Mario,
It has been a long time since we last talked. I hope your sister has recovered from her back surgery and that your home in Florida didn’t get hit too hard during that last hurricane. You’re brave to live on the gulf coast like you do, though I know you’re fond of the warm water and soft sand. Of course, we get tornadoes here. Any area has its drawbacks.
I’m on a break from work and have found a charming bed and breakfast on the west coast, somewhere north of San Francisco. Speaking of geographical drawbacks, we had a small earthquake yesterday. Nothing I can’t deal with, of course. But I’m certainly not in Kansas anymore!
There are some characters here, for certain. I’m quite fond of a young couple – especially the girl, who has the potential to be a great consumer. She adores shopping, though I’ve noticed she doesn’t buy everything she tries on. She loves accessories, in particular. I’m not as fond of one guest, a traveling salesman – or something like that, who is quite eccentric. He’s not my type, as you can imagine. There’s another guest here, handsome and a real sweet-talker. Don’t get jealous, now!
The innkeeper is a nice young woman. If she has money, she doesn’t flaunt it. Or she hides it well, one or the other. I’m not sure the opinion people have of her is accurate. I’m glad I’ll have a few more days to enjoy her company and get to know her better.
Say hello to your dear sister for me, Mario. I hope to see you the next time I pass through the south.
Yours,
Dotty
Sadie sent the email off to Mario’s address and closed the tablet’s cover. Her coded communications didn’t always make sense on the surface, but that was the point. She was able to pick out the important facts later, hidden between the normal chatter – where she was, what people were nearby, the date the email was sent, etc. Sort of like tossing a piece of a jigsaw puzzle into the sea – the virtual sea, that is. The pieces would float together later.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Molly swept through the front door of the local market and headed for the dairy section. Setting up the cheese and cracker tray for the afternoon wine hour was one of her favorite daily activities. Choosing which cheeses to serve entertained her as much as clothes shopping might satisfy others. Gouda was a given, as it was always a hit. But variety was important, too. She added a wedge of Brie to the basket. For presentation, she picked up grapes, berries and walnut halves to cascade alongside the cheese assortment. A side of warm cranberry brie bites in flaky crust would add an elegant touch.
Days without check-ins were always easier because they offered a block of free afternoon time. Today was especially easy because there also were no checkouts. None of the current guests required new linens or towels. The newlyweds just wanted privacy, the bizarre Mr. Miller had kept a Do Not Disturb sign on his door since his arrival, and Sadie had insisted everything was perfect just the way it was. Bryce Winslow hadn’t asked for anything but ice, though it seemed clear he’d ask if he needed something.
Was it a week he said he was staying? Molly wasn’t sure whether to be happy or uncomfortable. The business income was always welcome, though Aunt Maggie had left her with a decent operating account at the bank. But there was no mistaking the attraction she felt towards Bryce and her instincts told her it was reciprocated. That could be trouble. She could almost imagine the normal “getting to know you” conversation sliding into the abyss. “Yes, my background, let’s see…I was a quiet administrative assistant for an ad agency, then I was mistaken for a bank robber, then released by the police, but stalked and accused of stealing the money via threatening notes from strangers. How about you? Where did you grow up?” She’d follow that with a nice smile. Sure, that would work well.
This had been a dilemma since leaving Tallahassee. She was young, not quite thirty. She wasn’t ready to throw in the towel on romance. She tried to tell herself it was just for the time being, that the whole mess would get straightened out. But how was that going to happen? For one thing, no one knew where she was. For another thing, there was no one she felt she could trust. She’d had a few friends in Florida, but no one she felt so connected to that she’d shared the threatening letters. She’d gone to the police, but they had no leads and eventually just told her to keep her doors locked, that they didn’t think she was in danger. It was all just a sick prank that someone thought up after seeing her on the news.
That was easy for others to say. To Molly, it was hardly a prank. It was a minute-to-minute living terror, constantly watching over her shoulder and checking the locks on her doors. The police had put a protective watch on her house for a while, but stopped once they decided it wasn’t necessary. She might have stayed if they had kept up regular patrolling.
It was better in Cranberry Cove. The distance from Tallahassee helped and the peaceful nature of the bed and breakfast was calming. But the fear never completely left her. She wondered if it ever would.
Molly gathered her purchases and paid at the front counter, thanking the grocery store clerk for ringing the items up. On her walk back to the inn, Molly stopped at the flower shop to pick out selections for a new table arrangement. Juggling snapdragons, carnations and groceries, she left the store and took a sharp left on the sidewalk, running directly into Bryce Winslow.
“Need help with those?”
Molly’s stomach fluttered at the sound of the alluring voice. It served her right for blocking her field of vision as she walked. Bryce ignored her attempts to turn down his offers of help and took the grocery bag from her arm curling it against his chest. He let her carry the flowers.
“Thank you,” Molly stammered. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“So I noticed.” Bryce grinned. Smug, as usual.
“Are you out exploring the town?” Molly asked.
“Something like that,” Bryce answered. He shifted the bag of groceries from one arm to the other and stuck his free hand in his pocket.
Why was he so vague about everything? Had she noticed it before?
“So, what brings you to Cranberry Cove?” Molly said, immediately wishing she could take the words back. It wasn’t her place to question why guests were there. Sometimes they volunteered information, sometimes they didn’t. But she never asked straight out. What was the matter with her?
Bryce paused before answering. At least it seemed that way to Molly. “A little business, a little relaxation,” he replied, finally. “I’m a writer. It seemed like a quiet place to get some work done on a novel.”
“How interesting,” Molly said. “What’s it about?” She glanced sideways, Bryce’s face framed on one side by a purple snapdragon and the other by a white carnation.
Again Bryce paused. “Well,” he said. “It’s sort of an espionage plot. Guy stuff, international intrigue, government secrets, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds fascinating.” Molly cringed at the sound of her white lie. She’d choose a light romance or mystery any day over a spy thriller.
“I hope so,” Bryce said. “We’ll see when it’s finished.”
Molly was grateful the walk back to the inn was only a few blocks. The conversation was going nowhere and Bryce didn’t seem eager to talk. She was relieved when they reached the inn, taking the opportunity to part ways in the breakfast room after Bryce set down the bag of groceries.
“Back to work,” she said cheerfully, heading toward the kitchen.
“Same here,” Bryce echoed, heading for the stairs. “Back to the book.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bryce stood at the window in his room again, looking out at the ocean and cursing. What on earth had he done now, telling her he was writing a novel? He hadn’t tried to write anything fictional since high school English. Couldn’t he have come up with something better? With all the years of experience he’d had and all the creative covers he’d constructed in the past, that was all he had? Molly made him nervous in a way that was new to him. He was walking a fine line.
He shoved those worries aside. She might not even ask about the book again, and if she did, he would claim writer’s block to avoid discussing it. He had a bigger problem. He had to try to prove her innocence. Could he do it without revealing to Molly why he was there?
His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out where to start. Jobs involving Al were always tricky, if not dangerous. He was going to need solid facts for Al, who wasn’t likely to trust someone else’s hunches. Things either made sense to him or they didn’t. There was no in-between. Saying, “I just feel certain she’s innocent,” wouldn’t get him anywhere. It could even get him a permanent concrete vacation. Which meant, in order to get everything in line, Bryce was going to have to start from the beginning. That is, looking at the information that made Al certain she was guilty.
The bank had been robbed on a Friday, which was a stupid day to try to pull that off, anyway. Fridays were busy. There were too many things that could go wrong. But that was beside the point. Or was it? That could reveal the thief as an amateur, which could be helpful information. Except that Al didn’t use amateurs, so that was out.
Bryce ran the details through his head. The bank got hit shortly before noon. By that evening it was all over the news, including footage from security cameras. He’d seen the footage himself and had to agree, the outside camera made Molly look guilty. The inside cameras proved that she wasn’t at the window that had been robbed. She’d been at the next one over, standing one minute and crouching down the next. That would have been when all the customers hit the floor, which made sense. That also should have proven she was innocent, but that’s where it got complicated. The actual robber had also ducked below the counter before leaving. Could money have been exchanged? Were words exchanged? Was it possible they were both in on the job?
The outside cameras showed the robber leaving in one direction and Molly, in the other. The robber was running, which was suspicious. Molly was walking, which appeared less suspicious. Still, they looked almost identical – coats, hair, height, weight. Well, Molly might have a few extra pounds on her, but that could have been a difference in clothing.
Why had the robber ducked below the counter before leaving? It only took up time when she could have been on the way out. Had she told nearby customers to keep down until she was gone? Or had she stashed the money inside her coat? Or…had she passed off the money for later pick-up, in case she was caught on the way down the block? And if she handed it to Molly, all eyes would have been on the running thief while Molly strolled out of the bank and down the block in the other direction. That could have been a clever diversion.
There was a problem with that, though. If Molly had been part of the robbery team to begin with, why were they trying to track her down? Unless she had turned on them, taken the money and run. And that would be an amateur move. No professional would be dumb enough to double-cross Al like that. This was either a job pulled off by inexperienced thieves or a bungled plan.
Another possibility crossed his mind. The actual thief might have taken advantage of Molly being there to make it look like the money was taken, but had really passed it off to someone else after running, someone else that ended up keeping it, thereby double-crossing the initial thief. Ducking below the counter might have just been coincidental.
Or a more plausible theory: Molly had been set up. Bryce turned away from the window and paced. This was something that had crossed his mind before. It was an awfully big stretch to think that the robber looking so much like Molly wasn’t planned – same height, hair color and length? And wearing an identical coat? Molly had run errands on a regular schedule, according to several former co-workers he had interviewed before leaving Florida. It wasn’t inconceivable that the crook had staked out the bank, observed her daily routine and clothing and then set out to duplicate her appearance. Molly didn’t seem the fashionista type. She would have worn the same raincoat most of the time. That would have been easy to match. As for the hair, maybe the thief wore a wig to add to the disguise? No, the thief’s hair could easily have been cut and dyed to match Molly’s.
His instincts told him Molly was innocent. He’d thought finding a stash of stolen money at the inn would be one way to prove her guilty, but that theory was out. The real thief must have passed it off to another person after leaving the bank, or might have stashed it somewhere along the way, intending to retrieve it later. Someone else could even have stolen it during the escape. That quick duck below the counter might have had nothing to do with the money. It could have been a threat for Molly to keep quiet. Still, he had a hunch it wasn’t accidental. The thief had set Molly up to look guilty, regardless of how the rest of the event played out.
That still left the bigger question unanswered: Where was the money? If Molly was innocent, as he suspected, and the money disappeared before it reached Al, did the thief hide it or did someone else take it?
One way or another, he’d need more answers to prove Molly’s innocence. And the more he mulled it over, the more it seemed clear. He was going to have to open up to Molly about why he was really in Cranberry Cove. He’d just have to hope this tactic didn’t backfire.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Susie slipped back into the barn suite, hoping to find Dan napping. It was one of his only saving graces. Reading, television, heavy meals, you name it, put him out like a baby. His narcoleptic tendencies worked to her advantage in several ways. For one thing, she didn’t have to fend off his advances all the time. For another, it gave her breaks between his needy conversations. Why didn’t he get himself a real girlfriend or even a wife if he needed that much constant companionship?
But the best perk to his napping was getting the chance to snoop around on her own and use assignments to her personal advantage. For example, maybe Molly had hidden the money in the inn. She and Dan weren’t responsible for recovering the exact dollar amount. Any thief could spend part and save part. Or divide a stash up into different hiding places. There was nothing to say how much Molly had hidden away, so who could say how much they would find? Susie figured a 20 percent cut alone was fair, just for putting up with Dan. If she found it on her own, she could skim her rightful share off the top and say she found the amount the thief had left over.
Dan was crashed out on the suite’s sofa, a magazine draped across his chest. That left the living room off limits for exploration, but the bedroom was open game. Susie stepped into the room and closed the door silently, locking it. Even if Dan woke up and found it locked, it wouldn’t seem suspicious. After all, she locked him out every night.
She looked around the bedroom. Even with her extravagant tastes, she had to admit it was nice. The four-poster bed was solid and expensive, with intricate carvings across the headboard. The bedding itself was of fine European fabric, an ensemble that encompassed the comforter, six shams, a bed skirt and a fluffy afghan throw. The scalloped window treatments and imported throw rugs all matched the color scheme.
The furniture was a little sparse for her taste, but there was only so much that would fit in a restored barn suite. She would have liked a Jacuzzi tub in the room – as long as Dan was on the opposite side of the door – but the antique furniture would be easier to search, anyway. It was bad enough she was going to have to tap each tile in the bathroom to listen for hollow spaces where someone might hide contraband.
She started with the bed itself, running her hands up and down the posters, looking for cracks or openings. There weren’t any. The wood was solid. The only joints were located where the bottom panel and headboard attached. Sliding under the bed, Susie was relieved to find old-fashioned slats holding the box spring and mattress. Slat frames were always the easiest to check. She ran her fingers along each one-by-four slat of wood, determining that they were solid and flat against the box spring. There was nothing wedged in between.
The dresser was her next target. She pulled out each drawer, checking it for a false bottom and inspecting the area behind it. Finding nothing but dust, she sighed. Shou
ldn’t the cleaning people be getting the inside of the drawers when they dusted? She made a note to herself not to unpack anything from her suitcase. She didn’t need anyone’s discarded dust, or germs, for that matter.
There were four paintings hanging on the bedroom walls – a large landscape of the coastline, a medium watercolor of one of the town’s water towers and two long, narrow panoramas. A quick check behind all four indicated thin backings in the matting, not thick enough to hide anything. The frames themselves were narrow and solid. And there were no compartments or holes in the walls behind the pieces, which would have been too obvious, anyway. Anyone who could create a new life for herself, three thousand miles away from a crime, would do more than stash money behind framed paintings.
Susie had just finished inspecting the interior of a standing wardrobe and was contemplating a crawl space panel – how she hated spiders! A knock on the door caused her to jump.
“Getting dolled up for me in there?” Dan laughed.
“In your dreams,” Susie shouted back.
He was pathetic. If his jobs didn’t pay so well, she would have walked away from the Patterson Detective Agency long ago. Instead of hanging out in a measly coastal town, she could be on assignment with that hunk she worked with on the cruise ship around the Greek islands. Or Paolo, from Brazil.
“Just trying on outfits for that fancy dinner you’re taking me to tonight.”
“What dinner would that be?” Dan asked.
“Whichever one puts us at a prime table in the most prestigious restaurant in the area.” She smiled. Might as well play it up and get a good meal out of the trip. There were always side benefits to traveling with someone who had deep pockets, even if that someone was Dan.
“In this town?” Dan said. “I doubt it. Maybe a cute café, if we’re lucky. I’ll treat you to some clam chowder. How does that sound?”
Cranberry Bluff Page 6