by Jacie Floyd
Wouldn’t she be even a little sorry to see him go?
With the term reverse psychology running through his head, the last thing he wanted to do was make his usual quick getaway.
“Gracie...” He looked around for his clothes.
“Yes?” She got up, and he admired the view while she pulled on some sweat pants and a T-shirt. Haloed in sunlight, she handed him his jeans.
He couldn’t leave like this, feeling as if things were unfinished between them. “Maybe we can go to dinner when I get back from New York.”
A challenging smile bounced his way before she answered. “Maybe we can.”
“You mentioned something about a former fiancé.” He’d given more than a few uneasy thoughts to the man she’d been engaged to. “Is the relationship over or just on hold?”
“Over.”
“Good. After last night, I mean...” The words dwindled away. He normally steered clear of married women, but he wasn’t the guardian of anyone’s morality. If someone committed to another relationship was willing to sleep with him, it was on her conscience, not his.
Why was he so pleased to confirm that Gracie’s conscience would be clear? He cleared his throat and wished he could clear his head as easily. “Good.”
Her fingers toyed with the heart-shaped charm nestling between her breasts. “What about you? Any entanglements or significant others waiting in New York?”
“Nothing serious.” The hazy image of Linc’s cousin waiting somewhere on his horizon vanished like the mist. He’d tell Natalie that the plan was a no-go. He took an unplanned step toward Gracie. Before he gathered her in his arms, a knock on the front door called her away.
“There’s an extra toothbrush on the sink,” she said over her shoulder as he headed for the bathroom.
“Police chief’s here.” She tapped on the door a few minutes later, her voice laced with concern. “He wants to see you.”
He rinsed toothpaste from his mouth. “Be right there.”
“I saw your car down at Turley’s,” Dylan overheard the sheriff saying after she’d returned to the other room. “He mentioned you’re looking for some reliable transportation.”
“You have something in mind?” Gracie rattled around in the kitchen, making coffee while they chatted.
“Did Nora tell you we’re selling the Blazer?”
“No. That’s just what I need, if the price is right. Tell Brenda I’ll stop by and take a look.”
Dylan stepped into the living room, almost stumbling over the large police chief’s feet. Ron Fleming crouched with his hat and a padded envelope in one hand, scratching MacDuff’s neck with the other. The dark uniform covering his enormous frame was rumpled, torn, and dirty from the long night’s work.
“’Morning.” Dylan offered the chief his hand.
“Sorry to intrude.” Pumping Dylan’s hand with a firm grip, Fleming cast the flicker of an apology in Gracie’s direction. She blushed on command. He had the weathered complexion and sharp-eyed look of a man who preferred sailing to deskwork. “Nora told me I might find you here.”
“Were you at the cabin all night?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah.” Rubbing a knuckle into a red-rimmed eye, the exhausted man stifled a yawn. “We ran into a couple surprises after you left.”
“Have a seat while I get the coffee,” Gracie said. “How do you take it?”
“The blacker the better.” He dropped into an overstuffed chair in the corner and dwarfed it with his super-size.
The aroma of fresh coffee filled the room as she poured out three mugs. Gracie handed one to Fleming, then sat the other two mugs on a trunk-turned-coffee table where the he had placed his hat and package. She dumped a mound of throw pillows off the couch before taking the spot beside Dylan. MacDuff wiggled into place between them.
Instead of turning to business, the sheriff stared at his coffee and swirled it around in the cup. Otherwise, he remained so still Dylan expected to hear him snore. If he had more questions about the fire, he’d better get to the point. Dylan stroked the dog’s ears and tapped an erratic beat against the brassbound trunk with his foot. “You said you needed to see me?”
Slowly, Fleming set the cup down and raised his eyes. “Until you showed up earlier this week, how long had it been since you were at the cabin?”
“Since before my father died… at least twenty-five years.”
“Who else from your family has been there during that time?”
“I don’t know.” Grandfather always said, “One thing that Bradfords learned early in life was how to predict bad news.” Right now, he could smell it in the air. He kept his expression blank, but MacDuff picked up on his internal tension. The animal transferred his chin from Gracie’s leg to Dylan’s. “Why?”
“The arson team uncovered human remains in the cabin’s cellar.”
Dylan’s stomach lurched.
Gracie let out a gasp. “Remains? How could anyone else have died? We were the only ones there.” Her hand crept forward and closed around Dylan’s, a comforting gesture that surprised him almost as much as the chief’s announcement.
“We won’t have a positive ID until we check dental records.” Fleming cleared his throat. “There isn’t much to work with.”
“Charred?” Gracie asked in a thin voice.
The chief shook his head grimly. “Bones.” His tired but perceptive blue eyes focused on Dylan. “Been there awhile.”
“Wouldn’t they have reduced to ash in the fire?” Dylan asked.
“It takes intense, concentrated heat to incinerate a skeleton,” Gracie told him.
“Yeah, and this one was shielded in an air pocket and protected behind some vent work. Not much down there, but the cellar was destroyed by water and smoke, not flame.”
“Was there anything left to speed identification?”
“A bit.”
Damned closed-mouth Down Easterners. “Anything you can tell us about?”
“I can show you.” He opened the lumpy envelope he’d carried in and emptied three clear plastic evidence bags onto the trunk.
One contained a tarnished silver charm bracelet. Another contained a gold cuff link. The remaining one held some kind of carpentry tool. The hair on the back of Dylan’s neck stood up as his gaze flicked over all three items before returning to the sickeningly familiar cuff link.
“The bracelet would have belonged to a woman,” Gracie mused. “I guess the cuff link could have, too, but a chisel?” Lifting the bag containing the bracelet, she fingered the charms through the plastic. Her face drained white before voicing the name Dylan dreaded hearing. She reached for his hand, and her grip cut off the circulation in his fingers. “This is Lana Harris’s bracelet, isn’t it?”
“It’s shaping up that way.”
“Oh, my God.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “Has anyone told Clay?”
“The M.E. will as soon as the remains are removed from the scene.”
“I’ve got to go to him.” She jumped up as if ready to leave at that very moment. “He’ll be devastated.”
Relieved to have her attention focused elsewhere, Dylan tore his gaze away from the evidence and forced himself to look at Gracie. He didn’t want to upset her with his problems until he was sure what they were. For all he knew, his suspicions were way off base. “You’re right. You should find Clayton.”
Fleming held up a hand up. “Not so fast. Is there anything else either one of you recognizes here?”
Dylan moved his gaze across the bags again, but Gracie reseated herself and leaned forward.
“The cuff link is engraved with the letter B,” Fleming pointed out.
Dylan’s heart contracted in his chest. “Is it?”
“Does it belong to someone in your family? Would you know if your dad or uncle had a set like this?”
“My dad, my uncles, my cousin. We all do. My grandmother gave them to all the Bradford males—hell, maybe to everyone she knew—when they graduated from prep school.
”
“Does everyone in your family have both of theirs?”
“How would I know?” Dylan asked more belligerently than he meant to.
He took the police chief’s gruff “See if you can find out,” as an order rather than a suggestion.
Gracie picked up the bag with the rusty chisel. Initials were carved into the handle.
“CRL.” Through the plastic, she traced the letters with a little choking sound. Indignantly she sat up straighter and glared at the chief. “Is this Granddad’s?”
“I haven’t confirmed that.” Fleming scratched his ear as if the items before them presented nothing more than an intricate riddle rather than clues from a probable murder scene. Dylan couldn’t imagine that a similar crime had ever happened in East Langden before. “Nora said Chester gets out of the hospital today. I’ll stop by and ask him about it.”
Gracie bristled. “You know he doesn’t know anything about Lana’s disappearance.”
“I don’t know who knows what right now.” With short quick motions, he gathered the bags and returned them to the envelope. “But it should be interesting to find out.”
Not to me. Dylan watched Gracie escort Fleming to the door. He already knew a damn sight more about the cuff link than he wanted to.
As the patrol car disappeared down the drive, Gracie raced to the bedroom to throw on some clothes. “I’m sorry to leave, but I have to go find Clay.”
“I understand.”
Dylan must be as unsettled as she was by the morning’s news. How he could stand in the doorway and look so nonchalant, she didn’t know.
And then, instead of letting her say good-bye at the door and being done with it, he followed her to her grandfather’s truck.
He hooked his arm around her shoulders. “If you aren’t back by the time I leave, I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Okay.” She cautioned herself to keep it light. Keep it simple. Keep it quick.
He opened and closed the door for her, waiting while she lowered the window and adjusted the mirror, seat, and steering wheel. She turned to give him a fluttery wave, but he put his hand under her chin and kissed her, drawing his fingers over her cheek in a brief caress. “You have my number. Call or text if you learn anything about the fire or Clayton’s mother while I’m gone.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Call me if you need me.”
The suggestion that she might need him for any reason, and even more amazing, that he would respond if she did, stunned her into speechlessness. She gaped at him and groped blindly for the gearshift, refraining from comment.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and studied the ground. “Shit.” He shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave.”
“You should.” For her own self-esteem, Gracie could never let him know how much she wanted him to stay. “There’s nothing pressing to do here, and if anything urgent comes up, I’ll let you know.”
“I could talk to the security guard from Old Maine.”
“He might not even be in town. I’ll keep on the lookout for him at the festival and talk to him if I get a chance.”
“I don’t know.” He scratched his chin, adorably reluctant. When he looked at her, really looked, his eyes held a heady combination of affection and concern. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Maybe you should leave it alone while I’m gone.”
“Okay,” she agreed readily enough.
He scowled. “You won’t. You’ll go off on your own and get into trouble. That’s why I should stay.”
“You may not believe this, but I take care of myself all the time. People come to me for help. I’m a doctor. And everyone here likes me. No one will hurt me.” She leaned out and kissed him to end the discussion—and because she wanted to. He tasted like morning and coffee and toothpaste and like someone all set to argue with her. She put the truck into gear without giving him a chance. Her smile froze at the thought of him flying to New York. “Be careful.”
“You be careful,” he countered as she rolled down the drive.
Sweet though his concern may be, she doubted he’d give her another thought once he was in the air and back among his friends. But all the way to Clay’s house, she worried about Dylan piloting himself and hoped he would think of her from time to time.
Chapter Twenty-one
Gracie turned down Clay’s tree-lined street in time to see the M.E.’s Ford Explorer driving away from the unassuming white clapboard house. As a friend of David’s, he visited often. Unfortunately, this morning’s visit wouldn’t have been a social call. She parked in the drive and hurried inside.
“Clay?” she called from the entryway. “David?”
“We’re in here, Gracie.” Clay stuck his head out the door of David’s bedroom.
She dashed down the hall, searching his pale and tense face as she moved. A world of pain and bewilderment swam behind his eyes.
“I just heard about your mother.” She gripped his arms with her hands and pulled him into a hug. “How’re you doing?”
“Better than David.” He nodded into the room and shook his head. “I’m worried about him. Will you get him a glass of water? I don’t want to leave him alone.”
“Be right back.”
In the kitchen, an abandoned breakfast littered the table. Toast had grown cold, granola soaked up milk in a bowl, and coffee cups sat forgotten on the table. Gracie filled a glass and returned to the bedroom.
“Here, David.” She hid her concern behind a smile. Under an ashen complexion, he appeared to have aged ten years overnight. She lifted his head and held the glass to his lips.
“Give him this.” Clay handed her a small white tablet.
David accepted the drink and the pill but didn’t acknowledge Gracie’s presence. He tossed his head back and forth as if grappling with unseen forces. “She was at the cabin all this time. How could I not have known?”
“It’s not your fault,” Clay soothed. “No one knew.”
The old man grasped the younger one’s hand. “He knew. The killer knew.”
“Try to rest,” Clay said. “Let the police get to the bottom of it.”
Gracie pulled the blinds, plumped the pillows, and straightened the blankets on the bed. She had expected David to be comforting Clay, not the other way around. Of course, with his precarious health, any shock could be a hazard. After a few more fretful moments, he slipped into a fretful doze. Clay drew up a rocker beside the bed and slumped into it.
“That sedative will knock him out for a while,” he said.
Gracie rested her hip against the end of the bed. “I was worried about you. I didn’t think David would take the news this hard.”
“I guess hearing she’d been found brought it all back for him.” He leaned his head back and stared out the window.
“But how do you feel?”
“Numb, I guess. Dealing with David gave me a good excuse to delay facing the facts. How did you find out?”
“I was at the Bradford cabin last night when the fire broke out. This morning, Chief Fleming came by to notify Dylan about what they’d discovered.”
He plowed both hands through his hair making it stick up all over. “I keep picturing her in that old cellar, cold, alone.” He swallowed and shook his head. “Dead for so long. When David told me yesterday that he suspected Matthew Bradford of killing her, I didn’t believe it, but now...” He turned his head toward her. “Does Dylan still doubt that his father was involved with my mother?”
“I don’t know what he thinks.”
“Doc Harvey said there was evidence to identify her. Do you know what it is?”
“Her charm bracelet.” Gracie blinked to hold back her tears. “Remember? It had those little scissors on it from when she graduated from beauty school and that little bootie with your birth date. A lobster. And a Statue of Liberty. She always let me play with it when she cut my hair.”
“It had a four-leaf clover for good luck.” Clay slumped further down in the chair and covered his eyes with his
hand. “I should have assumed she was dead, but I always believed she’d come home with some outlandish explanation about where she’d been.” He threaded his fingers together. “Yesterday... After I found out about the money... David believed Matthew had set it up, but I hoped my mother had been providing it somehow. Crazy, huh?”
“I know how you feel.” She reached out to pat his shoulder. “The Navy assured us that my father couldn’t possibly be alive, but I still watch television programs about POW’s and MIAs, hoping to spot him. No matter how old or smart or responsible we become, there’ll always be the abandoned child inside us praying for the parent to return.”
“Of course, you understand. You always do.”
“We’ve been through all of it together. That’s what friends do, you know.”
He stood and wrapped her in his arms, giving and taking comfort at what had to be some of the worst moments of his life.
After a moment, she stepped back and wiped her eyes. “I keep thinking there should be something I can do for you. Is there?”
A thousand emotions flickered across his face until it settled into one of resolve. “Would you stay with David for a while?”
Her eyes widened. “Well, sure, but where are you going?”
“It seems wrong to be sitting here, doing nothing, when I finally know where Mom is. I want to talk to Ron and find out what he knows. It may not help, but I can rattle some cages and try to wrap my mind around the situation before I explode.”
Familiar with his need for activity in moments of stress, she didn’t object. “I’m happy to help any way I can.”
“I know you are, sweetheart.” He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for always being here for me.”
After Clay left, David slept fitfully.
Gracie watched over him with the patience she’d learned while her mother lay dying in this very room. David’s restlessness, frailty, and uneven breathing brought back painful memories of anxiety and sadness. Eventually, the old wounds turned to the fire, the discovery of Lana’s body, and the hours she had spent with Dylan.