Bed of Lies

by Pam Champagne

  Brenna ignored him, her nose stuck in the menu. “What do you want? Eggs and bacon? Pancakes? How about a Western sandwich?”

  A waitress who couldn’t have been more than seventeen sidled up to the booth, a pad and two mugs in one hand, and a carafe of coffee in the other. She held the pencil between her teeth.

  Her lips curved into a smile as she poured their coffee. No prejudice here. “What can I get you folks?”

  Brenna put her menu on the table. “Scrambled eggs and bacon for me.”

  Ace decided without a menu. “I’ll have blueberry pancakes.” The waitress scribbled their orders on her pad and sauntered toward the kitchen. “Not one thing has changed about this place.”

  Brenna smiled. “There’s a new cook. The old one had a heart attack.”

  The smell of bacon grease drifted out from the kitchen. His arteries groaned. “He probably ate too much of his own cooking.”

  “Great. Just what we need,” Brenna muttered, her gaze focused on something behind him.

  Ace forced himself not to turn around. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don Mercer just came in. He’s headed straight for us.”

  Freakin’ wonderful. Now he’d have to avoid a fight. He’d been crazy not to have dragged Brenna out the door the minute they’d walked in. Crazy to have come here in the first place.

  Don stopped beside the table. He held a watch cap in one hand, kept the other in his pocket. Ace got a whiff of soap, not the beer and whiskey odor that generally floated off the man.

  “I apologize for barging in on you the other night.”

  Brenna stared until Don shifted his gaze away.

  Ace waited for her to say something—anything. At her silence, he cleared his throat and said, “Apology accepted, Don. You weren’t thinking clearly.”

  Don switched his attention to Ace, gratitude flashing in his clear eyes. “That’s the truth. I’ve joined Alcoholics Anonymous.”

  The waitress returned with their orders. Ace said a silent thank you to the Man upstairs. “That’s great, Don. Best of luck with it.”

  Don turned back to Brenna and mumbled, “I’m sorry you lost your mother, Brenna.”

  Brenna nodded curtly and concentrated on her breakfast. He left their booth and settled on a stool at the counter.

  Ace picked up a piece of toast. “You could have helped me out there, you know.”

  “Why?” Brenna’s forkful of eggs halted in mid-air three inches from her mouth. “I don’t believe a damn word he said.”

  “He’s sober.”

  “If he’s sober this time next year, I’ll congratulate him.”

  “Man, you’re tough.”

  “I’ve known Don all my life. This is at least the fifth time he’s joined AA. He probably got scared shitless when he found out you were a DEA agent. He’d threatened you, remember?”

  Ace chuckled. “You’ve got a point.” He dug into his pancakes, enjoying the native berries, even though they had been frozen. “Nothing tastes better than wild Maine blueberries.” Except, perhaps, Brenna McKenzie.

  They ate without conversation. Once the plates were empty, the silence grated on Ace’s nerves. “You ready?”

  Brenna opened her purse. “Sure.”

  “Breakfast’s on me.”

  She shrugged and waited by the door while he paid. “Where to now?”

  “I’d like to talk with Ethel.”

  A smile spread across Brenna’s face. “This I have to see. Are you going to ask her if she’s a blackmailer?”

  Brenna broke the silence as they drove to the other side of town. “Did you contact DHS?”

  “I did. Don’t know how much good it did. The social worker practically tore my head off. She took my warning to keep a close eye on Julienne as an implication that DHS didn’t monitor their foster children.”

  “I’m sure it was nothing personal. There’ve been a lot of problems recently with foster children being abused. A few have even died in their foster homes. That’s probably why she took offense. You warned them, there’s nothing else you can do.”

  “I suppose,” Ace mumbled, but it still worried him that they might not heed his warning.

  Tree branches scraped the sides of the Cherokee when they pulled into Ethel’s driveway twenty minutes later.

  They fought their way through the rose bushes and climbed the stairs to the porch. Before Ace could knock, the door swung open.

  Ethel stood in the opening, clutching the lapels of a chenille bathrobe. “What brings you two around this early?”

  Ace nodded. “Good morning, ma’am. I’d like to say it’s a social visit, but, actually, I have a few questions to ask.”

  The woman tilted her head. “That a fact? Well, get in here out of the cold. There’s coffee in the kitchen. Might as well talk there.”

  Ethel chatted on about the weather while she set mugs on the table. She placed a pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar in the center before going to Brenna to give her a hug. “Please accept my condolences on your mother’s death. Your head must be reeling, having her die so close to losing Colin.”

  “Thank you,” Brenna murmured.

  “And now young man,” Ethel said as she settled into a chair and took a sip of coffee. “What’s on your mind?”

  The lines and wrinkles in the woman’s face rivaled any road map. They were even blue and red. Ace asked, “Have you heard about the Gars?”

  She frowned. “No. What about them?”

  “They’re dead.”

  White eyebrows rose a fraction. “Really? When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday. I’m surprised the grapevine missed you.”

  Ethel fluffed her hair. “I spent the day in Bangor yesterday.”

  Ace didn’t mince words. “Anybody to vouch for you?”

  Brenna shifted in her chair.

  The rheumy eyes narrowed into slits. “Why should I need someone to corroborate my whereabouts?”

  “Were you blackmailing the Gars?”

  The smile on Ethel’s face didn’t reach her eyes. “And here I thought you’d turned into such a nice young man. Now you’re accusing an old woman of blackmail. Next you’ll be accusing me of murder.”

  Ace held her gaze. “As much as I don’t want to believe it, I’m thinking you’ve been supplementing your retirement check by blackmailing people in this town.”

  Ethel huffed. “Are you crazy?”

  “Brenna found a promissory note made out to you and signed by her parents for seventy-five thousand dollars. Care to explain?”

  Brenna’s swallow of coffee went down her windpipe, resulting in a coughing fit. The two antagonists ignored her.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but Daniel and Doris needed money, and I offered to loan it to them so they could avoid the high interest at the bank.”

  “And they paid you back?

  “Every cent.”

  “Funny they didn’t keep the receipts for payments.” Ace rose. “I guess that’s it for now. Until this is resolved, don’t leave town.”

  Ethel’s fist pounded on the table. She got up and faced him. “Why you red-skinned bastard. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

  Brenna jumped out of her chair. Ace watched her face pale before a flush slowly made its way upwards from her neck. “Why you…how dare you talk to him like that.”

  He grabbed Brenna’s arm. “It doesn’t matter. She didn’t say anything that hasn’t been said many times before.”

  “Damn right,” Ethel yelled. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get your ass out of Spruce Harbor. You’ll never be accepted here.”

  He drew Brenna toward the front door with Ethel hot on their heels. Abruptly, he pivoted. “The last time I was here, you told me you knew nothing about the drugs in town. I’d suggest you search your memory. I’ll be back real soon with more questions.”

  He stepped onto the porch. Ethel slammed the door. Ace managed to yank Brenna out of the way before she lost
an arm. “You’re shaking,” he said, still holding onto her.

  “Today that woman scared the bejesus out of me. I’m beginning to see things your way.”

  He draped his arm around Brenna’s shoulders, surprised that she tucked herself close to his chest. “Let’s go back to the farm. I’ve got a lot of phone calls to return.”

  Ethel had more or less told him on his last visit that the devil was alive and well. Ace had a sneaking suspicion that he stood at the devil’s door.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Once home, Brenna tended to the horses and spent several hours house cleaning. A job she detested, but it kept her busy and allowed her mind to wander.

  About three o’clock she went upstairs. She still reeled from Ethel’s cruelty, finding it unbelievable that anyone could be so bigoted in this day and age. Anyone hurting Ace, hurt her. Ethel was right. The sooner Ace left town, the better. Her hopes of shared custody with Kayden looked dim. How could she bring a young, impressionable girl to a hellhole like Spruce Harbor?

  She undressed and tugged on her oversized sleep shirt, then crawled under the covers. A short nap wouldn’t hurt. Maybe Ace would let her sleep through the afternoon and night. Tomorrow she’d talk to him. Really talk to him about what was best for their daughter. If it didn’t include her, then so be it.

  A loud ringing penetrated her sleep-clogged brain. She’d been dreaming. A dream where the world was fine and she, Ace and Kayden had been together. She fought the gray fog of exhaustion and grappled for the phone. “Hello?”

  “Took you long enough.” The mechanical voice chased away all remnants of sleep.

  She jerked upright.

  “Don’t bother tracing the call. This phone gets tossed in the trash as soon as I hang up.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Be at the pier tonight at ten or the little blonde girl you’re so fond of will pay the consequence. Tell Bear about this call and you sign the kid’s death warrant.”

  Brenna’s mind raced to keep up with her heart. “You have Julienne?”

  “You deaf? Be there or be responsible for her death.”

  Click. The line went dead.

  Her bedside digital clock blinked five thirty-one. The sun had set and it was pitch black outside. Ace must be in the barn bedding down the horses. Was this a hoax?

  “If you wish to place a call, please hang up and dial again.” The recorded message reminded her she still held the receiver.

  Tonight at the pier she’d discover who wanted her dead. The guy couldn’t have used sweeter bait. Someone knew she’d do anything to keep Julienne safe.

  Ace’s voice came from downstairs. “Brenna? You awake? Want something to eat?”

  Slipping from the bed, she ran to the door. “Be right down.”

  Five minutes later, she sailed into the kitchen. “What’s for supper?”

  Ace glanced up from the stove. “Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and canned corn.”

  “Good. My hunger outweighs my exhaustion.”

  She paced the kitchen floor and tried to pretend Ace wasn’t staring. Act normal, Brenna. He can’t suspect you’re up to something.

  Ace smiled. “Thanks for all your help today.”

  “It was nothing. I wish you’d let me flatten Ethel.” Tomorrow I might have answers to all your questions—if I’m still alive.

  He set a platter on the table. “Help yourself.”

  Her stomach flip-flopped at the smell of food. If she didn’t eat, Ace would be on her ass.

  “Thought I’d give Kayden a call tonight…tell her the truth. Want to talk to her?”

  Brenna’s hand trembled. If something were to happen on the pier, perhaps it would be best if Kayden never knew the truth. She put down her fork. “About that. I think you should tell her when you get home. That way you’ll be there if she needs your support. I don’t think giving her such important news on the phone is a good idea.”

  Ace’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why? You’ve been after me to tell her sooner rather than later.”

  Tread carefully, Brenna. She shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Just like that?”

  “You’ve asked me to do things your way. Now that I agree, you don’t trust me?”

  That question earned her a grunt. “Eat your supper, don’t play with it.”

  Her chin jutted forward. “I’m not a child.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” he muttered.

  The food Brenna forked into her mouth might as well have been charcoal briquettes. She pushed her plate away. “I’d like to talk to Julienne.”

  “Now? Tonight? Why?”

  “I’m just worried.”

  Just when she thought he’d refuse, he shrugged and pulled out his cell. Long moments later he said, “Nobody’s home. No answering machine either.”

  She swallowed her disappointment. “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  Ace’s scrutiny made her squirm. “Is there a reason you’re concerned?”

  “No. I’ve just been thinking about what you said…you know, about her maybe being able to identify the dealer.”

  “I’m sure I’d have heard if something was wrong. I did my best to warn DHS of the possible dangers.”

  Something was very wrong. “Yeah.” Brenna stood. “You cooked. I’ll do the dishes.”

  “Brenna, what’s really bothering you?”

  She stiffened as his hand curled around her wrist, and forced a smile. She scraped the uneaten food into the wastebasket and put the dishes in the sink. “Tired, that’s all. Guess reality has finally settled in. My family’s dead, and I’m on my own.”

  Warm breath feathered the back of her neck. “Doesn’t have to be that way.”

  “I know. I just need some time.”

  Guilt flooded her when he took a quick intake of air.

  “Meaning there’s a chance for us?”

  Brenna sidestepped to escape him. What kind of person had she become to lead him on? “I don’t…I can’t give you an answer now, Ace.”

  “Right.” Suppressed anger shrouded his answer. “I’d like to turn in early. I’ll be in the den. Let me know when you’re ready to go upstairs.”

  Getting out of house would be easier with Ace upstairs in bed. Worry overrode her relief. Did he suspect something was wrong? How could he? Paranoia, it’ll destroy ya.

  Three hours later, Brenna hovered in front of Ace’s bedroom door. The soft snores from within the room eased her fear that he might wake. Stealing down the stairs like a thief in her own home, she slipped outside. Unlike Old Blue’s lion’s roar, her new truck’s engine purred as soft as a kitten.

  The night closed around her. With each step, the sole of her left hiking boot squeaked, the noise loud in the ghostlike silence. A light mist rose off the water. Thin tendrils of fog wrapped around the moored fishing boats like some oceanic monster ready to yank them under. Any night noises other than her squeaky boot were overshadowed by her pounding heart.

  She shoved shaky hands into her jacket pockets. In the right pocket, her fingers curled around a small canister. The pepper spray gave her some comfort. The other pocket held a small flashlight. She almost turned it on, but the light would only make her an easier target.

  She inhaled the salt air and forced her legs to carry her forward. Each boat she passed appeared to be deserted. She came to the end of the pier and turned.

  She stood in the quiet night and watched fog spiral around the one light on the building at the other end of the pier. She counted to ten. Now what? Should she stand around until someone showed up? Or was he already here waiting to pounce? Was he watching? Enjoying her fear? If Julienne had been hurt—no, she refused to go there.

  Had Ace heard her truck leave and already found the note she left on the table? Perhaps he snoozed on, oblivious to the fact she’d left. Too many questions and not one damn answer. She’d wanted to confide in him. He would have stopped her. All she’d wanted was a head star
t. To get here before him. God, what if he slept on until morning?

  She whipped around at a brief flicker of light to her left. Nate Putnam’s lobster boat bobbed in the water. Had she imagined that brief flash? She crossed the pier, stepped onto the deck and eased around the cabin to peek into the darkened window.

  A scraping sound had her scrambling toward the pier until a voice in the darkness stopped her. “Hello, Brenna.”

  She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. Ace had assured her the man had airtight alibis. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the flashlight. “Where’s Julienne?”

  He crept steadily toward her, forcing her against the rail. “Who?”

  He threaded his fingers through her hair, his thumbs lightly caressing her neck. She fought the urge to knee him in the groin. “What do you want, Anson? What do you hope to gain by holding Julienne hostage?” She prayed he didn’t hear the fear in her voice.

  Her hand slid into the pocket containing the pepper spray. The store clerk had said it was potent enough to stop a bear in its tracks. She had her doubts about that. Finger positioned on the nozzle, she slowly withdrew the canister. The moment her hand crested the pocket, Anson grabbed her arm and squeezed her wrist, shaking the container out of her fingers. The canister hit the water with a small splash, ending her best chance for escape.

  Brenna wrenched her arm away and staggered before gaining balance. “Tell me what you want.”

  “It’s simple. I want you.”

  The softly spoken words frightened her more than his anger. “This is insane, Anson. You can’t force someone to love you. Love doesn’t work that way.”

  His mouth twisted into an ugly smile—a staunch reminder that this man insisted on having his own way. “I can make you care about me. We’ll start over…as friends.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “No, Anson, we can’t.” Brenna tore her gaze from his and scanned the boat. “Where’s Julienne? She must be frightened.”

  Her thoughts were spinning faster than a roulette wheel. Was Anson the person who’d set up Colin? The one who’d killed her mother…and the Gars?

  Anson kissed her neck. “There’s no child here. Only you and me.”