“Ah.” The older man nodded, as if finally understanding why Noah was asking so many questions. “Laurel wasn’t a bad person.”
“Did she have any enemies?”
“Sander hated her,” Jay said without hesitation. “’Course he hates everyone, including his own son.”
“What was Edgar’s relationship with his wife?”
“Desperation.”
It was a strange word to describe a relationship. “What’s that mean?”
“She knew how to press his buttons. Big-time. You should have heard the fights they had. Sometimes when they were visiting the farm Laurel would start screaming and throwing whatever she could get her hands on, while Edgar would stand there all white-faced with his lips pressed in a thin line. More than once I thought the fool was going to have heart failure. Can’t keep all those emotions bottled up without something exploding.” Jay shook his head as if with regret, but Noah didn’t miss the malicious amusement in his eyes.
“What did they fight about?”
“Everything. Nothing.” Jay shrugged. “He wanted to shove Laurel into a mold she didn’t fit. It made them both miserable.”
Noah arched a brow. He was shocked by the man’s insight, but then again, he shouldn’t be. Jay Wheeler had the heart of a con artist. It gave him a talent for reading weaknesses and how to exploit them.
“Anyone else have a problem with Laurel?” Noah asked.
“Edgar’s secretary.” Jay furrowed his brow. “Cindy?”
“Linda Baker?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Jay snapped his fingers. “I overheard an argument between Edgar and Laurel. She threatened to leave if he didn’t fire the bitch.”
“What did Edgar say?”
“I don’t remember the exact words, but the implication was that he’d get rid of his wife before he’d fire his secretary.”
Noah tapped the tips of his fingers on the bar. Clearly, Wynter’s dislike for her father’s secretary wasn’t just a clash of personalities. Had she subconsciously sensed that Edgar’s relationship with Linda wasn’t just one of boss/employee?
A sudden urge to ensure that Wynter was okay thundered through Noah. “Is that all?”
“No. There was another woman. Can’t remember her name.” Jay lazily sipped his beer. “They had some sort of falling-out and Laurel took a bat to the woman’s car. Smashed out the windows and everything.” The older man released a sharp laugh. “The gal was feisty, no doubt about it. That’s all I can remember.”
“If you think of something else, let me know.” Noah grabbed his wallet and tossed down another twenty along with his business card. That should cover the tab and hopefully urge Jay to reach out if he recalled any helpful information.
“You got it.” Jay reached to snatch the money off the bar as Noah jumped off the high stool. “Good luck with the Moore gal. I’ve heard she’s grown into a real beauty. Not to mention the fact Sander considers her his heir, even if people did whisper she didn’t belong to Edgar. One day she’ll inherit a tidy farm.”
Noah headed toward the door, his steps never faltering as Jay casually dropped his bomb of an accusation.
Of course Edgar was Wynter’s father. It was true she didn’t look anything like him, but she’d taken after her mother. And even if he wasn’t Wynter’s father, what did it matter?
It didn’t, of course.
Still, Noah couldn’t deny an uneasy sensation as he left the bar and headed for Wynter’s truck.
Chapter 16
Wynter leaned over her grandpa’s hospital bed to place a soft kiss on his forehead before leaving the ICU ward. The doctors had urged her to keep her visits brief since the older man was still unconscious. Not that she needed the warning. Despite the fact he was listed as stable, it was obvious from the plethora of tubes and wires and beeping machines attached to the older man that he was struggling to cling to life.
Entering the thankfully empty waiting room, Wynter crossed to the table where a coffee machine and disposable cups had been arranged. She not only needed the caffeine, but it was freezing in the hospital. She didn’t know if it was to combat the spread of germs, or just to keep people from lingering, but she’d made a mistake to think her sweatshirt would be warm enough. She needed a jacket. And a hat. And gloves ...
At the sound of footsteps Wynter abruptly whirled to face the door, prepared to use her screaming hot coffee as a weapon. There was a guard just down the hall, but it would take him time to get to the waiting room. She had to be ready and willing to protect herself if necessary. A second later, Linda Baker appeared, her blond hair pulled into its usual knot at the nape and her slender body covered in yet another power suit, this one a cherry red.
Wynter’s tension remained as the older woman strolled to join her.
“Linda. What are you doing here?”
A reptilian smile curved the woman’s lips as she held up a small bouquet of flowers. “I promised your father I would check on Sander.”
Wynter frowned. She’d been expecting her father to arrive any minute. No matter how difficult the relationship between the two men, they were family. And family was there for each other when the times were tough. Wasn’t that how it was supposed to work?
“Why didn’t he come himself?” Wynter was annoyed that she was forced to ask this woman about her father’s absence, but without her phone she had no way to contact him.
“He has classes this morning and meetings this afternoon. He’s a very busy man.”
“Too busy to visit his critically ill father?”
Linda clicked her tongue, as if Wynter was being unreasonably demanding. “Edgar called the hospital first thing this morning and they told him that Sander isn’t even conscious. What good would it do to pace the waiting room?” Her cold gaze skimmed over Wynter, her lips thinning at the oversized sweatshirt and old jeans. “He might as well be doing something productive.”
“Did you convince him of that?”
“I only have his best interest at heart.”
“The loyal secretary.”
“At least I understand the meaning of loyalty.”
Wynter narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t act innocent, Wynter,” Linda chided. “You know the truth now.”
Wynter carefully turned to set down her cup of coffee on the table. It wasn’t that she was afraid she might toss the scalding liquid in the woman’s smirking face. Or at least she didn’t think she would. She’d always considered herself a pacifist who would never hurt another human being. But there was no point in daring temptation.
She had no idea why she allowed this woman to rub against her nerves, but right now it felt as if steam was coming out the top of her head.
Slowly she turned back. “Are you talking about my mother?”
Linda pursed her lips, making a show of her reluctance to speak ill of the dead. “We no longer have to pretend she was a saint,” she finally said in icy tones. “Laurel was jealous of your father’s devotion to his work, and the demands on his time. If she’d loved him, she would have done everything in her power to support his career.”
There was an ugly edge in Linda’s voice whenever she mentioned Laurel’s name. She obviously harbored a deep resentment, even after all this time.
“Why are you obsessed with a woman who died twenty-five years ago?” Wynter bluntly demanded. A surprising blush stained the woman’s face, and Wynter was struck by a sudden realization. “Is it because my dad still loves her?”
Linda flinched, revealing that Wynter had struck a nerve. But she quickly recovered, sending Wynter a poisonous glare. “He was bewitched with her, nothing more. Eventually they would have divorced.”
The words were no doubt intended to wound Wynter. Instead they just reaffirmed her certainty that Linda was still desperately jealous of Laurel Moore. “And you would have become the next Mrs. Moore?”
A dark emotion flared through the older woman’s eyes. “Yes.�
�
Wynter forced herself to consider the horrifying possibility. She had no idea if her father still harbored feelings for his dead wife. Or if he’d ever actually loved her at all. But she did know that if he wanted Linda Baker to be more than a secretary, he could have done something about it a long time ago.
“My dad has been a widower for years. Why hasn’t he asked you to marry him?”
Linda’s face paled at the direct hit, her eyes smoldering with fury. “Don’t interfere in matters that don’t concern you.”
“He’s my father. Everything about him concerns me.”
A hard, strange smile twisted Linda’s lips as she shoved the flowers into Wynter’s hand. “Give these to your grandfather. I need to get back to the office.”
The woman stomped out of the waiting room, leaving behind a cloud of heavy perfume and frustrated fury. With a muttered curse, Wynter childishly tossed the flowers into the nearby trash can. Over the years she’d crossed paths with Linda Baker, but they’d usually managed to remain polite. Now she prayed she never had to see the woman again.
She was glaring at the mutilated flowers when someone loudly cleared their throat behind her. With a choked sound of shock, Wynter whirled to discover Tonya Knox standing just a few feet away.
So much for being on guard, she ruefully chided her distraction. “Hi, Tonya,” she breathed, feeling a flush stain her cheeks.
“Is everything okay?” Tonya stepped closer. She was wearing a black sweater and yoga pants with chunky silver jewelry and plenty of attitude. Her hair was spiked and her eyes were heavily rimmed with black liner. She looked wildly out of place in the small, rural hospital, but Wynter felt a rush of relief at the sight of her. She could use a friend. “You look upset,” Tonya murmured, her expression concerned. “Is it your grandfather?”
“No, he’s still in critical condition, but the doctors say he’s stable.”
“Good.” Tonya glanced toward the trash can filled with flowers. “Then I assume it was Linda Baker that’s making you look like you want to punch something? Or someone? I saw her leaving when I was coming in.”
Wynter heaved a sigh, feeling a pang of regret for the nasty encounter with the older woman. “Sorry. I usually like everyone, but for some reason that woman gets under my skin,” she muttered.
“Don’t apologize.” Tonya snorted. “Unlike you, everyone annoys me. Especially stuck-up bitches like Linda Baker.”
Wynter tried to dismiss her dark mood. She had enough worries without adding Linda Baker’s obsession with her dad.
“Are you here to see Grandpa?” she asked her friend. “I’m afraid they’re only letting in family.”
“No, I was looking for you.”
“Oh. Do you need something?”
Tonya reached into the leather satchel she had slung across her body. “I wanted to give you this.”
Pulling out her hand, she held out a silver key. Wynter wrapped her fingers around the key and frowned at Tonya in confusion.
“Am I supposed to do something with this?”
“It fits the new door you had installed.”
“Oh.” Wynter shook her head, feeling like an idiot. “I’d forgotten all about it.”
“I figured you had. Jeremy from the lumberyard left the key in the mailbox after he was done, but I wasn’t comfortable leaving it there.” Tonya grimaced. “Not after someone just broke in. Besides . . .” Tonya bit her lip, looking annoyed with herself. Had she said more than she intended? “Never mind.”
Wynter shoved the key into the front pocket of her jeans. “What is it?”
Tonya shook her head. “I don’t want to bother you with something that’s probably nothing. You should be thinking about your grandfather.”
Wynter smiled wryly. She should allow the woman to keep her secrets. Hadn’t she just told herself she had enough to worry about? But not knowing was going to be worse. Her imagination could invent all sorts of awful things.
“Now you have to tell me,” she insisted.
Tonya grimaced, but studying Wynter’s stubborn expression, she accepted defeat.
“Officer Simpson stopped by to ask if I had surveillance on the empty lot between our buildings.”
Wynter sucked in a sharp breath. It’d never occurred to her that her neighbor might have video of the person who’d broken into her apartment. “Do you?”
“No.” Tonya squashed Wynter’s brief flare of hope. “But last night I was working late and I heard a vehicle pull into the lot.”
“Oh. Did you see who it was?”
“I did better.” Tonya once again reached into her satchel. This time she brought out her cell phone. “I took a picture.” Moving to stand next to Wynter, the older woman turned the screen so Wynter could see the image. “Here.”
The picture was dark and fuzzy, but Wynter could make out the side of her restaurant and then the vehicle that was near the back corner. “It’s a pickup.” She leaned closer, as if it would help her peer through the darkness that surrounded the vehicle. “Could you see who was driving?”
“No. They pulled up next to your building and started to park.” Tonya made a sound of disgust. “I should have called nine-one-one, but I stepped out to take this picture and they took off. I think I must have spooked them.”
Wynter didn’t blame her friend. You couldn’t call the cops just because a truck pulled into an empty lot. “What time?”
Tonya turned the phone back so she could touch the screen. “Ten thirty-eight.”
Wynter considered the possibilities. There was no use jumping to conclusions. “I suppose they might have been there to drink or other late-night activities. It’s usually pretty dead around there at that time of night. There’s no way to know for certain.”
“When they were pulling out, I got this.” Tonya swiped the screen, pulling up a new image. Then using her fingers to enlarge the picture, she turned the phone toward Wynter.
For a second, Wynter didn’t know what she was supposed to be seeing. It looked like the same truck, only zoomed in as it turned out of the lot. It wasn’t until she was about to hand the phone to her companion that she noticed the decal on the side of the truck.
“Drake,” she breathed in disbelief.
“You recognize who owns the truck?”
“Drake Shelton.” Wynter shoved the phone back into Tonya’s hand, her thoughts scrambled. Why would Drake be in Larkin? And why would he have been at her apartment? More importantly, had he returned to Pike to kill his wife? “You need to take this to the police station.”
“Why?” Tonya dropped the phone into her satchel, studying Wynter with a curious gaze. “Was he the one who broke into your apartment?”
Wynter shuddered. It was horrifying to think Drake had followed her back to Larkin and then snuck into her private space to leave his warning. But once again, she reminded herself not to leap to conclusions. Not when they had nothing more than a fuzzy photo from a different night. “I’m not sure, but his wife was murdered last night.”
Tonya gasped, visibly shaken by Wynter’s revelation. “I didn’t hear about that.”
Wynter held up her hand, instantly regretting her blunt response. “It wasn’t here. It happened in Pike.”
“Oh.” Tonya released the breath she’d been holding. “Did the guy in the truck do it?”
“No one knows for certain, but they’re looking for him.”
“Okay. I’ll run by the station on my way back to the shop. I suppose they can download the picture from my phone.” With a nod, Tonya headed toward the door of the waiting room. “Take care.”
Wynter watched her leave, then with a muttered curse, she hurried behind the older woman. “Wait, Tonya.”
Coming to a halt just outside the room, Tonya turned to send Wynter an impatient frown. “Can this wait? I have a pottery class in an hour and I still need to get organized.”
“It will just take a second,” Wynter assured her.
“Okay. What is it?”
Wynter didn’t have any subtle way of asking for the information she wanted. Not when her nerves felt raw and her mind muddled with the endless shocks that battered her day after day. So she just went to the heart of her concern. “Why didn’t you ever mention that my mom had left you an inheritance in her will?”
Tonya paused, her expression impossible to read. “I just assumed you knew. It wasn’t a secret,” she at last said.
“Did you know her?”
Tonya nodded, her eyes softening. “She volunteered at the art camp every summer. I took every single class she taught there. She had an amazing gift.”
The icy dread that had encased her since seeing Drake Shelton’s truck parked next to her building was forgotten as Wynter conjured the beauty of her mom’s artwork.
It was a lasting legacy that would bring pleasure to Wynter for an eternity.
“Yes, she did,” she agreed in soft tones.
“Once your mom realized that I was serious about my pottery, she started giving me private lessons,” Tonya continued, blinking back sudden tears. “That’s when I told her I hoped to get a degree in art. But my parents insisted I stay here and take over the gift shop. She promised that I would have the scholarship money I needed to go to college if that was what I wanted to do. I really never thought about it. Not until she died.”
Wynter sighed. Dredging through the memories of Laurel Moore was like pulling a scab off an old wound. It was painful and messy and probably necessary if Wynter’s soul was ever going to heal.
“Did you use the money for art school?” she asked her companion.
“A portion. The rest I saved to open my own studio.” Tonya’s lips twisted into a humorless smile. “I never expected that studio to be in Larkin.” A silence descended between them as they became lost in the mutual sense of grief for the loss of a woman who’d touched both their lives. Then, Tonya shook away her grief. “Is there a problem? If you need the money—”
“No, no. Nothing like that,” Wynter quickly denied.
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