Secrets at Sweetwater Cove

by Sally Roseveare

  “Susie-Q, you’re not going anywhere without me. But you may want to make another pot of coffee.”

  “You need to leave for work in a few hours. Go get a little more sleep.”

  “After last night, I’d already decided to stay home today. I wouldn’t be able to get anything done.” He put his arms around her. “I’m yours for the whole day.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll be happy to have your company and your brain.” The coffee maker buzzed and Aurora poured herself a cup of the steaming, black liquid. “Yum,” she said after the first sip slid down her throat.

  “You get dressed. I’ll fix breakfast.” Sam pulled a carton of eggs and the package of nitrite/nitrate-free bacon from the refrigerator.

  Fifteen minutes later the two sat down to a meal of orange juice, scrambled eggs, bacon, toasted cinnamon raisin bread, and coffee. Aurora quickly jotted notes on a pad as she ate.

  “So what time are we meeting Luke?” Sam asked.

  “We agreed on 5:30 at Carole’s place.” She spread butter on her toast. “Good breakfast, Sam. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I hate to ask, but do you think….”

  “Of course I’ll get King. I’ll call Robert right before we leave. Don’t want to wake him too early, even though I’m pretty sure he’ll be eager to get to Roanoke and to Jill.”

  “How’d you know what I was going to ask?”

  “You had that I-want-King look in your eye. I know you pretty well, Susie-Q. Besides, I miss him, too.”

  The ringing phone interrupted their conversation. “That’s probably Luke. Maybe Carole’s home.” She crossed her fingers and grabbed the phone.

  “Aurora, I saw your lights on, figured you were up. Can I bring King to you? He’s going nuts over here, probably knows you’re back.”

  “Of course, Robert. Better yet, just open the door and let him out. He’ll gallop straight home.” Aurora explained why she wouldn’t be able to keep Little Guy when Robert went to the hospital to pick up Jill. “Hope that won’t mess up your plans.”

  “No, Little Guy will be fine by himself. Jill and I should be home around two or three. Four at the latest. So how’d it go in the ER? And how is Hessie?”

  “Except for a sprained ankle, some bruises and minor scrapes, I’m fine. The doctors were still treating Hessie when I left. I’m pretty sure she’ll be in the hospital for a while. Thanks for all your help last night. I don’t know how we would have made it without you.” A frantic bark outside the kitchen door made her smile. “King’s already here. Gotta let him in. Talk to you later.”

  At 5:35 a.m., three exhausted and worried friends gathered around Carole’s desk and brainstormed. Luke, unshaven, ran his hands through his hair. “I’m at my wit’s end. I just know Carole’s in trouble. I can sense it. And I don’t know where to turn or what to do.”

  King whined, rested his head on Luke’s thigh.

  “We’ll find her, Luke. And don’t forget, Carole’s one smart lady. She knows how to side-step trouble.” But Aurora wasn’t as certain as she tried to imply. Carole, her best friend, was in danger. And after having stared into his eyes twice, Aurora was certain that Win was responsible. And that they’d better find Carole soon.

  “Carole won’t like it when she finds we’ve messed up all these papers stacked neatly on her desk, but let’s each grab a pile and go through them one by one.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “Anything, no matter how small, that could provide a clue to her whereabouts.” Aurora glanced at a hand-written note, discarded it, picked up another paper. “Maybe there’s something that will tell us where Win’s staying. Check her notepads, her calendar. I’m sure she must have a client file around here somewhere.” She yanked open the desk drawers, quickly thumbed through them.

  Luke looked up from his paper stack. “She keeps a couple of file cabinets in the back room. Maybe client files are there. I’ll go look.”

  “I’ll help you,” said Sam.

  Aurora checked Carole’s answering machine and listened to 11 messages. Four were from prospective clients who’d seen her listings in the Smith Mountain Eagle. Five calls came from Luke, one from Aurora, and the last was a hang-up. She sighed and finished searching Carole’s papers. In vain, she looked for Carole’s day planner, figured her friend must have it with her. The clock on Carole’s desk read 6:02. Precious minutes had ticked away.

  Luke rushed back into the office. “I just remembered that I memorized Win’s license number the first time I saw his Porsche. I do that if I see Carole ride off in a client’s car. I’ve tried to talk her into making a note of the license numbers, but she’s not at all concerned.”

  “But Aurora said Carole was in her own car,” said Sam, poking his head around the door. “What good will Win’s license number be?”

  “I don’t know,” said Aurora, “but it could be important. Maybe they changed vehicles. What’s the number, Luke?”

  “There’re no numbers—it’s all letters. His license number is ‘I Win.’”

  “You’re kidding,” said Aurora.

  “Nope,” said Luke. “He’s an egotistical jerk. I’m not surprised he chose that one.”

  “Me, either,” Aurora said.

  “Carole met Win on Friday, October 13. I remember thinking it was a bad omen.”

  “I’m not superstitious. Don’t you be, either,” said Aurora.

  “Geronimo!” hollered Sam from the back room. “I found Win’s file. He’s staying at a bed and breakfast a few miles from here.”

  “Do you have their phone number?”

  “Uh, no. Sorry. But it’s The Eagle’s Perch.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll look it up.” Aurora thumbed through the pages in the phone book, located the listing and dialed the number.

  “What?” answered a groggy male voice.

  “Is this The Eagle’s Perch Bed and Breakfast?” asked Aurora.

  “It is. Do you have any idea what time it is?” asked the voice.

  “It’s 6:15. I know I’m calling early and I apologize, but this is extremely important.”

  “Yeah? What’s so important?”

  “I’m trying to get in touch with Winston Ford. I understand he’s one of your guests. Believe me, I would not be up so early myself if it were not imperative that I speak with him.”

  “Well, I don’t think he came back last night. At least I didn’t hear him come in. Wait a sec and I’ll ask my wife, see if she heard anything. We don’t keep close watch over our guests. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course,” said Aurora. She said a silent prayer, waited for him to come back to the phone, wondered what was taking him so long.

  “Miss,” said the man at The Eagle’s Perch, “my wife checked his room, said Mr. Ford did not return last night. His car’s in the garage, though, so he must have ridden with someone else.”

  “Could I come by and look at Mr. Ford’s car?” asked Aurora.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that. All our guests’ information is confidential. I couldn’t violate their trust.”

  “Sir, a life could be in danger. Your guest could die if you won’t release the information we and the police need.” She knew she was stretching the truth, perhaps even making it up, but Carole needed her and she needed to search Win’s Porsche. She prayed that the mention of the police would open the door she needed.

  “Well, if you think somebody’s in serious trouble and the police could come, I guess it’d be okay. How long before you get here?”

  “Five minutes, maybe seven.”

  “Make it ten. We’re not even dressed yet.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Thursday, 6:25 a.m.

  Seated in the front seat beside Sam, Luke talked about Carole and how much he adored her, how sorry he was he’d been unable to help when she needed him so desperately. “I feel helpless, Aurora. Utterly helpless.”

  Aurora glanced
at Sam, saw his fingers tighten on the steering wheel. She knew that he, too, believed Carole was in serious trouble. Aurora tried to shake off the feeling of doom. King stuck his head under her arm. She rubbed his throat.

  “I’ve been thinking about Win’s license number,” said Sam. “Didn’t the TV say the car that hit Jill had a license number beginning with either an ‘I’ or the number one? And I think I remember hearing that the car was either black, dark blue or dark gray. Isn’t Win’s Porsche black?”

  “Yeah, it’s black,” said Luke.

  “Oh, my gosh.” Now Aurora was even more concerned for Carole. “When we see Win’s car, we’ll know if the Porsche is the hit and run vehicle.”

  “Unless he’s already had it repaired.”

  “Not likely,” said Sam. “I don’t think many garages around here work on Porsches. Besides, Win probably has a favorite shop he’d trailer the car to. My gut tells me the car that hit Jill is Win’s Porsche and that it hasn’t been fixed. When we know for sure, I’ll call Lieutenant Conner. I imagine he’ll find the information quite useful.”

  “We’ll know in a minute,” said Sam. “The Eagle’s Perch is just ahead.”

  When Sam drove into the driveway, a man and woman came outside. “This way,” said the man. They followed him around back and waited as he pushed the remote. The garage door slowly ascended.

  “Mr. Ford’s car looks fine to me,” said The Eagle’s Perch owner as he examined the driver’s side of the Porsche. He frowned. “I never should have listened to you.”

  Aurora ignored him, stepped to the front of the vehicle. “Sam, Luke, come look. The front end’s all banged up, the passenger side is, too! And with that license number …. Sam, you were right. I’m certain this is the car that nearly killed Jill.” She dialed Lieutenant Conner, left a message for him to meet her as soon as possible.

  “I don’t understand,” said the owner’s wife. “Mr. Ford seems like such a nice man, a real gentleman. I can’t imagine him running into another car and not stopping. He’s too charming to do such a thing.”

  “Ma’am,” said Luke, “I’m afraid that’s not all Mr. Ford has done. We believe he’s kidnapped my fiancé, and her life is in danger.”

  “Oh, no, not our Mr. Ford. You’ll never convince me of that.”

  Aurora and Sam exchanged looks. Sam put his hand on the woman’s arm, guided her toward the house. “Mrs. …, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. My name is Sam Harris. My wife is Aurora, and that’s Luke. The dog is King.” King wagged his tail.

  “I’m Yvonne Bateman. My husband is Paul.”

  “May we wait inside, Mrs. Bateman?” asked Sam. “The police will be here shortly, and the three of us really should wait. I’m sure they’ll want to search Mr. Ford’s car and his room.”

  “Well, I don’t know. Paul, what should we do?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Bateman,” said Aurora, “if Mr. Ford is guilty of what I believe, then the press will be camping out at The Eagle’s Perch to gather any information they can get their eager hands on. The publicity your establishment will receive will be invaluable to you, especially when the reporters write about how helpful you and your husband were during the investigation. I bet, too, if you had a few choice dishes for them to munch on, they’d mention that in some of their articles. The Eagle’s Perch will receive national publicity—perhaps even world-wide—because of the horrible things Mr. Ford will be accused of doing. Even if he’s innocent, reporters will be here asking questions and taking pictures of The Eagle’s Perch.”

  “Well, all things considered, I guess it wouldn’t do any harm for y’all to come inside,” said Mrs. Bateman. “Except for the dog. I don’t know about the dog.”

  “King is well-mannered, Mrs. Bateman. King, Mrs. Bateman wants to meet you.”

  King looked from Aurora to the woman standing beside her, trotted over to Mrs. Bateman, sat, and held out his paw.

  “Well, I declare,” she said as she shook hands with King. “I guess King can come in, too. And all y’all can call me Yvonne.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Thursday, 6:50 a.m.

  Carole had spent hours trying to get as far as La Grande Maison’s main gate. First she’d played hide-and-seek with the two security guards walking near the waterfront. That had taken precious time. Getting from the grounds in the front of the house to inside the garage had eaten up at least another hour. Then she’d hunkered down in the back seat of her car for another hour before the garage men backed Crappy out and disappeared. Because she couldn’t risk turning on the lights, she’d driven at turtle-speed, occasionally pulling off the drive when she’d seen lights in the distance.

  Finally she’d managed to drive Crappy as far as La Grande Maison’s gates only to discover that she needed a remote to open them. Her first impulse was to step out of the car and scream her lungs out for the entire world to hear. But that would get her nowhere, and maybe even help Win find her. Should she ram Crappy through the gates? And if she even got through them, how far could she go? Her gas gauge read less than one-quarter tank, just enough to send the low-gas signal bleeping. If she made it through and then ran out of gas, La Grande Maison’s security would find her car and know where to search for her. Same thing if the car got stuck in the gate. Right now, security had no idea where she was or they would’ve been on her trail. Not many choices, she thought. She tried her cell again. Still no service.

  Her decision made, Carole drove off the road into the woods and hoped no one would find the car for several hours. She thought about crawling over the fence, but had noticed the electric wires running along the top. Were they meant to shock or to kill? She didn’t want to test it. Surely the wires wouldn’t be along the entire length of fence. Probably her best bet would be to follow the fence until she found a break in the wire or figured out another way over.

  Carole looked at her feet and her shoes, which were not good for hiking. She’d be traveling over rough terrain. She opened Crappy’s trunk, reached into a cardboard box and pulled out a worn pair of sneakers. Good. At least with these shoes, she could move faster—and maybe her feet wouldn’t hurt. She rummaged in the box again, dragged out her heavy, hooded fleece jacket. She slipped it on, stuck her feet in the sneakers, snatched up a partially-consumed water bottle containing water probably a couple weeks old, and looked back at the entrance gate before disappearing into the trees.

  Seconds later she popped back out of the trees and stared at the iron gate. No electric wire ran across the top. If she could climb over, she could follow the road and eventually enter civilization. Or so she hoped.

  On the way back from the bathroom to his post at the security station, Otis stopped and poured himself a cup of coffee. He eyed the sweet roll on the other guard’s paper plate.

  “Where’d you git that?” he asked the other guard, pointed to the roll dotted with raisins and covered with powdered-sugar icing. Just smelling it made his stomach growl.

  “I stopped at the store on my way in this morning and bought ‘em. Want one?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Look in that bag on the counter.”

  “Yum. That’s good.” Otis took a bite and headed back to his guard station. “I’ll pick up something for us tomorrow.”

  “Great,” said the guard. He looked at the video camera aimed at the entrance gates, watched a doe walk cautiously out of the woods and across the road a few yards from the gate. A crow flew in front of the camera.

  On a pad, the guard jotted down the time. He started to rewind the video tape to see if he’d missed anything when he went for a bathroom break, coffee and the sticky bun, decided he’d not been absent from his watch long enough for anything to have happened. Instead, he picked up a book by Stephen King, opened it to page 43, and settled down to read.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Thursday, 6:55 a.m.

  Kurt lifted his head from the toilet and blew his nose with toilet paper his mother handed him. He felt awful. This
wasn’t the right time to be puking all night. “What time is it, Mom?” he asked when his mother pressed a cold, wet washcloth to his forehead.

  “Time for you to crawl back in bed if you think you’re through throwing up for a while. I’ll put the bucket beside the bed just in case you need it again.”

  Kurt stood, went to the sink and washed his mouth and hands. He stared at his ghostly white reflection in the mirror. “I’ve gotta meet the camera man at 7:15 at the bus stop.” He sat on his bed, reached for the jeans hanging over the footboard. His mother took them out of his hand.

  “I’m sorry, son. I know how much you want that camera. But you’re not going anywhere.”

  “Aw, Mom.”

  “Your temperature is 102, and you’ve thrown up eight times since 2:15. You’re staying home today, and I’m staying with you. I’ve already called the office and left a message that I won’t be in.

  “Here, sip some ginger ale.” She held the glass steady, watched the pale liquid travel up the straw. “Only a couple of sips for now.”

  “My science project is due today.” He watched his mother set the glass on the nightstand.

  “It will have to wait. Your health is more important than a science project.”

  He remembered thinking how like a mom she sounded as he lay back on the bed and dropped into a fitful sleep.

  At the bus stop, Jasper Smoot looked at his watch and frowned. He’d arrived at the appointed meeting spot at 7:10. The kid was late. If Kurt showed up right now, would Jasper have enough time to kill him before the school bus passed? The bus might even stop and wait a few seconds on the chance Kurt and/or the girl were running a little behind schedule. Jasper couldn’t risk being caught. Furious that his plan hadn’t worked the way he wanted, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel, started the engine, drove to Kurt’s street and cruised by his house. Was Kurt home alone, or had he ridden to school with his mother before Jasper arrived at the bus stop? The closed garage door offered no answers.