Jackson closed the ledger and started on the stack of papers.
The letter from the Bishops’ Council lay on top, indicating Deidre hadn’t gone through anything since his visit the other day. Her lack of curiosity about the Knox’s death was reassuring. Not that she could have had anything to do with the old man. And Jackson was positive she’d had nothing to do with her sister’s demise. Hell, she’d come to the island to find proof that he’d committed the deed. She certainly had better reason to suspect him than he had of her.
His anger with Charity had long since dissipated, and, since having met Deidre, he couldn’t seem to summon an ounce of any emotion where Charity was concerned. Pity perhaps. He pitied her.
He started through the stack, which consisted mainly of bills and a few odd pieces of correspondence from people Jackson surmised to be old friends. Few of the papers he had gone through so far had anything to do with church business, but Jackson set aside those that did. As he scoured the notes, he was left wondering why a letter regarding Penelope’s behavior from 1923 would be at the top of the stack.
~~~
Deidre and Jo finished pulling together everything on Ruth’s list and loaded her belongings in a large car that had arrived an hour after the packing frenzy had ensued. Another vehicle—a 1936 Ford truck—had also arrived, along with a couple of big strapping men who waited outside to load up what had been boxed up for donation. The sheriff walked in the same time Jackson emerged from the cottage’s inner office.
Wyn nodded at Deidre, walked over and kissed his wife, Jo, then addressed the group. “The Bishops’ Council called this morning. They’ve already found a replacement minister. He should be here within the week.” He then turned to Deidre. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Spence, it looks as if you’ll be needing new accommodations.”
“There’s plenty of room at the manor house,” Jo said quickly.
Panic fluttered in Deidre’s chest. Of course, she couldn’t stay at this cottage any longer. Now that she no longer truly believed Jackson had killed her sister, there was actually no reason for her to even stay on the island. A sense of helplessness assailed her. “Thank you, Jo, I appreciate it, but—”
Lydia came down the hall carrying Penelope’s box, with Tevi following, effectively cutting her off. “We think we’ve boxed up most everything in Penelope’s old room,” Lydia said. “We left the packed boxes just inside the door.”
Deidre glanced at Jackson, whose gaze seemed to penetrate her every thought.
Lori came running down the hall. “Hi, Jackson—” She came to an abrupt stop when every eye in the room turned to her.
Jackson strode over and gently tugged on her ponytail. “Hiya, kid.”
Mrs. Phillips came in and announced that she’d completed boxing up Reverend Knox’s belongings, and so kicked off the next step: loading up. By the time the house had cleared of the “hired help,” Deidre was shocked to find that it was only one in the afternoon. Mrs. Phillips offered to prepare lunch for everyone.
While they all waited in the sitting room, Jackson quietly strolled up to Deidre and asked, “Might I have a private word with you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead leading her out the front door. Shockingly, she didn’t hesitate in following.
She followed him down the veranda steps and around the back of the house to the waterfront where they’d talked that first day. Had it only been a week?
“We need to find out who killed Charity. I can’t help feeling hers and Knox’s deaths are connected.”
She wrapped her arms about her stomach. “The police are treating Charity’s death as a random act of violence.”
Jackson hadn’t been investigating cases very long, but that didn’t mean he didn’t possess his own set of detective’s instincts. In the past, he would have called them survivor instincts. “And you don’t believe that.” He made this observation as a statement of fact, not a question.
“Of course not. My sister was not an angel, as you well know.”
“I’d like to check out your apartment. The one in Queens. There may be something you’ve overlooked,” he told her.
“How did you know—”
He smirked.
“Never mind.” She stared out over the water for a long time. “Yes, well. I suppose it’s time I went home.”
“You misunderstand me. I don’t want you to leave, Deidre. You can stay at the manor house. I’m worried that you and Lori might be in danger.”
“That’s ridiculous. In what way could we possibly be in danger? Besides, we can’t stay here forever. If it makes you feel any better, I can’t picture you stabbing Charity. No matter how angry you may have been with her.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not angry with her. At least, not anymore.”
Her gaze shot to him.
“The last time I spoke to her was two weeks ago. I thought perhaps she and I could do a pact. One that would fulfill the terms of my father’s will.”
“Remarry.”
“She told you?”
“Er, not exactly.” Deidre spoke softly.
The hair at the back of Jackson’s neck lifted. He willed her to look him in the eye, but she kept her focus out to sea. “Not exactly what, Mrs. Spence?”
She winced. “Actually, it’s not Mrs. Spence.”
Confusion rippled through him. “Spence isn’t your married name?” After a second it hit him. Charity’s maiden name had been Spence. It had completely slipped his mind. He was an idiot. “What is your married name?”
“My name is Miss Spence.”
Relief swept through him. He pushed his hand through his hair. “You’re not married?”
“No,” she whispered.
He stepped closer to her, took her hand. “Deidre. Many women have made mistakes before. I’m the last person to hold a child out of wedlock over a young woman’s head.”
“I’m no prize, Jackson.” She pulled her hand away. “Lori isn’t my child. She’s Charity’s…” Her words trailed off.
He cocked his head to one side, staring at her. “I don’t understand.”
She seemed at a loss for words, her gaze helpless. Guilty. Wrenching…
The buzzing in his ears started low until it was a solid clanging that threatened to deafen him while a crimson wave of rage blinded him. “And her father?”
“You,” she whispered. “You’re Lori’s father.”
18
Deidre had never feared for her own safety. Not from Jackson, even when he was inebriated and kissing her senseless four years ago. Even a week ago when he’d been so angry when he’d believed her Charity come back to taunt him. It was his phone call the week before Charity was killed and his fury that had convinced her of Jackson’s guilt in Charity’s death.
His face grew stark white under the brilliance of the early afternoon sun. “Lori is my daughter?” His hands squeezed into fists and his voice was lethally soft. He took a step in her direction. “Why didn’t Charity ever tell me?”
Deidre refused to let a single tear fall, though she couldn’t see through the blur. “She didn’t tell you because Victor had paid her to leave. She said you were drunk all the time. She said if Victor learned she was pregnant, he would take her child.” She blinked back the sting, she turned facing him fully, leaving her back to the water. “You have to understand how it was. I tried convincing her to tell you.”
His demeanor remained deadly calm, and he began a lethal prowl. Mirrored her step for intimidating step. “You kept my daughter from me.”
“I was not about to turn her over to a murderer.”
Another step. “But I’m not a murderer, am I? You said so yourself. Were you even planning to tell me she was mine?”
“Yes!”
“And when exactly was this momentous news to hit my ears, Miss Spence?” He took another step.
“When exactly was I supposed to tell you?” she demanded in a desperate, breathless
rush.
“Last night at the fireworks show comes to mind.”
Deidre’s hands came up, palms out, planted against his implacable torso. “In front of Lori? With your whole family sitting a foot away?” Rare fury engulfed her. “Not likely,” she bit out and shoved. Only he didn’t move. The action sent her toppling back and landing in water over her head. Her bottom hit a rocky-sandy mix. She was quickly yanked to the surface, sputtering. “What—”
“Are you all right?” he demanded.
Deidre was so shocked, she couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence, or keep her mouth from gaping like a fish.
He shook her. “Are you all right?”
She wiped the water from her eyes and saw concern etching his features. “Y-yes. I-I think so.”
Jackson tugged her to her feet. “You are impossible,” he ground out just before his mouth crashed over hers.
Her shock morphed into a puddle of melted butter under the hot summer day. She was a lost cause.
~~~
“I cannot walk into the house like this.” Deidre said on a winded huff, looking down at her ruined dress, furious. She’d only brought three with her. She glanced at Jackson then caught her breath.
His stern expression broke into a grin. “Yes, I can see your dilemma.”
Before she could blast him for laughing at her, he swept her up into his large capable arms and was trudging back up the hill and into the house.
“Mama! What happened?” The fear on Lori’s face broke Deidre’s heart.
Lori’s was not the only surprised one. The expression from each of Jackson’s cousins and Mrs. Phillips ranged from mirth to suspicion.
Deidre’s face was on fire. “I’m all right, darling. I, er, fell in the water. Exactly why I told you not to get too close.” Her gaze moved to Jackson.
He stopped and stared at Lori, the look on his face… daunted. He seemed to become aware of the lack of chatter and blinked. “I was right there to pull her out, kid. Nothing to worry about. We’ll be right back.” He carried her straight up the stairs and didn’t set her down until he stepped inside the bedroom she shared with Lori. He set her on the edge of the double bed, grabbed her ankle, tugged off her ruined shoe, then did the same with the other, dropping each to the floor.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Truly, she was angry. Why couldn’t she make herself sound angry. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
He turned another one of those devastating grins on her. “We still need to address this drive to Queens.”
“Yes. Okay. Just step outside and let me change my clothes.”
He did as she asked, pulling the door shut behind him. She pictured him with his ear against the hollow wood, not trusting that she wouldn’t climb out the window and down a non-existent trellis. The reverend hadn’t appeared to care for flowers of any kind that she could tell.
Blast it! She went to the door and cracked it open. “I need a towel.”
A second later, there was a sharp knock. Deidre opened the door a crack and Jackson’s arm shot through, holding a dry scrap of what had possibly once been a linen towel. Deidre took the offering, closed the door, stripped off her sopping dress, quickly dried off, and donned the one pair of trousers she’d had the foresight to pack, adding a soft cotton blouse on top. Reassembled, she jerked open the door again to find Jackson leaning one shoulder against the wall.
“I don’t understand why you are so angry,” he said, straightening from the wall. “I’m the injured party here.”
She knew exactly why she was angry, and at whom. Herself, for guilt. But she would defend her reasons for holding out on him to the hilt. Her concern had been for Lori and no one else, damn it. “Your timing in calling Charity was completely and justifiably suspect. She died less than a week later!”
Jackson’s eyes gave the word glacier a whole new meaning. “Charity didn’t answer the phone when I called, did she?”
“No. All right? It was me.” She fidgeted with the hem of her blouse. “I even went so far as to come to the island. Four years ago when Lori was a baby.” Each bitter word soured on her tongue, but she was determined to get it all out. “I met you at the Tavern Grill.” That day was seared into her memory, and recalling it now angered her all over again. “You were so drunk, you could barely hold up your head.” She lifted her chin. “I decided in that moment Charity had been right about you.”
His blue eyes flashed an icy fury. She could tell her words had hit him full force. “I can’t believe this.” He loomed over her. “You pretended to be Charity.”
She couldn’t look away. “I didn’t pretend. That wasn’t my intention…” Her voice trailed off. There was no explaining away her behavior, nothing she could say to explain her actions that day, even to herself. She did the only thing she could do in the circumstance—went on the defense. She raised her finger, almost touching his nose. “You were exactly as she said you were. I wasn’t about to tell you about Lori at that time, she was just an infant.” Defiance filled her every molecule. “Lori. Deserved. Better.” She punctuated each word with a poke in his chest.
His head angled, studying her, as if she were a bug under a microscope. “So, that was you I kissed.”
“That was me. You said I sickened you, and you shoved me away.” He took a step in her direction. “Quit trying to intimidate me. It won’t work.” A cacophony of noise sounded downstairs. “What is going on?” She ducked around him, dashing to the stairs.
Jackson tugged her arm just before she reached the landing, spinning her to face him. “This isn’t over, Miss Spence. Rest assured, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Deidre yanked her arm from his grasp and bolted down the steps without answering. She reached the foyer, coming face to face with an attractive man in his early thirties. She surveyed Jackson’s cousins: Tevi was trying not to laugh; Lydia’s outright amusement; and Jo’s furrowed brows. Mrs. Phillips stood off to the side, her expression typically impassive.
“I’m the new minister, Pastor Mille, or Leif if you prefer.”
Deidre smoothed her hair from her face. She’d forgotten to fix it after her unexpected swim. “Forgive my appearance, Pastor Mille. I, er, took a tumble in the lake.” She took his outstretched hand. “I’m Deidre Spence.”
“I’m afraid I’m earlier than was expected.” His smile was a blinding shot of white teeth in a face darkened by the sun. This was not a man who sat behind a desk in a dark, dank church day after day. “I understand you are staying here, Miss Spence?”
Deidre could feel the jagged pierce of Jackson’s stare between her shoulder blades. Heat crawled up her neck, knowing his cousins hadn’t missed the “Miss,” but no one bothered correcting him. “Yes. But we—my daughter and I, and our companion, Mrs. Phillips” —she indicated in Mrs. Phillips’s direction— “will vacate.”
“They will be staying at the manor house,” Jackson said, moving forward. He thrust his hand out to the new minister. “I’m Jackson Montgomery. I guess you’ve met my cousins?” He glanced around. “Where’s Lori?”
Lori came out of the dining room, holding a red crayon. “Here I am, Jackson. I drew a picture. It’s of my doll. See?”
Leif smiled at her. “Hello, Lori. I’m Pastor Mille. What a lovely picture.” His gaze moved around the rest of the group. “Yes. We’ve met. I arrived on the island and learned there were no rooms available in town because of an art fair going on.”
“And a puppet show,” Lori informed him.
Deidre was stunned at Lori’s unexpected forthrightness. Not a speck of shyness was present. It frightened her a little. She moved behind Lori planted her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and leaned over her. “It’s lovely picture, darling.”
An awkward silence ensued but Leif flashed a quick smile.
“I’ll show you around.” Deidre looked at Mrs. Phillips. “We can be out in thirty minutes, can’t we?”
She caught th
e minister’s wince.
“Of course, Deidre.”
“I’ll help,” Jo said.
“I’ll just wait here,” Jackson said, with a pointed look.
Deidre scowled at him, but she was stuck now. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tevi’s brows raise, her mouth quirking with glee. “Lori, why don’t you help Mrs. Phillips with the packing while I show Mr. Mille around.”
“All right, Mama.”
Stifling a groan, Deidre indicated for Leif to follow her.
19
“Staying at the manor house is for the best,” Jackson insisted. He still couldn’t quite fathom his loss of temper a couple of hours before. True, he hadn’t pushed Deidre in the channel, but he’d wanted to. And that disturbed him. More importantly, he was realizing he wasn’t ready to let her go. That kiss in his drunken stupor four years ago was with Deidre not Charity. That kiss was the reason he’d tried to contact Charity two weeks ago. It had been Deidre. He was having trouble wrapping his head around the fact.
“There’s no need for us to remain on the island any longer,” Deidre said. “It’s time for us to return home.”
“Dammit, Deidre, be reasonable. We don’t yet know who killed Charity. Why do I have to keep saying that?” He breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly, and decided on a different tactic. “It’s not just you, you have to consider, you know. There’s Lori and Mrs. Phillips. If I’m right—and, I’m not saying I am—but you would be devastated if something happened to either one of them.”
Deidre’s mouth opened to refute him, but quickly snapped shut again, and he knew he had her.
Jackson steered her car up Montgomery Lane to the large circular drive of the manor house. Mrs. Phillips and Lori had ridden over with Jo. This was the first minute he’d had alone with Deidre since her tumble in the channel. He turned off the car but didn’t move to get out, instead turning to her. “It’s safest this way. Can’t you see I don’t want anything to happen to any of you?”
A Dagger Cuts Deep Page 9
