The Seductive Impostor

by Janet Chapman

  “Then help me.”

  “Help you? I thought you wanted me out of this, to protect my future?” she said, her own chin lifted provokingly.

  “But don’t you see? You and I can go to the Lakeman Boatyard without it being suspicious. You still have your Boatyard shares. We can go see Mark Alder and you can offer to sell them to him. And while you two go for a walk to talk about it, I can snoop around.”

  “No.”

  “And while we’re there, we can ask how his mother is doing.”

  “No.”

  “I found a woman’s footprints in the tunnels, Willy. I think they might be Mary’s.”

  “You promised!”

  “But Mark’s not dangerous. He’s a dork.”

  “But he’s a very smart dork,” Willow countered. “And he’s not going to just leave you alone in the office while we go out for a ‘talk.’ ”

  “It’s just an office,” Rachel said, waving that away. “And he wasn’t even managing the boatyard when Dad would have designed the Norway Night. But the blueprints are probably still there.”

  “Or they could be in storage only God knows where,” Willow argued.

  “This is too important to let slide, Willy. What harm could there be in just checking it out? And you do want to get rid of your shares. It’s a perfect plan.”

  Willow crossed her arms under her breasts, leaning back on her hips and eyeing Rachel. “Then let’s just run this plan by Kee and see what he thinks of it,” she softly suggested.

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “We can do this, Willy. It’s not dangerous. It will be broad daylight, and it’s Mark Alder.”

  “And what if you do find the blueprints? Then what?”

  “Then I steal them and destroy them.”

  “No.”

  “Willy,” Rachel entreated, stepping around the lounger and taking hold of her arms. “They’re all that’s left to link us to Thaddeus Lakeman. And you’ve worked so hard, and have a good position now, with a bright future. Please don’t let this one thing hang over our heads.”

  “And if you can’t find the designs at the boatyard, you’ll let it go?” she asked.

  Rachel nodded. “If they’re not there, then they can’t come back and haunt us. It will mean Dad already took care of them.”

  “But why say what he did when he was dying?” Willow asked.

  “Maybe he was referring to the boat itself, not the designs,” Rachel speculated. “Maybe he just wanted me to be aware of it. Remember, he wrote the letter two years before he died. He may have destroyed the designs in between.”

  “I wonder what the other boats’ names are?”

  “I don’t know. But give me at least twenty minutes in Mark’s office, and I’ll know if Dad’s designs are there or not.”

  “And just when do you plan for us to go there?”

  “What’s wrong with right now? It’s Saturday, and there won’t be any workers there.”

  “Then what makes you think Mark will be there?”

  Rachel snorted, walked back around the lounger, and headed toward the screen door. “Mark all but lives there since I sold him my shares two years ago, making him a one-quarter owner,” she said, going into the house.

  Willow followed her, and they both took three more aspirin and went upstairs to change. Twenty minutes later they were in Rachel’s SUV and headed to the Lakeman Boatyard.

  “Give him a good price on the shares,” Rachel suggested. “He all but jumped up and down when I offered him mine for fifty cents on the dollar.”

  “Shouldn’t I be offering them to Keenan Oakes first? He’s half owner now.”

  Rachel waved that away. “According to the will, Thadd left 52 percent to his heir and 24 percent to each of us. Kee will still hold a controlling interest.”

  “What were you saying about Mary Alder being in the tunnels? Do you really think she’s been stealing from Sub Rosa?”

  “I don’t know.” Rachel looked over at Willow. “She would know about the tunnels. She and Thadd were quite close.”

  “But he took care of her in his will,” Willow said, staring out through the windshield. “Enough to live comfortably without having to steal from his estate.”

  “There was also a man’s set of footprints. A large sneaker tread. We’ll check out Mark’s feet while we’re at it,” Rachel added, slowing down as she entered town.

  She pulled to the edge of the street beside the village green, shut off the engine, and looked at the grassy park shaded by huge maple trees and littered with park benches, a number of people and children, and several dogs.

  “Where should we put Puffy?” she asked. “By the bandstand or by the Veterans’ Memorial?”

  “I think he should be by himself,” Willow said, pointing to their right. “There, in that grassy area between the two paths. We can just set the base you made on the ground. It should be enough to support him.”

  “Maybe if everyone likes him enough, they’ll have a fund-raiser and buy him a granite base,” Rachel said, liking that idea. “And a plaque thanking the benevolent, anonymous donor.”

  “How are we going to get him out of the cellar?”

  “I’ve thought about that. We can wrap him in blankets and lay planks on the outside cellar stairs and just winch him into the back of the pickup. Then when we get here, we’ll ease him off the truck and onto the base.”

  “It’s going to take manpower,” Willow said. “Your knee’s not healed enough for tugging on a three-hundred-pound puffin.”

  “How about a couple of apostles?” Rachel suggested. “We could probably buy their silence with a strawberry pie. Those men do love to eat.”

  “I’m never touching another strawberry,” Willow hissed. “We’re both so hungover we can’t see straight, and you’ve got us breaking and entering and spying on Mark and Mary Alder.”

  “We’re not breaking, we’re only entering. And the spying is just a bonus.”

  Willow looked at her through narrowed eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

  “I am not. I’m trying to protect our name. And as of tomorrow I’m out of it, when Mikaela the little tyrant arrives.”

  “Do you know anything about Mikaela’s mother?”

  Rachel silently shook her head.

  “And you haven’t thought to ask?”

  “I’ve thought about it. But that’s getting too personal.”

  “And having sex isn’t?” Willow shot back, eyebrows raised.

  “No, sex does not automatically imply a relationship. I told you, I have no intention of getting any more involved with Keenan Oakes than I already am. I’m having a…a fling,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “Yeah, a fun little fling. Stretching my wings. Sowing my oats. That sort of thing.”

  “And Kee feels the same way?” Willow asked.

  “He’s a guy,” Rachel said with a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Of course he feels that way.”

  She started the car and pulled back onto the street. They drove in relative silence until they came to the fire station—and the catcalling and whistling morons. Willow, of course, couldn’t resist and rolled down her window, matching their catcalls with a few inventive ones of her own, leaning out the window and making a general fool of herself.

  But it was short-lived. As soon as they were out of sight of the fire station, Willow was holding her head and cursing her outburst.

  Three miles down the coast, they finally pulled into the Lakeman Boatyard. It was an impressive operation that had flourished under Mark Alder’s care these last eight years. And two years ago, when Rachel had sold her shares to Mark, he’d started sprucing up the place—painting, installing a new sign, and landscaping the entrance. He’d also put his name on the sign: MARK ALDER, OWNER/OPERATOR.

  Rachel was glad she’d sold her shares to Mark and that Willow was going to do the same. With his mother still taking Thadd’s death so hard, Mark at least deserved the recognition that cam
e with being a solid businessman in the community.

  Mark might be a dork, but he was a really nice dork.

  Rachel only hoped he hadn’t been visiting Sub Rosa with his mother. Unless…unless he’d been going there to fetch her.

  “Hey, maybe they are Mark’s footprints in the tunnels,” she said. “And it’s something as innocent as him chasing after Mary to bring her home. Maybe she’s been going there since Thadd died because she just can’t let him go.”

  “There’s still the problem of the missing items,” Willow reminded her. She suddenly perked up. “Maybe Mary’s been taking them. Not to sell, but to possess. People do really weird things when they’re grieving.”

  “Okay,” Rachel said, stopping Willow from getting out of the car by grabbing her arm. “We check out Mark’s feet, and if he’s anywhere near a size twelve, we take our theory to Kee.”

  “That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said today,” Willow said with a sassy smile.

  Rachel gave her a haughty glare. “There’re still the boat designs,” she warned. “We still need to find them.”

  “Twenty minutes is all I’m giving you. And if you don’t find them, it’s over and done with.”

  Rachel nodded and opened her door.

  “Well?” Willow asked as they pulled away from the Lakeman Boatyard.

  “I couldn’t find anything. But the drawer where they should have been had fingerprints smeared in the dust. Someone was in there recently.”

  Willow sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her head on the headrest. “So we didn’t gain a damn thing,” she said tiredly.

  “Mark said his mom was here last week, and he sounded like that was a rare occurrence,” Rachel reminded her. “I’m wondering…the Norway Night burned the same day the article about Keenan Oakes came out in the Island Gazette saying that the Lakeman heir had been found.”

  “So?”

  “So what if the article somehow disconcerted Mary Alder? What if she knew about the Norway Night and the other two boats? She could have taken the blueprints. That might be why she visited the boatyard.”

  “To what end?” Willow asked, rolling her head and looking at Rachel. “Do you really think the boat burning is tied to Keenan Oakes’s arrival?”

  “It’s quite a coincidence if it isn’t.”

  Willow sat up. “If Mary did burn that boat, maybe she’s just trying to protect Thadd’s name, just as you’re trying to protect Dad’s. And Mark’s feet are large, but he was wearing work boots, not sneakers,” Willow added with a sigh. “Which doesn’t prove a damn thing, either.”

  Rachel pondered the problem of Mary Alder, the Norway Night, and the missing designs. Nothing made sense. If the boat burning had been precipitated by the article in the Island Gazette, who had burned it?

  “Why hasn’t Kee just called the police and reported his missing stuff to them?” Willow asked.

  “That’s a good question,” Rachel said softly.

  “Unless he thinks you really are involved,” Willow speculated.

  Rachel remained mute.

  Willow leaned against her headrest again. “How did he know that the emeralds were stolen in France seventeen years ago and that they’re worth a million dollars?” Willow continued. “And the other stuff you put in the vault. How come he knew it was all stolen?”

  Rachel started to say something, but smiled instead, pulling the SUV over to the side of the road, watching in her rearview mirror as the sheriff’s car, lights flashing, pulled up behind them.

  “What time’s your date?” Rachel asked.

  “It’s set for seven.”

  “Maybe he’s canceling,” she said, nodding behind them.

  Willow turned and looked out the back window and snorted. “From your lips to God’s ears.”

  “We need his truck, Willy,” she reminded her. “Tonight.”

  Larry walked to Willow’s side of their SUV, and Rachel pushed the button to lower Willow’s window.

  “Hi,” he said, leaning on the door.

  “Are we still on for tonight?” Willow asked.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to cancel,” Larry told her, shaking his head. “I’m stuck pulling a double shift. I’m sorry. Are you coming back next weekend?”

  “Ah, no. I’m going to try and organize my new apartment. Larry, you have a pickup, don’t you?” Willow asked.

  Rachel watched as Larry’s chest actually puffed up. “Yes, I do. It’s a brand-new Chevy with an Isuzu turbo diesel, a five-speed Allison tranny, and leather interior.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Willow. “You want me to move you down to Augusta?”

  Rachel looked out her own window so Larry wouldn’t see her roll her eyes. Machismo was alive and well in Puffin Harbor, and it drove big trucks with five-speed transmissions. Heck, lobster boats were even bigger objects of male one-upmanship. A lot of the lobstermen had more money tied up in their boats than they did in their homes.

  “Ah, thank you, Larry. I’d like that,” Willow said. “Are you off tomorrow?”

  “Yup. As of seven in the morning.”

  “Then maybe I should just bring your truck to our house tonight. Rachel and I and a couple of town boys can load it up this evening. Then tomorrow you can go home and have a little nap and then we can head to Augusta in the afternoon.”

  Larry suddenly paled.

  “I promise not to scratch it,” Willow whispered, laying her hand on his arm. “It’s a beautiful truck. Green, isn’t it?”

  Larry nodded, still looking worried. “Forest green with aluminum mag wheels.”

  Willow patted his arm, and Rachel would bet her kayak her sister was batting her eyelashes and making good old Larry’s knees knock with her killer sweetheart smile. “You’ll be tired after working a double shift, so it only makes sense that Rachel and I load the truck ourselves. That way you’ll only have to unload it in Augusta.”

  Yup, that sweetheart smile did them in every time. Larry reached into his pocket, took out his truck keys, and handed them to Willow, folding her fingers around them in her hand, his own large hand lingering possessively.

  Though Rachel wasn’t sure if it was Willow he was clinging to or his truck keys.

  “I’m really sorry about our date tonight,” he said, still holding her hand. “Maybe I can make it up to you tomorrow night. We’ll find a nice lounge in Augusta that has a band.”

  “Sounds great. It’s a plan, then,” Willow said, gently freeing herself. “Rachel can drop me off at your house now, and I’ll drive your truck back to ours. Thanks, Larry. I’ll see you tomorrow noon, then,” Willow said, tossing the keys in her purse.

  Larry hesitated, darting a glance at Rachel, then looked back at Willow and smiled. “Yeah. Tomorrow,” he said with a nod, finally lifting his arm off the passenger-side door and walking back to his squad car.

  Rachel watched Larry in the rearview mirror as he shut off the flashing lights and pulled around them onto the road. “You are going to fry in hell,” she said with a chuckle.

  Willow smacked her in the arm. “Hey, it’s not my fault men are easy. Besides, I like Larry. He’s sweet. I am not just stringing him along.”

  Rachel was about to respond when she spotted the boat through the sparse trees, less than half a mile from shore and obviously heading in.

  “Aw, hell,” she muttered, digging in the glove box and pulling out the small binoculars. She leaned in front of Willow, focusing the binoculars on the boat. “Dammit, that’s a schooner. Miss Mikaela the tyrant is not arriving tomorrow,” she said as she zeroed in on the little blond girl standing at the rail, waving both arms and shouting. “She’s arriving today.”

  She lowered the glasses and looked at Willow. “There go our plans for Puffy.”

  Willow took the binoculars from Rachel and looked at the schooner, then turned and smiled and shook her head. “Naw. We’ll just bring her along. She’ll love it. It’ll be women’s night out on the big town of Puffin Harbor.”


  “Five-year-olds cannot keep secrets. In two days everyone will know it’s us.”

  “I was five when I caught you kissing Mike Johnson at the Lobster Festival.”

  “I threatened to cut your hair while you slept if you told,” Rachel reminded her, finally starting the truck and pulling onto the road, turning, and heading back toward Larry’s house.

  “Then that’s what we’ll use to threaten the tyrant,” Willow said, putting her sunglasses on and leaning back against the headrest with a tired sigh.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Foster home hadn’t been this full since Marian and Frank Foster’s funeral service. But while three years ago it had been neighbors and friends all speaking softly, grieving, and still somewhat in shock, tonight it was one wolf, seven men, and a little blond cherub, all speaking loudly and at once, happy to be reunited.

  Well, except for Jonathan French—a.k.a. Ahab. He was just happy to be getting rid of his charge and seemed much more interested in the bowl of strawberries he was gobbling down than in the reunion.

  They had appeared like an invading army half an hour ago—Kee holding Mikaela in his arms and smiling proudly, Duncan carrying her bags, Matthew carrying a huge stuffed animal that looked like a giraffe with wings, Luke carrying four bottles of wine, and Jason and Peter loaded down with at least ten quarts of strawberries.

  Willow had taken one look at the strawberries, turned green, and run upstairs before Rachel could even introduce her to the apostles.

  Rachel had been playing hostess ever since, hulling strawberries, setting out bowls and spoons, and pouring wine. She had refilled the sugar bowl three times already, until finally giving up and just plunking the sugar canister in the middle of the table.

  Kee was sitting at the table, Mikaela in his lap, and the two of them were getting more strawberry juice on themselves than in their mouths.

  “You tell your daddy what you done, young lady,” Ahab said, pointing his spoon at Mikaela. “And what I want him to do about it.”

  Wiping her hands on her apron, Rachel inched closer in the suddenly silent room and watched as Mikaela looked up at Kee with the largest, brightest blue, most beguiling eyes Rachel had ever seen.