hand toward a side table.
"I guess they're not completely done clearing it out." He moved toward the den, returning to the room he'd just left. Alexa followed, moving immediately over to the tall bookshelves. There was a pile of scattered books on the floor, as if someone had gone through them quickly.
"Jack liked politics," Alexa murmured as she picked up a presidential biography and set it back on the shelf. "Shipwrecks, too," she added, picking up another volume.
"Maybe just for show," he put in, wandering over to the last remaining picture on the wall. It was an impressionistic oil painting. "I wonder why this didn't make it to your aunt's shop."
"She doesn't do a lot of art," Alexa replied.
He took the picture down, wondering if he'd find something behind it, like a safe, but the wall was solid.
"I am surprised he didn't send over these books," Alexa said. "Look at this." She held up a very worn book. "This is a first edition Nancy Drew.
Her voice filled with excitement, and he smiled. "Sounds more like your taste than Jack Wellbourne's."
"Maybe it belonged to one of his kids or his wife," she added, as she flipped to the copyright page. "It's really old. I wish I could take this with me."
"You probably could."
"Don't be ridiculous. That would be stealing."
Despite her refusal to take the book, she seemed awfully reluctant to put it down.
"We can ask the lawyer," he suggested. "I'm sure they'd agree to give you the book."
"This is silly. I don't need this," she said, finally setting it aside. "It's for a child."
"It's for someone who likes a good mystery, and that would be you."
"Well, right now I'm having my own adventure. I don't need a book."
"It's been a long time since you had an adventure, isn't it?" he asked.
She frowned. "My life is not as boring as you think it is, at least not all of the time. But I must admit I haven't done much more than work the last few months. Let's check the upstairs."
He followed her up the staircase. They walked down the hall and into the master bedroom. The room was enormous with a dark hardwood floor and a massive stone fireplace along one wall. The ceiling was at least fifteen feet high, and the windows offered a fantastic view of the beach. The walk-in closet was empty, but there were two large boxes outside the door that appeared to be filled with clothes and other items. One read For Charity, and the other was labeled Junk.
While he stopped to look more carefully at the boxes, Alexa walked through the double doors leading to the deck.
"Braden," she called a minute later. "Check this out."
He walked out to join her. The view was even better out here. There was nothing but sand and sea and endless horizon. The neighboring homes were also large, but were set back, so there was nothing to obstruct the view. He'd never really seen the beach they'd roamed from this vantage point. He'd always been on the sand looking up.
"This is where we used to see Shayla," Alexa said. "I can see her in my mind, her white dress, her long red hair. She would pace back and forth, as if she were waiting for someone. She seemed lonely. But everything I read indicated she was quite popular, especially with men. I wonder why she spent so much time here. Was she sad about something? Hiding out for some reason?"
"Maybe from the reviews on her last movie," he said.
"That was probably disappointing," Alexa agreed. "She was used to success, to getting what she wanted. It must have been a little shocking to fail."
"I'm sure she had plenty of people to comfort her."
"We need to find out who was here with her that night, Braden. I wonder who rented the house, if it was through the Wellbournes directly or some kind of rental agency?"
"My sister works for a real estate company. It's the largest one in town, so it's possible it was the one the Wellbournes used," he said. "Carey might be able to help. But even if there's a record of Shayla renting the house, we still won't know who was visiting her."
"Unless there's another name on the rental."
"It's something to check out. But which mystery are we solving – Shayla's death or who broke into your aunt's antique store?" It was clear to him that Alexa was caught up in Shayla's mysterious death.
"I'd like to solve both. And I just have this strange feeling they're somehow connected." She gave him a self-conscious smile. "I know it's probably my imagination looking for a story where there isn't one."
"Probably," he agreed.
"But you're not trying that hard to stop me."
He smiled back at her. "I'm curious, too."
"I'm glad you're admitting it."
"And I didn't have anything better to do today."
He walked back into the bedroom, and Alexa followed. He glanced through the box designated to go to charity and found mostly clothes. He checked through the pockets of some discarded jeans and jackets, not expecting to find anything, so he was s
tunned when his fingers closed around a cylinder. Pulling it out, he realized it was an old roll of film.
"Look at this -- undeveloped film," he said, a shot of energy shooting through his body. He'd thought this search was pointless. It was just something to do while he spent more time with Alexa, but now…
Alexa's eyes sparkled with excitement as she came over to him. "I wonder what's on the roll."
"Only one way to find out. We'll get it developed."
"Before we turn it over to the police?"
"Drew asked me to help with the investigation. Let's see if it's worth reporting."
"I can't wait to see what's on it," she said. "Is there somewhere in town we can get it developed quickly?"
"The local drug store develops film. Was there anything in the other box?"
"Just bathroom stuff, toothbrush holder, soap dish, that kind of stuff. Nothing as interesting as this."
"It could have nothing to do with Shayla. A lot of people were in this house, Alexa."
"I know, but it's fun to imagine." She took one last look around the room. "I wonder what's going to happen to this house now. Will they sell it, or will one of Jack's sons move in?"
"Who knows? It has to be worth a lot of money. I suspect the sons inherited the property."
"Which means they wouldn't have had to break in to see what was here," Alexa said.
"True."
"Which leads me to believe the break-in here and the robbery at the antique store are connected, because as you said before, it's too big of a coincidence."
"It does seem likely," he admitted. "Wellbourne is still the connection, not necessarily Shayla, but definitely Wellbourne."
"Someone wanted something that they didn't have access to while Jack Wellbourne was alive," Alexa said. "We just have to figure out what."
He tightened his hold on the roll of film." Maybe we're getting close."
They moved out of the bedroom and down the stairs, giving the other rooms on the first floor a cursory look before heading outside.
As they walked back down to the beach, he said, "We need to be careful, Alexa. Your aunt already ended up in the hospital. I don't want anyone else to get hurt, especially you."
"I understand. Aunt Phoebe is why I'm doing this. Whoever hurt her needs to pay for almost killing her."
"I just don't want you to pay," he said. "Maybe I should get this film developed on my own."
"Don't be silly. No one saw us go into the house. And no one saw us grab that roll of film."
"I hope not," he said, looking around.
They appeared to be alone on this stretch of the beach, but he couldn't afford not to consider the possibility that someone had seen them go into the house. As soon as he got the film developed, he was going to find a way to pull Alexa back. Maybe if the film turned up nothing, she'd be frustrated enough to quit. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he was being stupid. When Alexa set her mind on something, she didn't quit. It was one of the things he liked most about her.
Chapter Seven
The drugstore was right next to a coffee house, so Alexa and Braden ducked inside while waiting for the film to be developed. Comfortable couches and chairs decorated the upscale interior. Several people were seated at tables working on their laptop computers while a group of women chatted in one corner. After picking up their drinks, they took a seat at a table by the window.
"The town has really grown since I was last here," Alexa commented. "New buildings, more people. It's not even summer, but the streets are already crowded."
"Technology lets people work from anywhere," Braden said, tipping his head to the people working across from them.
"So true. Speaking of work." She took a sip of her latte. "What are you going to do now that you're no longer in the Army?"
Braden sighed as if he couldn't believe she was asking him another question. But instead of completely shutting down, he said, "I have no idea."
"That must be difficult for you," she murmured. "You always knew what you were going to do. You had your life mapped out, and you just had to stick to it."
"Which I did. I just didn't realize the road was going to end this soon."
"What about something with boats? You always liked to sail, and there's plenty of water around here. I bet you could work a charter service or maybe start your own."
"I don't think so."
"You like to eat. Do you know how to cook?"
"Not well enough to cook for anyone else," he said dryly. "I'm a whiz at eggs though. Scrambled, over easy, omelets -- name your favorite egg dish, and I can make it."
She smiled. "You can open a cafe specializing in eggs."
"Somehow, I don't think I would make enough to pay the rent."
"Is there anything else you've thought about doing?" she asked.
"Nothing seriously. I'll figure it out, Alexa."
"I'm sure you will. But I could help."
"You and your bad ideas, I don't think so."
She made a face at him. "Fine, let's talk about something else."
"Now that's a good idea. I guess you were due."
"Ha-ha. How is your Mom doing?"
"She's good." He paused, sipping his coffee. "She's apparently dating. His name is Dale. He runs an auto shop in town."
His words were carefully neutral, and Alexa couldn't help wondering what he thought about his mother having a new relationship. "Do you like him?"
"He seems all right. I don't really know him."
"Is it strange to see your mom with someone else?"
"Everything about my life seems strange," he said with a sigh. "But if she's happy, then I'm happy."
"She has been alone a long time -- more than ten years."
"Yes, she has."
"Hey, maybe you could work for Dale. You could always fix the chain on my bike."
He gave her a look of disbelief. "And that makes you think I could fix cars?"
"You have an aptitude for grease," she said with a smile.
He rolled his eyes. "I don't think so. And I do not have an aptitude for grease. You just didn't like to get your hands dirty."
She grinned at the memory. "You're right. I didn't. Okay, so here's another idea -- what about police work? You said you were in military intelligence, and Drew is obviously happy to have you help out on this case, maybe you could be a cop." As she made the suggestion, she found herself liking the idea. Braden would be a great police officer. He was smart, strong, and he had a tough edge to him, especially now that he'd grown up and served in the military.
"Stop trying to find a job for me, Alexa."
"Come on, think about it. You have an air about you now that says, don't mess with me. That could work well for you as a cop."
"If that's my air, how come you're messing with me?"
She shrugged. "Because you were once my best friend, and I don't scare that easily. Tell me what you did in military intelligence."
"I can't. It's classified."
"Were you a spy?"
He laughed. "Yeah, I was a spy, just like in the movies. I wore a tuxedo and had a half dozen hot women following me around."
"Well, how would I know what you did? You're very secretive. That would make a good trait in a spy," she added.
"Maybe you should be in police work. You're very good at interrogation," he said.
"I could never be a detective. I would get too caught up in the most intriguing and probably outlandish scenario."
"Well, at least you have some self-awareness," he said dryly.
She smiled, liking the fact that they'd somehow ended up on a more even keel. In fact, the last few minutes of conversation had made her feel like she was really talking to her best friend again.
"I am now more curious about what you did in the service," she said.
"I didn't think it was possible for you to be more curious," he said. "And you became an accountant – really?"
"Stop questioning my choice of career. Accounti
ng can be very interesting. Figuring out where the money came from and where it went can be just as big a mystery as anything else."
"It's just not you, Alexa. You were never about math and numbers. You told stories, you collected sea glass, you wanted to be a glassmaker."
She was surprised and touched that he remembered that. "Childhood dreams, Braden. When I grew up, I needed a job that was stable and that paid well. I wanted things to add up, to make sense, and there was a comfort to working with numbers. There weren't as many variables." She sounded incredibly boring, she realized, but at least she wasn't drowning in a world of chaos anymore.
A gleam of understanding entered his eyes. "I actually do get it, Alexa. Now that you've told me more about how unsettling your life was after the divorce, I can understand why you felt you had to protect yourself and create a stable world to live in."
"I'm glad you understand," she said, relieved she wasn't going to have to defend her job anymore, because since talking to Braden, she'd begun to realize just how far she'd drifted from her dreams. And conversations like this one were making her question all of her choices.
"So, you have a good job, what about the rest of your life?" he asked. "Are you seeing anyone?"
"Not at the moment."
"Why not?"
"I've been busy at work. But I've had boyfriends," she added quickly, not wanting him to think she was alone all the time.
"I'm sure you've had a lot of them."
"Just no keepers," she heard herself admitting. "It's my fault. I'm too picky and too scared. I'm not even sure I really want love in my life. It can cause so much pain. I don't want to go through that."
"Not all marriages end in divorce."
"Yours did." She immediately felt bad for the dig, but Braden took the hit with a simple nod.
"You're right. I'm the last person who should be giving advice."
"Evie told me that your wife asked for the divorce when you were in the hospital."
His lips tightened. "I hate that people talk about me."
"Is that what happened? It seems very cold."
"It's not exactly the way it went down."
"Was it a mutual decision then?"
"In the end it turned out to be," he said.
Just a Wish Away Page 8