by Kay Hooper
He touched her cheek gently, his fingers rubbing away the last traces of her tears. He was still frowning, but his voice was quiet. “If you’ve been waking up like this every morning, no wonder you feel so strongly about the dream. But it’s changing now? There’s something different about it?”
“No. Yes. Yes, there is.”
More than one thing. Had the carousel lingered longer than usual this time? The paper airplane drifted farther and landed in a different place? And what about that desperate cry—a female voice?—pleading with her not to let her be alone. Regan? If this connection was with Caroline, then it had to be Regan, didn’t it? Don’t let her be alone. Not let her be alone emotionally? Or was Regan in physical danger?
It didn’t make sense, and Joanna was too shaken to be able to think clearly about it.
“It’s virtually the same every night,” she replied at last. “The same objects forming and drifting around. But this time, there was something else. A … plea that I not let someone be alone. That I not let bet be alone.”
“Her?” Griffin’s frown deepened. “You think this connection is with Caroline—is the plea for her? Or from her?”
“I don’t know. I think—I feel—it’s Regan she wants me to help. That Regan’s in trouble somehow. But I don’t know. All I do know is that the clock is ticking louder, faster, and I know we’re running out of time.”
TICK. TICK TICK.
It was almost constant now, in her head, faster than it should have been, and the urgency of it wouldn’t leave Joanna alone. It prodded her to refuse to go to the station with Griffin later that morning and remain under his eye even though she wanted to be with him.
There was something she had to do. Worried about Regan despite Griffin’s reassurances that the child was certainly safe at home and not given to wandering far from her own yard, Joanna wanted to walk over to the gazebo this morning, around the time when Regan had told her she normally took a break from her studies. There was no guarantee, of course, that Regan would appear at the gazebo, but Joanna’s uneasiness demanded that she see for herself that the little girl was all right. Even if she had to knock on the front door and ask.
“I hope you can get along without your car,” Griffin told her as they rode along Main Street. “I had it towed out of town last night instead of to the local garage.”
Joanna looked at him with a little frown, trying to think logically and resisting an urge to chew on her thumbnail. “Didn’t you tell Doc it was totaled?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t. A big dent in front where you hit the fence post, and a few scrapes and scratches, that’s all the damage caused by the wreck. But as soon as some of my people discovered the tampering, I ordered it towed to a garage a few miles out of town to a mechanic I trust completely. He’ll keep it safe and out of sight while we go over it for evidence. However, since I don’t want it spread around that somebody tampered with the car, the official reason for the accident is that a short in the electrical system caused the throttle pulse sensor to go haywire.”
“The throttle pulse sensor,” she repeated. “I guess that’s self-explanatory?”
He sent her a little grin. “More or less. It regulates the throttle, which regulates the amount of gas fed to the engine. So if you happen to be in gear when the sensor goes haywire, the engine races wildly. Aunt Sarah didn’t teach you about cars?”
“Aunt Sarah viewed cars as things that got her from one place to the next. Which is pretty much how I view them. But I have an excellent memory, and I’ll be able to solemnly tell anyone who asks that the throttle pulse sensor in my car went haywire.”
Griffin nodded. “Good enough. Tell them also that since the car was a rental and was totaled, we had to send it back to the agency in Portland. It’s their headache, after all.”
Joanna nodded, but asked, “Didn’t anybody drive out there to see the wreck yesterday? I thought that kind of curiosity was a universal trait of humans—nosy or otherwise.”
“A few citizens were curious,” he admitted. “But my people kept everyone back, so all they saw was your car three-quarters buried in hay. Besides, it was getting dark. I very much doubt that anyone realized it wasn’t as badly damaged as we’re going to claim.”
“Mmm. But won’t the killer be suspicious if we seemingly don’t realize the car was tampered with?”
Griffin sent her another glance, this one wry. “Small-town cops sometimes miss things. We also tend to look for the most obvious and likely cause of an accident, and it’s a lot more likely that your car had the fluke of an electrical short than that it was tampered with in a murder attempt.”
“He won’t buy that if he knows you at all,” Joanna said.
Griffin smiled, but said, “Let’s hope he buys it. In the meantime, I’d feel much better if you promised to stay away from the edge of the cliffs and stay out of all cars except this one or a town taxi.”
“I’m not planning on taking any chances,” Joanna said, feeling a bit guilty for not telling him she intended a stroll over to Caroline’s gazebo—which was near the edge of the cliffs. But she didn’t want him to worry, and she definitely intended to be careful.
“I wish I could believe that,” Griffin murmured. “But I know only too well how hell-bent you are to figure all this out.”
Joanna didn’t deny that, but said, “I’m not stupid, Griffin. And I won’t go racing out of the hotel in my nightgown like some gothic heroine who hears something go bump in the night.”
“If I have anything to say about it,” Griffin responded, “you won’t be spending any more nights alone—and I sure as hell wouldn’t let you run around outside in your nightgown. Not without me, anyway.”
Joanna couldn’t help but smile. “We’d shock the natives. You realize, of course, that we will be—probably already are—fodder for the next hot round of gossip in Cliffside?”
“That did occur to me, yes.” He turned the Blazer into the driveway of The Inn and sent her another glance. “Will you mind?”
“Why should I? I don’t think we have anything to be ashamed of, especially since we’re both unattached and over twenty-one.”
“But will you mind?” Griffin repeated quietly.
Joanna looked at his serious profile and wondered if he really was falling in love with her. He had hinted as much last night, after all. And when a man started worrying about a woman’s reputation, it usually meant he felt considerably more for her than just lust—at least according to Aunt Sarah.
But neither of them had mentioned the subject this morning, and Joanna wondered now if it bothered him that she hadn’t said anything about her own feelings. It was something she hadn’t been able to think about much and wasn’t yet ready to examine too closely. For one thing, Caroline was still very much in her mind, and until that urgent presence was gone, it wouldn’t be fair to Griffin to offer him less than her whole self. It wouldn’t be fair to herself, either, because so many of her feelings since she’d come to Cliffside were tied up in this place and the people—and the past.
Until her head was cleared of that, she couldn’t be sure of what she really felt.
For another thing, every time she bad tried to examine her feelings for Griffin, the biggest question in her mind had been Caroline. Maybe Griffin and Caroline hadn’t been lovers, but he had admitted that there might have been “something” between them at one time, and until Joanna understood that, she couldn’t help wrestling with the fear that his feelings for her were influenced by what he had felt for Caroline. Especially since most if not all of the men in Caroline’s life had felt very deeply about her.
Why wouldn’t Griffin have felt just as deeply?
“Joanna?”
The Blazer stopped in front of the main doors of The Inn, and as the doorman came toward them briskly to open Joanna’s door, she met Griffin’s intent gaze seriously. “No, I won’t mind. But what about you? Doesn’t the sheriff of a small town have to be above reproach?”
His smi
le was a bit crooked. “Nobody could possibly reproach me for getting involved with you. Even His Honor asked me the other day what I was waiting for. And Cain asked me Monday if he could paint the heart on my sleeve so everybody could see it. I seem to have made my feelings pretty damned obvious.”
Joanna smiled at him, only dimly aware of her car door being opened. “We could try to be discreet, you know.”
“I don’t think that’ll be possible,” Griffin said and leaned across to kiss her leisurely under the professionally detached gaze of the doorman, who stood holding Joanna’s door.
She looked at him a bit dazedly when he finally drew back, and murmured, “Obviously not. Um … you said something about not spending any more nights alone? My place or yours?”
He touched her cheek in a brief caress and said huskily, “We’ll decide later. Why don’t you come into town sometime between twelve and one, and we’ll have lunch.”
Joanna drew a shaky breath. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do that.”
“And be careful today, will you?”
“Absolutely.” It required a tremendous effort for Joanna to turn away and swing her legs from the Blazer, and seeing the patiently waiting doorman—who had obviously heard every word and seen everything—hardly helped her to get a grip on herself. Still, she managed to get out and walk up to the main doors of the hotel without looking back at Griffin and without stumbling over her own feet.
Which she considered something of an achievement.
The lobby was virtually deserted, with Holly at the desk alone when Joanna approached, and the brunette immediately asked, “Are you all right?”
Joanna leaned an elbow on the high desk. “Do I look like a house fell in on me?”
“Metaphorically speaking? Yes.”
“Griffin,” Joanna said.
Holly matched her guest’s pose, leaning her elbow on the desk. Her expression was solemn. “I always considered him a cautious man. But he didn’t waste much time with you, did he?”
“I guess you know I spent the night at his place?”
“Well, since Griff didn’t try to keep it a secret—I believe he told at least one of his deputies where he was taking you—everybody in town knows, by now. The majority opinion, last I heard, was that you two didn’t use that second bedroom at his place.”
“We didn’t,” Joanna confessed.
Holly smiled. “Which is why you look a bit—shall we say—stunned this morning?”
“I was all right until he said good-bye outside a minute ago,” Joanna replied, sounding faintly aggrieved. “I suggested we might want to be discreet since he’s the sheriff, and he said it wouldn’t be possible—and your doorman got an eyeful.”
“Ah.” Holly nodded in understanding. “Well, it probably wouldn’t do much good to try discretion anyway, Joanna. The only betting going on now is whether you’ll go back to Atlanta at the end of your vacation or stay here with Griff.”
More than a little curious, Joanna said, “And the odds favor—?”
“Griff. We know our sheriff rather well, you see. He’s nothing if not determined, and tends to get what he wants. Nobody doubts it’s you he wants.” Curious herself, Holly asked, “Could you live here, do you think? After Atlanta, I mean.”
“Yes.” Her response emerged before Joanna even thought about it, surprising her. She had known she liked the town and most of the people she’d met—despite her uneasiness and awareness of trouble here—but she hadn’t realized how at home she felt. “Yes, I think I could,” she added more slowly.
Holly smiled. “I’m glad. From what I hear, the people around here really like you.”
At least one of them doesn’t. “Maybe I’m just a small-town girl at heart,” Joanna said with a shrug. “Anyway, Griffin and I are not talking about the future at the moment, so I’m trying not to think about it.” There were certainly other things to think about. Insistent, worrisome things. Is Regan all right? Is she in trouble? Dammit, Caroline, what do you want from me?
“I know how that is,” Holly murmured. Her mind was very obviously running along a very specific track, because she added, “Joanna, I know it’s unfair to ask you, but does Griff really suspect Cain of having killed Amber?”
Joanna had expected that question sooner or later, so she was able to reply honestly without giving away Griffin’s thoughts on the subject. “He has a list of suspects, Holly, and it naturally includes Cain. His job is to eliminate those suspects until he finds out what really happened. Don’t worry.”
“How can I not? It’s all over town that he went somewhere Sunday night and then lied to Griff about that, so of course at least half our eager citizens have convicted him.”
“Do you know where he went?” Joanna asked.
Holly made a slight grimace. “No. I … think he’s avoiding me. He called yesterday to say he’d be out painting scenery most days this week.”
“Is that usual?”
“For him to go off painting? Oh, sure, for days at a time. But I know him. There was something in his voice I’ve never heard before, something evasive. I think he was lying about what he’d be doing.”
Joanna thought about it, then said, “He goes to Portland sometimes, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. Because of the galleries there, of course. And he has an apartment and studio in the city. He used to spend winters up there and just summers here. But I don’t know why he’d have driven up to Portland so late on Sunday night just to work in his studio for a few hours—he was back here early, remember—and if he had, I don’t know why he would have lied about it to Griff.”
Joanna couldn’t think of a good reason, either. She wasn’t about to tell Holly that Griffin intended to question Cain again, this time in his office. And she certainly wasn’t going to mention Griffin’s theory that Cain might have gone out so late to meet another woman.
“I don’t know what to do about it,” Holly confided. “I’ve always been careful never to back him into a corner, and I’m afraid if I start demanding he account for his time away from me…”
Joanna nodded. “I know. Look, if you want my advice, I say be patient for a while longer. Griffin’s investigation is still in the early stages; within a few days, we’ll all probably know a lot more than we do now. I’ll bet Cain had a perfectly logical reason for going out Sunday night, and for not telling Griffin about it, and I bet you’ll know what that is before long—without having to back him into a corner.”
Holly smiled. “You’re probably right.”
“Sure I am. Let the town gossip all they want; they’ll feel rotten when the truth comes out, and you can gloat.”
“Thanks, Joanna.”
“Don’t mention it.” Joanna smiled. “In the meantime, I’m going up to my room for a while, and then I think I’ll take a walk.”
“Sounds like a good idea. Oh—Joanna?”
On the point of turning away from the desk, Joanna paused. “Yeah?”
“The wreck yesterday—what happened?”
“I couldn’t stop the damn thing. Griffin said it was the throttle pulse sensor, whatever that is,” Joanna parroted faithfully. “A short in the electrical system apparently caused it to go haywire.”
“That must have been terrifying,” Holly said sympathetically. “It’s amazing you came out of it unharmed. I heard the car was totaled.”
“Yeah. And no good to me anymore. We sent it back to the rental company in Portland. From now on, I walk, take a taxi, or ride with Griffin.” She smiled. “Good thing Cliff-side is so small; I can go most everywhere I need or want to on foot.”
“Handy,” Holly agreed. “Well, I’m glad it came out all right. See you later, Joanna.”
Joanna lifted a hand in farewell and headed for the elevator.
Griffin settled into his office chair and immediately called Cain’s cottage. He let it ring at least ten times. There was no answer, and no machine since Cain despised the things. He also tended to more or less vanish if he’d found a scene o
r person he wanted to paint, sometimes for days at a time.
“Hell,” Griffin muttered as he hung up the phone. He drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment, then called one of his deputies into the office.
Casey answered the summons, his grave Indian-like features as impassive as usual. “What do you need, boss?”
“Aside from about a pound of aspirin?” Griffin waved away any impulse his deputy might have had to respond, and said, “The Robert Butler investigation—I want some progress made, pronto. I want you and maybe Lee or Shelley to really dig into his background. Find out as much as you can about the guy, even if you have to go down to San Francisco. I’m looking for any connection, absolutely any connection, however slight or vague, to somebody in this town. And I want the info as you get it.”
“So now there is a hurry?” Casey asked.
Griffin remembered his own “no hurry” when he’d first directed that the investigation be reopened, and couldn’t help wondering if he might have been able to prevent an attempt on Joanna’s life if he had not spoken those words. “Yeah,” he said now. “Yeah, there’s a hurry. Do whatever you have to do, but get me the details of that guy’s life.”
“Right,” Casey said, unquestioning.
“And one more thing.” Griffin drummed on the desk again for a moment, then forced himself to stop when Casey’s dispassionate gaze dropped to watch the restless gesture. “Tell Mark I’d like him to take a run out to Cain’s place and see if he’s anywhere around, maybe painting outside or something. If Mark doesn’t find him there, he’s to keep on looking.”
“You want an APB?” Casey asked.
Griffin shook his head. “No. Just a casual look around—and no questioning people about him; there’s no reason to add fuel to the gossip.”
“I’ll tell him,” the deputy responded, and left the office.
After a moment, Griffin watched his fingers begin to drum on the desk again, and this time he didn’t try to stop them.
Clouds kept hiding the sun as Joanna walked quickly to the gazebo. Maybe that was why she kept feeling chilled, she thought, because each time the sun vanished, so did the warmth of it. Then again, maybe that wasn’t the reason. Maybe it was just her nearness to the cliffs. She was wary, her senses alert for any sign that she was being followed or, indeed, that anyone else was around. She kept back from the edge of the cliffs, but the pounding of the surf against the rocks was a continual reminder of just how close she was.