by Lisa Childs
“Yeah,” the waitress said but not in response to his question. “You’re smart to talk to the stranger, Sheriff.”
He suppressed the tight chuckle that tickled his throat. He should appreciate that he had the approval of the islanders. A murder had never happened here when anyone else was sheriff…at least not a murder that anyone had been able to prove.
Some had suspected that Nadine had murdered her employer so that she would inherit the mansion. Despite the fact that the coroner had assured him the old woman had died of natural causes, the natural progression of her congestive heart failure, he had not been able to convince the town. And so they had always remained suspicious and disapproving of Nadine.
Again, why had she stayed? Was it because she’d had nowhere else to go?
Or because she didn’t dare go anywhere else? Where had all her money gone? Blackmail?
He hadn’t found anything in her past that she would have had to pay to hide. So what else was there? What hadn’t he found yet, besides her body?
He needed to talk to her sister again, to find out what had gone so wrong between them that they hadn’t talked in years. He had no doubts that Sasha had nothing to do with her sister’s murder. He’d checked her out. He wouldn’t have turned Annie over to her, legal document be damned, if he hadn’t. But he suspected that she might know something about Nadine’s life that could help the investigation.
Or was he just looking for an excuse to see her again? To sink into that blue gaze? To touch her soft skin?
“You’re in luck, Sheriff. The storm must have brought him inside.”
A tall blond man stepped into the lobby, shaking water from his drenched hair. Then he walked into the dining room. Conversation ceased as everybody studied the stranger. He hesitated.
“Over here, Mr. Norder,” the waitress called out, her voice filling the hush in the room. “The sheriff wants to talk to you.”
Great. If he ever needed another deputy, he’d have Carol apply. Although he didn’t rise from his chair, he was ready if the guy decided to run. But Norder met his gaze and walked toward his table, conversation resuming in excited whispers all around them.
“Sheriff,” the guy said, hand extended.
Reed inspected the outstretched palm, looking for any telltale wound from wielding a knife. But the lack of any didn’t exonerate the guy. From the absence of any blood but Nadine’s, they’d already figured the killer had worn gloves. But it was worth checking. When a friend was dead, everything was worth checking.
“Mr. Norder, Charles Norder?” he asked, verifying the name under which the man had registered.
The guy nodded, sending a trail of rainwater down the side of his nose. “Charles is fine.” He settled into the chair across from Reed and turned to Carol. “I’d like a cup of coffee, too, miss.”
She checked with Reed first, not heading off until he’d nodded his assent. His backup, a middle-aged waitress. He swallowed a sigh and held his first question until she’d moved out of earshot.
“Why didn’t you leave the island?” Reed asked the blond guy.
“Leave?”
“A murder took place. Some of the locals left, but not you.”
“I knew you’d want to talk to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew Nadine.”
If this guy was the killer, he was damned confident that Reed couldn’t prove it. “How? Who are you?”
“Her sister’s fiancé…”
Something slammed into his gut, sloshing the coffee around in a bitter wave. “You’re engaged to Sasha?”
“Sasha?” the guy asked, lifting one blond brow. “You know her?”
Not as well as he was tempted to…but that was impossible now. Hell, it’d been impossible before he’d known she had a fiancé. He’d trusted a woman once. That wasn’t a mistake he was about to make again. “She arrived on the island today.”
Norder sighed and for the first time showed some emotion, regret. “I’m almost surprised that she came.”
“Why?”
“She hated Nadine, with good reason,” he said, fingering his wet hair back from his face. “But then, that’s Sasha.”
“Hating?”
“No, forgiving. Maybe there’s hope for us yet.” The younger man sighed again and closed his hands around the cup Carol set before him.
Reed waited until she moved off again before he asked, “So she’s not your fiancée now?” He refused to acknowledge the flare of hope he felt.
Norder shook his head. “No, not anymore.”
Reed expelled the breath he hadn’t been aware he held. Despite the relief, he still wanted to slug the guy. “But you said…”
Whatever was or wasn’t between Norder and Sasha wasn’t any of his business…unless it involved Nadine’s murder. He had to forget about what the guy had said and concentrate on what he hadn’t said. “So why are you here, Norder?”
“Came in out of the rain…”
If the guy kept being a smart-ass, Reed would hit him. And enjoy every minute of it. “Here, on Sunset Island. You came in the day before Nadine was murdered. I need to know why.”
“Because she called me. She wanted to see me. And before you ask, I don’t know why.” He leaned forward, the jaw Reed had considered hitting now hardening with anger. “Some son of a bitch killed her before I got a chance to see her.”
And he’d like Reed to believe he wasn’t that son of a bitch? Reed wasn’t so sure. “How did she contact you? Phone?” He intended to check the guy’s story.
Norder nodded.
“And she didn’t tell you why she wanted to see you, but you came anyway.”
“It was Nadine,” he said as if that explained everything.
And it did. The poor sap had loved her. He’d been engaged to Sasha and had loved her sister.
Reed eased his fingers out of a fist despite the compelling urge to still slug the guy. He would save his anger for Nadine’s killer. Maybe it wasn’t this guy, maybe it was, but he needed proof before he did anything. But until Norder was exonerated, Reed wanted to make sure the man wasn’t alone with Sasha. Hell, even if Norder was exonerated, Reed didn’t want the guy alone with her. How could Reed be jealous of a woman he just met?
WALKING THE SHERIFF OUT that afternoon had tested Sasha’s sagging strength. She’d been tempted to beg him to stay or, better yet, take her and Annie with him.
Not that she wanted to spend more time with him. But he was a lawman. He had sworn to serve and protect. And he would. She could trust him to do that, to protect her from a killer.
The thought of being around a killer unnerved her. The person who had murdered her sister had undoubtedly been someone Nadine had known, maybe even trusted. Or at the very least someone she hadn’t expected to kill her.
And what about all the missing money? Had she been paying someone? And for what?
Sasha was no detective. While she wanted to know who her sister’s killer was, she didn’t want to risk her life to find out. She would leave that to the sheriff and concentrate on Annie instead. But the little girl was sleeping now, leaving Sasha alone.
She wasn’t welcome in this house. In addition to Mrs. Arnold’s disapproving glances, the young nanny, Barbie, openly stared, her gaze full of disbelief. Her fixation unnerved Sasha. And so, hoping for a brief escape before the storm, she ducked out of the shadowy house, ignoring the fine mist that hung over the island. She wanted to walk in the garden that was just awakening to spring. She wanted to breathe without being scrutinized. She wanted to remember who she was and who she wasn’t. She wasn’t Nadine’s ghost.
She had only traveled a few yards along a footpath leading to the beach when someone shouted…not her name but Nadine’s.
An older man, pruning shears clutched in his gloved hands, started toward her. “Oh, my God!”
Horror twisted his unshaven features. Since he was armed and maybe a bit unbalanced, she didn’t take the risk of stopping to explain who
she was but whirled back toward the house. Her shoes sent pebbles flying as she ran along the dirt path.
His footsteps sounded behind her, his pace slower and uneven. She glanced over her shoulder as she reached the door on the back porch, her hands grasping the knob.
The knob that wouldn’t turn. She hadn’t locked the door behind her, but someone else had.
Someone had locked her out.
The man limped toward her, still clutching those long shears. The rain fell harder now, dripping off the shiny blades. She rattled the knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. The sheriff had taken her in through that door, through a mud room off the kitchen.
Her heart pounded as the old man got closer. Nadine had died so violently that the blood loss alone verified her death. If she’d been shot, someone would have heard the shots. She must have been stabbed.
Fear galvanized Sasha into action again. She headed toward the front of the house, the part that faced the asphalt path.
The Queen Anne, three stories rising from a stone foundation, was monstrous. She scrambled around the porch to the front where baskets of flowers hung.
The screen door was unlatched, swinging back and forth in the strengthening wind. The heavy mahogany door pushed open beneath the light touch of her trembling hand.
Even in the gloom she could see the stain on the marble floor. Someone had gotten up most of it, but cracks worn into the polished surface were discolored, stained with her sister’s blood…as were the walls. Blood streaked across the brocade wallpaper, dried now where it must have run in rivulets down the walls.
No wonder the sheriff maintained there was no way her sister could have lived through this. Even though, from the overpowering scent of bleach, someone had made an apparent effort to clean it, the stains remained. And under the chemical odor, so did the smell. Of blood.
Her sister’s blood.
She’d been chased here. To her sister’s murder scene.
Chapter Four
While fear of him had sent her running before, Sasha didn’t even turn when the old man clambered onto the porch. She could see him in the ornate mirror above the hall table. A vase half-full of lilac branches partially blocked her view, but she watched him set the shears onto the white-painted porch railing. The rest of the lilac branches, the ones her sister hadn’t had time to put into the vase, lay on the table, brown and dead.
“I’m sorry to scare you, miss,” he said. “But you gave me a fright. You look so much like your sister.”
Sasha glanced again to the mirror, studying her own reflection in the beveled glass. “Yes, I do.”
“At first, I thought…”
“That I was her. I know. But my sister is dead.”
And if she had harbored any doubt, any hope, she didn’t now. Whoever had locked her out of the back door had proven their point. That Nadine was dead. And that Sasha didn’t belong on Sunset Island.
The door on the other side of the foyer opened, and Mrs. Arnold stared out, her face a hard mask of disap proval. What had she expected? That Sasha would faint? That she’d run screaming from the island?
They would find that she didn’t scare easily. Was that why one of them had killed Nadine? Because they hadn’t been able to scare her off?
“Weren’t you going for a walk, miss?” the housekeeper asked innocently.
Thunder shook the island, and lightning crackled. Gazing out across the porch, Sasha saw the waves rising in the lake, meeting the rain lashing out of the low, dark clouds. “It’s a little late now.”
“Yes, miss. Dinner’s ready. And the little girl is asking for…”
Her mommy. And since someone had killed her, Sasha would have to do. A substitute for Nadine…a role she would only play for Annie.
After dinner, where only Annie’s jabbering had broken the tension, Sasha played with the little girl in her room. Unlike the elegance of the rest of the house—with polished floors, Oriental rugs and elaborate wall coverings—the turret-room nursery was a bright oasis. Candy stripes of pink and white had been painstakingly hand painted on the curved walls along with little ballet shoes and bunny rabbits.
Sasha recognized her sister’s artistic hand in each brushstroke. She’d taken such care to make a bright, beautiful room for her daughter. And the child appeared healthy and, except for some confusion, happy. Nadine hadn’t always been a good person, but she’d apparently been a good mother.
Sasha blinked back tears as she snapped the front of Annie’s pajamas closed. The first pair had more toothpaste on them than the independent little girl had gotten on the brush. Then Sasha pulled the child into her arms and settled onto the rocking chair in a toy-filled area of the large, round room. Somehow she knew Nadine had spent a lot of time here, and sitting there, rocking her sister’s child, Sasha felt closer to her twin than she ever had when Nadine was alive.
“Wed,” Annie said, sleepily gazing up at Sasha from where she nestled in her arms.
“Wed?” she repeated, enjoying the warmth and the sweet, bubblegum scent of the little girl.
“The blanket,” the nanny said, having obviously been hovering in the doorway. The tall, blond woman walked into the room and lifted the blanket from where it was draped on the crib railing.
“Was she saying red?” The blanket was blue. But was a two-year-old supposed to know her colors?
“No, she was saying Reed. The sheriff gave her that blanket.”
“Reed?”
“Yeah,” the young nanny said with a dreamy sigh. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”
Sasha had noticed, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “He seems intent on…his job.”
On Nadine. On finding Nadine’s killer. But she couldn’t say that in front of her niece. She had no clue how much a toddler understood, but maybe even more than teenagers.
Barbie shivered and rubbed her palms over the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “I can’t believe she was killed…right in this house. This is the first night I haven’t stayed at the inn since it happened. It’s just too creepy. All that blood…”
The woman trailed off, maybe she’d finally noticed Sasha’s glare. But she needn’t have worried about Annie understanding. She’d fallen asleep. The nanny reached out to take the little girl from her arms, but Sasha shook her head. Then she rose and put the child into the crib herself, tucking that blue blanket around her.
“Blue…only a man would buy a girl a blue blanket,” she murmured.
“He said it matched her eyes. He delivered her, you know. Right here in this room.”
Was that the only reason he was close to Annie? Or had whatever been between him and Nadine strengthened the bond? Lightning flashed over the lake, illuminating the grounds below the nursery window. A dark shadow of a man stood out there on the lawn, rain falling heavily on him.
Sasha gasped. “Who—is that the gardener?”
Barbie leaned over her shoulder. “No, that’s not Jerry. The guy’s walking away now, and there’s no limp. He’s heading for the carriage house. It must be Mr. Scott.”
“Mr. Scott?”
“Yes, Mrs. Scott’s son. Your sister let him rent the carriage house from her…after she stole his inheritance.”
Words of anger died on Sasha’s lips. She couldn’t defend her sister. She had no idea if what the nanny said and the others believed might be true. Or was the sheriff right and she wasn’t being fair in always thinking the worst of Nadine?
The only thing she knew for sure was that she was too tired to deal with it. “Is there a cot I can bring in here?”
The girl shook her head. “No need. My room is right next door. I’ll get up with her if she wakes.”
But Sasha wanted to be close. In case Annie needed her. In case she needed Annie.
And she wished the sheriff were close. With thunder booming and lightning flashing, her fear had returned, weakening her resolve to stay. But the little girl was already asleep, the storm not bothering her a bit.
And maybe Sasha was so tired that
she’d immediately drop off to sleep, too.
“Mrs. Arnold put your bag in your sister’s room. It’s just the other side of the stairwell, down the hall. The master suite.” The girl’s bitter emphasis on master implied that she hadn’t considered Nadine deserving of the suite or the title.
Where was the gratefulness for Nadine having kept them all on after Mrs. Scott had died? Buried under suspicion and resentment.
In the morning Sasha would decide what she would do about the house and its resentful staff. At the moment she could hardly keep her eyes open. She followed the wool carpet runner with the paisley design, past the wide stairwell, lightning flashing through the stained-glass window on the landing, to the room where the bedroom door stood open. Not invitingly. Nothing about this house was inviting.
The wall sconces blinked off as thunder boomed again. Sasha stopped in the doorway, breath held until the light flickered back on.
“I hope you’re not afraid of the dark,” the nanny called out from where she stood outside the nursery. “The power goes off on the island a lot.”
Sasha forced herself to shrug. “I don’t scare easily,” she told the other woman, as she had told Mrs. Arnold that afternoon. Then she stepped inside her sister’s room and closed the door. She leaned back against it, the six panels of polished mahogany, and closed her eyes. Maybe not easily, but she did scare.
Exhausted, all she wanted was to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head so she wouldn’t notice the flashes of lightning illuminating the room.
She walked toward the king-size, four-poster bed. The satin comforter had been pulled back, but her bag wasn’t anywhere to be found. Too tired to look for it and the worn football jersey she usually wore to bed, she walked to the carved bureau and pulled open a drawer. Silk slid between her fingers as she drew out one of her sister’s gowns. When they’d been kids, they’d shared clothes. With their family’s limited funds, they’d had to.
But now, even with Nadine gone, she felt as if she needed to ask permission. But she couldn’t. Maybe wearing something of Nadine’s, like looking through those photo albums, would take Sasha back to a simpler time. She’d never worn anything like the green silk, which reminded her of the sheriff’s intense eyes.
