by Jody Holford
Ignoring the woman’s tone, Molly continued. “Your mother wouldn’t return my calls. I went out to see her. She was quite abrupt.”
Fire erupted in Clara’s gaze, so fast Molly was lucky she didn’t get singed. “She’s a busy woman and seeing as she’d already given an interview, she probably had better things to do with her time. Which, clearly, you don’t.”
Molly nodded. “Maybe. That might be part of it. But when I stopped at the market and Archie—you know him, right? He told me Vernon made a call.”
Clara’s face paled. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the box. “Do you have a point?”
Molly leaned in a little. “In the age of cell phones, who pulls over to use a landline?”
Clara threw up her hands. “Are you asking me? I don’t know and I’m done with your cloak-and-dagger. Maybe Vernon’s cell died. I don’t know and I don’t care.”
Molly walked to the couch, turned and leaned against the back with far more ease than she felt. “I think you do. Because I think it was you he called.”
Turning slowly, Clara fixed Molly with an intimidating glare. “That’s absurd. I don’t even know the man other than the casual hello.”
“Hmm. That might be true. But he found something in that box.” Molly gestured to it. Before Clara could confirm or deny, she needed to lay out the rest of her theory and wrap this up. “He found something and he called you. He told you to meet him at his house the next day and you did. Whatever it was, it scared you. And sadly, even though I haven’t been in town long, I got to know Vernon well enough to know that whatever he did find, he planned on using against you. He wasn’t a nice man. Not at all. You’re right there. Not a lot of people liked him. But he didn’t deserve to die. And maybe you didn’t mean for it to happen, but you hit him with the steel mug and it killed him. To keep your secret safe.”
Jaw tightening, Clara straightened her shoulders. She practically hissed when she spoke. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I won’t stand for this. You can’t breeze into town and think you know everyone. I don’t have any secrets. Do you have any idea who my family is, you insolent woman?”
Molly nodded. “I do. I know a lot about your family. Not from your mother, obviously. I’m not sure what you said to stop her from talking to me, but it worked. And not from Vernon. He really did a lousy job of the interview, but I suspect you may have altered her answers a bit when you had access to his laptop after killing him.”
Clara advanced, rage pouring off of her like steam. “Stop it. Stop it right now! I won’t let you just say these lies about me. Who do you think you are?”
Molly tried not to shrink back as Clara came forward. “Did you know, before Vernon stumbled across whatever it was he found, that Emilio Macintosh was your father? Have you always known or was it such a shock that you weren’t really even yourself that night? I could see that. I could see the absolute horror of finding out your birthright from a man willing to blackmail you over it. I can’t imagine how that felt. I’m sorry that he tried to use it against you, Clara. Truly. But it doesn’t mean taking his life was okay.”
Clara’s arms came out as if to strike Molly, but instead, she buried her face in her hands for a moment. Molly’s breath rushed out of her lungs as Clara’s shoulders shook. When she looked up and met Molly’s gaze, tears streaked down her face. Molly cringed at the anger still etched firmly into the lines of Clara’s features, despite the tears.
“I didn’t know. I didn’t. And I didn’t mean to kill him, Molly. It was an accident. I didn’t even believe him at first. He’s a horrible man and I thought he was lying to me. I’d never heard of Emilio Macintosh in my entire life. I told Vernon I refused to believe it and I certainly wasn’t going to pay him to keep quiet about something that wasn’t even true. But he had letters from this man—my biological father—to my mother. He’d found them behind a framed photograph of my mother. He called me from the store and told me he had something I’d want to see. I had no idea. I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen. He just wouldn’t listen. It was horrible.”
Now Clara did reach out for Molly. She grasped her arms, her fingers pinching in, her desperation painted across her face like a mask. “Vernon wasn’t a good man and neither is his son. He’s already confessed to the murder, Molly. I promise you I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe me.”
Tears stung Molly’s eyes more from Clara’s nails pressing into her skin than sadness. “I do.” She really did.
Clara wrapped her arms around her and held on tight, weeping against Molly’s shoulder. “I promise you I’m a good person. It was an accident. It’s only a matter of time before Clay follows in his father’s vile footsteps.” Clara leaned back. “Please. I’m begging you to just let it be. No one has to know.”
Molly shook her head. “An innocent man is in jail.”
Clara’s eyes blazed. “Because he confessed! Obviously, he feels guilt over something and even if he didn’t do this, he’ll do something else. Look at where he comes from! I’m innocent too, Molly.” She pointed at her chest and it was clear she believed what she was saying. “My whole life was a lie. When I confronted my mother, she said she was pregnant with me when she married my father, Charleston Phillips. Do you know, my own husband only married me for my connections? Because I was a true-blue Phillips and he believed the prestige of that would be better for his career than marrying for love. He said those actual words to me after we’d married. Can you imagine how he’d feel knowing I’m nothing. That there’s absolutely nothing special about where I come from?”
Trying to keep up with the steady stream of words, Molly pushed off the couch. It didn’t escape her that Clara clearly tied every bit of her self-worth up in her name and current position in the town. Perhaps if she’d seen herself as more— but Molly couldn’t think about that now. “I’m sorry your husband said that, but I would imagine your mother knows something about your father.”
Clara, not at all composed, nearly growled. “I don’t want to know him. It’s bad enough my mother lied and probably cheated well after she’d married Charleston. He was such a good man. He’s the only man I’ll consider my father.”
Giving it one more chance, Molly tried to reason with her. “I understand that it’s a lot. I know you want to keep the secret and there’s no reason you can’t. It’s your story to tell, or not. But you can’t let Clay stay in jail when he didn’t do it. You have to tell the truth, Clara. Or it’ll eat you alive.”
The woman actually rolled her eyes. “God, you’re dense. This isn’t Shakespeare. I’m not going to see blood on my hands in the middle of the night. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I feel no regret. The only thing I have to do is keep living my life. I won’t let you get in the way of that. I warned you to leave—why didn’t you just do it?”
Molly froze. “You wrote on my Jeep?”
“Yay for you. You win the prize for being the nosiest newcomer ever. I didn’t want any of this to happen. But you won’t destroy my life.”
Molly couldn’t read the intentions in the hard set of Clara’s jaw, but she could see the wrath in her eyes as she stepped closer.
The bedroom door opened softly, surprising Clara into whirling around.
“She doesn’t have to. You’ve already done that yourself,” Chris said.
Chapter 25
Clara was still sobbing when Chris put her in the back of the police cruiser he’d called after reading the frantic woman her rights. Sam hooked his arm around Molly’s shoulder and tugged her into his side, kissing her temple, letting his lips linger. They stood on the pathway between the bed-and-breakfast and her place. Katherine and her guests had come to see the commotion.
“That half hour felt like two days,” Sam muttered close to her ear.
Placing her hand on his stomach and leaning into him, she tightened her hold, grateful he’d bee
n there within seconds of her text.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered.
“It got a little dicey for a second there,” she admitted.
The crescent-shaped marks in her biceps still stung and the memory of how Clara’s eyes had glazed over in her fury would stick in her mind for some time.
“I just can’t believe all of this,” Katherine said. She stood near them, watching on as Chris spoke to the sheriff, who was taking Clara to the station. The red and blue lights continued to pulse in the air. There were two couples and a single man staying at the bed-and-breakfast. They stood on the lawn, eyes wide. They probably hadn’t expected much more than great views of the ocean when they’d booked their rooms.
“She felt like she had no other choice,” Molly said.
“There’s always another choice,” Katherine replied.
Molly agreed and she still couldn’t fathom how important a name and legacy were to Clara. What if you’d found out your father wasn’t your dad? That your mother had lied? There’d be hurt and anger, for sure. But malicious anger? The need to kill rather than let it be known? No, Molly couldn’t even begin to understand the woman’s mind frame.
“I feel bad for her daughter,” Molly said. If Thomas Black was as cold as Clara had suggested, what would happen to their daughter? Molly’s neck was tight and a headache was inching its way up from the base. No more questions.
“Kids are resilient. Probably more so than adults sometimes,” Katherine said.
In that case, maybe life would have been different if Clara had found out the truth when she was younger. When the sheriff left, Chris walked over to Molly, Sam, and Katherine. Fortunately, Tigger was still inside the main house or he’d be going nuts trying to get attention from all of the people.
“How you doing, Molly?” Chris asked.
She shrugged, once again appreciating the weight of Sam’s arm around her. “I’ll be okay. What will happen now?”
Chris glanced back at the empty driveway, then over to the guests. Two of them had gone inside and the others were turning to do the same.
Chris returned his gaze to Molly. “We’ll release Clay. I gotta say, I’m not sure what shocks me more, that Clara Phillips would do this or that Clay Reynolds would do time for his mother.”
“I guess you never know what people will do in a stressful situation until it slams into them,” Sam said.
“That’s the truth. You held your own tonight, Molly. You’re a very brave woman,” Chris said.
His tone was curt, letting her know that while he meant it, he also hoped she wouldn’t be in the middle of anything else. As if she’d wanted to be. The adrenaline was catching up with her and the cool night air left goose bumps on her skin.
“Thank you. For saying that and for believing me tonight. For trusting me.”
He nodded, reached out to shake Sam’s hand and said good night to them.
“How about some hot chocolate?” Katherine asked after they’d watched him go.
Sam looked down at Molly. “Actually, I’d really like a shower. But thank you,” Molly said.
“Okay dear. If you need anything, you let me know.” Katherine nudged Sam aside and pulled Molly into a hug. Without warning, tears strained to set themselves free, but she bit her lip to staunch them as she returned the hug.
Following her into the carriage house, Sam shut and locked the door behind them. When they walked into the kitchen, her eyes landed on the wineglasses. She moved to clear them, but Sam put a hand on her arm.
“I’ll clean that up. You go shower.”
Molly nodded and turned to go to the bedroom and grab some pajamas first. As the water ran hot over her skin, Molly washed her hair and thought of all of the things she had to be grateful for. She hadn’t really been in any danger this evening—at least, she didn’t think so, but the effort it had taken to appear calm and strong had worn her out. By the time she’d dried off, tucked her hair up in a bun, and pulled on her soft cotton pajamas, Molly felt like her legs were weighted down with anchors.
Sam had lit the fireplace and dimmed the lights. He’d also made tea for both of them. Looking up from his phone, he smiled at her when she walked in.
“Feel better?”
She rounded the couch and took a seat beside him, her knee tucked up so it rested on his lap. “Mostly. I’m tired. Thank you for being here. For trusting me. And for staying.”
He reached out and played with a strand of damp hair that had fallen loose. “You’re welcome. I’d like to stay until morning.”
While the thought wasn’t unwelcome, her eyes widened at his suggestion. One side of his lips tipped up as if he’d read her mind. Wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her in for a light and easy kiss.
“I’ll sleep on the couch. I’d just feel better if you weren’t alone tonight. If you’re not comfortable with that, you could go sleep at my mom’s.”
Resting her head on his chest and snuggling in, she half sighed, half yawned. Yes, she had a lot to be grateful for. Now if she could just sleep for a week straight, maybe she could formulate coherent thoughts.
“I’d rather stay right here,” she whispered.
Sam pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and tucked it around her and over himself. The fire crackled and she no longer felt cold. As her eyes drifted shut, she felt his lips in her hair.
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he said.
* * * *
A week later, Molly sat at her desk—once again, the last one at the office. She enjoyed the quiet hum of the computers, her dog snoring at her feet, and the feeling that she really was settling into a routine. She finished the edits on Jill Alderich’s first story for the Bulletin, pleased Alan had hired her. She’d come on board at a time like no other the newspaper had seen.
Clara Phillips-Black, as she’d been named in the paper, was awaiting trial without bail. Molly had written that story herself, along with the truth about Vernon’s murder. She’d spoken with Alan and Elizabeth, as well as Clara’s family, about keeping the truth of her parentage quiet. It made explaining the murder a little trickier, but with Vernon’s history of antagonizing people, no one questioned it.
Thomas and Savannah Black had left town a couple of days after Clara’s arrest. No one was quite certain where they’d gone, but Sheriff Saron had stepped into the mayor’s spot temporarily.
Clay had gone back to Portland, temporarily, with his mom to help her get settled. Turned out, he’d wanted to talk to Molly about his argument with Vernon. He was feeling guilty for fighting with his father before his death and thought maybe Molly, with her outsider’s perspective, might be a good person to talk to.
Hannah was still having a hard time with Savannah being out of town and hoped she’d return, but Molly wasn’t so sure. Clara would be a long-term story, even if it was just word of mouth. No teenage girl deserved to always wonder if people were whispering about her or her family.
Her phone buzzed and she smiled at the sight of Sam’s name.
How about a walk on the beach and a pizza? We never did grab one.
Happiness—true, unrestricted happiness—blossomed in her chest. She’d found her home and in doing so, she’d regained some trust in her own judgement. She’d forgotten how much it mattered to follow her heart and her gut. Once she’d started, it had led her here and despite all of the things that had happened, there was nowhere else Molly wanted to be.
She replied to Sam and woke Tigger, closing down her computer. As she locked up the Bulletin, she couldn’t help but think about Katherine’s question. She’d been good at telling other people’s stories, but she was finally starting to feel like she was living her own. And it was a good one.
About the Author
Jody Holford is both a contemporary romance and cozy mystery author. She lives in British Columbia wi
th her family. She’s a huge fan of Rainbow Rowell, Nora Roberts, Carly Phillips, Lori Foster, Sarah Fox, and Agatha Frost. She’s unintentionally funny and rarely on time for anything. She has an equal amount of love for writing and reading the sigh-worthy moments in a book.
