Like a punch to the gut, Travis sputtered, “Felicity.”
“By the way, how did you know I was here?” she demanded.
“I saw your car.”
“Really? Next time you see it somewhere, don’t stop.” Felicity turned on her heel and left him. “I don’t need your kind of interference on my behalf.”
Felicity yanked open the door to Fran’s Diner, the clang of bells reverberating in her chest. Travis made her so mad. Why did he have to butt into her business? Now she’d never get close enough to her father to get the information she needed, and it was his fault. All his fault. Sure, she might have been feeling a bit uncertain at the moment he barged in, but she could have recovered. Now, she would never know. Her mother was still in a coma, her father was still walking free and she was helpless to do anything about it.
It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
The scent of fried chicken broke through her anger. The lunch crowd was scarce but she could see the cooks were busy preparing for the dinner rush. From the back of the restaurant, Fran Jones spotted Felicity immediately and waved her over. She was talking with Ashley Fulmer, probably about her mother. Ashley was as close to family as someone could get without actually being blood. She’d been Felicity’s grandmother’s best friend. “Two seeds in a melon,” Ashley always said, using one of her many garden analogies. “Your grandmother Susannah and me were close as sisters.” Felicity’s mom claimed Ashley had been like a mother to her, filling in the void after Susannah Ladd died. Felicity had only been six at the time and didn’t remember much but she knew one thing: Ashley Fulmer was the first to raise her hand when help was needed.
Standing behind the counter, Fran folded the top of a paper bag and pushed it toward Ashley, absently tucking stray red curls beneath her hair net. Next to Ashley’s pop of spring blue clothing, Fran’s white uniform seemed sterile. Unfriendly. It reminded Felicity of the white coats the doctors wore as they walked the halls, delivering the bad news to families and friends.
Heading over, Felicity wondered if it was more food for Albert. With her mom in the hospital, Ashley would be the sole caretaker for Uncle Albert. He still lived on the property though Felicity didn’t see him much anymore, not like she used to when Uncle Ernie was alive. He used to insist she visit every night and play her flute for them. Albert listened and seemed to enjoy the music, but he never asked for her after Ernie passed. It seemed when Ernie died, so did Albert’s desire for music. Her mom said he was becoming one of those odd recluse types, refusing her invitations to dinner and bonfire gatherings, claiming he didn’t have the energy for it. Felicity feared that Albert could wither away and die without anyone knowing about it.
Thank goodness her mom and Ashley checked up on him.
“How’s your momma?” Fran asked, her heavily-lined brown eyes sharp with concern.
“Has there been any word?” Ashley echoed.
“Same,” Felicity replied dully.
Ashley’s big blue eyes recoiled. “Isn’t there anything the doctors can do?”
Felicity shrugged, sinking a hip into the counter. “They say they can’t. Not yet, anyway. If mom doesn’t get better on her own, they might have to take her to surgery.”
“Surgery?”
“That’s what they say. Nick’s with her now but I’m on my way over. I wanted to pick up some food for her, maybe get her to smell what she’s missing out on and wake up.”
The bittersweet compliment drew a smile from Fran. “That’s good thinkin’, child. How about I send some biscuits and cornbread with you, maybe some fried chicken? Delaney never could resist the smell of fried chicken, and I have fresh batch coming out right now.”
“Sounds good. If nothing else, Nick can eat it.” Felicity hadn’t seen him eat a bite a food since he’d been at the hospital, but she knew he had to be putting something in his stomach or else he’d starve. Might as well be Fran’s cooking.
Fran drew a hand under Felicity’s chin and cupped it. “I’ll go put together a bag for you right now.” She kissed her cheek then went straight to work, leaving a heavy drift of her perfume behind.
“Thanks.”
Ashley rubbed a hand up and down Felicity’s arm, gathering Felicity in her gaze. “Oh, darlin’. I’m sorry you’re having to go through this. It’s a shame what’s happened to your momma. Is there anything I can do?”
“Not really. Helping with Albert is probably the biggest thing.”
“You know I will. That poor man wouldn’t survive otherwise.” Curling a finger to dry a tear at the corner of her thickly mascaraed eye, her glitter-coated bangles sparkled pink and green at her wrist, rivaling the sparkle-outlined cat image on the front of her aqua T-shirt. Ashley didn’t have any cats on account of the foxes might nab them, but she loved the furry felines all the same. Like Ladd Springs, her property was surrounded by forest and wildlife was part of the deal.
“Now tell me,” Ashley went on. “What about the stables? Are the horses all right?”
“Troy’s been helping to get them settled. One was burned.”
Ashley clasped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no! It wasn’t Blue or Sadie, was it?”
“No. A horse by the name of Lola, but the vet says she’ll be okay.”
“I swear, the only good thing about Delaney’s condition is that she doesn’t know anything about what happened to her stables. If she did, she’d go plumb crazy.”
“Nick agrees. He said when she awakens that I’m not supposed to mention it.”
Moisture shone in Ashley’s eyes, catching in her lashes. “That Nick is a smart man and sweet as pie. I saw him at the hospital this morning, and the nurse told me hasn’t left Delaney’s side, not for one second.”
“He hasn’t,” Felicity said, warding off a slap of guilt because she had. But she left for good cause. A cause Travis had ruined. “Anyway, I figured he could use the food.”
Stroking the lengths of Felicity’s hair, Ashley smiled affectionately. “You’re precious, you know that? A gift from Heaven.” Felicity slumped, crossing her arms. She didn’t feel precious. She felt mad, worn out. She felt inadequate. “You tell your momma I’m comin’ to see her this afternoon and she’d better be awake when I get there.”
Felicity smiled at the obvious tease. “I will.”
Ashley rose, planting a kiss on Felicity’s cheek. “Tell Fran I had to run, will you?” Lifting her bag of food she paused. “It’s all going to work out, darlin’ you’ll see. The Good Lord won’t take our Delaney from us. Not yet. You don’t give up hope, you hear?”
Willing it to be true, Felicity nodded. She wasn’t sure that prayers could be filled as reliably as orders from Fran.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Jeremiah Ladd?”
“Who’s looking?” Jeremiah wheeled around toward the gruff voice and froze. It was a police officer dressed in full uniform. Biting back a curse, he straightened on the barstool. “What can I do for you, Officer?”
“I’d like to have a word with you.” He flicked a glance toward the front door of Bucky’s. “Outside.”
Jeremiah knew that could only mean one thing. He was here to arrest him for something. “Is there a problem?”
“Nothing that a few questions can’t solve.”
Resignedly, Jeremiah pushed up from his seat. Resisting arrest wasn’t smart. It would only add to whatever charges the man had in store for him—charges he could weasel out of if he had to. Wanting nothing more than to throw back the half glass of whiskey sitting before him on the wooden bar top, he thought better of it. Better a clear mind when evading police interrogation than a blurred one. “Sure thing.”
As the men walked out into the sunshine, the bright light felt like running into a wall. Adjusting his vision, Jeremiah considered the numerous offenses he’d committed since being in town. The man could be here to question him about any number of things. Tugging at his shirt collar, Jeremiah decided to play it cool. Whatever the officer wanted to discu
ss, he had no proof. Jeremiah had made sure of it. Coming to a stop several feet from the entrance, he turned and asked innocently, “How can I help you?”
“I’d like to know your whereabouts around seven-thirty last evening.”
“Last evening?” Jeremiah asked, squinting against the glare. “Why, I was here, drinking with a few of my buddies.”
“Can anyone vouch for you?”
“Sure can,” he said, suppressing a chuckle. After all, it was true. He’d been here with the boys going over Plan B.
“What do you know about the fire at Hotel Ladd?”
“Fire?” he asked. “What fire?”
“The fire deliberately set in the stables. We have it on good authority you could be involved.”
“Sorry, Officer, but it wasn’t me. Whoever is feeding you the information is wrong.”
“Do you own a cell phone?”
“Of course. Who doesn’t?”
“We’d like access to your records.”
Hell, no, he wasn’t giving them access to his records! What—did this guy take him for a fool? “I think you need a warrant for that,” he responded, zipping a rise of nerves. Getting nailed for arson was serious business. The fact they were interrogating him so quickly was not a coincidence.
The man cocked a brow. “Is there a problem?”
“No, sir. Just an average Joe American who believes in his right to privacy, that’s all. If you have evidence to support a warrant, then I guess I’ll have to open my private life up to scrutiny. Until then, I don’t.”
The man nodded his reply, marking Jeremiah as obviously guilty. “How about we check out your alibi first.”
“By all means.” And then I’m going to make whoever tossed my name up for grabs pay for their mistake.
Jillian Devane waltzed into the lobby like she didn’t have a care in the world. Cal tracked her every step to the coffee machine, her every move as she made herself a cup of steaming black coffee. Set up outside the gift shop, the coffee station was replete with organic creamers and herbal sweeteners but she used none of them. Retrieving a copy of the local newspaper from the wire stack nearby, she strolled over to one of the overstuffed chairs by the fountain and made herself comfortable. Most guests enjoyed their coffee outside, at one of several bistro tables situated between here and the spa pleasantly shaded by trees. But not Jillian. She was here to taunt. Well, make yourself at home, sweetheart. The police are on their over to speak with you.
The officer in charge of the investigation had asked Cal if he knew of anyone who might want to do harm to the hotel or Delaney Harris. “Darn right I do,” he replied and rattled off three names. Jeremiah Ladd, Jillian Devane and Jack Foster, the last being the most difficult. But if he was going to be fair, Cal had to include his brother. His lighter had been found outside the stables. He did have a grudge against Delaney and the hotel. If he was innocent, the police would learn as much. But this one, he mused, marveling at Jillian’s deliberately drawn-out movements, her conscious avoidance of his direct gaze—she was a different story.
Jillian knew he was watching her. He wasn’t making it a secret. He was watching her and would continue to watch her until he watched her walk out of here in handcuffs. Burning a building was one thing. Burning one filled with live animals was completely another. The images from last night were seared into his mind. The stench, the wild cries from the horses...
Cal forced the visions from his thoughts, tightened his stomach against the pitch of nausea. Jillian was responsible. Perhaps her and Jeremiah together, but definitely her. If she could spark a blaze on a competitor’s land in South America as payback for a perceived wrong, then there was no reason to think she wouldn’t do so again. Only this time she wasn’t going to get away with it. He would make sure of it.
The front lobby door opened, the flash of movement catching his eye. Officer Griffin had arrived. Cal cast a glance toward Jillian and exhaled a stream of tension from his lungs. Hopefully this wouldn’t take long.
“Mr. Foster,” the heavyset police officer summoned him over.
“Yes?”
“We’re here about questioning one of your guests, Jillian Devane.” From his peripheral vision, Cal could see she had cued in at the mention of her name. “Can you contact her room for us?”
Cal smiled. “That won’t be necessary.” He held a hand out. “Ms. Devane is sitting over there.”
Surprised, the older man turned. A heightened curiosity entered his gaze, as happened when a man locked in on a beautiful woman. “Thank you.”
Cal nodded, savoring a private victory. Have fun.
Jillian looked up as the stocky police officer made his way toward her. Sizing him up in seconds, she determined he was a career officer grown stale from too many years in a small town, where his most thrilling detective work was rescuing a cat from an electrical high wire. Petty theft and public drunkenness were undoubtedly the more popular offenses around these parts. By the looks of his bored yet surly expression, combined with his age, she estimated he held high rank in the department.
Jillian smiled. If he thought his sour expression was going to unnerve her, he was mistaken. “Ms. Devane?”
Casually flipping through the pages of the dribble of an excuse they called a newspaper, she hummed, “Yes?”
“May I have a minute of your time?”
She paused, but only briefly, continuing her leisurely perusal. “What for?”
“I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”
About to decline, her standard insult to male ego, she pretended to think about it. Why not reel him in a bit, make him think she would be cooperative? Submissive. Drawing her lips into a slow practiced smile, she purred, “What kind of questions?”
“About the fire last night.”
She rounded her lips into an “O” shape and uttered, “It was horrible, no? Such awful devastation.”
“Yes,” he said. “It started last night, around seven-thirty. Did you happen to be around at that time?”
She knitted her brow and feigned contemplation. Pushing out her lips, she subtly smacked them together, amused by his involuntary glance to her mouth. “Hm, I don’t think so.”
“Don’t think so?”
“I don’t like to watch the clock when I’m on vacation.”
As if he understood she was purposefully dodging him, his voice coarsened, “Where did you happen to be last night, Ms. Devane?”
“I was in the company of a male suitor,” she teased, winking conspiratorially.
“Happen to have a name?”
She shook her head and smirked. “Wasn’t important at the time.”
Jillian took pleasure in the man’s discomfort. A seasoned police officer, yet the line of questioning was clearly growing uncomfortable for him. How hard would he push?
“I’ll need an alibi for your whereabouts last evening.”
“What for—am I under arrest?”
“No, ma’am, but as part of our investigation we need to confirm the whereabouts of anyone possibly connected—”
She emitted a gasp. “You think I’m connected?”
Her immediate objection gave him pause. “Well, er, we were given your name as a possible suspect and—”
“Let me guess.” She cut him off and rose sharply from her seat. In heels, she stood eye-to-eye with the man. Arching her back, she pushed her chest toward him. “My ex-lover, Nick Harris is trying to throw my name in as a person of interest, isn’t he?”
“Well, I can’t reveal exactly where I received the tip from, but it’s my job to follow every lead,” he replied, openly avoiding a peek at her chest but clearly unable to manage the feat.
“Love can be so cruel, Detective.” Jillian knew her perfume would be filtering through the man’s senses right about now, knew the close proximity of her bare cleavage would distract him momentarily as she whispered, “Have you ever been in love? Deeply passionate love? Do you know what hungry desire can do to a man? ”
Jillian paused, allowing images of her naked body to form in his mind. “It can drive him to do horrible, mean things.” Thrusting out her lower lip, she dropped her gaze to his mouth. “It’s so sad when love goes wrong.” Inching closer, so close she could hear his breathing, Jillian murmured, “It can make a woman crazy for the touch of another.” The man blinked and dodged her pointed gaze. Jillian counted the reaction as a minor win and retreated with a soft reply, “I’ll call my lawyer and he will provide you with any information you need about my whereabouts last evening.”
The officer took a step back, cleared his throat. “Thank you, ma’am. I would appreciate it.”
Sliding a knowing gaze toward Cal, Jillian winked. Game on, sweetheart.
Catching sight of Jack Foster through the glass front door, Jillian excused herself. “If you don’t mind, Officer? My date has arrived.”
The man turned and his jaw slackened. “Jack Foster?”
Taking satisfaction in his surprise, she asked, “Do you know him?”
“Yes.” With a glance toward Cal, he said, “I do.”
Jack breezed over and kissed her cheek. “Hello, Jillian.”
“Jack,” she replied, his name rolling out with ease.
The police officer gave Jack a once-over, acknowledging him with a mere nod, then to Jillian, “Appreciate your time. I’ll be expecting a call from your lawyer by morning.”
“On second thought,” she said. “A call to Whiskey Joe’s lounge should be all you need. Ask for the bartender on duty last night. He’ll vouch for me.”
Her statement garnered a questioning look from the officer. “Thanks.”
Yes, she mused. Go ahead and wonder how the two men fit together. Abandoning her untouched coffee, Jillian slipped a hand around Jack’s arm. “Shall we?”
“You bet.” Sliding a hand around her narrow waist, he said, “Have a good day, Officer.”
Officer Griffin grumbled under his breath, “Good day.”
Losing Ladd Page 17