by J. S. Marlo
His secretary handed him a cup of coffee. “Rough morning? Want me to reschedule some of the appointments for tomorrow?”
“Yes, Heather. Thank you.” Whether Rowan agreed or not, he intended to take her out for supper and settle the score. “And send the first patient in.”
If any of his patients noticed that he dispensed with small talk and jumped directly to a swift diagnostic, no one complained. They were probably as anxious to leave his clinic as he was.
At three o’clock, he dismissed his last patient and headed for Buccaneer. A minivan and a SUV were parked alongside Bill’s truck. No sign of Gail’s old wreck or Rowan’s new car. She should have returned from the dealership hours ago, unless she had taken advantage of the nice weather to take her new acquisition for a spin.
Like always, the front door was unlocked. The floor above Chris’s head creaked, and muffled voices echoed in the staircase. “Anyone home?”
Heavy steps hurried down the stairs.
“Doctor?” On the last step, Gail caught her breath. “What can I do for you?”
He tipped his chin up. “New guests?”
“Two families with kids.” Her gaze traveled up the staircase. “We’ll have a full house tonight.”
“I see.” Booming business lessened Rowan’s dependence. “I’m looking for Rowan.”
“You just missed her. She went into town to sign some papers at the bank.”
If she managed to secure a loan, he’d lose his leverage. “Would you do me a favor?” He shamelessly deployed his boyish charms. No gal had ever resisted his light blue eyes and curly blond hair—except for the O’Reilly women. “Rowan and I had a disagreement this morning, but I want to make it up to her. Could you please tell her to meet me at McFay’s Café around six?”
“Sure.” The running patter of feet upstairs grew louder. “I think I need to explain some ground rules to the kids and their parents.”
“Good luck.” The youngsters sounded full of energy, and Chris hoped he wouldn’t be called in to deal with another injury. “I’ll see myself out.”
In the vestibule, below a new sign asking guests to remove outdoor footwear, Rowan’s muddy running shoes were pushed against the wall.
On their previous dates, she’d gone barefoot in flimsy leather sandals. While perfect for a cozy stroll on the beach, sandals were inadequate for a walk along the cliff, not that he intended for their evening to end by the ocean, but he had to contemplate every scenario.
Upstairs, Gail’s voice resounded over the ruckus of the children. Chris removed his shoes and sneaked into Buccaneer’s private quarters, where he’d often visited Mattie. Unlike her aunt who used to be neat and organized, Rowan kept her room as tidy as a kid’s room caught in a tornado.
He rummaged through her dresser for a pair of socks to wear with her running shoes.
***
Unsavory adjectives battled with her tongue, and Rowan hung up before they escaped her mouth. She’d been trying to contact Chris, and it frustrated her that all her attempts ended in his voicemail.
The bank had approved the loan but wouldn’t issue the check until the morning, and she couldn’t find the otoscope in the garage. Unless Avery returned from his excursion on the island in the next fifteen minutes, she had no reason to meet with Chris tonight. Though Gail meant well, Rowan was upset at her for accepting the invitation on her behalf.
By quarter to six, Rowan resigned herself to making a pointless trip into town. She’d already walked out on him once that day, so she couldn’t in good conscience let him wait in vain.
Hands in his pockets, Chris stood outside the entrance of McFay’s. She parked on the street and lowered the passenger side window. “Chris?”
He marched to the passenger side. “Nice car, but you’re late.”
“I tried to call you.”
A shrug wrinkled his shirt. “Battery’s dead. Are you coming?”
“I’m busy, Chris. I can’t—”
“You can’t avoid me, Rowan.” He yanked the door open and sat in the passenger seat. “We need to talk.” The intensity of his gaze unsettled her. “Drive.”
Too stunned to argue, she eased into traffic.
“I’m sorry, Chris. I wish it’d ended differently.” He was obviously angry, and she hated for him to believe she’d misled him on purpose. “Where are we going?”
“You’re dropping me off at the vineyard.”
“I am?” Playing chauffeur was a waste of her time, but he didn’t seem to care. “I won’t have the money I owe you until tomorrow.”
“I don’t care about the money. By now, you should have realized that.”
“I’m sorry.” She sounded like a broken record, but she’d learned a valuable lesson. Mixing business and pleasure wasn’t a mistake she’d make again any time soon. “You’re a nice man. I’m just not the woman for you.” With any luck, flattery might succeed where logic had failed.
“You’re like Mattie, and that’s too bad. Did you bring the scalpel?”
She wasn’t as puzzled by the comparison with Mattie as she was by the instrument. “What scalpel?”
“This isn’t a game, Rowan. Turn left.” The vineyard extended across the road. “Park on the other side of the garage.”
From the road, she couldn’t see the other side. Nevertheless, she drove around the garage and parked the car. “What’s going on?” A load of work awaited her at Buccaneer, and she didn’t have the time or energy to deal with the issues obviously clouding Chris’s brain.
He seized the keys from the ignition and put them in his pocket before she could stop him. “The scalpel belonged to Grandpa Rey, but you already know that. You saw his initials.”
Chris was a doctor. He wouldn’t confuse a scalpel with an otoscope—not unless Avery had also borrowed the scalpel. Once she got home, she would wring her attic guest’s neck. “I saw the initials on the handle of the otoscope.” No point denying the obvious. “But I forgot it in the garage. I’ll bring it as—”
“You have my otoscope?” He sounded surprised. “I was wondering where I’d dropped it, not that I care much about it. Get out of the car.”
“What? Why?” In need of fresh air to make sense of his erratic and irrational behavior, she complied with his request. He slipped his hand under her elbow and guided her toward the building. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere quiet.”
The cold, distant reply unsettled her. “I have to go back—ouch!” Chris’s well-manicured nails dug into her skin. “You’re hurting me.”
His grip lessened to a firm hold. “I wish you’d listened, Rowan.”
“Listened to what?” They entered a cellar similar to the one in which they’d previously shared a disastrous dinner. A frosty white glow shone from a fluorescent tube attached to the ceiling. Shivers coursed along her skin. “Chris, I—”
A device buzzed. He reached inside his jacket and drew out his cell phone. “Malcolm speaking.”
The battery isn’t dead. He’d lied and purposely avoided answering her call when she tried to cancel their evening.
“Double the dose and keep the boy sedated. I’ll be right there.”
Irked by the subterfuge, she pulled her arm free and spun around. Her ankle struck his foot. She lost her balance, crashing headfirst into a stack of barrels.
An earsplitting rumble echoed in the room as barrels rolled down and exploded.
Chapter Twenty-Six
One glance at the loud and enthusiastic families gathered around the table for breakfast was enough to convince Avery to skip the morning meal. He grabbed a banana from the stand on the counter and went into the living room to catch the morning news on television. Outside, an engine roared to life. He peeked through the window in time to see Malcolm’s sporty convertible speed away.
“Only fools lower their roof to bite the dust on country roads.” Back home, he’d encountered those types, and he’d booked more than one for speeding or public disturbance.
Unimpressed by the doctor’s behavior, he returned to his room.
The mysterious marks on the bones had given him an idea for his novel. Seated at the desk, the banana peel discarded near his empty glass, he wove the new subplot into his story. Words flew from his fingers onto his keyboard as he described Natalia’s search for her beloved pet rabbit, only to discover—
Knocks on the door distracted his muse. “Come in.” Only Rowan or Gail ventured to the attic. They could make the bed and clean the room while he wrote.
“Morning, Mr. S.” The aroma of bacon and coffee drifted in the wake of the tray Gail carried to his desk. “A banana is no breakfast for a strapping fellow like you,” she chided. “You need something more substantial.”
Busy as she’d been in front of the oven, he could have sworn she hadn’t noticed his brief presence in the dining room earlier on. “Thank you, luv.”
“You enjoy.” Her gaze traveled across the room, and a deep scowl added unwelcome wrinkles to her face. “I see Miss Rowan hasn’t cleaned yet. You wouldn’t have seen her leave for her morning run by any chance, would you?”
“No. How long has she been gone?” He hadn’t forgotten the day he’d found her stranded on the beach and rescued her from the white and red jellyfish.
“Couple hours.” The thoughtful woman was wringing her hands over her apron. “I’m sorry, Mr. S., I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Gail’s ability to read him disconcerted him. “Tell me what happened, luv. Did your mistress get in trouble again?”
“I don’t know.” Looking more despondent by the second, she parked her buttocks onto the mattress, which sank under the weight. “The doctor stopped by while I was fixing breakfast. He was looking for her.”
“And?” he prompted when she didn’t continue.
“And—” She shrugged. “He said last evening ended with another argument, and he wanted to apologize.”
The doctor had never struck Avery as the apologetic type. “Keep going.”
“He said Miss Rowan was upset when she walked out on him last night.”
For a woman who wasn’t interested in the doctor, O’Reilly spent a hell of a lot of time with him. “How did she look this morning?”
“Don’t know. She was gone by the time I woke up.”
It wasn’t like Rowan to sneak out at dawn without anyone knowing about it. “Are you sure she returned at all last night?” She wouldn’t be the first woman to crash at a friend’s place after a bad date.
“Yes. Her new car is parked on the other side of the garage, and her running shoes are not in the vestibule. I…” Gail hesitated. “I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. When Bill shows up for work, I’ll ask him to look for her. I’m sure she’s fine.”
Gail didn’t sound convinced, and it rubbed on him. Unwilling to wait for Bill, he pushed the plate aside. “Can you keep it warm while I go for a short walk?”
***
While Rowan sometimes jogged through the woods, he’d noticed that she seemed to prefer the trail winding along the cliff, so he opted for the latter.
The fresh breeze from the sea invigorated his spirits and energized his steps. His cane traced dotted lines as he dragged it on the ground with every other step he took. Footprints, many of them undoubtedly belonging to Rowan, were imprinted in the red dirt. The farther along he advanced, the more foolish he felt for worrying about her. She’d probably sought a quiet spot to quell her sorrow.
The mysterious guy who let her slip through his fingers and broke her heart intrigued him. If he had to venture a guess, Avery would choose Bjorn Arnarsson. Maybe she was dating the doctor in order to forget Arnarsson. If so, it didn’t appear to be working. Rebound relationships were tricky at best. Until she crossed off the guy who’d dumped her, she might as well forget about falling for a new fellow. No wonder she and Malcolm kept arguing. The doctor was like a bandage on an open wound. Irritating and useless.
Avery had been in her shoes. He’d experienced rejection, and he’d learned to move on—with a little help from his grandpa’s recipe. Amazing all the different kinds of pain the drink had managed to dull over the years.
His stomach grumbled. The philosophical discussion with himself made him hungry and thirsty. As he neared the junction where a narrow path stemmed from the main trail and descended to Jellyfish Cove—Rowan probably wouldn’t approve of the name he’d fabricated—he slowed down.
From the top of the cliff, he craned his neck to peek at the empty beach. He glimpsed debris in the sand. From this distance, he couldn’t tell with certainty, but it looked like algae or driftwood dumped on shore by the tides. Cursing his suspicious mind, he ventured down the steep cliff. As he drew near the beach, he gained a clearer view of the objects.
A pair of running shoes—with socks stuffed in them.
***
In the living room, Gail mumbled to herself as she dusted the immaculate bookshelves facing Avery’s chair.
Bill had made a brief appearance while two RCMP officers questioned the occupants of Buccaneer about Rowan’s disappearance. A haggard expression had settled over the handyman’s face upon learning of Rowan’s unknown fate. He’d departed soon after, leaving behind a distraught Gail to handle the entire household.
“They’re wrong, Mr. S. I know she didn’t drown. She couldn’t…” Her quivering voice trailed off. Distressed and agitated, she bent in half, and the duster fell to the floor. Her face buried in her hands, she sobbed in silence.
The RCMP had mounted a land and sea search of the area. Avery doubted Rowan had gone swimming with the jellyfish or been swept away by the tides, but had he been in charge of the investigation, he would have ordered the same search, just in case.
He took Gail by the shoulders and guided her to the nearest couch, where he forced her to sit. Crouched in front of her, he squeezed her forearm. “I don’t think Rowan is in the water, but I need your help.”
Tears slid down Gail’s shriveled cheeks. “My help?”
“Have you ever seen Rowan wear two identical socks?” The running shoes he’d found in the sand had held matching socks. “Think hard, luv. It’s very important.”
“I—” Tremors rocked her body. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s okay.” He tried smiling, but the muscles around his mouth cramped. “You didn’t hear her come in last night, did you?”
“No.” As she lowered her head, she broke eye contact. “I went to bed around eleven. With all those new guests, I was tired.”
Rowan’s car was parked where it couldn’t be seen from the house. He couldn’t ignore the possibility that someone else had driven her vehicle back in the middle of the night, without her. “Do you remember what she wore for her date last night?”
“In the afternoon, she wore a pair of white capri pants and a pink shirt, but I didn’t see what she changed into before she left.”
That didn’t help. “Gail, I’d like your permission to search her room.”
She acquiesced with a silent nod. Humbled by her trust, he promised not to disturb anything, and to his relief, Gail didn’t shadow him into the private quarters.
In Rowan’s room, the bed was made. He searched the drawers and found a car key hidden under a pile of sweaters in the second drawer. “That looks like your new spare key, O’Reilly,” he thought aloud. “What did you do with the other one, the one you drove here with? And where’s your purse or wallet? You didn’t go running with it in your pocket, did you?”
The room yielded no clue to her whereabouts or any of the objects he searched for. He borrowed the spare car key and proceeded outside.
The morning dew had left water spots on the hood of Rowan’s magenta car. The color didn’t appeal to him, though it wasn’t as ugly as he’d imagined.
He lifted the handle of the driver-side door and pulled. When it opened, he frowned. As a general rule, owners whose cars had previously been stolen tended to lock their doors.
The seat was pu
shed forward the right distance for someone with short legs, but the steering wheel was tilted upward, too high for Rowan’s comfort. Puzzled by the discrepancy, Avery searched the interior. The new-car smell overwhelmed his olfactory senses.
This is gonna be a wild goose chase. While he didn’t expect to find anything, he couldn’t stop looking for the tiniest clue. What’s this?
A small metallic object was wedged between the carpet and mat on the driver’s side. He dislodged it before examining it in the sunlight. Silver and rust-free, it resembled the head of a bolt clipped before the thread. He’d stumbled onto similar galvanized bolts and nuts in the shed when he searched for—whatever he’d searched for, he forgot, but he clearly remembered seeing galvanized bolts.
Once he finished combing her car, he walked around the garage and into the shed. The door was unlocked. He left it wide open to let the sun filter in.
Alone in the shed, he rummaged through the random tin cans and jars kept on the shelves. The sense of urgency driving his quest built with each lid he unscrewed, each bolt he measured against the galvanized head he’d found in Rowan’s car.
Come on—it’s here—somewhere—
Most containers were unmarked, making his task that much more time consuming. If Bill meant to frustrate him, it worked, and it increased his suspicion against the handyman.
A crimson label partly concealed behind a stack of sandpaper on the upper shelf caught his attention. Using a gallon of paint as a stepladder, he reached out behind the sandpaper for a large coffee can. As he removed the plastic lid, he sucked air in, sounding a short whistle. The smell of coffee lingered inside, along with a handful of galvanized rivets measuring three-eighths of an inch in diameter, roughly the same size as the damaged head he rolled between his fingers. “You were never a bolt, were you?” he told the metallic object in his hand. “You’re a broken rivet.”