by J. S. Marlo
With trembling hands, she hugged her purse to her chest. In the dimness, her face reflected the moon’s ghastly shade of white. “I needed to talk to you, but you didn’t answer your phone.”
The urgency in her voice cleared his head. “Are you sick?” If she’d been feeling unwell, she should have gone directly to the hospital, not here. “Want me to take you somewhere?” He stood and slipped on the shirt he’d tossed over the back of the couch.
“Sit, Bjorn. We’re not going anywhere.”
The same tone she’d used to ground him with when he was a child prompted him to sit right back down. “What’s wrong, Amma?” Only a crisis of the worst kind could account for such baffling behavior.
In a silent invitation to join him, he patted the cushion beside him, but she declined with a sweep of her hand. “I did something terrible…something unforgiveable.”
His grandmother was seventy-four years old; whatever she thought she’d done couldn’t be that terrible. “It can’t be that bad, Amma.”
“Yes. It can. And you will hate me for what I did.”
He could never hate the woman who’d raised him after his parents died. Needing to see every nuance of her expression, he turned on the light by the couch. “I love you, Amma. Whatever you did won’t change that.”
She sat on the rocking chair nestled between the fireplace and the window, clasping her purse on her lap. “He said you’d forgive me if I tell you the truth, but I don’t know if I believe him.”
A man had obviously rattled his grandmother, and Bjorn grew more suspicious by the second. “Who’s he, Amma?”
“He came to me this afternoon. He said I owed you the truth.” Her eyes lost their focus, and she stared into thin air at something only she could see. “When he looked at me, his gaze pierced my soul. For as long as I live, I will never forget his eyes.”
Unnerved by Amma’s eerie voice, Bjorn expelled a shaky breath. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.” Her gaze turned toward him. “Do you still love her, Bjorn? Do you still love Rowan?”
Tears he refused to shed burned behind his eyelids. “Yes.” His grandmother had warned him against chasing after Rowan, and he was glad he’d concealed his recent trip from her. He didn’t need to hear her say I told you so. “But she left, and I’d rather not talk about her.”
“She didn’t leave, Bjorn. He knew about the letter. He knew she didn’t leave—not of her own accord.”
“What?” Trying to make sense of his grandmother’s rambling tale, he went to stand by the window. “Are you implying that man took Rowan off the island against her will?”
“Not him.” In the window he caught the reflection of his grandmother as she lowered her head. “Me. I’m the one who coerced her to write that letter and forced her onto that plane.”
“You what?” An invisible crevasse opened under his feet, and he plummeted into a giant void. “Rowan was sick, Amma. You were supposed to take care of her. I trusted you.” This was a nightmare. His grandmother couldn’t have betrayed her only grandson. “How could you?”
In the silence of the night, the rocking chair creaked. “She was a foreigner, Bjorn. She couldn’t cook a decent meal or keep a house clean. I just wanted you to have a good wife, an Icelandic wife. I thought if Rowan left, you’d take an interest in Fridrika.”
“How can you say things like that? We loved each other.” Anger boiled inside his chest, overshadowing the disbelief surrounding his heart. “Rowan was the most amazing woman any man could dream of.”
“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry for all the terrible things I said to her, for the impossible choice I gave her.”
Confused and hurt by his grandmother’s betrayal, he spun around, swung his arm sideways, and hit the window with his fist. “What things, Amma? What choice?” With the way his grandmother had treated her, it was no wonder Rowan had sought love in the arms of another man. She would never want to see him again. “I want to hear every single word you told her while I was gone. And I need to hear it now.”
***
Its paws bound together, the cat hissed. A hooded figure gagged the animal with a gloved hand. A knife shone in the moonlight, and a scream pierced the night. Eyes widened with terror, a woman stared at him. Buzzing hornets swarmed—
Avery bolted upright in his bed. With salt-and-pepper hair escaping the bun at the top of her head and rectangular spectacles perched on the tip of her nose, the woman in his dream bore no resemblance to anyone he knew—except maybe the picture that his mind had formed of Mattie.
Unsettled by the nightmare, he swept his hand in front of his eyes and disturbed the dust powder dancing in the sunrays. Great. He’d gone from having nightmares about Rachel and the shooting to equally disturbing dreams about Rowan and the suspicious events plaguing Buccaneer.
He’d already lost a woman he loved. He couldn’t leave Rowan to her fate, not with a possible murderer on the loose. That she preferred the doctor to him was irrelevant. Unlike Rachel, who’d understood the risks she faced every time she donned the uniform, Rowan was an innocent victim.
The library wouldn’t open for a few more hours, giving him ample time for breakfast.
Gail’s ranting greeted him in the kitchen.
“—guests arriving today. I don’t have time to wash the floor.” Down on her hands and knees, she was scrubbing the parquet with a soapy sponge.
Exhaustion marred Bill’s face as he stood with his hand on the doorknob of the French door. Black streaks extended from his black boots around the far side of the table to the sink.
It appeared the handyman was back from wherever he’d gone to take care of that supposedly urgent matter.
“Gail?” To condemn a woman her age to hard labor was a crime in Avery’s book. “Need help?”
“Mr. S.?” She granted him a weary smile. “No, but I’m afraid breakfast will be a bit late this morning.”
Bill cleared his throat. “Why don’t you let me clean up while you tend to Mr. Stone’s needs?”
“Don’t take another step.” Glaring, she pointed at Bill with a sponge leaking water onto a dry area of the floor. “From now on, outdoor shoes are banned in the house, and I don’t care what Miss Rowan says. Is that clear?”
“I’ll go make a sign for the vestibule.” Like a burglar sneaking into a home in the wee hours of the night, the handyman treaded carefully as he exited the kitchen.
“Men,” Gail grumbled.
“I’m starving, luv.” By appealing to her sense of duty, he hoped to succeed where Bill had failed. “Why don’t you take a break?”
She dropped the sponge into the bucket by her side. “Am I wasting my breath by warning you against helping me?”
Amused, he crouched beside her and kissed her shriveled cheek. “I need to redeem men’s reputation.”
The sideways motion of her head didn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Are you sure your leg won’t complain?”
To his surprise, kneeling wasn’t as unbearable as it had been weeks ago. “My leg is improving.” Over the summer, the pain had decreased and his strength had increased, but he’d ignored the progression. “Must be the great food.”
“You’re a charmer, Mr. S., but I’d rather you save it for Miss Rowan.”
Relinquishing the cleaning task to his capable hands, she headed for the refrigerator door. “If she learns I let you wipe the floor, she won’t mince her words.”
“Then I better hurry before she wakes up,” he quipped.
“She’s gone. The doctor stopped by an hour ago to say hello, and when he learned she’d be picking up her new car this morning, he offered her a ride into town to save her from paying for a taxi. He even threw in a free breakfast at Cackling Hen to sway her.”
“That was…nice of him.” What kind of man takes a woman to a restaurant named Cackling Hen? He scrubbed harder, venting his frustration on the sponge, but the stains were more stubborn than they appeared.
“I thought so too. The
doctor is such a charming man.” The sarcasm had washed over Gail’s back. “It’s too bad Miss Rowan isn’t interested in him.”
As he edged toward the next stain, he looked at her. “She isn’t?” Rowan’s reaction didn’t seem consistent with the emotional tirade he’d overheard while hiding in her office.
“No.” She cracked an egg on the corner of the sink before dumping its contents into a stainless steel bowl. “I had to chip in and insist she couldn’t turn down breakfast at Cackling Hen. They make the best French toast in town, you know. She caved in, but I’m afraid that other fellow still owns her heart.”
“What other fellow?” In his presence, O’Reilly had never mentioned another man. Water dripped on his thigh from the sponge he’d been squeezing awfully hard. Too hard.
“I’m sorry, Mr. S., I shouldn’t be telling you all this.” Gail spoke over the clatter of the utensil inside the stainless bowl. “It’s just—Miss Rowan is such a lovely young lady. She deserves a good man.”
The words that had flown from Rowan’s mouth the night he’d hid in her office resurfaced in his mind.
I shouldn’t settle for second best. I can’t stop loving him any more than… Running away from him was a mistake. I should have…
In retrospective, nothing in her tirade had indicated that the man she couldn’t stop loving, the one she’d run away from, was the doctor.
As he returned his attention to the floor, the name of another man crossed his mind. Bjorn Arnarsson. He could well be the secret suitor. If so, the love triangle had gained a fourth side. Time for me to drop from the geometry game and concentrate on my task.
The stain was stubborn. He tried scraping it with his fingernail before pouring more cleaning solution on it. A black, greasy residue accumulated under his nails and stained his fingers. Rubbing his two fingers and thumb together, he gaped in disbelief.
The residue was identical to the one that had coated the broken rungs of the ladder.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sandwiched between Chris and a woman cradling a sleeping baby, Rowan rocked back and forth on her heels to appease her growling stomach. The long line for breakfast at Cackling Hen’s had taken her by surprise. This was a meal she’d assumed most people enjoyed in the privacy of their homes, not at a restaurant.
“A few more minutes,” Chris murmured in her ear.
“I’m in no rush.” The dealership didn’t open its doors for another hour. “I just never imagined seeing so many customers.”
Around her, businessmen in suits and ties read morning papers, senior citizens in shorts and flowery shirts chatted loudly, young mothers bounced wiggly toddlers on their laps.
“For many islanders, breakfast at Cackling Hen’s is a tradition.” Chris’s earnest blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he pointed toward a spiral log stairway with twig rails. “Every Friday and Saturday night, there’s live music and dance on the second floor. Do you like dancing?”
“No,” she snapped, hoping to nip the potential invitation in the bud. She was tired of innuendoes and false pretenses. If not for Gail’s insistence, she wouldn’t even be having breakfast with him. “Chris—”
“This way, please.” The server guided them to a table and handed them menus with mouthwatering pictures.
Everything looked so delicious, but she intended to heed Gail’s recommendation and order French toast.
“You look preoccupied, Rowan.” Like a stalker, Chris stared at her over the rim of the laminated menu. “Is something wrong?”
Yes. There is. Accepting the invitation had been a mistake, but she couldn’t dump him in the middle of a busy restaurant. It would be rude, and she wasn’t insensitive. “I’ve been thinking of—” Of a nice way to cancel the wine tasting degustation.
Chris slammed the menu on the table. “Is it about those stupid bones again?”
His qualms about the bones bordered on obsession, and she’d had enough of his raving and mood swings. “Yes.” She lied to annoy him. “And the specimens are fascinating.”
“There’s nothing fascinating about digging up dead animals.” With a snap of his finger, he signaled the server walking by. “Two daily specials and two coffees, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Upset by his cavalier attitude, Rowan bit her bottom lip. If he exercised revenge by ordering without consulting her, so be it, but his insolent behavior reinforced her decision to end every aspect of their relationship.
Arms crossed over the paper placemat, she let her gaze travel around the restaurant. On her left, two teenage girls giggled over the pictures in a magazine. On her right, a mother cooed to her toothless infant. Behind her, an elderly granny—
“Rowan?” Chris’s voice broke her mental drifting. “Would you look at me?”
She returned her wandering attention to him. “You can’t stop me from thinking about the bones.” If she managed to aggravate him to a lethal level, he might decide to dump her first, saving her the trouble of breaking up with him. “Any normal person would find it strange that someone buried two rabbits and a cat under a gazebo.”
The drumming of a foot resonated from under the table—and both her feet were motionless.
“People give their pets proper burial all the time. The gazebo simply offered a convenient resting place.”
Aunt Mattie had lived in that house her entire life. She wouldn’t have considered moving the gazebo and turning the area into a garden if her beloved pets had rested in peace underneath. Those animals had been buried there without her aunt’s knowledge, of that much Rowan was certain.
“There were manmade marks on the bones, Chris.” A wild predator might be responsible for the dead animals, but only human intervention explained those mysterious marks.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” To her stomach’s great disappointment, an omelet was placed in front of her. But I want French toast, not an omelet, no matter how tasty it smells.
“Have you been examining the remains? Do you know how dangerous—”
“Someone carved lines in the bones, Chris.” Upset over the meal on her plate, she’d cut him off. “The medical instrument proved—”
“What medical instrument?”
For thunder’s sake, girl! This would have been a good occasion to keep her tongue inside her mouth. She’d hoped to confront Avery and return the otoscope before Chris noticed its disappearance, but it’d slipped her mind. “I’m sorry, Chris. I didn’t know the instrument belonged to you, not until you told me about your grandfather. His initials are on it.”
“Who else knows?” It shouldn’t have mattered how many people were aware that the instrument had belonged to his grandfather, but Chris made it sound like she’d stumbled onto some secret conspiracy.
“No one.” No point dragging Avery’s name into this mess and incensing Chris any further. “It must have fallen from your bag. I found it by accident. It’s a bit dirty, but it hasn’t been damaged.” With any chance, he’d buy her explanation and not accuse her of stealing it.
He stared at her with eyes as cold and dark as the ocean on a stormy winter day. “I liked you, Rowan. I liked you a lot.”
Liked. Past tense. A heavy weight lifted from her shoulders. “Our association is over, Chris.” Free from any more pretenses, she retrieved fifteen dollars from her purse and stuck the bills under her fork. “I’ll return the instrument tonight along with the money I owe you. Enjoy your breakfast.”
***
That was a total waste of time.
Alone at the dumpsite, Avery had spent hours searching for the incriminating ladder. Either Bill hadn’t disposed of it as he claimed, or someone else had scavenged it for the wood. One way or another, the evidence linking the black residue to Mattie’s death was gone.
The engine of his Blazer sputtered when he parked in front of the library. He needed to book an appointment at a local garage for a tune-up before he got stranded on a lonely road.
Inside the library, his cane added dirty brown
polka dots to the red carpet rolled between the door and a circulation desk manned by a girl too young to drive herself to work.
“May I help you, sir?”
“I hope so.” He casually leaned one elbow on the counter, alleviating the weight on his leg. “Do you monitor the patrons using the computers?”
Wrinkling her nose, she recoiled in her chair. “No. Why?”
“Someone borrowed my lawn mower without asking.” Improvisation had been Rachel’s specialty, not his. “I’m sure it’s my neighbor, but he claims he was here the afternoon it disappeared.”
With a tilt of her head, she indicated the row of computers and users seated along the sidewall. “Patrons come and go all day long. We’re too busy with the books to keep track of them.”
“If I give you his name and the day in question, could you check if he borrowed some books?” It wouldn’t prove that Bill sent the malicious reviews, but it’d place him inside the library.
“I’m not supposed to provide personal information.”
“The library is a public building, luv. Confirming his presence isn’t a breach of privacy.” Under different circumstances, Avery would commend her integrity. “Bill Smith. June first. Just tell me yes or no?”
As she typed, she glanced back and forth between her computer and the back of the room where a lady in a lab coat shelved books. “Yes. Two books.”
***
Chris wished Rowan had taken the time to finish her breakfast and given him a chance to explain. Instead, she’d dashed out of the restaurant like an angry bull. He needed to talk to her, to make her understand.
If he expedited his morning rounds at the hospital, he might have time to catch up with her before he was due at the clinic.
A heart attack in the geriatric wing and an allergic reaction in intensive care played havoc with his schedule. By the time he left the hospital, he was ninety minutes behind on his daily appointments, and when he arrived at the clinic, two dozen patients already waited in the lobby.