Unearthed

by J. S. Marlo

  “The cove.” Wary of his presence, she pointed at the sandy patch of land beset by the waves. “Sometimes I just go sit in the sand and watch the ocean.”

  He peeked over her arm. “It looks romantic.”

  “Yes.” The interlude with Avery played in her mind. “Don’t you have patients to see at the hospital?”

  “Yes, but they can wait.” He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. “I’m sorry for abandoning you last night.”

  At his touch, she took a step back, and he dropped his arm. “You’re a doctor, Chris. It comes with the territory.”

  “I’m relieved you’re not mad at me, and I promise to make it up to you next Saturday night.”

  “No. There’s no need.” Unless she cut both his hands, friendship wasn’t a viable option. The time had come to start crossing men off her life, and Chris had become the first casualty. It was regrettable it had to happen a week before the wine tasting. “You and I live different lives, and social outings aren’t a part of yours—or mine. I’m sorry.” She wasn’t, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  “You can’t dump me before the wine tasting.” He needed to start perfecting his sad-puppy look, because it didn’t elicit any sympathy from her. “Jimmy is away, but he lent me the keys to the vineyard and provided me with a list of instructions longer than my arm. You can’t cancel, not after all the trouble Jimmy and I went through to make the evening memorable. Please? One last evening?”

  “Chris…” The guilt trip toyed with her conscience, with her sense of duty. As much as she wanted to decline, she couldn’t bring herself to offend Jimmy. “Okay, but it’s the last evening.”

  “It’ll be the last, I promise.” A coy smile livened his face. “I have to go, but I’ll call you later.” He turned away and backtracked toward Buccaneer.

  Mad at herself for accepting, she jogged in the opposite direction, faster and farther along the cliff than in any of her previous sessions. The muscles in her legs burned from exhaustion. As the path turned inland, it grew spongier and sucked her feet into the ground.

  “A marsh.” But the realization came too late. Once home, her running shoes would need a tumble in the washer. The soil squished and squashed with every laborious step she took.

  Warm and bright, the sun rose into the late-morning sky. The temperature increased. Sweat dripped down her face, leaving a salty residue on her lips. Her tank top hugged her clammy skin. The muddy deposit under the soles of her shoes impeded her running. Her legs became heavier, as if someone had shackled weights around her ankles, and her pace decreased.

  Thirsty and lightheaded, she fought the temptation to stop and lie on the path.

  ***

  A cool breeze wafted through the open door of the garage. Alone with the bones that he and Jordan had spent the morning unearthing, Avery savored every drop of his latest Red Eye. The quiet solitude and the absence of guests suited his spirits. No one bothered him while he recreated his three little specimens. The dig had yielded two new skulls, confirming his belief he was dealing with two rabbits and a cat.

  “I ran into Terry Jordan as he was leaving.” From the doorway, Rowan looked at him with a haggard expression. “He told me you completed your collection.”

  Perspiration soaked her tank top, pasting the fabric to her chest, and mud caked the sides of her running shoes. The spirited woman wasn’t self-conscious about her appearance. One more quality he admired about her, though he didn’t like her ability to sneak up on him. Over the years, he’d relied on his sixth sense to warn him of someone’s presence long before a noise betrayed the intruder, but for some obscure reason, Rowan shut down his inner alert system.

  “Did you go running?”

  “Made it to the marsh.” In her hand, she held a glass half-filled with clear blue liquid. She took a mouthful. Droplets trickled down her chin, which she wiped against her collarbone. “Are you going to introduce me to the poor dead animals?”

  He invited her to approach the table. “Meet Calvin, Cisco, and Rascal.”

  A bright smile accentuated the glow on her face. “Nice names.” She scooped up Cisco’s cranium and examined it from every angle. “I see markings on the frontal bone.”

  “Very observant.” That she showed interest in the findings pleased him. “But you missed the ones at the back.” He set aside his Red Eye to cup the skull. His fingers brushed her hand, and he relished the softness of her touch as he flipped the skull for a better view. “Here…and there.” The tip of his index finger traced the shallow furrows.

  “They don’t resemble teeth marks.”

  “No teeth.” The lines were too precise to be random animal bites. “A tool was used. Something like a pocketknife or—”

  A spasm rocked Rowan’s body. The skull and the glass slipped from her hands. He reached out for Cisco’s remains but failed to catch the glass. It shattered on contact, spilling its contents on the cement floor. Bent over, she grabbed her abdomen. “I’m gonna be sick.”

  He snaked an arm around her waist and held her against his side. Heat radiated from her body. “Let’s get you inside the house.” With glass fragments crunching under their feet, they cleared the garage and made it as far as the driveway before Rowan bent down where Jordan had earlier parked his truck. Crouching by her side, he gently pushed red curls from her face while she emptied her stomach. “I’m right here.” In the early months of her pregnancy, Rachel had fought morning sickness at the office. Mopping the floor had become a daily activity, and they’d all gotten used to the stench.

  “I need to clean this,” she whispered.

  “I’ll hose it down later. I promise.” He helped her to her feet. Her skin had turned a ghastly shade of white. “Can you walk?” Her head sunk upon his shoulder, she meekly nodded. “Easy.” The worries churning his guts deadened the pain in his leg as he supported her small stature. “Did you ingest anything special this morning?”

  She heaved a long sigh. “Only a muffin. Then I jogged for hours with a lone water bottle. That was stupid.”

  Dumb move, which she’d freely admitted. “You may be dehydrated.”

  “I’m tired.” Upon entering the vestibule tucked in his arms, she kicked her running shoes off and sent dry mud onto the baseboards. “I’ll be fine.” The weak smile she managed didn’t quell his concerns.

  “Gail?” he summoned.

  “Coming.” Within seconds, the woman emerged from the kitchen. “Mr. Stone, what can—Miss Rowan? What happened?”

  “I’m feeling a bit queasy.”

  “Not queasy.” Avery ignored the defiant glare in Rowan’s gorgeous green eyes. “She’s sick, Gail. Make sure she rests and has a lot to drink.”

  “Will do.” With gentle care, Gail pulled Rowan from his embrace. “Come with me, Miss Rowan.”

  He let go of her, but the memory of her body hugging his chest lingered long after the two women disappeared behind the private oak door.

  This fantasy of his ought to stop. Reality dictated that she belonged to that doctor. The pain in his leg returned with a vengeance when he walked into the kitchen. He needed his cane, which he’d left in the garage, and he needed another drink. The tray of muffins sat on the table. He set two aside before opening the door of the refrigerator. A plastic container filled with the same blue liquid that Rowan had ingested moments before collapsing rested on the top shelf. He poured himself a large glass.

  Numerous conditions caused nausea and vomiting. In Rowan’s case, dehydration appeared the most likely culprit—unless the sight of the bare gazebo literally made her throw up. Joking about her indisposition wasn’t funny, but it momentarily diverted his thoughts from his real suspect. Avery hated to mistrust Gail, but given her shadowy past, he needed to rule out food poisoning, intentional or not.

  With no lab at his disposition, he used the second-best testing equipment available and washed the two muffins down with the blue drink.

  By the end of the day, his stomach would dispel or con
firm his suspicions.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As he lay in bed, Avery pondered the striations on the bones. They appeared too precise to be the result of the random activity of scavengers. Someone had marked the—

  The ring of his cell phone halted his reasoning. He answered. “Stone.”

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No.” All day, he’d waited in vain to be sick. As happy as a clam in butter sauce, his stomach gurgled after another scrumptious midnight snack. “What did you find?”

  Not reputed to be a night owl, Caster wouldn’t have called him unless it was important.

  “Tracking the loan and the Icelandic guy proved easier than tracking the disgruntled guests.”

  The mock complaint suggested that his friend had succeeded in every area. “I never doubted you. Do I need a pen?”

  “No. The extra money comes from a private loan. A doctor by the name of Chris Malcolm. Does he ring a bell?”

  He rings like a discordant symphony, not a bell. “He’s a local doctor.” Malcolm had insinuated himself into every aspect of Rowan’s life, personal and professional.

  “Is that a tinge of animosity that I detect?”

  “I don’t trust him, Caster.” To say it aloud felt liberating…and right.

  “I checked him out, Avery. His record is clean, and he has no complaints filed against him. What did he do to land on your bad side?”

  “He’s Rowan’s love interest.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Avery wanted to whisk them back.

  “Rowan? Like in Rowan O’Reilly, the young redhead who owns—”

  “Don’t go there.” If Lancaster valued their friendship, he’d heed the warning.

  “Well, the relationship may explain why the doctor is being so generous.”

  Despite the title, Malcolm never struck him as the benevolent type, and for Rowan’s sake, Avery hoped she wasn’t dating the doctor as part of some unwritten repayment plan. “Anything fishy with that loan?”

  “Nothing fishy, and it gives O’Reilly lots of flexibility. Now, about that promotional website. The three reviews that were removed upon her request were originally posted on Wednesday, June first, between three and 3:30 p.m., and they all originated from the same server.”

  Avery had arrived two and a half weeks later, disgusted with life. “So we’re probably dealing with the same person. Do you have an address?”

  “Before I give you the server, tell me you’re not doing anything illegal.”

  Laughter rumbled through his chest. “Of course not. Doesn’t my reputation precede me?”

  “Yes, which is exactly why I’m worried.” Avery pictured a large grin on Caster’s scarred face. “Your biased reviewer used a public computer at your local public library in Charlottetown.”

  A visitor doesn’t stop at a library to complain, he waits until he gets home, but a local who doesn’t want to be tracked down might seek advantage of the anonymity of a library. “I’m thinking someone close to Rowan wants to ruin her.” Voicing his concerns out loud helped Avery think, and his friend provided the perfect sounding board. “The question is who. What can you tell me about Bjorn Arnarsson?”

  “Icelandic citizen. He works at the same university O’Reilly attended while in Iceland. On Saturday, July ninth, he flew from Reykjavik to Calgary. On July tenth, he flew from Calgary to Charlottetown, and that same evening, he flew back to Reykjavik. It was his only trip to Canada since O’Reilly departed Iceland on May fourteenth.”

  “Interesting.” Avery wasn’t sure what to think of Bjorn Arnarsson’s weekend visit, but unless he had an accomplice on the island, his presence seemed unrelated to the events unfolding at Buccaneer. “Anything else?”

  “No, and for the record, I never talked to you.”

  “Thanks, Caster. Good night.”

  If the library logged user traffic on their computer, he might be able to identify the person who had tried to bring down Buccaneer. The information called for a second midnight snack and a drink.

  ***

  After a long afternoon nap, Rowan’s stomach had settled down, but now that night had fallen, sleep eluded her. Tired of tossing in bed, she tiptoed out of her room and into the common living room, where she turned on the corner light by the bookcases. The rice paper lampshade diffused a gentle yellow hue into the room.

  A hardcover book, flat on its side, had been discarded on top of a neat row of paperbacks. She picked it up and chortled at the sight of the racy cover.

  “Aunt Mattie? Was it yours?”

  Intrigued by the book and Mattie’s taste, she read the blurb on the back. “Danger lurks under and above the water line for a feisty scuba diver and her dashing captain.” It sounds mysterious and exciting.

  She leafed through the pages. A bookmark with Mattie’s name on it fell on her lap, and on the back cover, Rowan spied the faded seal of a public library. “Oh, oh.” Mattie had either never finished it or had forgotten to return it. “I hope they believe me when I say you’re dead.” It wasn’t like her aunt had intended to keep the book. Hopefully, the librarian wouldn’t charge her an arm and a leg in late fees. In the meantime, she might as well sample the book.

  The green reclining chair with the afghan on the armrest looked cozy and inviting. She draped the purple afghan around her shoulders and cuddled in the chair with the book.

  “O’Reilly?” Avery stood under the archway separating the living room from the hallway. Shirtless, he rivaled the bare-chested hunk on the cover of the book. “How’s your stomach?”

  “Fine.” Except for the single-minded butterflies fluttering inside it. “Thank you for taking care of the driveway.”

  On the embarrassment scale, puking in front of a guest and having him clean up her mess had to rank near the top, just below walking into the attic room and catching the guest naked. The latter had never happened to her, but the thought didn’t stop hot flashes from warming up her insides.

  “I’ve seen worse, Rowan. It was no problem.” He entered the living room with his cane in one hand and a glass in the other. “Is that a book?”

  The heat migrated from her belly to her cheeks as his gaze seemed to focus on the novel clutched in her grip. “It’s Mattie’s library book. I found it by accident.”

  “By accident?” A brow arched over mesmerizing brown eyes as he placed his glass on the coffee table wedged between her chair and a beige leather loveseat. “We need to talk about Buccaneer.”

  Resigned to a loveless existence, she hugged the book responsible for her wayward fantasy to her chest. “What is it, Avery? Something is not to your liking?”

  “Not exactly.” His muscular body sank into the beige loveseat. “Has any guest or acquaintance ever mentioned the public library in Charlottetown?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” The sudden inquiry disconcerted her. “Everyone around here knows about the library. According to Bill, it has a great gardening section. I’m going tomorrow to return Mattie’s book. Would you like me to look something up for you?”

  The cane cast off onto the hardwood floor, he reached for his drink. “You’re not going to town just for one book, are you?”

  “No.” A smile stretched her mouth. “I’m picking up my new car in the morning.”

  “Already?” Without tearing his gaze away from her, he took another sip from his glass. “What did you buy?”

  “A Ford Fiesta.” In the showroom of the dealership, her new baby had looked amazing. “She’s magenta.”

  “Bright pink?” His face turned into a grimace worthy of an ugly mug shot. “What’s wrong with green or blue?”

  Based on his reaction, her car was safe. No man would steal a pink car. “Magenta is a beautiful color. Besides, it’ll be easy to find her in a crowded parking lot.”

  “Yeah, she’ll jump right at you.” He drained his glass, snatched his cane, and stood. “Good night, O’Reilly.”

  The floor creaked under his receding steps. Outside, the win
d howled against the window, a lamenting echo of her lonely heart.

  ***

  Bjorn tossed and turned on the couch. Alone.

  Since he’d returned from Canada, sleep eluded him, peace avoided him, and his future evaded him. He’d lost her, of that much he was certain, but he still didn’t know why, and the evasive reason haunted him. Through the living room window, the rocky face of the moon glowed in the night sky, seemingly mocking his broken heart.

  Why, Rowan? Why?

  A faint knock from somewhere inside his apartment building answered his silent plea. He ignored it like he’d ignored the two dozen or so phone calls he’d received in the last few days. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, or see anyone, or go anywhere, or—

  A second knock pierced the night, louder than the previous one. It took Bjorn a few seconds to realize someone had knocked on his door. The clock on the mantle of the fireplace indicated it was 2:07 a.m. No one in his right mind would disturb him in the middle of the night. Probably a drunk tenant. If Bjorn ignored him long enough, the unwelcome visitor should get the hint and try another door.

  But another knock resonated on his door. Get lost. Misery was a lone lover he didn’t want to share with anyone.

  The door lock clicked, and Bjorn bolted upright on the couch. Aside from the landlord, only two people had a key to his apartment, Rowan and Amma. Rowan was in the arms of a doctor, his grandmother was in bed, and his landlord had no business sneaking into his place without cause. The door creaked when it opened and squeaked when she closed it behind her.

  “Amma?” Stunned by her appearance, Bjorn rubbed his eyes with his fists. His grandmother wasn’t a night owl, hated to drive after sunset, and rarely visited his place, even during the daytime. She had to be a figment of his imagination—a dream. When he lowered his hands, she’d moved near the living room window, and he was shocked to realize she was real.