Hidden Secrets

by Jannine Gallant

  “What are you trying to say, Quentin?” Paige asked softly as her grip on him tightened.

  “I’m afraid some sick freak wants me to look guilty and snatched Blaze to turn attention fully on me. I feel like I’m being used as a scapegoat.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Paige scrubbed the crusted-on scrambled eggs with so much force she was probably taking some of the finish off the pan. Still, ruining a skillet was better than breaking her fist by punching a wall. Too bad she didn’t feel any less frustrated. After rinsing the abused pan beneath the running water, she set it on the drainer and turned off the faucet.

  Quentin rested his hands on her shoulders and kneaded the tight muscles. “Hey, being pissed off isn’t going to help. You look like you’re ready to explode.”

  “Probably because I am.” She wiped down the counter and tossed the sponge into the sink. “I thought I’d wake up this morning, having conquered the desire to take a swing at someone—preferably our police chief. Wrong again. I’m still plenty mad.”

  He turned her around and smiled down at her. “We need to harness all that righteous indignation for good. You could help me clean the walk-in refrigerator down at the restaurant, or maybe scrape what looks like a year’s worth of grime off the grill. My goal today is to get the kitchen appliances I didn’t replace ready for use.”

  “How the hell can you act like everything is normal? I don’t get it.”

  “Because if I let my anger take over, I’ll lose my mind.”

  “We can’t just sit back and wait for Chief Stackhouse to arrest you.” Her voice rose. “We need to freaking do something.”

  “Like what? No one can prove I kidnapped either of those women—or worse—because I didn’t.”

  “Well, someone sure as hell did. While I’d love to believe both Clea and Blaze simply took off of their own volition and will turn up again when they feel like it, that scenario doesn’t seem very likely. If the cops are focused on you as a suspect, they probably aren’t looking for the person who’s actually responsible.”

  “We don’t know that.” Quentin hesitated for a moment. “At least I hope they’re out following other leads.”

  Paige glanced at the digital clock on the stove. “I have an hour before I need to open my store. Let’s figure this out.”

  Taking her arm, Quentin tugged her toward the living room, detoured around Leo stretched out on the floor, and pressed her down onto the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

  She hadn’t slept at all, not with anger and fear for Quentin whirling through her brain like an approaching storm. Her eyes felt grainy from exhaustion, and she was pretty sure she looked like crap, but her thoughts were sharply focused on protecting the man she loved. At the moment, nothing else, including their relationship problems, mattered.

  “If someone wanted you to look responsible for Blaze’s disappearance, they had to know you’d be in Seattle. Who did you tell about your plans?”

  “You and Val. Oh, and Chris Long. I imagine Val mentioned it to most of the staff at The Zephyr.”

  “How could anyone in Seattle have had something to do with Clea walking into that bar in Newport to hook up with a man she said she knew?”

  “I’m not sure, but Clea is acquainted with a lot of people. She travels extensively. The guy she saw could have been from anywhere.” Quentin rested his elbows on his knees and frowned. “Maybe there isn’t a connection between the two women. Maybe it’s all just a great cosmic coincidence, and I’m caught in the middle.”

  Paige snorted. “I don’t believe in coincidences. I think you were right with your first theory. Some asshole picked up Clea that night and . . . hurt her. When the police started asking questions, he looked for a stooge.”

  “Why would he choose me, unless Clea told him we’d been out together?”

  “Half the town probably knows about your date. Hundreds of people attended the Winter Ball and saw her place the winning bid at the auction. When she didn’t come home that night, her aunt and uncle undoubtedly spread the word you were with her when she disappeared. Gossip in this town has a life of its own.”

  “If you’re right, that would mean the man she saw either lives in Siren Cove, or at the very least, is in town for the holidays. If he was looking for a way to focus attention on me, what better way than to make another woman I used to date turn up missing?”

  “Blaze was last seen at your townhouse in Seattle. How in the world would anyone in Siren Cove know she’d be there?” Paige slammed her fist down on the couch cushion. “I don’t get it.”

  “I do. Shit.”

  She turned to stare at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I was at Castaways when Blaze called me. She wanted to look for a missing earring at my place. Son of a bitch!” Quentin surged to his feet. “I told her where the key was hidden. Anyone at the bar could have overheard me. A football game was blaring on the TV, and I had to practically shout.”

  “How would someone listening to your conversation know who you were talking to?”

  “I’m pretty certain I used Blaze’s name while I was on the phone. It’s pretty distinctive. Also, she was here for the bachelor auction and bid on me. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who she was and my connection to her.”

  “This is crazy.” Tears threatened. Breaking down wouldn’t help Quentin.

  “Psychopaths generally are.” He paced across the room and back. “If we’re right, it’s entirely my fault some bastard grabbed Blaze.”

  “We should tell the police. Maybe they can—”

  “Find a new way to blame me? I’m not talking to anyone. Except a lawyer.” When he kicked Leo’s rawhide bone, the dog lifted his head and gave his dreadlocks a shake. “Do you know any good criminal defense attorneys? The ones I’ve worked with in the past are corporate, and I have a feeling I need a shark.”

  “Ryan has connections. Talk to him, but I think we can figure this out ourselves. Who was nearby while you were on the phone?”

  “I don’t know. The bartender was certainly close enough to hear me. There was a blond guy on the stool just down from me.” Quentin stopped pacing and stared at the dog. “Two brothers were looking for keys one of them had dropped, and a woman wearing a suit was drinking a martini on the other side of me. It’s possible someone else walked by and paused to listen. If so, I didn’t notice them.”

  “Okay, let’s start with the ones you do remember. Did you recognize any of those people?”

  “The guy who dropped his keys was in the bachelor auction. I don’t remember his name, but I think his brother is a mechanic here in town.”

  Paige sat up straighter. “The Stillwater brothers? Jonas was in the auction, and Justin has done maintenance on my van. I bought antiques from their grandpa a while back.”

  “Yep, that’s right. The blond guy next to me looked familiar, too, but I can’t place him. He’s probably in his forties, maybe a little older than the two brothers. The bartender referred to him by name, but I was talking to Blaze and honestly don’t remember what it was.”

  “Who was tending bar that evening?”

  “Not the owner who’s usually there. This was an older guy with a snake tattoo on one forearm.”

  “Sounds like Abe. Maybe I’ll go ask him a few questions. He and my dad golf together once in a while, so I’m sure he wouldn’t mind talking to me.”

  “I guess it can’t hurt to fish for information, but don’t you need to work today?”

  “I’ll head down to Castaways this afternoon since Abe usually works the early shift. Mindy is coming in around noon, and she can handle the store on her own.”

  “You actually think one of the men at Castaways was the person Clea saw that night?”

  “I don’t know.” Something she couldn’t quite grasp niggled at her brain. If she wasn’t so damn tired . . . “Who was the woman?”

  “Huh? Oh, the martini drinker? I don’t have a clue. She was middle-aged, and her suit
looked expensive. Maybe the bartender would know.”

  “I’ll definitely ask him.”

  “Why bother? Clea didn’t chase after a woman that night.”

  Paige stood up and rounded the coffee table. “No, but the woman could have mentioned the conversation she overheard to someone. I want to cover as many bases as possible.”

  “I guess we have to start someplace. If you find a connection—”

  “I’ll tell Chris Long. He’s not a bad guy, Quentin. He’ll listen to a reasonable argument.”

  “If you say so. Uh, I think your hour is about up.” Paige stepped over Leo and checked the digital clock on the stove. “I need to open the store. Can you walk my baby for me?”

  “Sure. Then I’ll go scrape the damn grill. If Mindy is working with you today, maybe I’ll take Leo to the restaurant for company. It’s Sunday, so the construction crew won’t be around.”

  “Thank you.” Paige stood on her toes to kiss him. “We’ll figure this out.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and turned the quick peck into something a whole lot more meaningful. Finally, he rested his forehead against hers. “I hope so. What I really want is for Blaze to show up, perfectly safe and embarrassed as hell for worrying everyone.”

  “Me, too. I don’t want to think about the possibility of anything else, but my main concern is you.”

  “Thanks for having my back.”

  She came down off her toes and pressed her face to Quentin’s neck where his pulse thrummed strongly beneath her cheek. “Always.”

  * * *

  When Paige walked into Castaways, Abe smiled. He set down the glass he was drying and waved her over. “Isn’t two o’clock a little early to be drinking?” His dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “Or is this just one of those days?”

  “Both.” She planted her elbows on the polished surface of the bar. “Actually, I came to ask you a couple of questions.”

  The only other occupant of the bar, an old-timer who had to be in his eighties, was working on a crossword puzzle a few stools down while he sipped what looked like scotch. He didn’t even look up.

  “Ask away. What did you want to know?”

  “It’s about last Wednesday afternoon.” She lowered her voice. “My friend, Quentin was in here—”

  “You don’t have to whisper. Morris is half-deaf and never bothers to turn on his hearing aid.”

  “Okay.” Paige gathered her thoughts. “My friend, Quentin, the guy who bought the Poseidon Grill—”

  “I know who he is. I remember him coming in a few days ago. He looked none too happy, if I recall right.”

  “I expect he didn’t. Anyway, a blond man sat down next to him. Quentin said you addressed him by name but couldn’t remember what it was.”

  Abe’s salt and pepper brows shot up. “Why do you want to know who was hanging out in the bar that day?”

  “Quentin had a conversation on his cell, and he was wondering who might have overheard him. It’s kind of a long story, but trust me, this is important.”

  “I’ve known your dad for years. Of course I trust his little girl.” He picked up another glass and rubbed it with the cloth. “Let’s see, I remember the Stillwater brothers were arguing about something. They left, and Baird Copeland sat down. He was shouting for service before I even had a chance to say hello.”

  “Baird was the blond guy Quentin remembers?”

  “Must have been. I’m pretty sure your friend left not long after that.”

  Paige straightened. “Interesting. Okay, there was a woman wearing a suit on his other side. I don’t suppose you know who she was?”

  Abe grimaced. “I don’t want to talk out of turn on that one.”

  “I don’t intend to tell anyone but Quentin. Was she incognito or something?”

  “No, nothing like that, but Senator LaPine probably wouldn’t like gossip getting started about his wife’s drinking habits. Since they’ve been vacationing in town, she’s been something of a happy hour regular.”

  “Really, Virginia LaPine? She told me they bought Miss Lola’s house. Was Baird there to see her?”

  “They briefly acknowledged each other but didn’t talk. Don’t go thinking they’re having some sort of affair. I didn’t get that impression at all.”

  Paige raised both hands. “Hey, I don’t spread tawdry gossip. Not my style.” She hesitated for a moment. “Quentin’s in a bind over that phone call. Knowing who else may have heard his conversation will help. At least I hope it will.”

  “I remember he was talking to someone named Blaze. The only reason I recall the name is because it’s unusual. I was busy, so whatever else he might have said I didn’t catch.”

  “Thanks for your help, Abe. This gives me a place to start.”

  “Next time you talk to your dad, tell him I want a rematch on the golf course.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  She left the bar and paused out on the sidewalk, wondering what to do next. After morning showers, steam rose from the pavement as the sun broke through the clouds. The heels of her boots clicked against the concrete as she slowly headed back toward her shop. Her first instinct was to go straight to the police station to talk to Chris. But what exactly could she tell him other than that a few people may have overheard Quentin’s phone call? Not exactly incriminating evidence.

  When her cell rang, she pulled it out of her coat pocket and glanced at the display. Speak of the devil . . . She swiped to answer. “Hi, Chris, what can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time.”

  She stared down at her feet. “I’m pretty pissed off at you right now. How you could believe Quentin—”

  “This isn’t about Quentin. It’s regarding Lucinda Gordon.”

  “Oh.” She let out a breath as some of her anger receded.

  “Can I stop by your shop?”

  “I guess so. I was running an errand, but I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you shortly.”

  She wasn’t sure if she should be curious or worried about Chris’s visit. After entering the store to a clash of bells, she pulled off her wool coat and hung it on the tree near the door. Mindy hurried out from the rear of the store but slowed her pace as Paige turned around.

  “Oh, just you.” She lowered her voice. “I have a live one in the back, looking at that big armoire.”

  “Sweet. I’ll leave you to close the sale. I have to run upstairs for a minute.” Paige stepped out of the way as Chris Long pushed open the door. She gave him a quick smile. “I need to follow up on something with Chris.”

  “No problem. Take your time.” After giving a brief nod to the cop, Mindy headed back the way she’d come.

  “Let’s talk in my apartment. I don’t want to scare away customers with a police presence, and I assume you want this to be a private conversation.”

  “Sure.” He followed her up the stairs. “Sorry to disturb you at work.”

  She entered her apartment with the officer at her heels. “I’ve been disturbed since Quentin showed up here yesterday evening after being interrogated by you and Chief Stackhouse.” She turned around to face him. “But, you said this isn’t about Quentin.”

  Chris shut the door. “Look, we were doing our job, questioning a man we have to consider a suspect. The fact that I actually like Quentin has nothing to do with it.”

  “He would never hurt a woman. Never.” She whirled around and came to a jerky stop in front of the coffee table. “Have a seat.”

  He took the only chair in the room after she dropped onto the couch. “I hope that’s true. I don’t want to see your life turned inside out, and I know it would be if he’s guilty.”

  She worked to compose herself. “What did you want to ask me? You said it has to do with Lucy.”

  The sympathy in his eyes was replaced by speculation. “Something’s been bothering me. Those break-ins you had—twice someone searched your shop before
you found that necklace and turned it over to me. Since then, I assume you haven’t had any more problems with intruders?”

  “No.” She frowned. “What does one have to do with the other?”

  “I don’t know. The timing just seems strange. I don’t suppose you bought a bunch of old jewelry right before those break-ins. I can’t help thinking someone was after a specific item. If the intruder thought you had Lucinda’s necklace, he’d have no reason to look again once news broke that the police had it in their possession. Who knows how many people Lucinda’s grandpa mentioned the necklace to.”

  “An interesting theory, except I didn’t buy any jewelry. I did do quite a bit of picking shortly before the break-ins.” Her eyes widened as the connection her brain had been looking for earlier clicked into place.

  “What’s on your mind, Paige?” His voice was sharp as he sat forward.

  “Nothing. Uh . . . nothing. Do you have any potential suspects who might have been dating Lucy that summer?”

  “How about if you tell me where you acquired inventory in the days before the first break-in.”

  Chris didn’t seem inclined to share information. Why should she?

  “I bought quite a selection of antiques from Zeb Stillwater, mostly household items. I also acquired furniture and a few odds and ends from Lola Copeland before she moved. Then I took a trip south to Margaret LaPine’s home, where her daughter and son-in-law were preparing to put her house on the market.”

  “Is Margaret LaPine Senator LaPine’s mother?”

  Paige nodded. “He knew about the sale. His mother is in assisted living now.”

  “Any jewelry purchased from Mrs. LaPine?”

  “A lot of dishware and knickknacks, along with a few small pieces of furniture. No jewelry.”

  “Thanks for the information. I appreciate it.” Chris stood.

  “Any red flags? Is one of my customers . . . or maybe a relative . . . on your radar?”

  “You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”