Till Death

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  Officer Bradshaw nodded and then walked back to his cruiser. He stopped at the driver’s door. “Wish it could’ve been under different circumstances, but it was nice meeting you.” He gripped the car door as he twisted toward me. Our gazes locked, and a cold shiver raced down my spine. “But I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

  Chapter 4

  After calling the insurance company and setting up a time for an inspector to come out the following week, I cleaned up the glass the best I could and then moved the car into the carriage house.

  I managed to do this all without ending up with glass sticking out of very sensitive places, so I considered that a win.

  With James coming in shortly to begin work on the evening dinner service, I helped the blonde and bubbly Angela Reidy tidy up the reserved rooms.

  Angela was several years younger and an adorable chatterbox. Immediately, I got why Mom thought she was flighty. She’d talk about one thing, stop in the middle of a sentence and switch topics. She talked about how she was taking night classes at the community college in nearby Hagerstown. She wanted to become a teacher, focusing on pre-K. Angela had a boyfriend named Ethan. They’d been together for three years.

  I liked listening to her even though I didn’t get a word in edgewise. Letting Angela take full rein of the conversation as we moved from room to room stopped me from dwelling on what happened this morning. I might as well give myself the break since my imagination was going to take it to the worst-case scenario as soon as I had the downtime.

  And that would be that someone targeted my car.

  Didn’t make sense to me, but I knew crazier things were possible.

  Finishing up the elderly couple’s room, we walked into the laundry room, which used to be a bedroom. I grabbed an armful of warm towels out of the dryer and dumped them onto a clean worktable.

  Angela grabbed the dirty sheets, humming under her breath as she shoved them into the washer. “There is only one thing I hate in this world and that’s folding sheets.”

  I grinned as I started folding the towels. “It’s because folding sheets is impossible.”

  “So true.” Angela grabbed a bottle of detergent and measured out a cup. “How does it feel being back here?” she asked after a moment.

  Creating a small stack of white towels, I shrugged. “Not sure. I mean, it’s good. I’ve missed . . . this.”

  “Really?” Doubt colored the younger girl’s tone as she moved on to the fabric softener. “You’ve missed picking up after people and doing laundry?”

  I laughed. “Not exactly, but this is my family’s legacy and . . .” I looked up as my hands smoothed across a towel. “I was originally going to do this, the whole follow-in-the-family’s-footsteps kind of thing. I wanted to do that.” And that was true. When I was younger, it had been my dream to take over the inn. That dream had changed—no. That dream had been stolen. “I liked doing what I did in Atlanta, and this—folding towels—isn’t exactly exciting, but this, all of this, belongs to my family—to me, and it’s hard to explain, but it feels right.”

  Angela studied me for a moment and then smiled. “That makes sense. Kind of how I feel about teaching the little ones.” She screwed the lid back on the softener and then stretched up, placing the bottle on the shelf above. After turning the washer on, Angela practically bounced her way over to where I was. She picked up a towel. “It had to be so hard coming back here after what happened. I don’t think I could do it.”

  My gaze shot to the younger girl.

  Angela was focused on her own pile of towels. “Every time I head down Route 11, I drive right past the old water tower and it’s all I think about.” Angela shuddered, and acid churned in my stomach. “It’s horrible to think about, but I didn’t live it like you did. I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through—”

  A towel slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor. “Shit,” I muttered, swiping it off the floor. Straightening, I shook the towel out. “Can we talk about something else?”

  Angela’s brown eyes widened as a pink blush zipped across her face. Clutching a towel to her chest, she looked seconds away from bursting into tears. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t even thinking.”

  Closing my eyes, I took a slow, even breath and then forced a smile. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I talk without thinking. My mama is always telling me it’s going to get me in a world of trouble. Ethan says the same thing,” Angela said in a rush. “And she’s right. I am so sorry. That was totally inappropriate of me.”

  I inhaled deeply and opened my eyes. “It’s really okay.” Folding the towel, I ignored the tremor that curled up my spine. “You said your boyfriend works in Frederick,” I said, redirecting the conversation to much safer grounds. “What does he do again?”

  Even with the topic of conversation going in a different direction, the atmosphere was strained as we replenished the towels and switched the sheets over to the dryer. Afterward, I went downstairs and plopped down at the registration desk. Flipping open the leather-bound reservation book, I tugged the bobby pin out of my hair. Strands of hair fell over my shoulders as I scanned the reservations for the upcoming week. I really needed to get my hands on the accounting to see where they were with the profits and the losses. Turning to the month of December, I picked up a pen—

  Hands slammed down on the desk, causing me to shriek and jump back in my seat. Heart thundering against my ribs, I lifted my gaze as I clutched the pen, prepared to thrust it through someone’s eyeball.

  “Surprise!” Miranda Locke shouted as she waved both hands.

  “Oh my God, you gave me a heart attack.” I dropped the pen on the desk and shot out of the chair. Reaching across the desk, I smacked Miranda’s arm. “Seriously.”

  “Shut up.” Humor danced in Miranda’s dark brown eyes as she flipped a rope of long skinny braids over her shoulder. “You should be hugging me right now, because you love and miss me.”

  “That’s the only reason why I’m not stabbing you with a pen right now!” Rushing out from behind the desk, I threw my arms around Miranda’s shoulders and all but tackled the slimmer, taller woman. “Oh my God, it’s been too long.”

  Miranda squeezed me tight. “It’s been—what? Two years?”

  “Way too long.” Drawing back, I clasped the arms of my best friend since sophomore year in high school. We’d met in gym class and had immediately bonded as we sat side by side on the bleachers and our extraordinarily attractive gym teacher strolled into the gymnasium. We’d both started drooling.

  Miranda was a stunning dark-skinned woman and had the personality to match her beauty. She’d always been there for me—even when I bum-rushed out of this town and didn’t want anything to do with anyone, Miranda had refused to be kicked to the curb.

  Standing in front of her, it struck me with the force of a speeding freight train how much Miranda had done to maintain the friendship. “I’ve been such a shitty friend.”

  Miranda’s head cocked to the side. “What?”

  Dropping my hands to my sides, I stepped back and leaned against the desk. “I’ve just been a crappy friend. When I left here, I didn’t even tell you.”

  Dark, elegantly shaped brows rose. “Yeah, that was pretty shitty.”

  “See!” I shook my head. “And you called and called. I never answered. Other friends gave up, but you didn’t.”

  “Of course not.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Friends don’t give up on one another, especially after they’ve been through a traumatic-as-hell event in their life. And those friends who did give up? Screw them. They should’ve known you were going through things and been there for you. They should’ve done what I did. Given you a couple of months and then got their ass on a plane and gone wherever you were.”

  And that was what Miranda had done.

  After I had been . . . after I’d been released from the hospital, I’d been a mess—a physical and emotional disaster. Mentally checked
out for weeks. Obviously no one blamed me. When my head had finally pieced together, I’d decided that I couldn’t stay here. Not when the few times I had stepped out in public, people stared. People whispered. They pitied me. And then there was the media.

  Freaking vultures circling prey.

  I’d holed myself up through the fall while researching colleges far, far away and it was only when I’d picked Florida State that I’d told my mom about my plans to finish college away. Mom had hated it, but she’d understood.

  I hadn’t told anyone else.

  “I’m glad my mom told you where I was all those years ago,” I said with a faint smile. “And I’m glad you got your ass on that plane and found me.”

  “And I’m glad your ass is finally back home. I love you,” Miranda said, tone serious. “You’re my sister from a different mister.”

  “Ditto,” I replied softly, and then took a shaky breath. “You look great.”

  “It’s because I have no boyfriend, so I spend my free time in a gym instead of in the bed.”

  Tipping my head back, I laughed. “I was talking about the hair. It’s new.”

  “You like?” She patted her braids. “I had to drive over an hour to find someone who knew what the hell they were doing. Not like I was trusting anyone in this town to touch my hair. That was the only good thing about you living in Atlanta. Salon options were limitless whenever I visited you.”

  I giggled. “Want to get something to drink and go out back? It’s not too cold outside. I was just up here checking out the reservation book.”

  “Has your mom made her sweet tea? If so, then it’s a yes,” Miranda returned. “Her tea is like crack—the good kind of crack that doesn’t rot your teeth or make you pick your face.”

  I laughed again. Damn, I missed how often Miranda made me laugh. The sparse in-person visits and weekly phone chats were so not the same thing. “She always has a pitcher of sweet tea ready.”

  James was in the kitchen, fussing with two rotisserie chickens he had in the oven. The lemon and herbs smelled something wonderful, but when Miranda said so James grumbled something inaudible back to her.

  Mr. Jordan was not much of a talker.

  “Is there anything I can help with?” I asked as I placed the pitcher of tea back in the fridge.

  James grabbed an oven mitt. “Best you can do is stay out of the way.”

  Miranda’s dark eyes widened, but I grinned. “That we can do,” I said, starting toward the back door that led to the old kitchen.

  “You been down in the basement?” James asked, stopping me.

  “No.” I glanced at Miranda, frowning. “Why?”

  “Light was on down in the wine cellar when I came in,” he replied. “Make sure you turn it off. Those wires are old.”

  I didn’t bother telling him again that I hadn’t been down in the cellar, so I nodded and then pushed open the door. The room was full of the old furniture, most covered in white sheets, and it was much cooler than the rest of the house. Along the back wall was a corkboard with several keys attached. On the other side of the long, narrow room was a door that opened onto the old staircase that led down to an old wine-and-root cellar that always smelled like rich soil. Only part of the basement was in use. The rest was just packed dirt and bare stone. The ancient tunnels that used to run from the cellar out into the backyard had long since been sealed off.

  As I opened up the door to the veranda, the keys on the corkboard rattled. “He’s a lovable fella.”

  “Seems like it.” Miranda wrinkled her nose. “Personality must not be a requirement to work in the kitchen.”

  “Pretty much cooking skills is the only requirement,” I replied.

  As we walked across the vacant veranda, I told her about what happened to my car. Even though it was January, it was unseasonably warm for the area, pushing into the midfifties. With the sun so bright, it would be comfortable for at least another hour or so, I decided as we sat at the glass table in the Adirondack chairs.

  “The car thing is really weird.” Miranda twisted her wrist, knocking the cubes of ice around in her drink. “Like really weird.”

  “I know. When Officer Bradshaw started asking me if I knew anyone who might be bothered by me being back here, it kind of freaked me out.” With my glass on the table, I sat back in the thick-cushioned chair and folded my arms across my belly. “I mean, I’m sure it was just some kids bored and completely random, because I don’t think my mother told a lot of people and then there’s just you.”

  “Well . . .” Miranda drew the word out and then took a drink.

  I waited for her to continue. “Well what?”

  “I might’ve told someone,” she said, crossing her legs. “But it wasn’t like a random person. It was Jason.”

  “Jason? Oh my God, he’s still around here?” Jason King went to college with us. The three of us had met during orientation and had shared several classes the one and a half years I’d been in attendance. Jason was a good, fun guy from what I remembered. My age. Nerdy in a cute, boy-next-door kind of way. A whiz at math and statistics, which I could respect.

  And I’d seen him after I got out of the hospital. He’d been the only one who had gotten past the news reporters and my mom. The last time we’d talked he held me while I sat on my bed, held me while I sobbed, and the last thing he ever said to me was that I was safe now.

  I left him behind too.

  Nodding, Miranda eyed me over the rim of her glass. “Yep. Like me. You know how it is. If you don’t leave this damn town by the age of twenty-one, you don’t ever leave.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” I replied, stretching over and picking up my glass. “You can leave whenever you want.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dark eyes rolled. “Anyway, he graduated college and ended up opening his own insurance agency about two years ago. He stayed even though he never found his father. Do you remember that?”

  I nodded. Jason’s mother and stepfather had passed away tragically in a house fire when he’d turned eighteen. From what I remembered, it had been during a cold snap and they’d been using a kerosene heater to thaw out their pipes. Their deaths had been what spurned Jason to find his real father. “Yeah, he came here because he’d been told his real father was from Hedgesville. So, he never did find his dad then?”

  “Nope. You would know that if—”

  “I know. I know.” I sighed. Jason had tried to get in contact with me before I left, but the calls had stopped when I changed my number.

  Jason hadn’t been the only person who’d done all of that. Cole had come to the hospital. He’d called and come to the inn.

  And I’d done the same to him.

  My gaze lowered to my glass as I pressed my lips together. Regret was a bitter tang on my tongue. Looking back, I knew I could’ve handled everything differently, but I did what I believed I had to do then.

  “I did tell him you were coming back. He was really excited about that. Wants to see you when you’re ready.” Miranda paused. “I hope you’re okay with that. He was your friend.”

  “I’m okay with that.” And once I said it, I discovered that I was. “We all should get together sometime this week for dinner or something.”

  “Oh! That would be perfect.” She sipped her tea. “My evenings, weekends, and summers are free.”

  “Except when you’re doing lesson plans, working overtime tutoring, or when you’re working part-time during the summer because you’re worried about being laid off,” I corrected.

  “You’re such a bummer.” Miranda flashed a bright white smile. “Alas, the life of a teacher.”

  Miranda had been teaching at our old high school the last two years. It had taken her that long to find a full-time permanent position. Ironically, she was now the coworker of the gym teacher we’d drooled over all those years ago. According to Miranda, Coach Donnie Currie was still hot as hell.

  Life was weird.

  Speaking of weirdness, I thought back to the pol
ice officer who’d arrived this morning. “Want to hear something weird?”

  “I love weird.” Miranda finished off her tea. “Well, none of that weird paranormal crap. Like if you saw some damn ghost in this place last night, I don’t want to hear about it, because I would like to sleep again.”

  I barked out a laugh. “Yeah, no. That’s not where I was going with that statement.”

  “Okay then.” She flicked her wrist grandly. “Please continue.”

  “Thanks for your permission.” I arched a brow when Miranda got all squinty-eyed with me. “The officer who came out this morning, he looked . . . Miranda, he looked so much like him.”

  “Him?” she whispered as her lips parted. “As in the . . . the Groom?”

  “Wait. What? Oh my God.” My stomach dumped to my knees. “I don’t mean him. I meant the officer looked like Cole.”

  “Cole?” Her voice dropped even lower.

  “Do you remember him?” I asked, fingers tightening on my glass.