Hannah smiled, and then relaxed shoulders she realized she’d tensed as Owen had started talking about the wedding. She’d been subconsciously waiting for that ping of hurt and betrayal to nip at her, followed by the guilt of letting her own ugly past mar her joy for her brother’s well-deserved happiness. But that ping didn’t come. In fact, rather shockingly, when Owen had mentioned Alex looking at her groom, the person Hannah had pictured hadn’t been Tim. It had been Calder.
She closed her eyes briefly, hid behind her coffee mug as she took another long sip, and tried to block out exactly why Calder Blue dominated her every thought. And it wasn’t because she knew he was, at that very second—hopefully—finally sitting across a table from Brooks Winstock. She’d gotten a short text from Calder the night before, letting her know he’d arrived at the Winstock estate only to be greeted with the unbelievable news that Brooks had been called away at the last second. Calder had been put up in the Winstock manse for the night with a promise of a breakfast meeting right there in the family dining room the following morning. Hannah supposed she shouldn’t be so surprised, but the gall of the man was incredible. Calder had promised her that he wasn’t leaving the house until he’d seen Winstock. She smiled into her coffee as she recalled the other thing he’d texted her after she’d asked again if he wanted representation during the meeting. He’d responded by telling her exactly how he’d like counsel to be representing him in the king-sized bed he’d been assigned for the night.
“It’s good to have you back in the Cove,” Owen was saying.
Hannah tuned smoothly into the conversation again, lowering her mug, and simultaneously thinking she needed to find a way to raise her rapidly dwindling defenses where Calder Blue was concerned. It was one thing to have a hijacked afternoon of crazy behavior. Quite another to be thinking about the man while watching town volunteers help to set up chairs for her brother’s impending nuptials. “It’s really good to be back,” she told him sincerely, and renewed her determination to keep her thoughts exclusively on her family, her sisters, the wedding, the town—anything but the man who had taken her body up against his truck, then claimed far more fragile pieces of her by taking her hand for a stroll down a tide-gutted cove.
“How is life treating you down there in our beautiful nation’s capital?”
She was surprised to hear herself laugh so easily, and stunned to realize she wasn’t forcing it. “The city is lovely, but life? Mmm, it’s been better.”
His pale brow knitted in concern. “Your brother has mentioned that you put in a lot of hours.” He rested a hand on her arm. “Make sure you take some time, find some balance.” He smiled a bit sheepishly. “Something I’m learning the importance of more and more lately.”
Her face brightened. “That’s right! I haven’t officially congratulated you on your mayorship, Mr. Mayor.”
“You said as much on the phone, no need to fuss over it,” he said, and charmed her with the blush that rose to his pale cheeks.
She leaned in and kissed one of those cheeks. “Now it’s official,” she said, smiling gaily as his blush deepened. Owen wasn’t old enough to be a father figure, maybe more like a much older brother, or beloved uncle. She’d known him her whole life and he’d always been kind, always offered a willing shoulder, always been a safe port. Safe ports. Beacons. Funny how you’re framing everything in terms of safety this morning.
“So, I had the chance to meet Jonah’s great-nephew,” Owen said, inadvertently turning the subject directly to the one person she was trying not to think about.
“I heard,” she said, looking once again at the white folding chairs being set up in neat little rows. “Calder was very grateful for the Blue family background you shared with him.”
“I was surprised he didn’t know,” Owen said, after a brief moment of apparent surprise that she knew of their conversation. “On further reflection, I suppose it’s not so shocking given the history. Do you know how things are progressing with him and Brooks? When we spoke, his meeting had been cancelled—more than once, I believe. Then there was that awful fire . . .” He let the words trail off, shaking his head.
“I hope you know he had nothing to do with that fire,” Hannah said, telling herself she was rushing to Calder’s defense as his attorney speaking to the town mayor, nothing more. “You met him, you’re a very good judge of character. Surely you—”
“I don’t think he did it,” Owen said, “and I’ve been vocal about that with the council, if that helps.”
She took his arm, squeezed. “Thank you,” she said, knowing her reaction had nothing to do with being Calder’s counsel of record.
“I know the investigation is proceeding,” Owen said. “I feel awful that it’s happening now of all times.” He nodded toward the wedding preparations. “The council wants me to press the chief for answers.”
“He’s doing everything he can,” Hannah assured him.
Owen nodded. “Oh, I know. I do. To be honest, I suspect the pressure from the council members was coming from Jonah, looking to get his pound of St. Croix River Blue flesh.” He glanced at her, a rueful look in his soft eyes. “Sorry. But you know how he can be when he’s on a tear.”
“Don’t apologize for him,” she said, hearing the edge in her voice. Just because she’d known Jonah Blue her entire life, and his great-nephew less than a week, did not mean Jonah automatically earned her support. And, in this instance, she was fairly certain she’d feel that way whether or not she’d ever laid eyes on Calder Blue. “I do know. But you’re saying the pressure isn’t coming from him?” At Owen’s quick shake of the head, she sighed. “Let me guess. Brooks is pressuring them. Not surprising. And I probably shouldn’t say this to you, but I have to think the reason Brooks is pushing this to a rushed conclusion—while the finger is pointing in a different direction, namely at Calder—is to keep suspicion from shifting to him. He’s the one with something to gain by Jonah’s business taking a bad turn. Assuming he wants to continue with his one-man harbor revitalization kick.”
“What does your brother—I mean Chief McCrae—think about that?”
“He agrees that there is logic to the assumption, but that’s all it is. An assumption.”
Owen nodded thoughtfully, looking a bit absent for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said. “I have put you in an awkward place.”
“No,” he said, still sounding caught up in his personal thoughts. “I mean, yes, you’re right. I just—” He broke off and made a humming sound in his throat.
Hannah’s gaze narrowed slightly. “What aren’t you telling me, Owen?” She asked calmly enough, gently even. “Logan doesn’t think Calder did it, either, but there’s no evidence proving anyone else did. And if the council is pressuring him—and you know something that might lend credence to my theory, or some other person—”
“Nothing tangible,” Owen said, blinking, looking back at her. “No proof of any kind. Obviously I’d have given anything like that to the chief.” His gaze cleared completely as he looked at her more directly. “I share your concerns. About Brooks. About his possible future plans for the harbor. In fact, Calder and I spoke about that very thing, about what his motivation might be. Especially since he’s been uncharacteristically ruthless.”
“I thought the same thing. He’s richer than Croesus, and yet he seems more interested in swindling folks out of their harbor property than approaching them head-on. I know he’s very aggressive in his business and that’s a large part of why he’s been so successful, but I’ve never heard of him going to such lengths to get what he wants.” She paused. “Of course, how well do we really know anyone?”
“We did theorize a bit on that score,” Owen admitted.
“Yes, Calder mentioned something about thinking Winstock might want to leave a bigger legacy given he has no direct heir to his throne. But he already owns, what? A quarter of the town’s property at least, maybe more. How much legacy does he need?”
�
�I think he wanted to do something that would change the course, the future, of the town, something that would be more . . . I guess for lack of a better word, historic. Owning property, even as much as he has, isn’t the kind of thing that gets more than a footnote in the history books, even if those books”—Owen made air quotes of the word—“are the local lore handed down from generation to generation.”
“Hasn’t he ever heard of charitable works? I mean, if he wants to leave a more lasting impression that will change the course of the town, why not build a park, a senior home, whatever. Slap his name on it for all eternity.”
Owen lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I do know that it’s not Brooks directly pushing at the board. It’s coming more indirectly, from his son-in-law. I’m assuming, however, that it’s being encouraged by Brooks. And knowing Ted, he’s happy to comply, to demonstrate that even after losing both his head council seat and his bid for mayor last year, he can still throw his weight around, and prove the same to his father-in-law.”
Hannah’s head swung around as the words struck her, and struck hard. “Is Brooks still upset with Ted for losing his seat? I mean, has it been a publicly divisive thing between the two of them?”
Owen looked momentarily surprised by the intensity of the question, but took it seriously. “I . . . I suppose you could say that. I mean, I’ve felt a certain amount of animosity from Ted. No more, I think, than he’d have directed at anyone who dared to challenge him. And Brooks was definitely not happy that he lost his direct link to the council, but, in all honesty, he seemed to move on. I think he doesn’t waste much time wallowing in his defeats. He usually moves directly forward to the next conquest. I told Calder as much.”
“His next conquest being to continue his makeover of Half Moon Harbor to reflect his own ideal of what this town should be.”
“Yes,” Owen said, looking confused now. “That’s why he’s a suspect in Jonah’s boathouse burning down, right?”
“Right,” Hannah said, only more to herself than to Owen. Her mind was spinning. Brooks had been around a long time, and while his methods had been less than compassionate—the way he’d tried both to take part of Brodie’s shipyard, and to get ownership of Delia’s property—all those maneuvers had been legal. Why resort to arson, then? It just didn’t jibe. “Think about what has changed from the time he took the diner property to the time of the arson,” she said, thinking out loud. “Only one thing stands out.”
“Ted lost the election,” Owen said, scrambling to follow her line of thought.
“Exactly. Brooks’s son-in-law no longer holds any political power in this town. I mean, he still has some political clout, no doubt, through whatever allies he still has on the council, but any actual, immediate power? Gone. And to get it back, he’ll have to start over again.”
“All true. But I’m not sure I see how that connects—”
She looked directly at Owen now. “It’s never been a secret that Cami married Ted for his political aspirations, and that both Winstocks, father and daughter, have been grooming Ted to ascend the mayoral throne here, mostly as a launchpad to state politics, and perhaps further. Given the shenanigans both of them get into outside their marriage, clearly there is nothing else between them. No children, nothing. And, as you said, no grandchildren for Brooks, no heir to the family throne; the family legacy ends with Brooks.”
“No political career for Ted, no family legacy there either,” Owen said, slowly catching on.
Hannah’s eyes lit up as the rest of the pieces fell into place.
“You’re amazing!” She grabbed Owen’s face and kissed him square on the mouth, then grinned. “You figured it all out!” She pressed her coffee mug into his hands, then took off in a sprint toward the house.
Leaving a crimson-faced Owen standing there, clutching her mug, saying, “I did?” He smiled, looking a little dazed. “Happy I could be of some help,” he called out.
Chapter Seventeen
“Mr. Winstock will be with you shortly. He asked that you please enjoy your breakfast. What can I bring you to start?”
Calder wasn’t used to having a crew of people attending him inside someone’s private home. Must be nice, he thought, then decided, nah, he’d hate having people hovering around him all the time. Sort of creepy, really. “Thank you,” he said. “Just coffee is fine. Black.”
The young man, dressed in a crisp white linen button-down shirt and tailored black slacks, looked somewhat concerned at that. “Are you certain, sir? We have a world-class chef. Perhaps an omelet to start? Or maybe you’d prefer the quiche? Fresh lobster this morning. It’s topnotch.”
We spared no expense, Calder thought, and the line from Jurassic Park did nothing to dispel the heebie-jeebies this whole charade was giving him. “Fine,” he told the obviously relieved young man. “That sounds good.” He only hoped the guy didn’t stand behind him and watch him eat.
A cup of steaming black coffee was placed in front of him with alarming speed. Did they have eyes in the wall? He straightened his shoulder against the prickle of awareness that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. He felt ridiculous for letting his surroundings get to him, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the hapless extra in a bad horror movie.
A different door opened, one of the double doors leading to the main hallway. He looked up, pasting a polite, businesslike smile on his face, expecting to greet his host, but a woman walked in instead.
She was average height, maybe a little shorter. It was hard to tell in the tottering spike heels she was wearing. She was a blonde, with a figure that could only be described as bombshell, wearing a tight-fitting, perfectly tailored suit the color of the bright blue waters of the bay that sparkled in the huge picture window just behind her. That she not only could compete with such a spectacular view, but quite easily trump it, seemed to be something she took as her due.
Calder had the rather uncharitable thought that if Tenley had had access to the kind of fortune Winstock wielded, she would have aspired to be someone almost exactly like the woman he was looking at. Unkind, perhaps, but no less true.
“My, my, I wasn’t aware I’d have such handsome company at breakfast this morning,” she said, her perfectly modulated voice only a fraction above a purr. “You must be Calder Blue. Daddy said something about your dropping by. Quite early,” she added. “You must be eager.” Her dark eyes sparkled. “I like eager.”
Calder had stood when she’d entered the room, partly out of ingrained politeness, and partly because she had a rather regal way about her that seemed to demand that sort of thing. But before he could step around the table to assist her, the young man who’d been attending Calder earlier rushed in from the side door and whisked her chair out for her instead.
They do have eyes in the wall, he thought, amused. Good to know. He absently wondered if they could monitor something as small as his text message screen, because he’d said some rather naughty things to Hannah the night before. He smiled, thinking about it.
“Bring me some hot tea, Thomas,” she instructed the young man as he pushed her chair in once she was seated. “Not that abominable brew from yesterday morning. In fact, have Chef make a tray for me please, and bring an assortment.” Her gaze lifted to Calder. “A woman likes to have choices.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Thomas said. “Right away.” He scurried off as if the hounds of hell were at his heels.
Calder took his seat again, thinking despite her perfectly put-together outfit, artfully tousled hairstyle, and ruthlessly applied makeup, he probably wasn’t far wrong in his assessment this time. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he said. “You seem to know my name, but—”
She laughed, and it was as perfectly modulated as the rest of her, a delightful little waterfall of sound that made every hair on his arms stand straight up. The theme from Jaws echoed through his mind. “My apologies.” She was sitting catty-corner to him, at the end of the long table nearest the picture wind
ow. She lifted a hand to him. “Camille Winstock Weathersby. My close acquaintances know me as Cami.”
He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to shake her hand, or kiss the ring on it, but he took her fingertips in his, and bowed his head slightly, in some awkward combination of the two. “Brooks’s daughter,” he said, rather than address the issue of what he would be calling her. “A pleasure to meet you. You’re married to Ted Weathersby, is that right?” His smile grew as hers dimmed. “Just trying to keep all the names and connections straight,” he said, sounding perhaps a bit more aw shucks than necessary.
“Indeed,” she said, her smile turning to something a shade harder, the gleam in her eyes a bit more brittle. “Keeping connections lined up, especially when you’re new in town, is rather important.”
Calder wasn’t sure if that was another come-on, or a thinly veiled warning of some kind. If so, he wasn’t particularly interested in obeying either one.
“I’m so sorry to hear of Ted’s recent loss in the mayoral race.” He paused to sip his coffee, and watched the remnants of her polite smile fade altogether. “I’m sure he’s had many offers, though. Man with his background.” Of course, Calder knew absolutely nothing about Ted Weathersby’s background other than the part he’d just stated, but she was clearly annoyed at the turn of the conversation, which made it an obvious line to pursue. “Or is he working for your father now?” Calder smiled. “I work in a family business myself, though I don’t think my brothers would want their spouses working alongside them. Perhaps it’s different with your family.”
“You’re not married then?” she asked, a spark of interest flashing back to life in the dark chocolate depths of her eyes. “Seems rather a shame,” she said, making it sound like she personally thought it was anything but. She ran her gaze over him, casually, carelessly, then let it drift back to his face. “I don’t think the women in this town would let an eligible man such as yourself go to waste.”
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