Her Deadly Inheritance

by Beth Ann Ziarnik

  Clay was the little boy who had given his life to Jesus in Amelia’s living room. He was also a Christian and unattached. The barriers she had imagined between them never existed. Her heart had been trying to tell her this. No wonder she was so easily drawn to him, and why it all seemed so right.

  Yet the scowl that darkened Clay’s face the moment he saw her tonight and his gray eyes quickly appearing guarded made it clear. He didn’t want her in his grandmother’s house or in their lives. Sonny was no more ready for a new romantic relationship than she was. How disappointed Amelia would be.

  Jill glanced at her friend, wanting to comfort her but knowing this was not the time. The truth was she felt a little disappointed herself. The tender look in Clay’s eyes when they were together over the last few days had vanished tonight. It was just as well. If she were ever ready for romance, she would want a hardworking and kind man like Clay. He won’t always be estranged from you, will he, Lord?

  Realizing she was staring at him, she blinked. Was she right? Was what she saw in his eyes now more like fear?

  “Excuse me.” He rose from the table and took his dishes to the kitchen. A minute later, he disappeared up the stairs.

  Amelia stared at the ceiling as if she could see him through it. “I hate it when he sits alone in that room with Janice’s picture. Why can’t he put all that behind him?”

  Jill busied herself clearing the table, understanding the grief that held such power over Clay. Janice hadn’t simply died. Someone had taken her life. The killer was still at large. It wasn’t right, any more than the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death. Clay needed time to heal. She did too.

  So this was Clay’s secret that stood between them. Make that who.

  Jill started the dishwater in the sink and went to collect the last dirty dishes from the table. She smiled for Amelia’s sake as her friend joined her in the kitchen. “Do you want me to wash, Amelia, or dry?”

  Clay wiped his hands on his slacks and paced back and forth alongside the bed. He stopped at the dresser, picked up Janice’s picture, and then put it down again. It didn’t quite fuel his resolve as it once had.

  What was the matter with him? Had so much changed in the short time since Jill arrived at Windtop? Every day, his thoughts centered more and more on her. The depths of her violet eyes captivated him, promising a future that beckoned him. A future he would have no right to claim if he followed through with his plan.

  He punched his right fist into the palm of his other hand and resumed pacing, faster than before. It’s not that he wanted to follow through. He had to. If he was right, the killer had not stopped with one or two victims. If he didn’t move fast enough, Jill might be next.

  He picked up Janice’s picture and cradled it in his hands. What a wonderful love they had known, planning their future, putting the pieces together with care until someone brutally ran her down.

  Why God? Why did you let it happen? Why when I was serving overseas? When I wasn’t here to protect her?

  What puzzled him most was why the killer targeted her. Janice was the one person in the world who had a heart of kindness toward everyone who came into her life.

  Jill was so much like her.

  He stopped pacing. Was that why he found Jill so attractive and looked forward to every moment with her? Not just because of her soft curves and sweet ways.

  He set Janice’s picture back on the dresser. He would stop her killer.

  If he could count on the law, he would. Jill was right. In most circumstances, that was the way to go. But the law failed when his father died in a convenience store hold-up. It failed when his sister was killed in a drive-by shooting at her school, and again when Janice was murdered. This time—as soon as he found that last piece of evidence—he would hold this one killer accountable. No more innocents would die.

  At the sound of Clay’s footsteps coming down the stairs, Jill looked up from her work on the quilt.

  He entered the room, his gaze shrouded in a firm purpose and his jaw tight. “Are you ready?”

  She put her needle and yarn away and collected her purse while he hugged his grandmother and kissed the woman’s upturned cheek. Jill hugged Amelia, too, but didn’t miss the concern for her grandson in the older woman’s eyes.

  “We’ve gotten enough done,” she said, leaning on her walker near the door. “I should be able to finish this quilt myself, but thank you for helping and for coming.”

  Jill slipped her purse strap over her shoulder and followed Clay into the night.

  He drove in silence. At the marina, its metal dock echoed with their footsteps. The evening’s dark sky hovered above, alive with tiny, bright stars. She shivered. Their light seemed so cold.

  As they reached the boat, Clay pulled her gently around to face him. “Jill?”

  Was she crazy, or had he uttered her name in tender anguish? She stared at their shoes, unwilling to let him glimpse her confusion.

  With his finger beneath her chin, he urged her gaze up. His own held an astonishing hunger. Only a breath away, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. She trembled as the back of his fingers caressed her face, but this was no invitation. This was something far different.

  He opened his mouth, then sighed heavily and backed away. An aching distance gaped between them. Jill swallowed hard, unable to move. She could do nothing but stare. He cared for her but not as much as for Janice.

  She stumbled toward the boat, and just that fast, his hand caught her elbow, steadying her. She tried to ease away, but he wouldn’t release her until she stood safely on the deck. Refusing her heart’s urge to glance back at him, she sought a cushioned seat as far as possible from where he would man the helm.

  The boat roared to life and headed for the island, leaving a frothy wake. Jill looked out across the dark waters on the first leg of their lonely ride back to Windtop.

  God, I didn’t come here looking for love. Certainly not a love that would cause this much pain.

  A palpable silence reigned, even as they left the boat and drove to Windtop. It was just as well. One minute he revealed he cared, the next he backed away. At least now she knew why. She also knew that, once again, she had fallen in love too fast.

  Instead of going on to Windtop, Clay parked the Jeep outside the gatehouse and turned off the ignition. He stared ahead, not making eye contact. “I wish I could, Jill, but I can’t.”

  “You don’t have to explain.” She didn’t want to hear it anyway. Wasn’t it enough that he had made his choice, and it wasn’t her?

  “All right, but you do know my grandmother rigged tonight’s dinner to bring us together, don’t you?”

  She nodded. Nothing she had planned or even wanted, but that didn’t matter. Sagging back in her seat, she looked out her window into a darkness she could almost feel.

  “I’m sorry,” he continued. “She believed she was helping me. Probably both of us. But it won’t work. It can’t. I wish circumstances were different.”

  She turned back and stared at him. Did he wish things were different? Her foolish heart wrapped itself around his soft words as he gripped the steering wheel.

  “When I finish what I came here to do, I’ll leave. You won’t see me again.”

  His resigned sadness echoed hers. No mere words would change what must be. He had made up his mind, and she had no choice but to respect his decision except for one thing.

  “What about Amelia?”

  “What about her?”

  “Do you expect me to stay away from her?” She sincerely hoped not.

  “I don’t expect you to stay away from either of us. I just want you to know where things stand with me. As for Grandma, I’m glad she has a friend like you, but I am curious.”

  “About what?”

  He looked worried. “What did she tell you about me?”

  She stared at him. Why was that so important?

  “Humor me, Jill,” he said.

  “She said you’re still having a h
ard time about Janice’s death.”

  “True, but that’s something I have to work out for myself. What else?”

  She cringed but, since he wanted to know, she would tell him. “That, since then, your relationship with God hasn’t been the same.”

  His lips pressed into a grim line. “Also true, and also something I have to work out for myself. Anything else?”

  Jill shook her head. Funny how life held out a shining promise, then snatched it away. “I didn’t know that you were her grandson.”

  “I believe you.”

  He took her hand, sending shock waves through her. She didn’t pull away, even when he put his other hand over it. “Would you do me a favor?”

  “If I can.”

  “Don’t mention Janice to anyone. Not anyone. Will you do that for me, Jill? It’s important.”

  “Yes.” Who better than she would understand how difficult it was to come to terms with the violent death of someone you love?

  The intensity of his gaze held her breathless.

  “Thank you.”

  She longed to soothe the pain in his heart. If circumstances were different, he might have let her. They might have been a comfort to one another, might have found a way out of their pain together.

  He eased his hands from hers. “Don’t, Jill. Don’t love me. You’ll only get hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Not love him? Couldn’t he see it was already too late? As for not getting hurt, it was too late for that too.

  She turned away, grieving for their love that would never be. He might have given his heart and life to Jesus at one time, and one day he might return. But right now, he not only loved another, but he was letting Janice’s death wound his relationship with God.

  Please, Lord, heal his hurting heart. And mine too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sunlight filtered through the attic windows, sending crosshatched patterns among the stored furnishings. Dust motes danced in the air as Jill wrestled with opening the last window and setting its brace. She leaned on the sill and gazed across the lawn toward the gatehouse.

  Clay was late, and she was on her own with more than she could hope to accomplish. She picked up the clipboard and a handful of tags from an end table next to a heavy, brass floor lamp. Numbering a tag, she slipped it on the lamp, snapped a picture, and listed the item. As she crouched to attach another numbered tag to the end table, a long shadow fell across the floor from the brightly lit hallway.

  Clay’s silhouette filled the doorway.

  Her heart tripped with happiness, yet she reined in her sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck in welcome.

  “You’re surprised,” he said.

  “After last night, I …” She pushed up from the floor to face him. “I wondered.”

  “No matter what happened last night, Jill, I’m still your friend.” He reached out with an open hand. “How about giving me those tags?”

  She placed them in his hand, and while he tagged a large, ornate mirror, she took a picture of the end table and listed it.

  Warmth seeped into her traitorous heart. He was here only as her friend, but he was here. And he cared deeply, whether he was willing to admit it or not.

  Jill’s proximity was more of a challenge than Clay had expected. When she bent her head over the clipboard to add an item, sunlight nestled in her hair, begging him to touch those silken waves. When she gazed into his eyes as she answered his questions or gave him directions on the next piece to be listed, he could hardly tear away and return to work. Every innocent move of her slender form flowed like music into the deepest recesses of his being.

  He couldn’t go on like this much longer. Yet, they had to finish this inventory before Drummond showed up this afternoon, and he wouldn’t abandon her to cope alone.

  Approaching footsteps arrested his gut-churning musings. In unison, he and Jill looked toward the attic door. Her aunt swept in wearing some vintage dress that covered her from neck to high-buttoned shoes. Its long sleeves ballooned in huge puffs at her shoulders. Her gaze raked the attic. “I see you are still at work.”

  The acid words could have etched brass, yet Jill greeted her aunt with a cheerful good morning.

  “Good morning, nothing!” The woman jammed fists on her hips. “You failed to show for supper last night and breakfast this morning. Don’t think you can escape us so easily. Your uncle will join us for lunch today and we expect you in the dining room promptly at noon.” She whirled about on her heels. “Don’t forget or I’ll be back.”

  Clay’s jaw twitched. “Why do you let her talk to you that way?”

  She shrugged, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and he realized his gaze lingered on her soft lips. “She’s a difficult woman, but she is my aunt. I’m trying my best to understand what drives her, even if I’m not having much success.”

  He tagged a sofa. “That dress she’s wearing. What’s that all about?”

  “She says it helps her to get a feel for Windtop in its early days while she prepares for Tia’s party.” Jill aimed the camera and snapped the sofa’s picture, then listed it. “But I keep wondering if there’s more to it than she says.”

  Jill entered the dining room precisely at noon. Elma’s hands shook as she placed a chilled salad before her. Just as quickly, the maid disappeared into the butler’s pantry.

  Bowing her head, Jill silently asked God’s blessing on the food and his hand on the matter to follow. When she looked up, Carver regarded her with a thinly disguised contempt while Tia gazed at her with open curiosity.

  “Tell her, Drew,” Lenore said.

  Her uncle’s eyelids flickered rapidly. “At your aunt’s request, Jill, I discussed the matter of your selling Windtop’s furnishings with our attorneys this morning.”

  Lenore flashed a fleeting smile, her dark brown eyes gleaming.

  A heavy rock dropped in Jill’s heart. Had she and Clay gone through all that work for nothing? Would she have to turn Mr. Drummond away and withdraw her contributions to the church’s benefit auction?

  Her uncle cleared his throat and glanced from his wife to her. “And … uh … you are free to do with those things as you please. Your grandparents only specified that Windtop remain in your possession as long as you live.”

  Lenore shrieked. “No!”

  Carver leaned back in his chair, appearing to digest the information.

  “Then I can give them to the church?” What an absolute relief.

  “Yes.” His stout bulk squirmed in his chair at the head of the table.

  “Are you going to let her get away with this?” Her aunt nearly choked on the words.

  “We have no choice, dear.” A tight resignation laced her uncle’s voice.

  Was that sadness in his eyes? Of course it was. What had she been thinking? She should have discussed the idea with him before going ahead with it. He had a lifetime of memories tied to Windtop. Many more than she did.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t think of this before, Uncle Drew. But is there anything you would like before I send the rest away?”

  His brown eyes softened. “If it’s not too late, I would like the library’s red leather chairs. I have fond memories of them connected with my father.”

  “Done.”

  Carver snorted.

  “And don’t worry, Lenore.” Her uncle spoke with concern for his wife. “I will use them in my office at the mill.”

  Fuming, her aunt looked away.

  Uncle Drew shrugged. “What about you, Jill? What do you intend to keep?”

  “My mother’s portrait, a trunk of her mementos, and the desk she kept in her room as soon as I find it.”

  Lenore sniffed. “That desk is an original piece and belongs right where it is—in the master bedroom.”

  Jill’s fingers dug into the linen napkin on her lap. No matter what, she wouldn’t argue. “Mother’s desk can stay where it is.” For now. “It’s just that I don’t want to lose it.”

&nb
sp; Lenore thrust her chin in the air. “You don’t have to sell anything.”

  “No, but I try to keep my promises.” Which is why you are still in this house.

  Lenore’s eyes narrowed. “Tell them you have changed your mind.”

  “No.” Why did that woman’s demands prod her to dig in her heels?

  With a lazy grin, Carver gazed at her. “At least be practical, cousin. Sell those things and keep the money. You’ll make a bundle.” As she opened her mouth in protest, he raised his hands palms out. “Don’t tell me. It’s something like love others the way you want to be loved.”

  Jill blinked. He knew something about Scripture.

  Lenore waved away Uncle Drew’s warning look. “Well, if this is your idea of Christian love, you are failing with your own family’s needs.”

  Carver laughed. “Don’t kid yourself, Mother. She just thinks that little run-down church has greater need. Am I right, Jill?”

  Tia pushed her chair back and stood. “Maybe she’s right.”

  Lenore frowned at her daughter.

  Jill held her breath. What was the girl up to now?

  Tia grinned at her mother. “I think I’ll go with her tonight and check it out.”

  “You will not.” Lenore pressed her lips together and glared at her daughter.

  Tia eyed her mother, a slight smile on her lips. “What time do we leave, Jill?”

  Lord, is this your plan or Tia’s?

  “It can’t do any harm, dear,” Uncle Drew said.

  “As long as it’s all right with your father,” Jill said, “it’s all right with me. I’m leaving right after supper.”

  “See you then.” Her young cousin smiled sweetly and left the room.

  Lenore pursed her lips. “You were no help, Drew. Must I do everything myself?”

  He shrugged and kissed his wife’s cheek. “It’s time I get back to work. Carver, are you coming?”

  Jill rose to leave as well, but Lenore stopped her. “I’m not sure what I dislike more about you—your insane obsession with Susannah’s death or your revolting fascination with religion.” She shook her shoulders as if dislodging something loathsome. “Why can’t you be satisfied with the real world? Who even knows if the other exists?”