by Ann Yost
Lucy thought about the partnership between the two men, about the trust that had been violated.
“And you weren’t aware of any of this until it was too late?”
There was a short, uncomfortable silence.
“I dropped the ball. Once the thing was approved, I let him carry on. I didn’t want to waste time out at the construction site.”
“What will you do now, about the casino and spa, I mean?”
“Assuming I’m not cooling my heels in prison, I’ll find another contractor.”
“You couldn’t just drop the project?”
There was another silence. “No. The tribe is counting on the jobs and the revenue.”
Suddenly Lucy remembered. Ten or twelve years earlier, when she’d been a child and Cam, a teenager, he’d been fascinated with Blackbird Reservation and a girl who lived there. His relationship with Molly Whitecloud, a classmate who was now the reservation’s midwife, had been over for more than a decade. Was that old relationship the reason he felt such a loyalty to the Penobscot Tribe? Did it explain why he didn’t want to spend any unnecessary time out at the rez?
There was something Cam wasn’t telling Lucy.
“Packer, Inc. had a good reputation,” Cam explained. “That’s why I approached Nate in the first place. I wasn’t expecting any trouble from that quarter but I should have been paying more attention. Like I said, it was my bad.”
Lucy tried to think.
“Did anyone on the rez know Packer was getting them involved with the mob?”
He shrugged. “It’s possible. There’s definitely a younger element that doesn’t want the casino at all.”
Lucy brightened. “Maybe one of them killed Packer. Do you have a contact out there?”
He shook his head. “I tried to keep my distance.”
“Maybe,” Lucy said, carefully, “Molly Whitecloud would know.”
She watched a muscle jerk in his jaw and she knew, instantly, that her brother still had feelings for the Penobscot woman. How strong were they? Was he still in love with her? Or, had young love turned to perpetual hatred?
“I know Molly,” Lucy said, “through Hallie. She’s lovely, Cam. I know she wouldn’t have had a hand in Nate Packer’s death.”
His lips tightened, indicating he didn’t want to talk about his former flame but she decided to ask the question, anyway.
“Why did you two break up?”
She held her breath, certain he’d slap away her question like an annoying mosquito. He didn’t.
“She broke up with me. My freshman year at college I came home at Christmas to find her married to someone else.”
A knife twisted in Lucy’s heart. Poor Cam.
“It was no big deal, Squirt. A long-dead high school romance, that’s all.”
There was more to it than that. Lucy knew her brother. Nothing fazed him, normally, not a dead wife, or a motherless daughter or a major career/lifestyle change. He wasn’t just exhausted now. He was all but undone. Whether he was willing to acknowledge it or not, Molly Whitecloud was still important to him.
****
Jake gritted his teeth as he closed the door to Sam’s room. From the moment they’d left Little Joe’s he heard a nonstop diatribe about how much each of the twins missed Lucy, how much she missed them and why couldn’t Lucy come to live at their house and be their mother?
Suffice it to say, the Lucy talk had not helped him forget about the way she’d looked when she’d thought he was dating the realtor; like he’d just drop-kicked her puppy. Or her heart.
He knew it was just a schoolgirl’s crush but it was damn hard to resist those big blue eyes, the winsome smile and the willowy body that didn’t remind him of a schoolgirl at all. When he’d held her softness against his hardness the other night she’d fit him perfectly. Her body had fired a surge of need he hadn’t felt in years except for the other times he’d been in her vicinity. As it had from their first meeting, her exasperating combination of enthusiasm and uncertainty had twisted his heart and sent jolts of treacherous desire through his body. He’d kept his hands off Lucy for her own good, couldn’t she understand that?
He knew she couldn’t. She was too damned young to understand. He fought the temptation to call her up to explain that Marilyn Hart had manipulated him into dinner at Little Joe’s. It wouldn’t change anything and it might give her false hope. She’d get over her crush faster if she believed he was interested in someone else.
As for himself, well, he’d just been without a woman for too long and there was nothing wrong with Marilyn Hart. He couldn’t really imagine her as the twins’ stepmother but then his instincts were unreliable. He’d never anticipated that their real mother would run off with a skydiving instructor a couple of months after their birth.
Jake felt the old anger but it wasn’t as intense this time. It had been his fault, after all, he’d been starstruck and foolish and he’d married a woman who was much too young. He’d never make that mistake again. Never.
Jake wandered out to the living room and dropped onto the red-and-green plaid sofa chosen by Lillie because “it looked like Christmas”. He slumped down until he was almost horizontal then he balanced a can of beer on his belly. It had been a mistake to hire Lucy to fill in for Mrs. Peach. He’d been attracted to her from the first, even when he’d fully intended to marry Hallie Scott. He was still attracted to her. What’s more, he had to find a second wife and soon. Ariel’s mother, pissed that he refused to take the twins down to the farm in Texas, had threatened to haul his ass into court unless he provided Sam and Lillie with a more wholesome environment, i.e. a two-parent home.
Hell.
He wanted both Maxine and Lucy out of his life and, for that to happen, he’d have to marry someone. Marilyn Hart? Shit.
Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out the cell phone in which Marilyn Hart had playfully stored her number. He’d take her out to dinner tomorrow night and see what happened. She might not be the perfect stepmom but she had one sterling quality that he couldn’t ignore: She wasn’t Lucy.
****
Saturday morning the sky was a blanket of clouds and the mercury hovered around thirty degrees. Perfect conditions for a late spring nor’easter. Lucy considered searching for a weather report on the Jeep’s radio as she headed for the sheriff’s office but she decided not to bother. At the moment, the weather was not her top priority. She intended to start her coverage of Nate Packer’s murder by making certain her brother wasn’t on the list of suspects.
The Eden Town Hall on Main Street, a square, brick structure built in the late nineteenth century, was still used for meetings of the county board of commissioners, the library board, the school board and for town hall meetings. One small corner of it was dedicated to the Eden County sheriff.
As Lucy pulled into a diagonal space next to the sheriff’s white Blazer, butterflies battled inside her stomach. The heightened awareness she always felt around Jake was compounded by anxiety over her brother, a sense of excitement about covering the murder investigation and the knowledge that, because of her jealousy, she and Jake had not parted as friends. She turned off the engine and strode through the glass-fronted doors. The sheriff’s office was down the hall on the right and, as Lucy had expected, the outer office was vacant, as the dispatcher was off on weekends. If anyone called “911” today, Jake himself would answer it.
His office door was closed and she could hear his voice. He sounded amazingly cheerful considering he had an unsolved murder on his hands. She froze as she caught his words.
“…tied up with the case. Rain check?”
He’d already made and postponed a date with Shark woman. Lucy’s stomach churned. She reminded herself that Jake’s love life was not her business. She was here for professional reasons and today she’d dressed for success in her wool navy pantsuit with the voile navy-and-white polka-dot blouse. And she’d brushed on some blush and applied some lipstick, Candy Apple Red. She looked professiona
l and at least six months older than her age. She threw her shoulders back and knocked on the door but did not wait for him to answer it.
Lucy was done waiting for Jake to notice her.
“Lucy!”
His voice was a deep, sexy growl. At least that’s how it sounded to Lucy. She felt her insides melt. And then she looked at his face. He’d aged overnight. New lines scored his cheeks and his green eyes looked dark with fatigue. He’d shoved his fingers through the thick, short blond hair and it stood up at attention. His skin looked unhealthy but that might have been the fluorescent lights.
“Wow,” she said, “you look worse than my brother.”
“You, on the other hand, look fantastic.”
She felt the beginnings of a blush and then she glanced at his desktop. It was littered with empty Styrofoam cups. Dozens of ’em. She shook her head. “I’ll be right back.”
She flashed out the door and sprinted the half block to the Corner Kitchen. Twenty minutes later she returned with a homemade-biscuit stuffed with scrambled eggs and bacon, and a large container of orange juice. Jake was on the phone again but he didn’t protest when she set the food in front of him. A moment later he hung up. His eyes narrowed on her.
“You’re not my housekeeper anymore, Lucy.”
She refused to take offense. The guy was dead on his feet.
“I never was your housekeeper. I was your nanny, remember? And, anyway, I consider this a form of first aid. You look like hell.”
She hadn’t expected a laugh and she didn’t get one. But she did get a lopsided grin.
“Thanks.” He picked up the sandwich and took a huge bite. “Food of the gods,” he mumbled. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”
“I’ll tell you as soon as you’ve finished breakfast.”
He didn’t argue, probably because his mouth was full. As soon as he’d drained the orange juice he just looked at her.
“I’m here about the murder.”
He blinked and she knew that until that second, he’d completely forgotten about her new job.
“No way are you getting mixed up in this.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“I’m an official member of the Third Estate, Jake. I’m a professional whether you like it or not. And, I’d like to point out, you owe me.”
“Owe you for what?”
He really didn’t remember.
“For taking care of your children for two weeks.”
“I thought you liked taking care of Sam and Lillie.”
She felt stricken but just for a minute. He was attempting to manipulate her and he might as well find out right now it wouldn’t work.
“This isn’t your call. Ed Stiles hired me, remember?”
A big fist came down hard on the desk. Pencils danced in an old frozen juice can that Lillie had decorated under Lucy’s supervision.
“It’s too dangerous.”
Her heart warmed briefly at his expression of concern. And then he ruined it.
“Besides, you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. I can’t afford to have you screw this up.”
For a moment she hated him.
“I’m not going to screw it up,” she said, pronouncing each word carefully, “but you can’t keep me out of it. This is my job, Jake. It’s as important to me as your job is to you.”
He ran his fingers through the short, blond hair.
“I didn’t mean that, exactly.” He sounded exasperated, at the end of his rope. “But let’s get real about this. I’m not gonna have time to rescue your ass when you get in over your head.”
“I would prefer that you not mention either my ass or my head,” she said, very much on her dignity. “I would also like a copy of the autopsy results and a list of suspects and their alibis.”
He barked a short, humorless laugh.
“I’d like all that, too. Look, it’s way too early for any of that.” She scowled at him and he shrugged his big shoulders. “I’d tell you the same thing if you were here from the Hartford Courier.
“I am here for the Courier. I’m stringing for them.”
“Shit.”
She didn’t care for the word but she liked the flash of respect in his eyes.
“Have you talked with anyone yet?”
“Yeah, Lucy. I have.” The flash was gone; the eyes were steady and somber. “I talked with Cameron Outlaw.”
“Oh.”
“The guy’s got a story a three-year-old wouldn’t buy.”
She winced at the harsh words but he had a point.
“He didn’t kill Packer, Jake.”
One corner of his hard mouth tipped up.
“Whether he did or not, he’s one more reason you shouldn’t be involved in this story. Conflict of interest.”
Chapter Four
The sexual tension Jake always felt around Lucy jolted him out of some of his fatigue. It was a more powerful force than caffeine. He hated that a girl who was still wet behind the ears made him ache to get her wet between the thighs. It was history repeating itself and if he didn’t watch out he was going to wind up with yet another flighty wife who’d leave as soon a domesticity got dull.
That’s what he kept telling himself but, on some level, he knew it wasn’t completely true. Lucy wasn’t Ariel. She was flaky but she wasn’t a narcissist. Take the mother-hen routine this morning. Ariel would never have run down to the corner to buy him breakfast. She’d had no interest in breakfast herself and couldn’t imagine that anyone else was hungry in the morning, least of all her old-fogey of a husband. Anyway, Lucy would never have left her children or anyone else’s. But all that being said, she was too young. And she wanted a career. He frowned, as he remembered why she’d dropped by. The murder investigation and her job as Ed Stiles’ Girl Friday. He’d put a stop to that.
The Fax machine whirred and Jake forgot about his problem with Lucy while he read the medical examiner’s findings.
Packer had had the normal amount of arterial blockage for a man his age. He’d have probably faced open-heart surgery in a decade or sooner but, otherwise, he’d been a healthy man. Death, caused by the arrow in his heart, had been instantaneous and it had occurred between nine-thirty and ten-thirty Friday night. Nothing new here.
Jake shoved back his chair and got to his feet. He’d driven up to Bangor yesterday to give the bad news to Packer’s widow. He’d see her again this morning. He’d interview the first Mrs. Packer and Packer’s lawyer, a guy called Claude Moore, and then he’d track down Cameron Outlaw and interview him again. Surely any relative of Lucy’s could be more imaginative than Cam had demonstrated so far. Jake felt his face relax into a faint smile. He called Mrs. Peach, closed up the office and headed out to the Blazer.
****
Lucy drove down Main Street with no destination in mind. First she needed to get over the one-two punch of her yearning for Jake and her fear for Cam. There was nothing she could do about the former. Cam, though, was another story. She turned down Third Street and parked in front of the Eden Community Bank. She knew he’d be working. He was always working on Saturday morning. She plunged her hand into her oversized shoulder bag, searching for her cell, but came up with the box of fruit-flavored condoms she’d bought back in February after Baz and Hallie’s wedding. Jake had danced with her at the reception, a slow, sexy dance that had triggered all kinds of sexual fantasy. She’d believed that he’d been as turned on as she but it hadn’t changed his mind about dating her, not even with Hallie married to someone else.
Lucy shook her head. She’d sadly misread the situation.
She exchanged the condoms for the phone but Cam didn’t answer so she returned to her apartment over the veterinary clinic, made a cup of coffee and sat on the chintz-covered sofa with the springs that had, long ago, given up the ghost.
Lucy found herself studying the dreamcatcher mounted on the wall. It belonged to Hallie, who’d lived here before her marriage. Lucy knew the willow branch that had been curved
into a circle then crisscrossed with string, was intended to capture dreams through the hole in the center. The good dreams funneled down through the feathers that hung from the circle and were guided back to the sleeper. The bad ones were caught in the web.
This particular dreamcatcher, Lucy knew, had been a gift to Hallie from Molly Whitecloud.
Lucy’s thoughts focused on the Penobscot midwife. Surely she knew something about the casino project. And, in any case, she was a walking encyclopedia on the subject of the rez. On top of that, Molly might be able to tell Lucy something about Cam and his execrable alibi.
It was definitely time for a trip to the rez.
Mindful of the wintry weather, Lucy changed into flannel-lined jeans, a crayon-red turtleneck and matching red sweater. She shrugged into her ancient white parka with the fur-lined hood and jammed her feet into fur-topped snow boots then she headed for the Jeep.
She’d show Jake Langley. Just because he wouldn’t tell her anything about the murder investigation didn’t mean she couldn’t attack this from another angle.
The sting of frozen crystals against her face revealed that the snow had started. Her dad had always called the first flakes “the scouting party”. Lucy glanced at the opaque sky and hoped the scouts would advise their brethren to stay in the heavy clouds. In any case, she’d been raised in western Maine and wasn’t afraid of a little snow.
There was no problem on M-15 and thirty minutes later she turned onto the reservation’s main road. A couple of miles later she found the single, unpaved lane that dead-ended at Molly Whitecloud’s cottage.
The freshly painted white clapboard dwelling had glossy black shutters on the three front windows and a trellis arch over the front door. In summer, Lucy knew, the trellis was covered with climbing red roses.
A blast of wind slammed into Lucy as she knocked but she forgot about the weather as soon as she saw Molly. The midwife, petite, with skin the color and texture of a mocha latte, was normally calm and collected. Today her indigo eyes were wide and filled with pain and lines of tension played around her pretty mouth. Her slender fingers were wrapped together and her long, shiny hair, usually pulled back into a neat, French braid, looked as if it had spent the night in a blender.
