“They?” Michelle eyed Lana skeptically. “You mean ‘she,’ don’t you? You’re talking about that good-lookin’ lady cop.”
Lana’s face became wooden. “She’s the only one who might care if something happens to me.”
That struck to the bone and Michelle winced. Still, it was better than the alternative, where Lana called the constable immediately and the whole thing ended with Michelle achieving nothing more for her troubles than an outstanding bill for a rental car that had been swept out to sea.
“I understand,” she said, moderating her tone to its most conciliatory inflection. “I know this is a major deal for you, and I’m really very grateful.”
“Give me an hour to pack a bag,” Lana said gravely. “We’ll stop in Windsor and pick you up a few things, especially some winter clothes. You’ll need them if you plan to be running around outside.” She frowned briefly and headed for her study.
Michelle watched her go, struck by a sudden thought. She understood why she was doing this, why she felt she had to go on this adventure, on this pursuit of some mythical dream no matter what the danger. What it might cost her in the long run.
But why was Lana doing it when all common sense said she should simply call back her cop friend and end it all here and now?
Chapter Seven
Stunned, unhappy, Emily barely paid attention to the road as she drove from Lana’s cabin, unable to believe what she’d seen. Not that she had any claim on Lana, of course, but still, she’d thought—she’d hoped—that when Lana was ready to move beyond her grief, she would see Emily and how she felt about her. Now it looked as if Emily had missed her chance, which made her chest roil with regret and disillusionment.
Noticing the needle creeping up on the speedometer, Emily deliberately lightened her foot, slowing the cruiser. There was no point in running off the road over this. Exhaling in a rush, she shook her head and turned off one of the side roads to avoid the flooding that lay ahead. Her patrol included most of the Rawdon Hills, which had a lot of back roads with isolated houses on them that required her attention. For the most part, it was a quiet and peaceful assignment, the only excitement being an occasional speeder or a domestic dispute that could usually be calmed with some practical suggestions and pointed warnings. It had been an unexpected though gratifying bonus to discover one of her favorite authors lived there.
Not that she’d ever let on to Lana. Besides, when she first met her, Sarah was still alive, though gravely ill, and after her death, Lana had been plunged into a dark morass of mourning. Emily could offer only a passing friendship and a shoulder if Lana ever required it, though, outside of their shared meals at the diner in Kennetcook, Lana never had. Now, just as it seemed Lana was surfacing from her pool of misery, appeared to be shaking off the worst of the lingering sorrow, some stranger had swooped in to offer more at just the right time, leaving Emily with nothing but a heavy heart and a myriad of what ifs.
It gnawed at her all the way back to Windsor and the RCMP detachment, where she parked the cruiser and slammed the door with unnecessary vigor. Inside the squat building that housed their offices, she ran into fellow regular member Paul MacDonald, who sat at the desk opposite hers, filling out paperwork. Tall and broad-shouldered, with his dark hair cut high and tight, his hazel eyes perpetually amused, he took one look at her face and lifted his bushy eyebrows.
“What’s going on, Ems?”
Emily shot him a look and forced her agitation down deep into the pit of her stomach where it lay like lead. “Just tired of winter,” she said.
“A couple more months of it, anyway,” he replied philosophically. He eyed her narrowly over his computer monitor. “No, really, you came in here looking like you were loaded for bear. What’s up?”
He was a good friend, and on the occasions when it called for it, he operated as her partner on patrol. She’d been to his house many times for dinner with his family: Hannah, his wife, and his two kids, boys, Seth and Cory. If Emily had to talk to anyone, it might as well be him, she decided. Besides, he knew all about Emily’s pathetic little crush, told to him one night during a particularly tedious stakeout of an illegal marijuana grow field.
“Just got caught off guard this morning,” she admitted as she sat down and powered up her computer.
“Lana?” His tone was silky, and a teasing light shone in his dark eyes.
She exhaled audibly. “I stopped by to see how she was doing with all the flooding.” The next was a bit painful. “She had a guest.”
“Huh,” he said noncommittally. “So?”
“So, she was a personal-type guest,” Emily went on as she filled out her paperwork, trying to distance herself a little from the situation. “Her name is Michelle and she’s from New Orleans. She came downstairs dressed in nothing but a T-shirt, looking about eighteen, except for the eyes.” Emily paused, thinking about it. “The eyes looked a hell of a lot older.”
“Oh, wow, that’s a surprise,” he said, and his angular dark features softened a bit. “Sorry, Ems. Guess your favorite author’s over her mourning period. Maybe this means she’ll start writing again. But it doesn’t necessarily mean there’s no chance for you. In fact, this could all be good news. Obviously, Lana’s ready to move on. And if this girl is from New Orleans, then she’s probably not sticking around.” He paused. “How do you suppose they know each other?”
Emily shrugged. “I got the impression they were old friends.” Except it was Michelle who did the implying whereas Lana had seemed a lot less comfortable with the idea, Emily remembered belatedly, as she began to go over the encounter in more analytical detail. In fact, Lana had seemed surprised at some of what Michelle had been saying.
“Maybe she’s a reader, some kind of fan of Lana’s books. I need to run a background check on her, see who she really is.”
Paul lifted his head, staring at her. “I doubt that’s a good idea,” he said mildly.
“No, I didn’t—” Emily felt her face heat as she realized how her plan sounded. “I don’t mean for personal reasons. It’s just now that I’m thinking about it, there was something hinky there.”
“Emily, you know how much I respect your instincts,” he pointed out, his voice becoming serious. “But this could be going over a line you really don’t want to cross.” He shook his head. “Look, you’re off for the next few days. Think about it, and if you really believe there’s something there, you can always run a background check when you get back.”
“You’re probably right,” she said, though a sense of dissatisfaction remained.
Swallowing it back, she began to finish her remaining paperwork. She didn’t often have three days off in a row and had been planning to enjoy them. In fact, that was part of the reason she’d stopped by Lana’s cabin that morning. She’d hoped to talk Lana into, if not a date exactly, then some sort of outing, a movie in Windsor perhaps, or maybe just another lunch at the diner in Kennetcook, only without her being in uniform and having to go back out on patrol immediately afterward. Now Emily wasn’t anticipating her time off nearly as much, but she still needed to wrap up as much as possible before leaving.
She changed out of her uniform in the locker room at the end of her shift and stuffed it in a gym bag, which she carried out to the parking lot where her ruby-red Dodge Challenger, the R/T Scatback Shaker model, was parked. As she was pulling out of the lot, an incoming cruiser stopped and she braked in response, looking over to see Norma Stewart, another member from her detachment.
“You come in from Kennetcook?” Norma said, rolling down her window as Emily did the same. “Route 14?”
“I turn around in Kennetcook,” Emily explained. “That’s the edge of my patrol. Northeast Nova Division has it from the other side. Stewiacke detachment. Why?”
“They just fished a rental car out of Lattie’s Brook near Maitland. Considering how strong the current was, it might have gone in on our side.”
“I didn’t hear anything from the locals,” Emily
said. “There was no sign of an accident during my pass through this morning, but there’s a lot of flooding around there. The driver?”
“No sign.”
“Do they think he’s in the river?”
“No, the car was empty, the doors shut, and the windows were up. It looks more like it was dumped or abandoned. Women’s luggage still in the trunk, though. The paperwork in the glove compartment was ruined, so they’re checking with Enterprise now to see who rented it.”
“Women’s luggage? Well, if it went in on our side, then Paul will have to handle it,” Emily said. “I’m off for the next three days.”
“Lucky you,” Norma said dryly. “See you on Tuesday.”
But Emily didn’t leave right away as the police cruiser pulled away. Instead, she sat in her car and thought furiously. If the rental car belonged to Michelle, why wouldn’t she have said something when she was there? Why wouldn’t Lana? And why did she even think it was Michelle who’d rented the car in the first place?
Nothing more than my gut, Emily thought uncomfortably, and that was hardly enough to warrant going back inside with her suspicions. But it was enough for her to turn right toward the highway instead of left into downtown Windsor, where her apartment was located. The V8 beneath the hood rumbled pleasantly as she accelerated onto the TransCanada, and she wished she could travel this fast the entire way, but only a couple of kilometers later she was easing down the ramp and back onto the twisty, broken pavement leading through the Rawdon Hills.
She chafed at the detours she had to take on the way to Lana’s place, some little more than fire roads through the forest before coming out onto the main highway once more. It was well after dark when she arrived at the cabin, and her heart sank when she saw no lights in the window. She hoped that indicated another power outage, but when she pulled in, the motion light at the corner of the garage immediately activated. Now that she was here, doubts and self-consciousness rushed in. What the hell was she doing?
Hesitantly, she opened her door and got out of the Challenger. It was raining again, a cold, fretful rain that made her blink, a misty halo outlining the bulb of the outdoor light. Squaring her shoulders, she steeled herself and climbed the short flight of stairs leading to Lana’s back door. She knocked firmly, a bit louder than she intended, and winced at the harsh sound.
No response. Frowning, she looked around and realized that Lana’s Wrangler wasn’t in the yard. She closed her eyes in consternation. All this way and she wasn’t even home. Except—hadn’t Lana said she wasn’t going anywhere for a while, that she’d be staying away from the flooding? This was all very strange, mostly because it wasn’t what Emily recognized as normal behavior for Lana. And Emily had paid attention to every aspect of her behavior from the second she’d laid eyes on her three years earlier. Though immediately attracted to the darkly beautiful features, what really had ensnared Emily was Lana’s courage and grace in the most dreadful of circumstances, her quiet dignity and small flashes of humor that colored their conversations at the diner.
She wasn’t proud of what she did next, but she couldn’t help herself. She had to know. Sliding her hand behind the deck post by the door, she retrieved the spare key that Lana kept hanging there. She’d revealed the place of concealment during one of their lunches, presumably because being a police constable made Emily so trustworthy. Feeling a bit sick, but determined to get to the bottom of the situation, Emily slipped the key into the lock and turned it.
Inside, a fire still smoldered in the woodstove, but the place held a definite aura of emptiness. Emily took a step forward, hesitated, and decided she’d violated Lana’s privacy quite enough. Ashamed and chastened, she turned to leave when she glimpsed a white envelope propped up on the toaster on the counter beside her.
Emily’s name was on it, written in Lana’s artistic scrawl. Stunned, she took it and opened it, pulling out a two-page, stapled letter printed from Lana’s computer.
If you’re reading this, Emily, I’ve either gone missing or something else, something unusual, has happened to me.
Emily blinked. It sounded like something out of one of Lana’s novels. Shaking her head in disbelief, she quickly scanned the letter, then reread it. As she did, one part of her mind noticed that Lana wrote letters in the same style that she wrote her books: descriptive, flowing, and with a good eye for setting a scene, providing all the details of a daring rescue the night before and a treasure hunt that Lana needed to pursue for reasons she didn’t really explain in the letter.
That Emily now needed to pursue, because she was damned if she was going to leave Lana alone in this situation, especially with that Devereaux woman, who Emily hadn’t trusted from moment one.
Locking the door securely behind her, Emily stuffed the letter into her jacket pocket and descended the back stairs in a rush, heart pounding as she ran for her car.
Chapter Eight
Lana was aware of Michelle’s gaze on her as she drove, the emerald eyes studying her as if she could somehow read her mind. She doubted Michelle would find much of use in there. Lana didn’t really understand why she was going along with this scheme, or what she hoped to accomplish, but there she was, driving through the rain and gusty wind to Grand-Pré. In February. With half the roads impassible because of flooding.
She should be home, tucked up in her cozy cabin by the fire, reading or tying flies or any of the other pastimes she enjoyed. Of course, she hadn’t really enjoyed those pastimes since Sarah’s illness. And her cabin hadn’t felt anything more than empty for some time now.
“How much farther?”
“Assuming we don’t run into any more flooding, it shouldn’t be long,” Lana explained. “We’ll turn off for Wolfville at the next exit. The museum is on the way.” She paused. “It won’t be open, you know. It’s only open from spring to fall.”
“I know, which is better for us.” Michelle glanced out the window. “We should find a place to stay and wait until dark. That way, we’ll be sure no one will see us.”
“What makes you think we’ll be able to find anything in the dark?”
Michelle flashed her an impish smile. “Oh, we’ll find it.” With her red hair covered by a new black toque and the scattering of freckles across her high cheeks no longer obscured by makeup, she looked a lot younger than Lana had initially assumed the night before.
They had stopped at the mall in Windsor where Lana replaced Michelle’s lost clothes, phone, and toiletries, as well as provided her with some outerwear more suited for a Maritime winter. Now that she was dressing her, driving her around as if to a soccer game, and feeding her to boot, Lana was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable. It wasn’t that she minded the expense. Between what Sarah had left her and her book royalties, she could easily afford to indulge this whim of hers, but it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps she shouldn’t be sleeping with a woman who might be as much as a decade younger. Not first thing out of the gate.
“Any ideas on where we should stay?” Michelle asked, interrupting her train of thought.
“There’s a motel right across the road leading to the historic site,” Lana offered. She and Sarah had stayed at the Evangeline Inn one spring for the Apple Blossom Festival. She wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with the onslaught of memories staying there would bring, but it was the most convenient venue for what they had in mind. “I don’t know if it’s open year round.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
As they pulled off onto Trunk 1 leading to Grand-Pré, Lana was struck by how bleak the scenery was in winter. She’d only been down to the Annapolis Valley in the spring and summer, when it was green and vibrant, where every view was a lush vista of fields and orchards. February was definitely not conducive to tourism, so she was surprised to discover the Evangeline Inn open for business rather than closed for the season.
As she parked the car, she glanced over at Michelle. “Should we stay in the inn or the motel part?”
“Motel,” Miche
lle said shortly. “It’s cheaper and more anonymous.”
Lana felt her lips twist in a smirk. “Yeah, anonymous doesn’t really work in places this small,” she said. “Especially this time of year.”
But she was unprepared for how many cars were in the parking lot, and as she and Michelle headed for the office, she took note of more than one rainbow triangle sticker displayed in the vehicles’ back windows. Inside, behind the wooden counter straight out of the 1940s, a slender woman with bright eyes and dark curly hair was on duty. Her small, gold nametag read Cindy Sullivan.
“Afternoon, ladies,” she said with a smile. “Are you here for the Rainbow Weekend?”
Since Lana had no idea what she was talking about, she just stared at her blankly. Michelle, however, was quick to jump on it.
“Yes,” she said, and wrapped her arm around Lana’s waist, yanking her close. “We spent our honeymoon down here so we couldn’t resist coming back for the dance.”
Left in the dust once more, Lana could only goggle as Michelle registered them for a room with a king-sized bed, though she was required to dig out her credit card again since it was quickly apparent that Michelle wasn’t going to offer any of her own. Lana wondered if she had lost all her funds in the accident.
“If you wouldn’t mind, could I ask you an odd question?” Michelle smiled charmingly at the innkeeper as her accent deepened. “You haven’t seen a couple of men come through here, have you? One has dark hair, kind of swarthy, and a Spanish accent, while the other is bald with a scar over his right eye and a tattoo on his neck and face.”
Cindy, who’d been filling in the receipt on the computer, paused and looked at her, her cheerful expression abruptly disappearing. “As a matter of fact, I have,” she said, frowning. “They came in last night, and when I asked if they wanted a double room for the weekend, they said they didn’t and looked so offended I decided it might be better if they found other accommodations. I told them we were already fully booked.”
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