by Marta Perry
She cared for him, too much, and there was no possible future in that. Her heart ached. That was yet another reason why it was time to accept what she’d learned and go.
Her struggle had lasted most of the night as she’d prayed for guidance. Show me what to do, Father. Give me a sign.
Melissa came quickly around the corner into the breakfast room, checked for an instant and then walked straight to Sarah.
“I have something for you. Something I found in my mother’s room.” She held out her hand. From it dangled a necklace—a thin gold chain with a shell pendant.
Sarah blinked, startled. The girl’s small face, which seemed to change so abruptly from the child she’d been to the woman she was becoming, was very serious.
Sarah took the necklace, turning it to examine the shell. The pale, translucent ivory bore an image, painted in fine brushstrokes—a night heron lifting from the marsh grass.
“It’s beautiful. But you should keep it.”
Melissa clasped her hands behind her as if to refuse. “It was hidden,” she said abruptly. “In with her clothes. I never saw her wear it.” Her voice trembled just a little. “I thought maybe Miles gave it to her. So you should have it.”
That struck right at her heart. “Melissa—” She reached toward the girl, necklace dangling from her fingers.
Melissa shook her head, whirled, and ran out of the room.
Sarah stared at the shell for a moment, trying to push away the image it brought to mind—Miles fastening it around Lynette’s neck, Lynette lifting her beautiful face, smiling, for his kiss.
She started after Melissa. She didn’t want it, and—She rounded the corner and ran straight into Robert Butler.
“Careful.” He steadied her courteously. “Are you—” He stopped, his gaze focused on the necklace and drew in an audible breath. “Where did you get that?”
“From Melissa. Why? You seem startled to see it.”
He shook his head. “Not startled, exactly. I’d thought about buying it myself. Amos Stark’s work is increasing in value, and I decided it was worth the price he was asking.”
“Amos Stark?” The fineness of the painting had already told her this was no cheap tourist bauble.
“A local Gullah artist who specializes in shell painting.” He smiled. “Well, you have a fine piece of his work there.”
“It’s not really mine,” she said slowly. “Melissa thought that Miles had bought it.” No need to tell him why.
“Miles?” His eyebrows lifted. “Miles didn’t buy this.”
Her breath cut off. “What do you mean?”
“Amos told me who bought it. Not Miles. Jonathan Lee.”
For a moment she couldn’t speak. “Are you sure?”
Robert shrugged, his dark eyes curious. “Positive. Jonathan has bought a number of pieces from him. Amos wouldn’t make a mistake about that. Why did you think Miles bought it?”
“It—it was a misunderstanding, that’s all. Excuse me. I have to find Melissa.” She hurried away, leaving him staring.
She’d nearly reached the stairs when she stopped. She couldn’t tell Melissa. If the necklace was a gift from an admirer—
Jonathan Lee. She pressed her hand to her temple, trying to shake her thoughts into some sort of order. How did Jonathan fit into this? She took a breath. She should tell Trent.
She went quickly toward the office wing, intent on doing this before she gave in to the cowardly urge to throw the necklace away and pretend she’d never seen it. But when she reached Trent’s office, Joanna rose from her desk.
“I’d like to see Trent, please. I’ll only take a moment.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.” The secretary’s smile said she wasn’t sorry at all. “He’s out.”
The momentum that had carried her this far collapsed. “When will he be back?”
“He has an extremely busy schedule today.” Joanna smoothed back sleek hair. “Your visit to the Bayberry Inn yesterday put him behind in several important matters.”
The Bayberry Inn. The words repeated in her mind. She couldn’t imagine a scenario in which Trent would discuss with his secretary where they’d gone and what they’d found out.
“How do you know that’s where we went?” She flung the question at Joanna.
Joanna drew back as if she’d seen a snake. “I don’t—I mean, I’m sure Mr. Donner must have mentioned it.”
“I’m just as sure he didn’t.” She planted her palms on the desk, leaning toward the woman. “What did you do? Eavesdrop?”
“No! I didn’t. I just knew, I mean—” She stumbled to a halt, face turning crimson.
Sarah, staring at her, read the truth with incredulous shock. “It was you. You were the woman at the inn with Miles.” She didn’t even feel anything, not yet.
“Yes!” Joanna shot to her feet, the flush ebbing, leaving her face white. “All right, now you know. I loved Miles, and he loved me.” There was a triumphant ring to the words. “You never even appreciated him. I gave him more love than you ever imagined, and he loved me.”
Reeling, Sarah struggled to make sense of it. “You had an affair with my husband.”
Joanna glared at her. “Not some sleazy little affair. Oh, we went to the inn, but once we were there, Miles wouldn’t go through with it. He said it wouldn’t be honorable.”
It was what she’d said herself. Miles would do the honorable thing. She felt numb. “You—he loved you.”
“Why not? You were always pushing him. ‘Do the right thing, Miles.’ I just loved him. He was going to ask you for a divorce, so we could be together.” Her voice broke, her face crumpling. “But he died.”
Sarah forced herself to breathe. This didn’t make any sense. “You and Miles. But what about Lynette?”
The mention of Lynette’s name seemed to galvanize Joanna, and she glared at Sarah as if she’d insulted her. “Lynette! There was never anything between them. He loved me. Don’t you understand? I don’t know why he was with her that day, but it had to be some kind of freak accident. He loved me.”
She broke down completely, collapsing in her chair, sobbing.
Someone should comfort the woman, but it couldn’t be her. Her stomach churned, and her head was spinning. She had to get out. She hurried out of the office, back to the main house and on out the door. She had to get away from Land’s End. She couldn’t face anyone until she’d made sense of this.
She felt as if she’d walked for miles. No, not walked—run away. She’d been running from Land’s End and everything it represented, but she couldn’t run from herself.
Sarah sank down on a sea-battered tree trunk, bleached white and left high on the shore. Warm and smooth beneath her, it was oddly comforting in a world composed, just now, of sea, sand and the merciless blaze of the sun. If not for the ocean breeze, it would be unbearable.
About as unbearable as her thoughts. Why, Lord? How could Miles fall in love with someone else when we promised ourselves to each other before You? And how could I not see that something was fundamentally wrong with our marriage? Was I that blind? Or did I just not care enough?
She swallowed the tears she was determined not to shed. Not now. She could collapse all she wanted once she was safely back in Boston, but for now she had to find answers.
She leaned back against sun-warmed wood. The only sounds that broke the stillness were the incessant murmur of the waves and the screech of a solitary gull. They had no answers for her. Those had to come from within.
Miles and Joanna. Put aside the pain that causes, and think it through. Joanna had been the woman at the inn with Miles. It was ludicrous to think that he could have been involved with both Joanna and Lynette at the same time.
Jonathan. She drew the necklace from her pocket. Jonathan had bought the necklace. He must have given it to Lynette. And what Melissa sensed had been true—that Lynette would not have hidden so valuable a gift unless she’d had to.
She stood. Perhaps God had
guided her aimless flight down the beach. Beyond the dunes was the Lee house. She fastened the necklace around her neck, the pendant cool against her skin. She had some questions for Jonathan.
By the time she reached the house, her impulse had begun to falter. How did a well-brought-up Bostonian walk into a house and accuse her host of adultery? She sent up a silent prayer. If God was guiding her quest, she had to believe she was intended to be here now.
Jonathan could have been out, of course, but she saw him immediately, relaxing with a newspaper at a tile-topped table on the patio. He put the paper aside and rose at the sight of her.
“Sarah, how nice. Did you walk all this way? Let me get you a cold drink.”
“No, thanks.” She didn’t want anything to distract from the questions she had to ask, and once she’d asked them, he wouldn’t offer her anything. “I have to talk with you.”
“Of course.” Wariness showed in his glance as he pulled out a chair for her. She sat, relieved to be out of the glare.
Just get it out. “I have to know. What was your relationship with Lynette Donner?”
His movement arrested at her words for a fraction of a second, and then he was sitting down, smiling across the table at her. “How fierce you sound, my dear. We were friends.”
“Close friends, I suppose.” She drew the necklace out from beneath her shirt. “Very close friends, for you to give her such an expensive gift—one she felt she had to keep hidden.”
Jonathan’s expression didn’t change, but she could almost see the frantic thoughts tumbling behind his dark eyes. How much did she know? What could he tell her?
She was suddenly tired of the whole thing, tired and sick from thinking about it. “Don’t bother to make up a story for me. Two weeks before her death, Lynette confessed to Trent that she’d been having an affair. It was you, wasn’t it?”
He held out against her for a moment longer. Then, with a small sigh, he nodded.
“Yes. It’s almost a relief to say it.” He looked away from her, out toward the dunes. “I’m not even sure how it happened. I was infatuated. It was a few weeks of insanity.”
He was letting himself off easily, but it wasn’t her job to confront him with his sin. “Did you break it off, or did she?”
He flushed slightly. “She did. But if you’re thinking that gave me a reason to want her dead, you’re wrong. I was relieved. I didn’t want to destroy my marriage. I love Adriana.” He focused on her, eyes pleading. “Don’t tell her, Sarah. I don’t deserve her, but I can’t bear losing her.”
She wouldn’t willingly put another woman through her pain. “I don’t intend to tell her, but Trent has a right to know.”
His face tightened. “Why? So he can look for revenge?”
“Trent wouldn’t do that.” But she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice. Given the depth of his sense of betrayal, she wasn’t sure what Trent might do.
Probably he sensed her hesitation. He leaned forward. “Listen to me before you say something you can’t take back. I don’t think what happened to Miles and Lynette was an accident.”
Ironic, that the person who agreed with her was Lynette’s lover. “Why?”
“I saw Trent that day, a couple of hours before the call came that Lynette was missing. He was out in his boat, and he was headed toward Cat Isle.”
“No.” Her rejection was pure reflex. “If you’re saying Trent found them and killed them, I don’t believe it.”
He shrugged. “You’re under his spell, I suppose. Women fall for him. But you should ask him why the police hushed up everything up so quickly.”
“I’ve already been through that with him and the chief. He didn’t deny that he wanted the investigation closed quickly, but the chief insists they didn’t cover anything up.”
“He owes Trent. Everyone on the island does. He’d say whatever Trent wanted.”
Little though she liked him, she couldn’t swallow the idea that the police chief was corrupt enough to hide murder, and that’s what Jonathan was suggesting. “I don’t believe it.”
He shrugged, standing. “That’s your choice. I’ll have someone drive you back to Land’s End. But be careful, Sarah. Trent Donner can be a dangerous man.”
She didn’t believe what Jonathan so obviously did. Sarah returned to Land’s End without a thought for danger. Trent wouldn’t hurt her, and he certainly wasn’t a murderer.
But how much should she tell him? All of it, her heart insisted, but her mind was more cautious. If she told him about Jonathan, she couldn’t be sure what his reaction would be. Would it be better never to know?
No. That answer, at least, she knew. She hadn’t been able to rest until she knew the truth about Miles. Trent wouldn’t, either. She had to find the words to tell him.
She walked through the quiet house to the patio. Melissa sat on the edge of the pool, kicking her feet in the water. Sarah waved, not eager to talk to anyone, and unlocked the door to her room, leaving it ajar to let the breeze flow through.
She’d tell Trent, but first she needed to pray about it. She took the necklace off, laying it on the dresser. In the mirror’s reflection, she caught sight of something white on the blue pillow sham of the bed.
A note, folded over. The room was very still, the only sound the murmur of pool water circulating. A gull cried sharply, and her hand jerked.
Idiot, she scolded herself, and picked up the paper, unfolding it.
Leave Land’s End now, unless you want to wind up as dead as Lynette.
Her impulse was to shred it into tiny pieces. She had to force herself to assess it as calmly as she would a conflicting lab report. Computer generated and printed—unlikely there’d be any way to trace which computer or printer, and there were probably a dozen in the office wing. Anyone could have access.
Anyone in Land’s End. The thought chilled her. She’d come here for safety, but it wasn’t safe even here. She ought to—
“You got one, too.” Melissa stood in the doorway, shoving her hair back from her face. She stared at the paper in Sarah’s hand. “You did.”
Sarah started to thrust the paper behind her in an automatic need to protect the child. Then her words registered. Too. “What do you mean, Melissa? Did you get a note like this?”
“Not just one.” She clamped her hand over her mouth, clearly regretting her words.
Sarah caught her arm when she’d have turned and fled. “Don’t, Melissa. You can trust me.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Looks like we have a common enemy. What did yours say?”
Melissa’s gaze was wary. “You first.”
She held the paper out silently. There was little point in trying to protect Melissa when she’d already been a victim of someone’s sick mind.
Melissa took a breath that caught on a sob. “Mine always say it’s my fault that my mother died.” She pressed her lips together for an instant. “And that my father isn’t—my father.”
The depth of her anger at the anonymous letter writer shocked her. If she had him here, she might give in to the atavistic impulse to attack for what he’d done to a child.
Melissa didn’t need her hysterics right now. And one part of that she knew how to deal with. She caught Melissa’s hand.
“Come on. I’m going to prove to you that isn’t true.” Tugging the protesting child by the hand, she surged through the house and straight to Trent’s office. She braced herself to confront Joanna, but the woman wasn’t there.
Trent turned from the computer, eyebrows lifting at their tempestuous entrance.
She came to a halt at the desk. “Show Melissa the picture of your grandmother.”
Something of the urgency in her voice must have convinced him not to argue. He pulled out his wallet, withdrew the photo and handed it to Melissa.
“That’s your great-grandmother. I thought I’d shown you a picture of her before, but I guess it was a long time ago.”
Melissa studied the photo for a long moment, her hair hanging do
wn to hide her face, while Sarah held her breath and prayed. Finally she looked up, frowning.
“But I—I look like her.”
“Of course you do.” Let her believe it, Lord. Let her understand.
“You look very much like her,” Trent said, his voice cautious. He obviously knew something was going on, but how could he begin to guess what?
Sarah touched her arm gently. “Genetics is a funny business. Once in a while someone has that kind of resemblance.” She hesitated. Should she spell it out?
The wonder that broke through on the girl’s face gave her the answer. “I look like her because I’m related through my dad.” She spun and threw her arms around Sarah.
Sarah held her, knowing the girl wavered between laughter and tears, just as she did.
Trent came around the desk and touched his daughter’s shoulder. “Can I know what this is about now?”
“Tell him.” Sarah squeezed her. “I’ll start.” She handed Trent the note. “I found this on my bed just now.”
He looked at it, his face darkening with rage. She shook her head slightly. It wouldn’t help Melissa if he exploded.
“Melissa happened to see me. She told me she’s been getting notes, too.”
“You’ve been getting nasty letters like this, here in our house? Why didn’t you tell me?”
The child straightened, and Sarah felt the moment at which she decided to tell her father everything.
“The first one came the week after Mama’s funeral. It said—” She stumbled a little, and Sarah nudged her.
“It’s okay. Tell your dad.”
“It said what happened was my fault.”
“Melissa, that’s nonsense. You should know that.” Trent was probably hanging on to his temper by a thread. “You should have told me right away.”
“Wait.” Her fingers brushed his. “There’s more.”
“It said I wasn’t your daughter.” Melissa looked up at her father, her eyes huge. “But that’s not true, is it? It can’t be, if I look like your gramma.”
“Of course it’s not true.” Trent’s voice went deep with a mix of grief and love, and he pulled his daughter into his arms. “You’re my daughter, and I love you.”