by J. S. Marlo
His gaze traveled from the dusty red running shoes that had stopped inches away from his knee to the two disparate socks she wore all the way up to green eyes looking down at him with concern.
Angry with the boys for exposing his weakness, he ignored the hand she lent him and snatched his cane. His fist closed on a deep indentation, and a low rumble surged in his chest. The little monsters had bent the aluminum shaft.
“Go chain the troublemakers, O’Reilly, and leave me alone.” That she neither flinched nor took a step back impressed him. “I’m fine,” he added as an afterthought.
“Good.” A furtive smile flitted across her lips. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some rope to tie those boys to a tree.”
O’Reilly approached the young family. “Mr. and Mrs. Landor, may I have a word with you in private, please?”
Not interested in eavesdropping, Avery sauntered around the house and into the garden. From there, he followed the trickling sound of a nearby stream. A blue bench partially hidden by the trees wobbled on the uneven shoreline.
Furrows in the packed earth showed how far the bench had been dragged from its original position, and the small footprints left in the muddy shore pointed toward the three little devils as the culprits.
“Future delinquents.”
He moved the bench to a higher elevation. Once he was satisfied it wouldn’t tumble when he lay down on it, he took a nap.
***
After her tense meeting with the Landors, Rowan trudged into the kitchen where Gail was humming while doing dishes.
The door of the refrigerator lay bare from the colorful trinkets usually adorning the appliance. “Where are the fridge magnets?”
“In the bread box.” With her chin, Gail pointed to the wooden box at the end of the counter. “Safe from the boys.”
It appeared those boys were a menace no matter where they played. “I talked to the parents about their unruly behavior. I’m hoping mom and dad got the message.”
Gail sneered. “If I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath.” A soap bubble rose from the sink. “You wouldn’t look too good all blue.”
The mental picture amused Rowan. “They’re leaving in three days.”
“That’s not soon enough.” Water dripped onto Gail’s apron as she reached for the tea towel hanging on the handle of the stove. “While you were gone running, they broke two glasses in the bathtub. I replaced them all with plastic tumblers. Heaven spare me, but that’s one family I hope never to see again.”
As terrible as it sounded, Rowan wouldn’t miss them either. “They’re going to the beach. We should be able to enjoy a quiet afternoon.” On the table, the fruit basket was filled with apples, pears, plums, peaches, and bananas. She grabbed a banana and proceeded to peel it from the opposite end of the stem. “I’ll take a shower, then head to town.” Bill hadn’t stopped by in a few days, and she wanted to talk to him. “Need anything?”
“If you’d be so kind as to buy some milk. Those boys may behave like spoiled brats, but they drink like baby calves.”
***
Rowan parked in the first empty space she found along the busy downtown street. In the summer, tourists invaded the island, and different accents floated among the chatty people walking up and down the sidewalk. Some she recognized, but most she didn’t.
A historic Catholic church loomed ahead. If the address she’d gathered from his employment sheet was correct, Bill lived two blocks past the church in an apartment above a bakery.
The smell of fresh bread teased her nose. She followed the aroma to a two-story building. The first-floor window displayed the weekly special. BUY THREE LOAVES, GET ONE FREE.
Something obscured the upper window. Dismissing the uneasy feeling churning in the pit of her stomach, Rowan climbed the outdoor iron staircase.
“I’m not intruding, I’m checking on him.” Spoken out loud, the distinction between the two sounded trivial.
Before she changed her mind, she knocked.
“Who’s there?” Bill’s tenor resonated loud and clear through the closed door.
“It’s Rowan.” Muffled noises came from inside, and all of a sudden, checking on him didn’t sound like such a bright idea. If she interrupted anything, she’d—
The door opened. “I wasn’t expecting you, Miss Rowan.”
She stared in stupefaction at the old man wearing little more than a pair of walking shorts and dark sunglasses. “Bill?”
A kind smile ruffled his beard. “Some people do call me as such.”
He moved aside, and with a gesture of his hand, invited her in. The curtains were drawn, but he seemed to be alone. She took a hesitant step inside the dim room. The door closed behind her.
“What can I do for you, Miss Rowan?”
Unsure where to begin, she licked her lips as her gaze wandered around. “Have you had a chance to order the supplies?”
“Yes.” Without taking his sunglasses off, he walked to a coffee table from which he retrieved an invoice sitting near a picture frame facing down and presented it to her. “No black gutters left in town. I had to drive to the mainland.”
The price at the bottom of the paper suited her budget, and the drive explained his long absence. “Nice deal.”
“Glad you approve. Need anything else?”
The ludicrous thought that he had read her mind unsettled her. “Would it be too late to order more red tiles? I’m thinking of replacing the roof of the garage, the shed, and the gazebo to give them a similar appearance as the house.”
“Excellent idea.” In the confines of the living room, he towered over her. “I’ll stop by Buccaneer tonight to unload the materials.”
Her skin prickled, and she found herself eager to leave the apartment. “Very well. I’ll see you later.”
Chapter Four
Awakened by the obnoxiously loud Landor children for the fourth day in a row, Avery stretched his sore muscles. The sheet fell onto the floor, and his feet dangled at the end of the bed.
According to the alarm clock sitting on the night table, breakfast would be over in ten minutes. He slipped a pair of jeans over his boxers and threw on the first sleeveless shirt he grabbed from the dresser. Dispensing with shoes, he snatched his cane and limped down the stairs into the kitchen.
Heedless of his presence in the doorway, Gail hummed an unfamiliar tune as she cleaned spilled milk near the table, a spill he immediately attributed to one of the Landor boys.
“You should have made the boy clean up his mess.”
“They were departing.” She lifted her head and grinned. “I didn’t want to risk extending their stay.” Done wiping the floor, she propped herself up using the closest chair as support. “Did you sleep well?”
For the first time since the shooting, no nightmare had plagued his slumber. Maybe the change of scenery had proven beneficial after all. “Yes. Am I too late for breakfast?”
“I aim to please, Mr. Stone.” Ample bosoms wobbled under the flowery apron tied loosely around her waist. “What would you fancy this morning?”
Gail’s bubbly personality rubbed off on him. “Why don’t you surprise me, luv?”
***
Rowan wasn’t used to venturing into the steep stairwell connecting the second floor to the attic with a basket of fresh towels and linens on a regular basis. The Starfish Room didn’t see many visitors and, except for the unmade bed and some personal items, there were few indications a guest resided in the attic. Stone might as well be a ghost. The man didn’t communicate with anyone but Gail.
“Calling him a ghost sounds about right.”
To save on water and to protect the environment, she replaced the bedding and towels every other day unless the guests requested otherwise. Like most of her guests, Stone didn’t make any special requests, but today was day four. She gathered linens and towels, tossed them near the door, then replaced them with fresh ones before picking up more than half a dozen dirty glasses.
A red r
esidue streaked the rim and bottom of another glass resting on the night table, and a pungent smell assaulted her nostrils. “Tomato juice? What on earth did he mix it with?” Having no appetite for the strange concoction, she placed it in the basket with the other glasses. Later on, she’d climb back up with a tray of clean glasses.
A laptop lay open on the desk. As Rowan dusted around it, the corner of the rag grazed the touchpad, and the screen came alive. She couldn’t resist a look, a long look.
Stone knew she cleaned his room every morning while he disappeared into the woods. It wasn’t her fault if he didn’t close the cover. “I’m looking at something in plain view.”
The names of the folders displayed on the desktop caught her curiosity. Boat specs. Diving logs. Underwater wrecks. Weapons. Midnight Shadows. Motives. Murders. Suspects. Rachel.
“What are you up to, Stone?” She resisted the temptation of clicking on the mouse. The content of those files belonged to him and were probably not as exciting as the titles or her wild imagination suggested.
Once she finished her share of household chores, Rowan toured the property. The lawn and garden had been recently cut, weeded, and watered. And during breakfast, Bill had dropped a bundle of red tiles into the shed and stacked the new black gutters against the garage.
Painting the house was next on her list of projects, but she hesitated between bright yellow and stormy gray. During his morning visit, Bill had voiced his opposition to both colors before leaving without telling her when he’d return to install the gutters.
Her gaze traveled to the gazebo. The Jensens weren’t scheduled to arrive until early evening, and Gail had already readied their room. It gave Rowan the entire afternoon to peel off the old roof.
She went into the shed, tucked a hammer into the loop of her cargo shorts, and from there, carried a ladder to the gazebo. Growing up on the ranch, she’d watched her mother tackle an array of renovations. Tearing off old asphalt shingles couldn’t be that complicated. She climbed the rungs, knelt on the conical roof, and started at the top.
“Heads up.”
The debris slid off the roof, some hitting the wood railing with a clunk, others landing on the grass with a thud.
***
Awoken from his midafternoon nap by loud clatters and bangs, Avery left the bench near the stream and trekked through the garden in search of the disturbance.
As he peered around the corner of the house, he spotted a stranger in a fancy suit rushing across the lawn. The unidentified male headed toward the gazebo where—
At the sight of O’Reilly perched on the roof like a reckless rooster waiting to be gunned down, Avery’s jaw dropped.
“Rowan?” The blond stranger yelled her name. “Have you lost your mind?”
The hammer slipped from her hand. She leaped back as if she’d been hit by the tool and lost her footing.
An invisible blow knocked the wind out of Avery. Too far to intervene, he squeezed his cane, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the body sliding down the roof.
Arms outstretched, O’Reilly reached up. Whatever she managed to grip near the edge halted her deadly descent.
“Rowan? Are you all right?” The brainless fool who’d startled her stood where the hammer had fallen.
Looking haggard, she struggled to sit away from the void.
“Does she look all right?” Avery muttered under his breath, his stomach reeling from the near-tragedy.
O’Reilly swayed her head, blood running down her face. “Doctor…Chris?”
The fool was a doctor? His dubious tactic to recruit new patients didn’t impress Avery.
“You shouldn’t be alone on a roof, Rowan. It’s dangerous.”
How dare this Chris character admonish her after scaring her half to death? Tempted to have a word or two with the unsolicited doctor, Avery tapped the ground with his cane.
“Are you trying to kill me?” she snapped before wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “In case you didn’t notice, I was doing fine until you yelled at me.”
The doctor dug his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry, but when I saw you, I pictured Mattie falling down and breaking her neck.”
Avery had never heard of a Mattie. Maybe Gail would know about the mysterious woman who had broken her neck.
O’Reilly crawled toward the ladder. “I’m not Mattie.”
“I know. You’re much more beautiful.”
Smooth-talker. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Avery backtracked into the garden. If O’Reilly fell for the guy, she might as well drop dead.
***
As soon as Rowan’s feet touched solid ground, Chris led her from the gazebo to the terrace, where he coaxed her into sitting on a lawn chair.
“You’re bleeding. Let me have a look.”
“It’s nothing…really.”
Despite her objections, he knelt by her side and gently ran his fingers over her forehead. “The skin is bruised, but the cut is superficial. Just keep it clean.”
She could have told him that. “What brought you here?”
“I’m hurt, Rowan.” In an exaggerated motion, he placed his hand over his heart. “Do I need an excuse to come visit a beautiful woman?”
The term “beautiful” couldn’t possibly describe a bleeding girl with bright red curls and huge cucumber eyes like her. Besides, his previous visit had been strictly business-related. “I wasn’t aware that doctors made social calls.”
A disarming smile brightened his boyish face. “I didn’t come as a doctor. I’m off on Wednesday afternoons.”
Gail had hinted the doctor was interested, but Chris hadn’t given her any reason to believe it might be true. “You are?”
His blue eyes sparkled like the ocean. “You’re an intriguing woman.”
Another adjective that had never been used in her presence until now. “I am?”
“Yes.” From his pocket, he pulled a hankie and dabbed her wound. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
“Me?” Guilt over the incident had incited him to ask her out. It was the only logical explanation. “I—” The Jensens would be arriving, but she could always ask Gail to welcome them. “Are you sure?”
He slowly lowered his hand along her cheek, leaving a feathery caress in its wake. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Don’t be late.”
***
A punctual man, Chris stopped in front of Buccaneer at seven o’clock sharp. It pleased him that the object of his infatuation was waiting for him on the swing chair. Rowan stood up and advanced toward his car. The black skirt she wore hugged her hips, and the green blouse accentuated her lovely eyes.
Before he had a chance to exit the car and open the door for her, she’d climbed onto the passenger seat. “You’re on time, Chris.”
“Always.” One of the many qualities he possessed. “And if I may say so, you look stunning.”
A tinge of red tinted her cheeks. “Where are we going?”
“Captain Rogue.” Benoit, one of his patients, owned a popular restaurant on the waterfront, and he’d been able to make a last-minute reservation. “I hope you like seafood.”
“Very much so.”
Dazzled by her bashful smile, he reached for the delicate fingers smoothing nonexistent creases from her skirt. Midway between the two seats, he changed his mind and lowered his hand to the gearshift. No point adding to her discomfort and risking rejection this early in the evening.
“Do you like ghost stories, Rowan?”
“Don’t tell me doctors believe in ghosts around here?” Soft laughter trickled through the words.
As he drove along the shore, he pointed at the lighthouse erected on a cliff. “Some folks swear the last guardian of the lighthouse is haunting the premises.”
“Really?”
“The building is condemned, and the area around the cliff is off-limits, but during stormy nights, I have patients who swear they’ve seen the light at the top and heard the foghorn.” Being a man of science
, he never gave credit to such tales, though he appreciated their entertainment value.
“And why do they believe the ghost is the guardian?”
“When the government decommissioned the lighthouse, the guardian hung himself in the tower.” A parking spot was available in front of the restaurant, and he hurried across the intersection before another car claimed it. “I hope I didn’t spoil your appetite.”
“Not at all.” She stretched her neck toward the window. “Captain Rogue. Original name for a restaurant.”
“Benoit, the owner, is a colorful character.” He cut the engine, but before he made it to the passenger side, she’d already exited onto the sidewalk. The line in front of Captain Rogue extended to the corner of the street. Firmly supporting her elbow, he forged through the crowd and into the lobby.
“Doctor Malcolm. This way, please.” Clad in a pirate costume, the greeter ushered them to a second floor where tables for two were randomly placed around a larger-than-life wood sculpture of a fisherman holding a lobster by its tail. The young employee indicated a table near a brick fireplace, the bottom of it covered with a fine layer of cold ashes. “Is that convenient, doctor?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
As she sat across from him, Rowan glanced around the room. “The place is charming.”
A rusty ship’s wheel, a bronze anchor, a fisherman’s net with fish replicas caught in it, a battered lobster trap, and many more antiques covered the walls, adding to the atmosphere.
“I’m glad you like it.” A bottle of white wine, two empty glasses, and two menus had been placed on the table prior to their arrival. At his next appointment, he needed to remember to thank Benoit accordingly. “May I recommend the shrimp scampi in lemon sauce? It is Benoit’s specialty.”