“Hand stitching is never perfect. It’s human. Maybe that sounds silly and old-fashioned, but my grandmother taught me that each stitch is a personal mark, a piece of history passed along from one generation to the next. People who buy handmade quilts enjoy knowing that they were made in a personal way by humans, not machines.”
Jenna couldn’t quite grasp the idea that perfection wasn’t important. Perfection had been the goal she’d strived for her entire life. She’d spent ten hours a day practicing the piano in her quest to be perfect. And it wasn’t just her own expectations she’d had to meet, but those of her father, and her teachers, and later the audience and the reviewers. The concept of imperfection being acceptable seemed completely wrong. But she did relax her fingers as she pulled the needle through the fabric.
“That’s better,” Kara encouraged.
“Thanks. You’re a patient teacher,” Jenna said. “I suspect you’ll be a great mother.”
A pleased light entered Kara’s eyes. “I hope so. I had a little scare last night, and it made me realize again how very, very much I want this baby to be born healthy.” She put a hand to her abdomen and gave a caressing stroke.
“Is everything okay?” Jenna asked with concern.
“Charlotte—Dr. Adams said I’m fine. The baby is the right size, the heartbeat is strong and steady, so it’s all good. It was probably just a cramp.” Kara paused, her expression contemplative. “Do you ever get the feeling when things are really good that something bad is about to happen, because you’re just not that lucky?”
“I think it’s normal to be nervous when you’re pregnant,” Jenna answered.
“Were you nervous when you had Lexie?”
Jenna hated lying to Kara; the people in Angel’s Bay were so nice, so generous with their friendship. “I think we always worry about our kids being all right, even if they’re in the womb. Are you sure I’m doing this right?” Jenna asked, pointing to her stitches.
“Yes, that’s exactly right. And thanks for the reassurance. I hate sounding so paranoid. I’ve had this weird feeling lately. It’s silly. I don’t know how Colin puts up with me, but he’s been great. He’s an incredible man. I know he’ll be a wonderful father.” She shook her head with a little laugh. “So my nerves are probably just hormones, right?”
“Probably,” Jenna agreed, but as she gazed around the square, she couldn’t shake her own bad feelings. There were so many strangers in town. If someone was watching her, she wouldn’t have any idea. Then again, there was safety in numbers. No one could hurt her or Lexie here in the middle of a quilting bee. It was when she was home alone that she really had to worry.
She knew that Reid was right about not being able to stay hidden forever. Sooner or later Brad would find them, and she had to be prepared to fight him. It wouldn’t be easy, because he was Lexie’s father. In the eyes of the law, Brad was an innocent man, a victim of a horrible crime. She could end up not only as a kidnapper, but also a murder suspect. Brad could paint a picture of sisterly rivalry. He could claim she came into the house and killed Kelly.
And how could she refute his accusations? She knew so little about her sister’s life. She needed to know a lot more, and with Reid’s help, she hoped, she’d find the ammunition she needed. Then she could go on the attack.
Reid stared at the computer screen. The image of Kelly Winters gazed back at him, and he felt as if he was looking at Lexie. Mother and daughter shared a striking resemblance, something Jenna should have considered when she’d run. She could have dyed Lexie’s hair brown; that might have helped. Then he remembered Lexie proudly stating that she looked just like her mommy, and he suspected that Jenna hadn’t been able to take that away from the little girl.
He’d gone through the online archives of every newspaper and media outlet that had covered the death of Kelly Winters, wife of police officer Bradley Winters, and he now had a few more facts. On Friday, April 12, at four o’clock in the afternoon, Brad Winters had come home from work to find his house ransacked and his wife dead on the kitchen floor. She’d been stabbed repeatedly. According to Brad, his daughter, Caroline, had gone to spend the weekend with a relative in Maine and, thankfully, had not been home at the time of the attack.
So Lexie was really Caroline. And Jenna was Juliette Harrison, a renowned pianist who had played with every major orchestra in the world. Her father, Damien Harrison, was a famous conductor. The two were supposedly residing in London at the time of the attack, although several papers alleged that Juliette was in rehab after a drug overdose had made her collapse onstage before a concert in Vienna.
That gave him pause. Jenna certainly hadn’t mentioned a drug addiction, although she had glossed over some sort of mini-crisis. Still, drugs didn’t ring true. There had to be another explanation.
Turning his attention away from Jenna, he focused on Brad Winters. He’d found several photos of Brad, including one taken about three weeks before the murder. Brad had been hailed as a hero by a local woman he’d saved from a carjacking while off duty. Although Brad’s face was partially covered by the hand he’d put up to ward off photographers, Reid could see that Brad Winters was a big man with a strong, sturdy build, a square face, military haircut, and a serious expression. More important, he was a hero. No wonder Kelly didn’t think anyone would believe he was beating his wife. But was that all that had been going on?
Reid had searched for biographical information on Brad Winters but came up with only limited facts. It didn’t appear that anyone knew much about him before he’d joined the police force. The thing that puzzled him the most was why Brad hadn’t raised the alarm that Lexie was missing. He knew she wasn’t with relatives. If he was the killer, there was no other intruder. So why not report Lexie’s absence? The only answer Reid could come up with was that Brad didn’t want anyone to find Lexie. Either Brad knew that Lexie was with Jenna, or he knew that Lexie had witnessed her mother’s murder and he didn’t want her to be interrogated. Or maybe it was both.
Reid picked up his phone and called Pete. It was risky, but he knew he could trust Pete. And he needed a middleman to get some information for him.
“McAvoy,” Pete answered. “You better tell me you have the story done, Reid.”
“Almost. I just finished an interview with our young filmmakers.”
“Good. Finally some progress. Is that it?”
“No, I need a favor.”
Pete gave a heavy sigh. “I already did you a favor. I got you a paying gig.”
“I need information on a Massachusetts cop by the name of Bradley Winters and a murder investigation that took place at his home a little over two months ago. The wife, Kelly Winters, was killed during an alleged home burglary.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Whatever you can get. I was thinking you might ask Stan,” Reid said, referring to a PI he and Pete had both used over the years. “But you can’t tell him it’s for me.”
“Murder, Reid? I think I liked it better when you were retired from hard news.”
“You’re the one who’s been telling me to get back into the game,” Reid reminded him.
“Why can’t you call Stan yourself?”
“I don’t want the inquiry traced to me.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Pete said. “But Stan’s money is coming out of your paycheck. This doesn’t involve a female, does it?”
“Two of them.”
“Great. Double trouble. I should have known.”
“I’ve got everything under control,” Reid said.
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Just get me the info. Oh, and I need it yesterday.”
“Of course you do. I’ll trade you the info for my angel article.”
“You’ll get your angels, don’t worry.” Reid hung up the phone, far more interested in a devil by the name of Brad Winters.
“This property is fantastic,” Rachel said to Joe as she stepped out of the car.
“It’s a burned do
wn house,” Joe said, unable to share her enthusiasm. He followed her along an overgrown path. He’d taken Rachel for a drive along the coast to show her the new developments going up, to whet her appetite for the Angel’s Bay real estate market. He hadn’t intended to show her the Ramsay property, but she’d seen the structure and insisted on seeing the house—what was left of it.
“Look at the view,” Rachel said, with the most excitement he’d heard in her voice in years. “Imagine the possibilities. You know what else…” She turned to him with a light in her eyes. “This is a perfect film location. Mark would love this.”
“Who’s Mark?”
“He’s a movie producer I know. He’s looking for some coastal property to use in one of those slasher/horror films.”
“Where did you meet this guy?” Joe asked.
She gave a breezy wave of her hand. “I sold him his house last year. He’s friends with Aidan, my mixed doubles partner.”
“I don’t think I’ve met Aidan.”
“Oh, right. He might have joined the club after you moved.”
Joe noticed that Rachel didn’t say “we moved.” It was clear she still hadn’t accepted the fact that her husband and her marriage were four hours north of Los Angeles. But they were getting along at the moment, and he didn’t feel like rocking the boat.
“What happened to this place anyway?” she asked.
“Arson—about six months ago. The property is allegedly haunted. There was a dead body found in the basement about fourteen years ago. Since then, every time someone attempts to remodel the house or build an addition, something happens.”
“That’s quite a story,” Rachel said. “I guess every small town has its haunted house. What else do you have to show me?”
“This was the last house for today. I have to go to work. You should come to the beach tonight.”
“And sit by myself while you patrol?” she asked. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“You won’t be alone. I’ll introduce you around. Everyone is very friendly and they’re all dying to meet you.”
“I can’t imagine what I’d talk about with anyone up here.”
He smiled at her baffled expression. “Rachel, this isn’t Mars. The people here aren’t that different from those four hours south. Although I must admit, sometimes L.A. does feel like another planet.”
“Joe—why did you ask me to come this weekend if you were going to be working all night?”
“I’ll be home by midnight. We’ll have all day tomorrow. We can sleep in.” He moved closer to her and slid his arms around her. “We can spend the day in bed. It’s been a while. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she admitted.
He was surprised by her words. “You did?”
“Joe, I love you. But you’re turning into someone I don’t know.”
“Get to know me again.”
“What about me? Are you willing to get to know me? Because I’ve changed, too, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Of course I’ve noticed.”
“And you don’t like what you see, do you?”
That was a loaded question. “I want you to be happy,” he said carefully. “Your career makes you happy; I understand that. But you can do that job here. Maybe I’m being unreasonable, expecting you to uproot your life for me. But I’ve made compromises, too. I moved into the house your parents bought us, even though it went against the grain.”
“It was a generous present, and you should have been grateful that my parents had the means to provide that for us.”
“I was grateful. I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about that again.” He kissed her on the lips, but she broke away. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes flickered with indecision. Then she said, “Don’t you wonder if there’s a reason we never got pregnant?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked warily.
“Maybe we weren’t supposed to have kids or stay together.”
A wave of fear swept through him. He didn’t want her to cross the line they’d both been careful not to step over. He didn’t want her to say something she couldn’t take back, or something he wouldn’t be able to fight.
“No, there is no reason. We’re supposed to stay together,” he said finally. “I’ve loved you since I was fifteen.”
She gave him a sad smile. “But I’m not that fifteen-year-old girl, and you’re not that fifteen-year-old boy. I’m really scared that we’ve outgrown each other.”
“If you believed that, you wouldn’t be here.” He hoped that was true.
“I’m here because I guess I’m not ready to give up.”
Relief flooded through him. “Me, either.” He wanted to kiss her again, but he didn’t want to taste the coldness on her lips so soon.
“Okay, then.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “I guess I’ll come to the festival and meet your friends. We’ll be a couple again.”
He wanted to believe that she was still with him. But despite her words, it felt very much like she was slipping away.
SIXTEEN
Charlotte could have been walking with a celebrity, for all the attention they were getting. She took Annie’s hand in hers, sensing that the girl wanted to flee. In the few short blocks they’d walked, they’d drawn countless stares, and people weren’t even pretending not to talk about them as they passed.
“It’s better to just get it over with,” Charlotte advised. “Once everyone sees that you’re all right, they’ll focus on someone else.”
“I don’t think they’re gossiping about whether I’m all right. They want to know who my baby’s father is.”
It was the first time Annie had mentioned the father, and Charlotte took the opening. “Do you want to tell me about him?”
Annie shook her head. “I can’t tell anyone who he is.”
“I know you said that he didn’t hurt you, that he didn’t force you, but if he’s holding something over you, he doesn’t have any right to do that.”
“He’s a good person. He cared about me. At least I think he did,” Annie said slowly. “I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
“He knows you’re pregnant, doesn’t he?”
Annie stopped abruptly. “I want to go back to your mother’s house.”
“Annie, you have to tell him. This man is responsible for that baby, too. You shouldn’t have to shoulder the entire burden. He should at least give you financial support. If he’s a good person, maybe you’re selling him short. Maybe he’d want to help you.” Even as Charlotte said the words, she felt like a traitor. She’d been in Annie’s position once, and she hadn’t done any of the things she’d just suggested. “I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “I shouldn’t be telling you what to do. You’re an adult. It’s your baby and your life. I just want to help.”
“I appreciate your help. I just can’t tell you about him.”
“All right. I’ll walk back to the house with you. I just thought you could use a break from my mother.”
“I like your mother, but she’s very sad, isn’t she? She was crying in her room earlier.”
Charlotte had never seen her mother cry, although she’d heard some sobs in the deep quiet of the night. Her mother didn’t like to show emotion in front of her children, or even her friends. “She loved my father very much.”
Annie nodded. “She told me how they met at the ice skating rink. She said she pretended not to know how to skate, so he’d have to hold her hand.” Annie smiled. “But then she found out that he didn’t know how to skate, either, and they fell down together, all tangled up on the ice. When she looked into his eyes, she knew at that moment that she would marry him. And she never ever told him that she knew how to skate, not in all the years that they were together.”
Charlotte stared at Annie in amazement. Her mother had never told her the ice skating story—had she? Or had she just not been paying attention? She’d learned how to tune out her mother’s criticism; mayb
e she’d missed other things along the way.
“You don’t have to come with me,” Annie said. “I know the way back. You go to the bonfire. I’ll be fine.”
As Annie turned around, Charlotte hesitated, wondering if she had it in her to go to the bonfire. But Annie was already halfway down the block. She might as well check out the bonfire. As she started down the path toward the beach, the last of the sun disappeared over the horizon. The air had chilled, and she drew her jacket more closely around her. When she reached the beach, she slipped off her shoes, and walked barefoot across the sand toward the group gathered by the fire that was just beginning to catch flame.
The first few sparks took her back in time, to another place, another beach. There had been a fire that night, too…
Joey had snuck two bottles of vodka out of his father’s liquor cabinet. Marcia had snatched a bottle of tequila, and Ronny had gotten his older brother to buy three six-packs of beer. It was the end of the school year, the beginning of summer, and the small fire on the beach was surrounded by teenagers. They’d built the blaze on a secluded beach a few miles out of town, hoping that no one would see them.
“Charlie, take a shot,” her friend Beth said, handing her a shot glass of tequila. “Come on, live a little. We’re going to be seniors next year.”
Charlotte glanced across the flames of the fire, seeing Andrew Schilling talking to Pamela Baines—Pamela with the big breasts and the long legs and the cocky smile. Charlotte hated her. But mostly she hated her because Andrew seemed to like her so much. Andrew was supposed to be her boyfriend. He was supposed to love her. They’d had sex the week before—her first time ever. But maybe she’d done something wrong, because now Andrew was avoiding her.
She took the shot glass from Beth and downed the tequila. It burned her throat, and she coughed. Beth laughed at her and poured another shot. She knew she should stop; her mother would be so disappointed in her. But what did it matter? Her parents would hate her more if they knew she’d had sex. She wasn’t the good girl anymore, so she might as well go all the way bad.
Suddenly One Summer Page 18
