by Elle James
“Yes. I’d heard.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What does that have to do with me?”
“We’re questioning everyone who might have been near the lighthouse and seen or heard anything that night.”
“I know nothing about the murder, didn’t see anything either.”
“Can you tell me where you were the night before last around midnight?”
Again, the man hesitated. “Am I being accused of the woman’s murder? If so, I want my lawyer.”
“No, sir. We’re just covering all the bases.” Gabe made a mental note to check Andrew Stratford’s police record. “Where were you two nights ago around midnight?”
“I often walk along the cliffs at night.”
“Even in the fog?”
He nodded. “It calms me. Not that it’s any business of yours… That night, I didn’t walk as far as the lighthouse. The fog became too dense, I turned back halfway between.”
“Sir, did you see or hear anything while you were walking?”
“As I said, the fog was too dense. I didn’t see much. The waves on the shore were all I heard.”
Gabe put his notebook in his pocket and held out his hand to shake Stratford’s. “Thank you, Mr. Stratford. I appreciate your time.”
Stratford lifted his right hand, but clutched it in his left instead of extending it. It too had the puckered scars of a serious burn.
Dropping his hand, Gabe turned to see the little girl standing by the side of the house, staring at him, her hand on the dog’s head.
He returned to the cruiser, turned around and headed back down the driveway leading away from the mansion. When Gabe looked back in his rearview mirror, Stratford held out his scarred hand to the little girl, who solemnly took it, and they entered the house together.
Gabe shook his head. A strange encounter, to say the least. He came away from the meeting with more questions than answers. One thing he knew for certain, he’d have to do more digging into the multimillionaire and see if any dirt came up. The man certainly had secrets. But all the same, Gabe doubted he’d found the killer. Strangulation was difficult even with two functional hands—the will to live was a powerful thing, and the victims struggled hard. Those scars on his hand would have made Stratford an unlikely candidate even if his eyes had matched the description Kayla had given.
His mind shifted to Kayla as he passed the lighthouse cottage. He resisted the urge to drop in at the B and B and check on her, knowing his sister would be looking out for her.
On to his next stop—Lawrence Wilson, the hotel developer.
Kayla puttered about the B and B helping in the kitchen to clear away the breakfast dishes, but generally feeling as though she was more in the way than an aid. Dakota had crawled into his bed and still slept.
“At a loose end?” Molly asked, carrying a stack of towels from the laundry room.
Kayla glanced at the sunshine streaming through the window. “I need to get back to the cottage and see the repairman that Gabe called in.”
“Jimmy Gaddy?”
“Yes, I think that’s the name he gave when we spoke on the phone.”
Molly nodded. “I’m not surprised. He’s the handyman we use around here. He’ll have the doorjamb fixed in no time. What do you need to talk to him about?”
Kayla sighed. “He told me that the lock in the door was weakened by all the strain it took when the doorjamb was broken, so he had to replace it. I need to go pick up the new keys.”
“Can’t he just leave them for you, maybe in the mailbox?”
Kayla shook her head. “I don’t feel safe leaving the keys out where anyone could get to them.”
“And I don’t feel safe having you go to the cottage by yourself,” Molly countered. “I promised Gabe I’d keep you here, where it’s safe. He won’t like the idea of you driving out there alone. Why don’t I send Dakota with you.”
“No.” Kayla shook her head. “He needs to sleep. The poor boy was up all night with all that was going on. And besides, I won’t be there alone. Jimmy will be there when I arrive, and after he leaves, I won’t be staying too long, myself. I’m meeting Emma Jenkins for lunch at the marina.”
“I suppose that sounds all right.” Molly took a couple of steps toward the staircase. “I’ll call and tell Gabe that you’re heading back to the cottage. He’ll want to know.”
“Okay.” Kayla grabbed her purse, her keys and left the B and B. She felt much more confident driving today. With the roads bathed in sunlight, she’d see any cars closing in on her ready to bounce her off the highway, well before they had a chance. She pulled out her cell phone to call Gabe, but frowned when she saw the battery had died. With everything that had been happening, she must have forgotten to charge it.
“See what I told you about Mommy being absent-minded?” she said with a sigh. “We’ll have to add that to our list of things to do when we get home, baby. Meet Jimmy, get the keys, charge the cell phone and use the landline to call Gabe.”
Kayla pulled away from the B and B, intent on getting back to a normal life. Today was a beautiful day, and it gave her back a sense of confidence.
She managed the short drive without incident and the handyman was just finishing up with a coat of paint over the new doorjamb.
Kayla entered the cottage with a feeling of hope. Something about the pungent scent of fresh paint made her optimistic.
“I cleaned up the glass and duct-taped the hole in the window.” Jimmy rinsed his paint-covered hands in the kitchen sink. “The replacement glass is on order, but it’ll be a couple days before they can ship it from Portland.” He collected his tools and stood by the door. “This paint needs to dry before you close the door, and here are your new keys.”
Kayla nodded. “Thanks for getting to this so quickly.”
“No problem.”
“What do I owe you?”
“The bill goes to the real-estate agency renting the cottage. Is there anything else you want me to work on while I’m here?”
Kayla’s lips twitched. She wanted to say, How about rebuilding my confidence? Instead, she shook her head. “No. That’s all that I needed.”
“Well, then, I’m off. Remember to let this dry a couple hours before you close it.”
“I’ll remember.”
Once Jimmy left, Kayla plugged her cell phone into the charger, and noticed she had a voice mail.
Emma Jenkins had called to say that she couldn’t make their lunch date and to ask if they could make it the next day. Kayla called back and made the arrangements, only slightly disappointed she wouldn’t have company for lunch. With bright blue, clear skies, she couldn’t be down long.
She gathered her art supplies and easel and headed outside to soak up some sun. Since the door wasn’t supposed to be closed until the paint dried, she couldn’t barricade herself inside. Besides, the sunshine was calling to her for the first time in a long time, and she needed to air the paint fumes from the house.
“Can’t have you sick over paint fumes, can we?” She slid her hand across her belly and smiled, feeling more optimistic than she had in weeks.
She set up her easel far enough away from the edge of the cliffs to be safe and squirted fresh paint onto her palette. The view in front of her was breathtakingly beautiful. To capture the beauty took time and patience, something she normally had a lot of. Since the attack, she’d struggled with unsteady hands, and with her own impatience with herself. Yesterday, she’d been able to paint with Dakota without too much difficulty. She hoped that meant she’d turned a corner.
With a deep breath, she raised her hand, her gaze going to the lighthouse, the cliffs and the sea beyond. As her brush neared the canvas, her hand shook so badly, she almost dropped it.
Frustration filled
her.
Why couldn’t she do this? Why couldn’t she be strong enough to put her trauma behind her and get on with her life?
On the end of that thought an image flashed in her mind of Gabe holding her close, making her feel safe.
Swallowing the sob in her throat, Kayla straightened her shoulders and forced her hand to the canvas. Instead of the scenery in front of her, her brush lifted a pair of blue eyes out of the canvas. Those blue eyes were filled with concern, love and strength.
Her hands steadied, her fingers deftly stroking the white median. An outline appeared, the face coming to life, complete with laugh lines around the eyes.
With no awareness of the passing time, Kayla painted feverishly, her hand flying over her work, layering shadows, light and color. When her stomach rumbled, reminding her to eat, she stepped back and gasped.
Gabe stared back at her from the canvas, his eyes shining and filled with hope.
“That’s amazing.”
Kayla spun. So caught up in her work, she hadn’t heard the sound of a car or anything else.
A tall gentleman with pitch-black hair and blue eyes stood with his hands tucked in his pockets. He looked vaguely familiar.
Her hand rising to her throat, Kayla fought to catch her breath. “Do I know you?” Her voice shook.
“Probably not, but I know your work.” He didn’t extend a hand in greeting. “I’m Andrew Stratford. I purchased a number of your paintings at a gallery exhibit a couple weeks ago in Seattle.”
The mention of the gallery in Seattle made her stomach flip. “You were there?”
He nodded. “I have one on commission with you now.”
“So, you’re the buyer.” She forced a laugh, fear, like adrenaline, lacing through her. “So many times I don’t meet the buyers.” Kayla gave him a tight-lipped smile. “H-how did you find me here?”
“Someone mentioned it in town,” he answered vaguely. “It occurred to me that I should come out and introduce myself.” The man nodded toward the painting behind her. “I met him earlier today. Officer McGregor. He was asking questions about a murder, seemed to think I might be a suspect.”
Kayla’s stomach bunched. “Are you?”
“A suspect?” He shook his head. “I hope not, and no, I didn’t murder the girl.” He gave her a hint of a smile for the first time, the gesture making his face less scary and more approachable as he changed the subject. “I like your work, and I want to commission another painting.”
Letting out the breath she’d been holding, Kayla managed to laugh. “As long as you’re not here to…”
He snorted. “Murder you? Hardly. It would be waste of a good artist.”
She inhaled and let the breath out slowly, trying to calm her rampant pulse. “What would you like me to paint?”
His smile faded, his face stone-cold and serious. “A portrait of my daughter.”
Kayla hesitated. “I’m not certain I can do it.”
“I haven’t seen portraits in your portfolio until now, but based on the one you’re working on, I’m certain you have the talent to do the job.”
Uneasy, standing alone with a stranger, she hedged, “It’s just that I don’t know if I can channel my talent at this time.”
He tipped his head slightly. “Why?”
“I’ve had some trouble lately and it’s made it difficult to paint.” Kayla wasn’t up to answering this man’s questions when she had a million of her own. The most important one was what she needed to do to make him leave. She wasn’t comfortable with him there.
Stratford’s right hand left his pocket and rose to touch his face. “I know about trouble.”
She noticed the scars on the back of his hand and where he’d touched his face and despite how wary she was, Kayla’s heart went out to the man for all he’d suffered—the pain of the burns as well as the healing.
“Ms. Davies,” he continued, “I also know that the only way to get back to normal is to do the things that you loved in the past until you love them again.” He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “Please consider my offer. I want you to paint a portrait of my daughter.”
He didn’t wait for her answer, instead he walked away, climbed into his sleek black car and drove away.
Kayla forced air back into her lungs as she stared after him, wondering who the heck Andrew Stratford was, and why he’d really chosen to show up unannounced at her door.
Dakota wheeled his bicycle into the driveway, looking back over his shoulder at the expensive black sedan leaving. “Why did you leave the B and B without telling me, and who was that man?”
Kayla’s brows rose. She shook aside her doubts and insecurities and focused on the teen. “Are you my self-appointed keeper?”
Dakota toed his kickstand and leaned the bike on it. “Gabe wanted you to stay at the B and B with Aunt Molly until he was through with his shift.”
“Your father isn’t my keeper any more than you are and I needed to come home to meet the handyman.”
“Whatcha painting?” Dakota looked over his shoulder at the canvas.
Kayla planted her body in front of the canvas. “Nothing. Aren’t you early for your lesson? I thought we’d be meeting in the afternoon, after I had lunch with Emma?”
“When I woke up, I found out you’d left the B and B without telling me—and you didn’t answer your phone when I tried to call. I wanted to check on you. That’s a picture of Gabe, isn’t it?” He moved to the side. “Why are you hiding it?”
Why was she? Kayla knew her work expressed her emotions and her feelings. The feelings she had for Gabe McGregor were so new and confusing, she wasn’t ready to own up to them yet either in her head or out loud on canvas. But the painting had a way of making them clear as the cloudless sky and that scared her in a completely different way.
Her heart skipped a beat and she had to remind herself to breathe. Based on how she’d painted Gabe McGregor, she could well be on her way to falling for the guy, which would be a big mistake given that he clearly didn’t want a commitment. And with her baby on the way, Kayla was a package deal—huge in the commitment department.
Kayla jerked the canvas off the easel and marched toward the house. “Let’s get our paintings from yesterday and bring them outside.”
“I get it, you don’t want to talk about the Gabe painting.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to your father.”
Dakota grinned. “Not a problem.” He hauled the second easel out of the cottage and set it up beside hers before he spoke again. “It’s a good painting.”
Kayla gave the boy a stern look.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. But I don’t know why you don’t want to talk about your work. You’re good. You should sell paintings to people.”
She smiled. “I do.”
“Would you sell that painting of Gabe to me?”
“I thought you didn’t like your father?”
“I don’t dislike him.” Dakota shrugged. “He grows on you.”
Kayla couldn’t agree with the kid more. In the past two days, she’d found herself thinking more and more about the police officer—his blue eyes and how strong his hands where when they held her. She cleared her throat and tried to focus on the lesson. “Your father cares about you.”
Dakota shrugged. “My mom always said she cared about me, too…until she didn’t anymore. I think she got tired of having a kid. One screwup and—” he waved his hand “—here I am in Nowhere, Oregon, with a biological father I didn’t know existed five months ago. Who’s to say he won’t get tired of me, too?”
Her heart squeezed hard at Dakota’s story. This kid had been dumped by his mother. She touch
ed her belly, the gentle swell just beginning to make a difference in the way her clothes fit.
How could a mother quit loving her child? “Gabe won’t give up on you. He’s not that kind of man.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” He shrugged. “What colors do I mix to get the brownish-blue like the cliffs in the shadows?” Having effectively cut off the conversation about his dad and mother, Dakota kept up a lively stream of conversation for the next hour.
Kayla’s belly rumbled as noon approached. When they reached a logical stopping point, she set her brushes down and wiped her hands on a cloth. “I’m hungry, how about you?”
His stomach growled in answer and he smiled sheepishly. “Guess I am, too.”
“Why don’t we go to town and grab something at the Seaside Café. My treat.” Kayla gathered her canvas and palette, carrying them inside.
“I can pay my own way. Besides, I probably owe you for the lessons. I’m sure they don’t come cheap.” He set his easel on the floor of the living room, propping the canvas against it, studying it with a wrinkled brow. “How much do I owe you for the lessons?”
Kayla shook her head. “You don’t owe me a thing. In fact, I probably owe you for staying with me last night and today. Let’s call it even. Now, are you coming with me, or do I have to eat alone?”
The boy smiled. “I can always put away a hamburger.”
“I have no doubt you can. Climb in.” She nodded toward the car and turned to lock the door of the cottage, remembering at the last minute that the paint might not be dry. She touched it and her finger didn’t stick, so she closed the door and locked it.
The drive to town took ten minutes along the winding roads following the contours of the rocky cliffs lining the cape. When she pulled in to the Seaside Café parking lot, Kayla had trouble finding a spot.
“They’re very busy today,” she remarked.
“Best food next to Aunt Molly’s.” Dakota climbed out of the SUV and waited for Kayla on the sidewalk in front of the café. They entered together.
“Hello, Ms. Davies, Dakota, come on in and find yourselves a seat.” Nora Taggert waved them toward an empty table in the middle of the room.
