The Detective's Secret Daughter

by Rachelle Mccalla

  Rushing back down the block to the Sugar Plum, Owen arrived just as Victoria, her face washed clean of her tears, explained the situation to the waiting couple.

  “I’m afraid there’s a broken window, and some plants have toppled over.” She disguised a sniffle as a hiccup, shaking her head with regret. “I won’t be able to have the room ready for you after all.”

  The couple was very understanding, but they got on their way in a hurry to get home before the storm hit.

  Owen could see it broke Victoria’s heart to turn them away, but he knew the storm was still a ways off, and the couple would have plenty of time to make it home before the weather got bad. In the meantime, he didn’t want her messing with the room. It was a crime scene.

  He explained as much to her as they ducked back into the kitchen. “I’ll call over to the station and get a crew to check it out. We’ll have to record the fingerprints and look for any other clues before the mess gets cleaned up.”

  “But the windows—”

  “I’ll board them over. Do you have any more boards?”

  “I have the ones from the window that was replaced in the back dining room.” A carpenter had been over to fix the window earlier that week. “But they won’t be enough for the whole suite. The entire west wall is windows.”

  Owen shushed her protests. “I’ll come up with the wood. I don’t even want you to go up there again. You’ve got your hands full down here.”

  Victoria looked as though she’d like to argue with him, but he knew there was little she could say against his plan. She nodded resignedly. “You’re right. I’ll get the corned beef brisket cooking.”

  While Victoria headed off to the kitchen, Owen hurried up the stairs and pulled out his phone. He asked the police dispatcher to send his sister Keira and her partner, Nick Delfino, over to investigate. Then he eyeballed the size of the wall-length shattered windows and called his father.

  “Do you still have those sheets of plywood in your garage?” he asked his dad, quickly obtaining permission to borrow them. He thanked his father, but before he closed the call, Aiden Fitzgerald cleared his throat.

  “Owen?”

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “I want you to watch the six o’clock local news. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

  Before Owen could ask his father for more information about his cryptic request, their call had ended. Wondering what that was all about, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and fished out the keys to his Ford Raptor pickup. He’d arrived at the Sugar Plum on foot, but he’d need the truck bed to haul the plywood sheets to board over the windows.

  When he returned, Keira and Nick were gathering fingerprints and photographing the scene.

  “Mind if I board over the windows?”

  “Please.” His little sister shivered. “We did them first so you could get the wind blocked. It’s cold in here and that storm is coming in fast.”

  Owen glowered at the sky as he set the first sheet of wood in place. Yup, they’d get plenty of snow. Victoria probably wouldn’t have a big crowd for supper after all. He knew she’d be disappointed by the lost revenue, but at the same time, the woman had put in a full day already. She could use a bit of a break.

  Too bad she now had the added expense of fixing the damaged room, and a slow night would mean less income to cover the expense.

  “Any idea who might have done this?” Owen asked Keira and Nick as they worked.

  “Somebody who wasn’t worried about their fingerprints being collected,” Nick observed.

  Owen paused on his way back out to the hallway for another sheet of plywood. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve taken at least fifteen clear prints. Nobody would be stupid enough to leave behind that much personal evidence unless they had reason to believe it wouldn’t be traced to them.”

  Nick’s words struck an ominous note.

  Owen looked around the room, the fingerprints he’d earlier viewed with hope now taunting him from every wall.

  Victoria had filled the buffet servers nearly to overflowing and stood back, waiting for the crowd to arrive.

  A smatter of sleetlike snow pellets slammed against the windows, thrown by a furious wind. She wanted to cry. After all her work, would any customers brave the storm to eat?

  Charlotte looked up from another phone call and crossed another name off their list. “Another cancellation.” She clucked her tongue. “No one wants to come out in the storm.”

  Britney stepped out from the kitchen. “Clint was saying maybe I should head home. This storm is getting bad, and my folks live outside of town.”

  Victoria checked her watch. It was almost six, and the few customers who’d braved the weather wouldn’t be any trouble for her to handle by herself. “Good idea. How about if I send home dinner for your family? I’ve got plenty.”

  “Sure.” Britney and Clint exchanged glances. “Thank you.”

  “I’m more than happy to do it. I appreciate all your help today. In fact—” She paused at the front podium on her way to the kitchen and pulled out a form from a file. “Clint, if you can fill this out, I’ll make sure you get paid for your work today.”

  The young man looked surprised, but pleased. “Thanks. I could use the money.”

  Unsure whether she could trust the pair or not, Victoria pulled out a large ceramic pan and heaped a feast inside. Sealing the lid on top, she handed it to Britney and apologized. “Sorry I didn’t use a disposable pan. I’m afraid this meal is too juicy for a to-go box.”

  “No problem. Thanks again!” Britney and Clint tromped out the back door, and Victoria watched them leave. Were the two of them behind the rash of break-ins? Had Britney’s father been involved with her father’s car wreck ten years before? Victoria figured, if nothing else, she and Owen might use fetching the pan as an excuse to travel out to the Murtagh place and see what kind of clues they might turn up.

  But in the meantime, she needed to fetch her daughter from the Reading Nook.

  Owen adjusted the volume on the small television set in Victoria’s kitchen. His father had told him to watch the evening news. Other than a weather report, and maybe a replay of Hennessy’s speech at the park that day, Owen wasn’t sure what his father thought was so important for him to see. But he tuned in just the same.

  As the anchorman cut to commercials, Victoria and Paige blew in the back door, stomping snow from their shoes as they entered.

  “Any more customers?” Victoria asked quietly.

  “Charlotte’s ringing up the last of them, and then she asked about heading home.”

  Victoria took the news in stride. She’d likely anticipated as much. “I’ll let her know she can leave.”

  While Victoria stepped up front, Paige showed off her new books to Owen. Then the commercials ended and the news coverage showed the scene from the park earlier that day.

  “Hoping to catch another glimpse of our humming stranger?” Victoria asked as she returned to the room, stepping close behind him to watch the footage on the small screen.

  “That’s a good idea. I actually tuned in because my father told me I needed to watch—” His words dropped off as a panoramic shot of the crowd drew his attention. He caught a glimpse of the three of them together, looking just like any other happy family enjoying the festival. Rather than admire the pleasant picture they made together, he forced himself to scour the crowd behind them.

  “There.” He pointed to a man at the same moment Victoria’s finger flew forward, identifying the same figure. They caught just a glimpse of him before the footage switched back to the scene at the gazebo.

  “Did you see enough to identify him?” Owen asked, his hope dimming.

  “Not with all that green face paint on. I couldn’t even rule out Clint
.”

  She had a good point. Owen listened with half an ear to Burke’s speech, which he would have much rather quickly forgotten. As the cheering crowd faded out, the newscaster announced a rebuttal from the opposition.

  “This must be what my father wanted me to watch for.” He turned the volume up a notch as his grandfather Ian Fitzgerald appeared on the screen, flanked on each side by sons Aiden and Mickey. Owen’s uncle Mickey wore his chief firefighter’s dress uniform, and Aiden, too, had on his finest navy police uniform jacket complete with all his medals.

  They certainly made an impressive picture, though Owen thought his grandfather was showing his age—undoubtedly because the current situation had been weighing on him.

  Still, the mayor of Fitzgerald Bay spoke with a firm and steady voice. “We need to set the record straight. There has been no cover-up by the police, as some have suggested. Charles Fitzgerald is innocent of any crime. If anyone has evidence relating to the death of Olivia Henry, we encourage them to come forward. Until then, I and my family remain confident that Charles Fitzgerald, a respected physician who has selflessly given his time and energy to the people of our community, is in no way connected to the murder.”

  There was no cheering crowd to follow the announcement, only the grim expressions of the news anchors as they repeated the request for anyone with information about Olivia’s murder to come forward.

  Owen stared at the television screen even after the program was replaced by a commercial for Connolly’s Catch Seafood Store and Restaurant, the local restaurant owned by his Aunt Vanessa and Uncle Joe. After a few more commercials the weather report came on, calling for snow throughout most of the evening, tapering off by eleven o’clock. Sunday would start out crisp, but the sun was supposed to come out and warm things up, melting away much of the snow.

  The sigh behind his shoulder told him Victoria felt discouraged by the prospect of a snow-filled evening. “I suppose instead of cooking the rest of these briskets, I should put them back in the freezer. Don’t be surprised if I have a special on Reuben sandwiches every day for the next several months.”

  “Hank Monroe will love that. Reubens are his favorite.”

  Victoria grumbled as she disappeared into the walk-in fridge. When she didn’t come back out, Owen stuck his head in, and found her transferring several large vacuum-packed bags of meat through a second door in the back of the fridge, which he discovered led to the freezer.

  “It’s like a hidden room back here.” He observed the frozen boxes and crates of meats, vegetables and hash browns.

  “My secret ice cave.” Victoria chuckled. “When I worked here during high school, sometimes I’d hide back here.”

  Her revelation surprised Owen. “Hide? From your manager?”

  “No.” She looked embarrassed. “Just if someone came by who I didn’t want to see.”

  “Who?”

  Victoria sighed. “Hank Monroe. He used to come by a lot, even when you and I had started dating. I guess I was supposed to be flattered by the attention, but he had a way of making nasty comments—not outright, you know. Friendly on the surface, but with sharp teeth under them.” She shoved another package of beef high onto a freezer shelf.

  “He never did stop spreading the rumors about you, did he?” Owen hauled the last two bags of meat to the back freezer.

  “Never did.” She shook her head. “If I could figure out how to make him stop, I would.” She headed for the door that led back into the kitchen. “I should check on Paige.”

  Owen followed her back into the kitchen, where Paige had pulled out a game she’d bought with her Reading Nook gift certificate. With few customers to tend to, he and Victoria sat down and played the game with Paige, eventually stopping to help themselves to the delicious buffet.

  To his surprise, Victoria never asked him to leave. Perhaps she figured he’d object on account of the weather, although his townhome wasn’t that many blocks away, and he had his truck. He could have made it home with no problem.

  To his delight, Victoria and her daughter relaxed, and seemed to thoroughly enjoy spending time with him. As the evening wore on, he found himself wishing it could last forever.

  The image of the three of them in the park together flashed through his mind. They’d looked something like a family. Owen fought against the yearning in his heart. He could list a dozen reasons why he’d be foolish to marry Victoria. But every time she smiled at him, all those reasons faded away.

  All too soon, Victoria announced to Paige, “It’s getting close to bedtime. We’ve got church tomorrow, so you need to take a bath.”

  “I can watch the restaurant,” Owen assured the two of them quickly. The guests at the inn had already eaten and retired to their rooms, so Owen didn’t figure he’d have his hands very full.

  “Thanks.” Victoria headed for the stairs. “Give me a holler if the crowd gets too big for you.” They both laughed. Far short of a crowd, they’d seen a mere handful of customers since Charlotte had left.

  When Victoria came back downstairs half an hour later, Owen had already started cleaning the kitchen. He’d hoped for some time alone to discuss the day’s events with Victoria, and to try to sort out if she could make any meaning of them. She reluctantly agreed to let him wash dishes while she locked up and ran the day’s report.

  “Normally I’d be pleased by today’s total,” she remarked on her way to the safe with the bank bag a bit later. “But I’m sure the windows are going to cost more than I made today.”

  Owen dried off his hands and was at her side by the time she rose from locking the safe.

  He extended his arms toward her, unsure how close she’d let him get, and was surprised when she leaned her head on his shoulder and returned his embrace. His arms tightened around her protectively, and he wished he could hold her forever and guard her from whoever was causing her trouble. He wanted to reassure her that things were going to be fine, but he couldn’t lie to her. Even more than her state of mind, he was worried for her safety. “You can’t keep going like this. These attacks aren’t going away.”

  “But the fingerprints—you said they would prove whoever did this. It’s going to end.”

  “If we can match the prints to someone in the system.” Owen paused, unsure how much of Nick’s grim prognosis he should share. He didn’t want to discourage Victoria, but at the same time, he didn’t feel the Sugar Plum was a safe place. “But until then, I’m not convinced it’s safe for you and Paige to continue staying here. I have plenty of room at my place—”

  “What?” Victoria jerked her head away from him, glaring directly into his eyes. “You agreed not to take Paige overnight until she’s had a chance to get to know you.”

  Owen leaned closer, shaking his head. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t think it’s safe for either of you here.” He couldn’t shake the image of the three of them as a family. Maybe he was foolish for hoping they could be one, but he wanted to try. “Paige is our daughter. I’d like to raise her together.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You used to love me. I know you’re upset right now, and everything is complicated—” He used the same words she had used to sum up the situation. “But I care about what happens to you and Paige. I want to protect you. I can’t do that with you living here.”

  “You want us to move in with you? Owen, I couldn’t—”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of getting married.”

  “Are you insane?” She pulled out of his arms.

  He let her go. Her automatic refusal crushed his heart. Maybe it was a crazy idea after all.

  Victoria continued. “It’s nothing personal. Paige told me she doesn’t want to move. We moved all the time before we came here—for a better place, for lower rent, we were always moving. We came her
e to stay.” She let out a frustrated-sounding breath.

  Victoria shook her head. “Your family hates me. They would never approve.”

  Owen didn’t argue with her. Though he wasn’t certain his family hated her, he knew they weren’t particularly keen on the daughter of the man they all believed had killed their cousin. Though he knew the truth, he didn’t know how he could ever prove to them that Stanley Evans hadn’t caused Patrick’s death—that in fact, Victoria’s father had been just as much a victim of a violent crime that night as their cousin had been.

  As he watched Victoria walk away, he realized she was right. A lot of things had happened in the past ten years, and no matter how strong his feelings were for her now, he didn’t see how they could ever get past that.

  THIRTEEN

  Owen didn’t realize until after he sat down at church the next morning that Victoria and Paige were situated directly in his line of sight as he faced the preacher. Since the service was getting started, he could hardly get up and move elsewhere. Besides, though he didn’t want them to feel he was spying on them, it was interesting to watch the pair as Victoria helped Paige bow her head to pray, and opened their Bibles to follow along with the scripture reading together.

  Owen listened intently to the pastor’s message. Pastor Larch talked about worry, and how worrying drove people away from God. Owen certainly understood the truth of that statement.

  The pastor went on to explain that, by taking their worries to God in prayer instead of fretting over them, they could move closer to God and have their prayers answered.

  The explanation was so simple, Owen wondered why it had never occurred to him before. Could God really handle all the problems in his life, if he simply prayed about them instead of worrying over them? Though it seemed far too simplistic to work, Owen had tried everything else he could think of.

  As the pastor called for a time of prayer, Owen bent his head and prayed for everything: the situation at the Sugar Plum, his feelings for Paige and Victoria, and all the messy jumble of the past, including Patrick’s death and the unsolved mystery of who had caused the accident.