In Dark Water (Rarity Cove Book 3)

by Leslie Tentler

  Mark glanced at her from the driver’s seat. “You managed to leave that gallery alive, Mercer. That seems like a lot of luck to me.”

  She released a soft breath and changed the subject. “I could’ve driven myself home,” she argued for not the first time. She had traveled on foot into the Quarter that afternoon, leaving her car in the cobblestone alley behind Olivia and Anders’s home. Mark had insisted on leaving it there for now and driving her back to Rarity Cove, since she didn’t want to go to their mother’s.

  “You’re trying to hide it, but I know you and you’re too rattled to be driving. We’ll get your car picked up tomorrow.” He turned the car onto the peninsula road that led to the St. Clair. Mercer hardly remembered the drive from Charleston, her thoughts too fractured. Gruesome images from the gallery replayed in her head.

  “I think we should consult an attorney,” Mark said. “One who specializes in criminal law.”

  Mercer looked at him. “Why?”

  “Because I want to understand what your rights are as a witness.” Even in the car’s shadowed interior, she could see the hard set of his jaw. “I just want to get in front of this. If they find the guy who did this, they’ll want you to testify.”

  “If I can identify him in court, I will.” She tamped down her unease. “He killed two people, Mark. I have to do whatever I can.”

  Mark fell silent. Despite her words, Mercer understood his concern. She was the link that could put a killer in prison. But that was if the police were able to find him and she had no idea if they even had any leads. She thought of the detective who had interviewed her. Noah Ford had an air of authority about him, as well as a physical intensity that was magnified by his gold detective’s shield and firearm. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, tall and solidly built with thick, dark hair, a strong jaw, and intelligent hazel eyes that seemed to shift from amber to moss-green.

  “So, you know Detective Ford,” she said, aware of the silvered moon that was intermittently visible between the gnarled limbs of the ancient, moss-draped live oaks lining the road.

  “Not that well. It was a long time ago. I didn’t recognize him until he introduced himself. He used to work at the St. Clair back when he was in high school—lifeguarding during the summer, valeting or busing tables at night. I was already in college but I remember him because I worked for Dad, too, on summer breaks.” Despite the situation, Mark smiled softly in recollection. “Dad used to call it my internship. He was training me to take over the business one day, although at the time I mostly saw it as a nuisance. Something to keep me from hanging around the beach or heading off to Europe with my friends.”

  “What do you know about him? Detective Ford?”

  “I remember that he didn’t talk much. He was a good athlete—baseball. His high school team won a state championship.”

  “Did he go on to play in college?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mark answered. The St. Clair’s gated, wrought-iron entrance was just up ahead. Bronze sconces illuminated the hotel name, and a tiered, granite fountain cascaded water. “He stopped working here after he graduated high school.”

  Mercer sat up straighter as Mark made a right instead of heading through the resort’s gates. “What’re you doing?”

  “You’re staying with us tonight. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Mark, I’d rather not.” She heard the tension in her voice, but she was in no mood to be around anyone, or to keep pretending that she was all right. All she wanted to do was have a drink and crawl into a corner somewhere. “Just take me to my bungalow? I’m fine, really.”

  “This isn’t up for argument.” A short time later, he pulled into the circular drive in front of the Big House. Shutting off the car’s engine, Mark turned to her. “What you saw today…what you’ve been through…you need to be with family, Mercer. Samantha has one of the guest rooms ready. You can borrow something from her to sleep in. We can talk about this again tomorrow.”

  As he exited the car and went around to open her door, Mercer stared at her childhood home. It appeared stately with its brick front, white columns and hurricane-shuttered windows. Lacy ferns spilled from planters on the porch, not yet brought in for the fall season. Warm, golden light emanated from the home’s interior. Mercer’s throat ached. In that moment, she yearned to be a child again, to go back to a time when she felt safe and carefree.

  A time when she hadn’t lost her husband and witnessed a double murder.

  As she entered the home’s elegant foyer with Mark, Samantha greeted them, her expression concerned. Brock, the family’s Lab mix, and Doug, Carter and Quinn’s dog who was staying here while they were away, padded over, their tails wagging.

  “Mercer, thank God you’re okay.” Samantha hugged her. “Mark said you haven’t eaten dinner. I’ve put out food in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t think I can eat anything.”

  Mark touched her shoulder. “Just have a few bites. You’ll feel better.”

  The three of them walked into the gourmet, black-and-white tiled kitchen in the home’s rear. The space had been updated to accommodate Samantha’s culinary prowess, with new, high-end appliances as well as airy windows that overlooked the old carriage house and landscaped terrace with its kidney-shaped swimming pool. Farther back, a children’s swing set, barely visible in the dark, sat nestled under the outstretched branches of a live oak. Samantha had laid out a veritable feast on the wide granite island. It included several artisan cheeses, olive tapenade and other spreads, grilled bread and crackers, assorted cold cuts, and Café Bella’s signature brownies.

  Emily called down to her mother from the upstairs.

  “I’ll be right back,” Samantha told Mercer. “Ethan’s already in bed, but Emily’s still up watching television in her room. She doesn’t know yet that you’re here. I figured you don’t need her bothering you right now.”

  Mercer tried to smile, but wasn’t certain that she had pulled it off. “Emily could never be a bother to me, Sam.”

  “Just the same, I think I’ll keep her in the dark for a while about you being here.” Once Samantha had gone upstairs, Mark withdrew his cell phone from his pocket.

  “Go ahead and make yourself a plate. I’m going to my study to call Mom and then I’ll have a bite with you. If she and Anders discover your car still in the alley, they’re going to be worried.”

  Mercer was grateful that Mark had offered to contact them for her. The news about what had happened today would upset them. “What’re you going to tell them?”

  He released a breath. “I’m not sure yet. Mom won’t take this well. That’s why I agreed to not take you over there tonight. I’m going to leave a message for Carter, too. He’s probably still in flight unless they’re on a layover. I’ll be back soon.”

  He departed to the paneled study that had previously belonged to their father. Mercer stared at the food Samantha had prepared. As she fed the two canines small bits of turkey and roast beef from the counter, her eyes fell on the open bottle of wine that sat under a wine rack built into the overhead cabinetry. Taking a crystal goblet from one of the cabinets, she poured a generous portion of merlot and gulped half of it before she put the glass back down. The wine churned in her empty stomach.

  You’re doing good.

  She recalled Detective Ford’s praise, the pleasant drawl of his voice. But despite his words, she felt weak and vulnerable. Her eyes burned.

  Get it together, Merce.

  She had another fortifying gulp of wine, then stood there in silence until Brock and Doug finally gave up on getting more food and padded off down the hall. The grandfather clock chimed from the foyer, indicating it was nine p.m., still too early for the late-night news. Mercer’s cell phone was nearly dead, but Mark’s laptop from his office at the hotel sat nearby on the counter. She hesitated before taking her glass and moving to it. Tentatively, she rubbed her finger over its trackpad to wake up its darkened screen. Entering Mark’s password, she
then opened the browser and did a web search, looking for news from Charleston. Her muscles tensed as she saw the headline about the double homicide at the top of the search results. Still, she clicked the link which led to the website of a Charleston television station. Taking a tight breath, she played the video.

  The Bluth Studio appeared in front of her, cordoned off by fluorescent crime scene tape. The flashing lights of police cars stained its brick front and reflected off its windows. Plainclothes detectives and uniformed officers wandered about on the sidewalk. Pinpricks of unease traveled over her skin as her mind flashed on the slaughter inside the gallery. The voiceover on the video relayed the latest news on the shooting. Mercer’s breath bottled up in her lungs. They had identified the male victim now, too.

  The man who had been missing part of his skull, whose white dress shirt had been soaked with blood, was Sterling Deveau, a U.S. district court judge.

  It hadn’t taken long for the media to learn the identities of both victims. The local television stations had broken the news, in fact, less than a half-hour after Noah and Tyson had gone to see Deveau’s wife. Noah swallowed heavily. He hated notification of death visits, but he hadn’t wanted to pawn it off to someone else. They had left Carol Deveau, alone and weeping, in the living room of her home in an upscale, gated community in Mount Pleasant.

  There hadn’t been a need to notify anyone of Alexa Rice. She had been a longtime resident of the French Quarter and her partner of more than twenty years had caught wind of the gallery shooting. Darlene Rollins had arrived at the scene as Rice’s body, covered by a sheet, was being rolled out. Eyes squeezed closed, Noah pressed the cool glass of the beer bottle against his forehead, Rollins’s wails still echoing in his ears.

  He wandered into the small kitchen in the second-floor, single-bedroom apartment that he rented in an old building a few blocks off King Street. He had considered moving to one of the new loft apartments going up around the Charleston metro area, but he liked the place’s character, there was a nice balcony perfect for reading the paper and drinking coffee on his mornings off, and it was just minutes from the downtown precinct. He opened the fridge and scanned its sparse contents, reflective of his bachelor status. There was a takeout carton that contained leftover Thai, and Noah took it out, dumped the food onto a plate, and placed it in the microwave to heat. While he waited, he rinsed the container, then placed it in the garbage can under the sink. The kitchen was spotless, without even a coffee mug or cereal bowl left from breakfast on the counter or in the basin. Tidiness had been part of his U.S. Marine Corps training and it was a habit he kept even years after an honorable, medical discharge from ANGLICO Special Ops.

  Thinking of that time in his life, a familiar darkness fell over him. He had lost a lot to the military. A fiancée, and for a time, his health and very nearly his sanity.

  As the microwave continued running, his cell phone rang in the living room. Noah went to retrieve it, noting the time on his wristwatch. It was getting late.

  “I talked to Jill tonight,” his sister, Corinne, said when he answered. Jill was the recent divorcée from Corinne’s church that she had roped Noah into going out with. “She said you were polite—a bona fide gentleman—but that you gave off a distinct not interested vibe.”

  At the judgment in her tone, Noah drew in a slow breath. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “What’s wrong with her, Noah? She’s nice and attractive, and from what I can see, she’s got a great rack.”

  The microwave beeped in the kitchen, the scent of spicy noodles wafting in the air. “If it’s all right with you, I’d just as soon not hear my sister describing another woman as having a great rack.”

  She laughed softly. “Chalk it up to Keith’s trucker talk rubbing off on me.” Keith was her husband, a veteran of the U.S. Coast Guard who now drove an eighteen-wheeler for a transportation company. He was away from home regularly, which was why Noah had gone to help his nine-year-old nephew, Finn, with his bike that afternoon.

  “I just think you need to settle down. You spend too much time alone, and I worry about you.”

  “I’m capable of finding my own dates, Corinne. And I promise you I do go out on occasion.”

  “Well, I tried. What’s the saying? You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink. Pardon me for putting a pretty, available woman in your path.” She must have decided to let him off the hook, because she added, “Thanks for coming up to help Finn with his bike today. I’m sorry you had to leave before dinner.”

  “Me, too.” Phone tucked between his chin and shoulder, he pulled the plate with the mound of Thai food from the microwave, placing it next to his gun holster with his Glock still inside it on the counter. He reached for a fork in the drawer.

  “Was it that double homicide in Gallery Row? It’s been all over the news tonight.”

  “Yeah,” he said, spearing several noodles. “Ty and I caught it. It looks like it’s our case.”

  He moved the conversation to another topic. A short time later, they said good night. The food gone, Noah washed and dried the plate and put it back inside the cabinet. Corinne was eight years older than him. She could be nosy as hell about his personal life, but she was also an angel, in many ways more of a mother to him than a sister. Their father—an abusive drunk—had run out on them as kids, and their mother had died when Noah was just thirteen. Corinne had only been twenty-one herself, but she had obtained legal guardianship over him. They had no extended family—it was either that or him being placed in foster care. They hadn’t had much growing up, but things had gotten tougher on their own. Corinne barely kept them afloat with minimum-wage jobs and Noah had pitched in as soon as he was legally old enough to work. They had lived in the county halfway between Charleston and Rarity Cove. Corinne, in fact, still lived there in the same house, only now with her husband and son. The home’s relatively close proximity to Rarity Cove was how Noah had come to work at the St. Clair. He had spent three years there, full-time during the summer and part-time when school was in session. Harrison St. Clair had admired Noah’s athleticism and had been willing to let him work his schedule around the baseball that he had hoped would get him a college scholarship. When it didn’t, Noah had gone into the military with an ideal of serving his country while sending checks to help his sister and, ultimately, using the GI Bill to pay for a college education.

  I checked his ID, Detective. He says that he’s her brother.

  The officer who had been stationed in the lobby of the Fleur-De-Lis had appeared apologetic about letting Mark St. Clair inside. The uniform wasn’t a rookie, he knew better, but the St. Clair name carried weight, even here in Charleston. And it wasn’t enough that the family owned one of the top independent hotels in the Southeast—one of them was an A-list movie star. Carter St. Clair had done good work, Noah conceded, thinking about the Charleston fitness complex that was specially equipped for disabled veterans that the actor had been largely responsible for. His nonprofit foundation had two other centers and three more in the works in other parts of the country.

  Noah had been fighting it for most of the night, but Mercer Leighton’s soft-blue eyes appeared in his mind. Her first name was unusual and he should’ve picked up on it, but the last name Leighton had thrown him off. Noah loosely recalled seeing her around the resort all those years ago. She had been a few years younger than him, in his eyes at that age, still just a kid. He remembered her trying to appear grown up as she lounged by the pool. His memory of her was vague, but there was no forgetting her now.

  A St. Clair. The family was like royalty in these parts. Noah drained the last of his beer, tension in his stomach. Mercer Leighton was a definite complication.

  Beautiful, richer than God, and she’s my freaking eyewitness.

  Chapter Five

  “Thanks for calling to check on me,” Mercer said to Carter as she sat behind her desk in her office at the St. Clair. She had put him on her cell phone’s speaker while she leafed
through a contract for an acoustical guitar player she was hiring for a Bonfire on the Beach event. Since arriving at work mid-morning, her mission had been to keep occupied. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you and Quinn back last night. I wasn’t really up to talking, and I knew Mark had already called you.”

  “That’s okay. But what I don’t understand is why you’re at work.”

  “Did you and Mark compare bullet points? Because I’ve already had this conversation.”

  “Merce…” Carter’s voice lowered nearly to a whisper. It was still early in Hawaii, and he had mentioned that he was in Makeup, waiting for shooting to start. “You can’t just pretend like it’s business as usual. Not after what—”

  “I’m not.” She released a soft breath, the fragile composure she had been holding on to temporarily slipping. “But I have to focus on something else. I just got off the phone with Mom and she’s so worried that she’s practically taken to her bed with all this.”

  The wine that Mercer had drunk last night had put her to sleep for a while, but she’d awakened in the dead of night, the reality of what she had witnessed, what she had gotten herself into, making her heart race. She stared unseeingly at the contract in front of her, then pushed it aside. The murders had been the lead story on the news again that morning.

  “Come to Hawaii,” Carter pleaded.

  “I can’t. I should stay here in case the police need me.”

  “I wish I were there.”

  “You will be in a few weeks.” Redirecting the conversation, she asked how filming was going. They talked for a bit longer, until he was interrupted by a member of the production crew. Disconnecting the phone, Mercer passed a hand over her eyes. When she looked up again, Mark was standing on the room’s threshold.

  “If you came to jump me again about being at work, Carter already beat you to it.”

  Mark studied her, but didn’t respond. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and came into her office. “How was your run with Samantha this morning?”