Don't Trust Me (Hamlet Book 1)

by Jessica Lynch

  Maybe it would be a good thing. With what happened to her husband last night, she should feel more at peace knowing that the sheriff’s team was keeping a close eye on her.

  She should. She sure as hell didn’t, though. Not when the sheriff made it perfectly clear that—alibi be damned—she thought Tess had something to do with Jack’s murder.

  Feeling helpless and alone, she recognized that she was at the mercy of everyone in Hamlet. The sheriff, her deputies, the doctor… even the woman who ran this bed and breakfast. She currently had no car, very little cash, and Sheriff De Angelis’s order that she stay in town until further notice.

  Even if she wanted to disobey the sheriff, she had no idea where Deputy Walsh impounded her car or how to get it back. And, of course, she couldn’t go anywhere without Jack. She owed him that much.

  The endless tick of the clock mocked her. She pounded her pillow, tried sleeping on her side, even got up again to get a glass of water from the bathroom. Nothing helped. Tess couldn’t turn off her brain. The events of the day wouldn’t let her be. She couldn’t sleep and didn’t expect to. The only plus was that the rest of the night passed by in silence. If the cruiser came back again, she was too exhausted to notice.

  As the sun began to rise, sending golden rays of light streaming in through the slats of the blinds, Tess was still awake, staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling.

  She didn’t see the flat white expanse above her, though. Just a length of rope twisted tightly around a man’s neck. The dead eyes, splashed with red. The waxy, white skin. It didn’t matter if she closed her eyes. She saw it regardless.

  The image of Jack’s corpse was burned in her memory.

  12

  She must have fallen asleep after all. The momentary escape took her almost by surprise.

  It felt like Tessa had only closed her eyes for a single second when she was blinking her lids open to a blank ceiling and an ache that had nothing to do with the firm mattress beneath her.

  The purple room was bathed in shadows, the sun having moved across the sky as she slumbered. She could tell that she hadn’t slept too long—perhaps a couple of hours—but it was enough. Shoving the quilt away from her, she climbed out of bed.

  It’s a new day, she thought, followed by the absolute certainty that Jack was still dead.

  It staggered her. Stumbling, she reached out blindly, grasping the edge of her bed with a flailing hand. Her legs folded and she dropped down.

  Jack was gone.

  She didn’t know why she expected anything different. Tess was neither a child, nor that naive. Having suffered the loss of both her parents at a young age, she understood the concept of death and just how permanent it was. You could beg, borrow, and steal. Nothing brought the dead back to life.

  The doctor, in his no-nonsense way, had been absolutely right. The sooner she accepted that, the better it would be. Yes, the first few days would be the hardest. She’d get past it.

  She always did.

  Her mother dying from cancer? Tess overcame it. Hospitals still made her nervous and the scent of a strong disinfectant left her stomach queasy, but she accepted that cancer was a bitch. Though you could fight it like the battle it was, cancer was never fair. Sometimes you just lost the damn war.

  Her father, the victim of an automobile accident one short year later? She didn’t let her childhood fear keep her from buying her first car, or later driving across the country on vacation in a beater even older than she was. She habitually checked her seatbelt, sure, but her father’s death taught her a very valuable lesson. You could be as cautious in life as possible. Didn’t mean a thing if only one person was careless.

  Jack’s death would be harder to take in. She had no illusions about that. It was sudden and traumatic and so very, very violent. The nightmares hadn’t followed her when she finally fell asleep—but that was only because she’d been too exhausted to dream.

  Tonight would be another night, with thousands more to follow. She wouldn’t always get that lucky.

  Wonderful. Something to look forward to.

  In a bid to drown out her nagging thoughts, Tess got up and decided to keep herself busy. She finally found the clock in a far corner; a quick glance revealed that she had slept through breakfast and lunch. She was okay with that. Though she got down close to half of Maria’s delicious dinner last night, her stomach was still tight. She couldn’t imagine eating ever again. So, rather than find her hostess, Tess took a quick shower, changed her clothes, and started to tidy up her room.

  Once her bed was made, Tess tackled her luggage. She had the sinking suspicion that Sheriff De Angelis would require her to stay in Hamlet for much longer than she wanted to. Since she had no choice in the matter, the least she could do was make herself comfortable. There was an empty dresser in her room. After unpacking her duffel bag and putting all of her toiletries in the bathroom, Tess folded her clothes before placing them neatly in the dresser drawers.

  Just when she was closing the last drawer, a burst of static filled the room.

  “Hello? Mrs. Sullivan? Are you there?”

  “Hello?” Tess felt silly responding to the disembodied voice. She recognized it by the huskiness and the Italian lilt to be Maria, even if she had no idea where she could be calling from. “Yes, I’m here.”

  “If you can hear me, I’m talking to you through the intercom. Lucas wired them in every room since phones don’t work this side of town. I don’t have a radio to offer you, so this is the best we have. Your intercom should be near the bed. If you’re getting this, all you have to do is push the button on the top and you can talk back.”

  Following Maria’s instructions, Tess turned to look at the bed. For the first time, she noticed a square box posted a foot above the headboard. It was plastic, about the size of an index card, and colored the same cream shade as the other accents in the Lavender Room.

  She found the button on the top and pressed it.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, good. You figured out how to make it work. Did I wake you?”

  She shook her head, realized that Maria couldn’t see her, then pressed the button again. “No, I was up. Did you need me for something?”

  “I’m just finishing up tonight’s supper and I wanted to know how you preferred to be served. Did you want me to bring it to your room now or should I wait?”

  Tess’s stomach protested. She still wasn’t up for a heavy meal. But sitting down with Lucas’s sister, talking to another woman, getting a chance to spend some time out of her own head? That sounded perfect.

  “Actually,” Tess told the intercom, “do you think I could come join you in the kitchen? If I’d be in the way, or if you have other plans, I totally understand. It’d be nice to have the company, though.”

  There was a pause, then Maria answered, sounding surprised yet pleased. “Of course you can.” After giving Tess directions on how to find the kitchen, she added, “I can serve us both in the kitchen. That’s usually where I eat my dinner anyway.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

  The kitchen was on the same level as her room. Tess passed the spiral staircase that would lead up to the second floor and made a left through the next doorway. The dining room she arrived at was as lavish and painstakingly decorated as the Lavender Room, only the color scheme was a mix of cyan and pale gold. There was even an unlit candelabra in the center of the long table.

  A second doorway led off from the dining room. Following Maria’s directions, she went through that door and found herself in a homey kitchen that impressed her far more than the dining room simply because it wasn’t trying to be anything except a kitchen. The appliances were stainless steel and cutting edge, everything neat and clean, but the battered round table looked so much like the one at her apartment, she immediately felt at ease.

  Red gingham napkins were folded in front of the two place settings. They were a perfect match to the dish towels by the sink, and the hand towels hanging over the
oven door handle. As Maria set two plates of food on the table, Tess saw that the dishes had an apple design dancing around the rim of the dinnerware. It was adorable.

  “I wasn’t sure what you’d like for dinner and you didn’t answer when I knocked for breakfast so I couldn’t ask. I figured, why not make something easy and delicious, something that settles the stomach and eases the soul.” With a flourish, she gestured at the steaming plates. “Ecco! Tomatoes and shrimp over polenta.”

  Tess blinked. The thick, yellow meal that served as a bed for the tomatoes and shrimp looked familiar, even though she had no idea what polenta was. She pointed. “Is that the polenta?”

  Maria nodded. “Yes. It’s kind of like grits. Have you had those before?”

  “I actually love shrimp and grits.”

  “Good. Then you’ll love this more. Now dig in.”

  Tess took a deep breath, wary of the way her stomach had rebelled all afternoon. One sniff of the spices and the buttery shrimp, though, and she was surprised to find that she was kind of hungry after all. “This smells really, really good.”

  “I know.” Maria beamed. “My brother says I make the best polenta in Hamlet. I tell him, it’s because we’re the only Italians in the whole village so of course mine is the best.” Nudging a fork toward Tess, she nodded. “Go on. Eat.”

  Maria waited until the other woman picked up her fork and stuffed the first tomato slice into her mouth before taking up her own fork and sitting down across from the outsider.

  There was something different about her today, Maria decided. The dark circles under Mrs. Sullivan’s eyes were more pronounced, though her golden eyes seemed vivid and bright; no longer glazed and dull, like they had been when Maria brought her the chicken pot pie last night. After she showered, Mrs. Sullivan had braided her hair out of her face and changed into a t-shirt and jeans that accentuated her tiny frame. She hadn’t put on any make-up.

  This close, Maria thought she looked like a girl rather than a woman. At twenty-eight, she was barely older than Mrs. Sullivan, but she felt like she should take care of her.

  Someone had to.

  From Lucas, she knew that Tessa Sullivan was twenty-five, and that she’d been married to her husband Jack for a year before this tragedy struck. She couldn’t imagine how the newly made widow was handling all of this; Maria thought, if she was in her place, she wouldn’t have the strength to leave her bed.

  And here was the poor woman, obviously distraught, terribly alone, and she was putting on a brave face to sit and eat with her hostess.

  That was why Maria chose to make the polenta. The poor thing looked like she was skin and bones. It hadn’t escaped Maria’s notice that she barely touched the pot pie last night. It did her heart good to see half of the polenta finished before her guest started to pick at it with her fork.

  She kept the conversation light, careful not to mention the dreadful circumstances that had the woman staying at Ophelia. Maria did most of the talking, in between eating her own supper and then clearing the dishes. She waved off Mrs. Sullivan’s offer of help, instead telling her another anecdote about living in Hamlet while she loaded the dishwasher.

  It also didn’t get by her that the stories that intrigued the other woman the most all featured Lucas.

  Maria was still chatting when she heard the dishwasher signal the end of the cycle. Startled, she looked over at the clock hanging next to the rangehood. Where in the world did the last two hours go?

  She pushed away from the table. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Not that I don’t want to talk more, but I’ve got to be heading out to the market. I need to pick up a couple things for breakfast tomorrow.”

  Maria hesitated. It had been so long since she had a conversation with another woman. Caitlin, she decided, didn’t count. Lucas’s ex was more of a sister than a former sister-in-law, and Maria knew perfectly well that Cait would rather eat her hat than engage in “chick chat”.

  Mrs. Sullivan hadn’t seemed to mind. So, with an impish shrug, Maria offered, “If you want, you can take the ride with me.”

  “To the market?” Mrs. Sullivan couldn’t quite hide her surprise. “There’s one in Hamlet?”

  The laugh that escaped Maria was reminiscent of a twittering bird. It was a high-pitched trill, both sweet and a trifle annoying at the same time, and it seemed at odds with Maria’s normally throaty voice. “Yes, we have a market. It’s probably nothing that you’re used to, but it suits us. I’m not actually going to visit Jefferson’s market tonight, though. I’d planned to take the ride into town, hit the big grocery store they have. There’s more variety there.”

  “I—I shouldn’t. I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to piss off the sheriff anymore than I already have.”

  Maria had to admit she had a point. Caitlin could be both demanding and particular. “I see. Maybe next time, then, after Caity’s cleared this whole mess up.”

  “That sounds great. For now, I think I’m gonna take another shower, maybe get some more rest. I, uh, I didn’t get much rest last night and I think I need a little more.”

  “Um… well, there’s more polenta in the fridge if you want it. And I don’t mind if you want to help yourself to a snack later. I’ll be back well before nine o’clock in case you need me.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Maria started to leave the kitchen before stopping by the refrigerator. She was torn. She’d promised Lucas she would keep an eye on the outsider. Then again, she was also the proprietor of a bed and breakfast struggling to find its legs after a short break. As much as she thought she should stay behind, it was kind of hard to honor the breakfast part of the agreement when she was fresh out of bread and eggs.

  She lingered in the kitchen. “Mrs. Sullivan—”

  “Tessa, please. Or Tess.”

  Maria caught the woman’s small flinch, the same tiny frown pulling on her lips whenever Maria directly addressed her. It finally hit her. Of course she wouldn’t want to be called by her husband’s name. It had to be a stark reminder, a sharp stab every time she heard it.

  She had thought it odd that Lucas seemed so comfortable with Tessa, calling her by her first name so soon after they met. It was a Hamlet custom, keeping outsiders on the outs by always using their last name when they addressed them. In this one case, she would follow Luc’s lead and buck tradition.

  “Tess, then… would you mind if I ask you a favor?”

  “You’re putting me up in your house, feeding me, helping me, and you think I’d mind doing anything you asked? Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

  “If you happen to see my brother… maybe you could, um, not mention that I took the drive into town? He usually makes the trip himself every Monday, buying all the groceries we both need, but sometimes I just have to get away. Out of Hamlet for just a moment. He’d lose it if he knew but...” She shrugged impishly. “Maybe he doesn’t have to know?”

  Tess knew exactly what Maria meant. Even though she had spent only three days in Hamlet, she already itched to leave. A ghost of a smile flashed across her face. First the locks, now this. “He’s that overprotective, huh?” she guessed.

  “You have no idea.”

  It was her fourth shower in two days. She didn’t care if she stripped all the oils from her skin or if she ended up a wrinkly prune. There was something about standing underneath the steady stream of water, doing the same routine as she did every day that gave her some sense of calm.

  And the towels that Maria provided were so soft and fluffy, it was like drying off with a piece of cloud. After the last few days, she needed that comfort.

  Once done, she changed into a pair of comfortable sweats before sliding her feet into her favorite pair of slippers. Even though she had packed for a romantic getaway with Jack, her husband knew she got cold easily in bed. She preferred to sleep in sweatpants and t-shirts; her duffel was packed with them. That wouldn’t last. She was quickly running through all of her clothes. If the sheriff didn’t g
ive her the okay to go home soon, she would have to figure out a way to get her laundry done.

  Something told her that while Hamlet had its own market, it wasn’t big enough to boast its own laundromat.

  Tess brushed her hair, decided against going to sleep with it wet, and hurriedly dried it before throwing it up in a high ponytail. Yawning, she left the bedroom.

  No surprise that she felt battered and bruised and just beat. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep. So long as the nightmares stayed away, she might find some peace. Jack wasn’t dead when she slept. She wasn’t trapped in some backwater little town, with suspicion hanging over her like a black raincloud.

  When she was asleep, the bed didn’t seem so empty.

  Closing her eyes, Tess took a deep breath, exhaled roughly. She couldn’t afford to have those thoughts because, if she did, she would never sleep.

  What a shame that there didn’t seem to be a single television in the bed and breakfast. She could’ve used the mindless entertainment. Something to help her turn her brain off at last. Since she couldn’t do that, heading back to her bed was the best bet she had.

  Her mouth was dry. As delicious as Maria’s polenta had been, Tess secretly thought she might’ve been a bit too heavy-handed with the salt. She’d grabbed a glass from the kitchen and filled it with water from the tap before she took her latest shower. Suddenly thirsty again, she shuffled over to the nightstand where she had left her glass.

  Tess took a healthy gulp, her gaze falling on a piece of paper lying facedown on her made bed. She set the glass back down, confused. She didn’t remember seeing that there earlier. Had Maria come in and left her a bill? She’d never stayed in a B&B by herself before. Maybe that’s how it was done, getting billed for every day that she stayed. It made sense to her, though it seemed odd that Maria would deliver it to her room while she showered instead of giving it to her in the kitchen before she left for the market.

  Tess picked up the paper, turned it over, and blinked. One thing was immediately clear: it wasn’t a bill.