A Dagger Cuts Deep

by Kathy L Wheeler

  “Can I get you some coffee and something to eat?”

  “As a matter of fact, you can.”

  Melinda handed her a menu. “We have a meatloaf special.”

  Deidre snapped the menu shut. “I’ll have that,” she said, despite meatloaf being one of her least favorite meals.

  With a smile, she quickly placed a cup of coffee before Deidre. “I’m between throngs right now.” Melinda told her. “It’s always like this around the opening of the arts fair.”

  The small café was quiet. Deidre sipped her coffee as Melinda disappeared through the swinging door. A few minutes later she reappeared with a plate laden with a generous portion of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, and string beans.

  Deidre picked up her fork and cut into the meatloaf. “I need to talk to Ruth Knox. Do you think it would be all right?”

  “Sure.” She dropped into the seat across from Deidre. “She’s staying out at the Montgomery Manor house. Jo, Lydia, and Tevi are real approachable.”

  “Oh, yes. I met Jo and Lydia yesterday. Now, how do I find the house?”

  “If you’re driving, take Church Road north to Montgomery Lane. If you’re walking, just go on up Main Street to the forest.” She pointed the intended direction. “There’s a path that leads through the trees to the bluffs. Turn north along the bluffs and you’ll run into the back of the house. You can’t miss it, it’s huge.”

  As a thanks for Melinda’s information, Deidre ate almost every bite of her meatloaf, and didn’t gag once.

  The walk to the forest was fraught with people, but once Deidre hit the path through the trees, she felt as if she were alone in the world. Tall pines combined with the briny sea air cleansed her senses. The trees swayed in a slight breeze, and Deidre could almost talk herself into staying on the island, if it weren’t for needing a job to feed Lori, Mrs. Phillips, and herself. She hadn’t checked to see where the school was, but it was doubtful they had an opening for an elementary art teacher. A grim smile touched her. How much more ridiculous could she get? There was still the little matter of Charity’s murder. A knife protruding from one’s chest wasn’t something one could easily ignore.

  If Jackson Montgomery hadn’t killed her sister, who did? Not that she wasn’t entirely convinced of his innocence. Had he denied it? Not that she could recall. He’d only asked if there was anyone besides him who might want Charity dead.

  Since Deidre couldn’t think of another soul who would want her sister gone, she was left with no other choice but to pursue the questions she had about Jackson. Men regularly lied, she told herself.

  She conveniently squelched the fact she was going by Mrs. rather than Miss. That was out of necessity. The good ol’ double standard. She groaned. She dragged her attention back to the matter at hand. If Jackson Montgomery hadn’t killed her sister then who had? Granted, Charity had not been the most loveable of people. Even as a child, she’d manipulated their father into doing her bidding, letting her off bad behavior after bad behavior, and worse. Charity’s whole life had been ruled by her emotions. She’d had two gears—an ultra-hot temper, and cold, calculating machinations.

  Besides the methods of death, what made Jackson believe both murders were connected? To Deidre, Jackson’s connection to the island likely made him guiltier than sin. The idea went round and round her head until it ached.

  Just then she stepped from the dark cover of the trees into a clearing with a wide, dirt path. The open sky had her hauling in a deep breath. She hadn’t realized how tense she was under the oppressive canopy of the trees.

  A crooked fence lined the cliffs, but she could see places that had rotted and fallen away. A whisper of unease enveloped her, and she shivered under the warmth of the midday sun.

  Someone was watching her.

  ~~~

  By sheer luck, Junior had seen Charity coming out of the café. With the crowded streets he’d been able to follow Charity—undetected of course—from a distance as she went up the path to the bluffs. She’d downgraded her former flamboyant mode of dress to less vibrant colors. The subtle hues did nothing to diminish her attractiveness. To his eye, her dark hair, and conservative dress and tones enhanced her sensuality, lent her an air of vulnerability. A heightened sense of desire crawled through him. He would greatly enjoy her favors. His gaze shot out to Serpent’s Point. A great deal of privacy could be had at the lighthouse. A good opportunity to shake her down too…

  His arousal grew heavy with the anticipation. There might not be a better opportunity. He started to follow her out of the trees and pulled up short. Jackson had spotted her and lifted a hand, waving.

  Junior melted back into the cover of the tall pines and watched with growing dismay as the two conversed quite congenially, complicating Junior’s relatively simple plan.

  What if Charity mentioned her hold over him? What if they were co-conspirators? This dangerous and disturbing possibility required more considerable thought and a disciplined strategy.

  ~~~

  Jackson’s steps quickened on the path. The more he was around Deidre Spence, the greater the number of differences he discerned between her and Charity. There was a warmth, a genuineness about Deidre that Charity had never possessed. Admitting it to himself surprised him.

  He modulated his steps to a stroll, aware of her soft pink lips alluring him with a sudden urge to taste. Inappropriate. Completely and annoyingly so. He met her on the path. “Taking a tour of the island?”

  “Actually, I need to speak with Miss Knox regarding the packing of the cottage’s contents. I hope it’s not an awkward time.”

  “No. Not at all. She and my cousins were in the library about to have tea. Come on. I’ll accompany you.”

  “Oh. Thank you, Mr. Montgomery—”

  “Deidre, please. Call me Jackson.” He gave her his most engaging smile. “You may recall, we are on a joint mission.”

  She only hesitated for a second before falling in line beside him. They headed back to the house. “I don’t recall it being a joint mission.” She hated how tremulous her words came out.

  He stopped. “Is something wrong?”

  A shaky laugh escaped her. “No. Well. It’s just that I had an odd feeling just as I came out of the trees. It felt as though I was being watched.” Her gaze narrowed on him.

  He threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I admit it. It was me. I was headed into town when I ran into you. As you can see, there is not much in the way for camouflage from the house to the forest. Mostly bushes and tall grass.”

  Her eyes surveyed the terrain. “I-I suppose so.”

  12

  Jackson ushered Deidre in through the kitchen, where they were met by a woman whose demeanor set Deidre immediately at ease. The older woman, Esther, reminded Deidre a little of Mrs. Phillips, though Mrs. Phillips was a tad more stern. Deidre could just imagine how Charity would have reacted to the ignominy of being led inside through a back door. Deidre’s feelings, however, were far from affronted, instead giving her a sense of familial inclusion. How many years had it been since she’d felt included?

  “Esther, this is Deidre Spence,” Jackson said. “She’ll be staying for tea. Are my cousins still in the library?”

  After Esther’s initial shock—something Deidre thought she should now be getting used to—she smiled and said, “That they are. Take her on in, Jackson. I’m just pulling the tray together now. Your aunt Eleanor has joined the fray.”

  The manor house was a lavish mixture of old and new. From the kitchen, Jackson took her down a long hallway through to a huge foyer with a black and white checkered floor, a high chandelier, and rich mahogany woodwork. Deidre caught the excited chatter before she followed him into a turret room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases stuffed full. The well-loved and lived-in space instantly enveloped her, from the comfortable settee and winged-back chairs surrounding a low table, to its old fashioned rugs. Over the large fireless hearth was the portrait of
a formidable matriarch. The scene was straight out the Daphne du Maurier novel, Rebecca.

  Deidre immediately recognized Jo and Lydia with an older woman whom she pegged as “Aunt Eleanor.” Of the other two other younger women, both seated, Ruth had to be the bespectacled one.

  Jackson quickly introduced his aunt and his youngest cousin, Tevi. When he got to the next to last, he said, “And, lastly,” he said. “Ruth Knox.”

  Ruth was the unequivocal opposite of Jackson’s cousins. Her hair was a nondescript brown pulled in a severe knot at her nape, her complexion was sallow and her face devoid of expression.

  She gaped at Deidre.

  “I see you knew my sister. We were… identical twins.” Deidre said, holding out her hand. “I wanted to thank you for the place to stay, Miss Knox. I’m so glad we have a chance to meet.”

  Miss Knox couldn’t seem to answer and the silence grew awkward.

  Jo intervened, “How do you take your tea, Deidre?”

  “A little sugar is all, thank you.”

  “I daresay, Ruth is, as are all of us, stunned at seeing you, Miss Spence.” Tevi dropped a cube of sugar in the cup, poured out the tea, and handed it to Deidre.

  “It’s Mrs.,” Jackson said. “She has a daughter, Lori.”

  At some point, Deidre was going to have to confess. And she was almost certain, heads would roll. Hers, in particular. “Please. Call me Deidre. Mrs. Spence is much too formal.” And false. “I imagine it is a shock. Especially since my sister is no longer with us.”

  Tevi choked on her tea. “Charity is—”

  “I’m afraid so,” Deidre murmured.

  “I thought Lydia would have mentioned it,” Jackson said. “Hell, she dashed out of the Chronicle office like a hoyden, practically announcing it to the whole town.”

  “Quit exaggerating, Jackson. It wasn’t as bad as all that.” Lydia sipped at her cup, not in the least repentant.

  Deidre hid a smile behind her cup. She cleared her throat and turned to Ruth. “The reason for my stop today, Miss Knox, was to speak to you about the packing. What items you wanted me to pack for you to keep. And inquire if you wish to donate any items—”

  “Toss it all, Mrs. Spence. I-I don’t want anything.” She shuddered and her fingers trembled, threatening the contents of her tea.

  Deidre was momentarily stunned speechless, but a small look from Jackson stopped any other questions she had. “Of course, Miss Knox. I’m sorry for your loss. I failed to say so immediately. It was remiss of me.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Spence. Thank you.” She closed her brown eyes against her obvious pain, but silent tears dampened her lashes.

  Deidre’s heart went out to her. Deidre had lost her parents years ago, and now her sister. It appeared she and Ruth Knox were much in the same boat.

  At least Deidre had Lori.

  ~~~

  Not much later, Ruth assisted Aunt Eleanor back upstairs to get some rest. Deidre rose to take her leave, but was quickly overruled by two of Jackson’s vocal cousins. He wisely kept his mouth shut. He liked looking at Deidre. And with his cousins bombarding her with attention, he could watch her at will.

  “You must stay,” Tevi said, glancing at the open door. She shot Jackson a pointed look.

  Rolling his eyes, he did Tevi’s silent bidding, and got up to shut it.

  “Tell us everything, Deidre. What is the inside of the house like? No one knows but Ruth and she’s as tightlipped as a mob boss on trial.

  Lydia snorted. “Good heavens, Tev, what kind of analogy is that?”

  “Well, you have to admit, we only have our own imaginations to draw upon, since Jackson is as close-mouthed as Ruth.”

  That wasn’t true. Jackson had told them the house was a normal sized, nice and neat cottage. They just chose not to believe him. He glanced at Deidre and caught the amused glint in her eye. He shrugged.

  Deidre sipped at her tea. “Why has no one ever been to the cottage? It seems strange a minister would have no visitors. Especially as he was the island’s only clergy.” She frowned. “Is there another church? Perhaps I shouldn’t make such blanket statements.”

  God. She was the complete opposite of Charity, who’d had no compunction about spouting off, no matter who it concerned or harmed. He couldn’t help thinking of Penelope’s hurt expression that first summer Charity had come onto the scene.

  Jo poured out another round of tea for everyone. “No. There’s no other church on the island.”

  Lydia’s nose wrinkled. “As far as visiting the cottage, it was just sort of an unspoken rule not to appear without an invitation, and I can’t remember that one was ever issued. I wonder why none of us ever thought about it before.”

  Jackson chimed in. “No one really noticed that fact until Penelope’s death. I remember my mother visiting once. She complained for weeks afterward at Knox’s surliness, so she never made another attempt. My mother wasn’t the most forgiving person in the world.”

  Jo rubbed her hands over her arms. “I never cared for Knox. Things must have been horrible for Ruth after Penelope died. She’s so quiet anyway, it must have been unbearable.”

  Jackson could see Deidre wanted to say something but she held back. A flash of insight hit him. “You know, if you ladies really want to see the inside of the cottage, you could help Mrs. Spence pack it up.”

  Shock covered each of his cousins’ expressions.

  Deidre tapped her lips with a napkin. “I could use the help,” she said. “When my parents died, I donated their clothes. I’ll admit, I feel a little strange in boxing up Miss Knox’s sister’s things. The room looks as if no one had entered it since her death.”

  “Of course, we’ll be happy to help.” Hungry journalist though she was, Lydia spoke with an unnatural demureness.

  Stifling a laugh, Jackson glanced out the windows at the late afternoon sky and stood. “Shall I drive you back to the cottage, Mrs. Spence?”

  She smiled at him, sending a frisson of awareness over his nerve endings. “That would be much appreciated.”

  13

  Arts Fair Opening Day, July 14th

  The Montgomery Island Arts Fair drew in a number of vendors, artists, and visitors every year that did wonders for the island’s economy for as long Jackson could remember. Traditionally, the weather was warm, and the breeze coming off the water was absolutely perfect. He wondered if his realizing the fact had something to do with Deidre and Lori. Another tradition was the nightly fireworks show held at Serpent’s Point, and he couldn’t wait to see Lori’s reaction to a brilliantly color-lit sky. The kid needed some lightness in her life. Some fun. Laughter. A kid needed laughter—Good God, what was the matter with him?

  Still, upon dropping Deidre at the cottage the evening before, Jackson had arranged to accompany her and her daughter to the opening. It had taken every persuasive tactic he possessed to convince Deidre he was not the monster she clearly believed him to be. Deidre, he decided, needed more lightness and laughter in her life too.

  On the one hand, it was refreshing to meet someone who was not after the Claremont family fortune of which he was already in possession. Once he married—if he married—before the requisite date of October 19th, that fortune would more than double with the Montgomery side of his inheritance. On the other hand, Deidre was his late-ex-wife’s identical twin sister. A fact that did not work in his favor. When had he stopped seeing the similarities between Charity and Deidre and just seen Deidre as someone who didn’t look like Charity at all? He shook his head and glanced at his companions, struck by the sun glancing off Deidre’s chestnut locks and Lori’s matching one. Somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, there was a sharp twist. His breath caught and he was momentarily stunned.

  “Jackson?”

  Her voice came from far away.

  “Mr. Montgomery, are you all right?” Her soft modulated tones jarred him to the crashing waves and the light wind.

  He cle
ared his throat. “Er, yes. Yes, of course.” He sounded a little gruff and Deidre frowned. “Come along, we must hurry.” He’d been tasked with making certain the lighthouse was locked up tight prior to the opening of the fair. Knowing exactly the kinds of mischief kids got up to when left completely to their own punch-drunk selves, it was a job he took seriously.

  “Is the lighthouse haunted?”

  Jackson glanced over at the inquisitive, darkhaired little imp.

  Lori had a firm grip on her mother’s hand, her gaze directed at the lighthouse visible from their position on the bluff’s path. She didn’t appear to be frightened. Her hazel-gold eyes were wide with avid curiosity. It was the first time he’d seen her without her ragdoll.

  “A little,” he said. “But I’ll be there with you, so there’s no need to worry.”

  A chuckle that sounded with relief escaped Deidre. “Lori has recently shown a great interest in thriller cinema lately.”

  “I like to see the bad men get kilt,” she confirmed.

  Jackson grinned, feeling a bit punch-drunk himself. “Well, then. Let’s see what ghosts we can scare up. It seems we have lots to see today.”

  They hiked the path along the bluff and around the bend that led down to the point. He spotted Catherine Pascal, owner of the Stone Ground Bakery, and waved. Catherine was in charge of setting up the food and drink tents for the people who would eventually traipse out with their blankets and baskets of goodies for the nighttime fireworks shows. He was surprised to find himself looking forward to the annual event for the first time since… well, ever.

  Jackson and his entourage reached the lighthouse. He tested the door and found it locked. He withdrew the keys from his pocket and slid the correct one into the keyhole. The unlocking mechanism gave a loud retort. He shoved on the door, and the bottom scraped against the cement floor with a perfect and thrilling ominousness. He glanced over at Lori to see its effect: fascination, not fear. He pulled a flashlight from the belt at his hip and switched it on. Lordy, this place was dismal.