Falling Darkness--A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Karen Harper

  Nick noticed even the master of deception and disguise drew in a sharp breath when Wade’s name flew by.

  “And the third?” Rob asked.

  “Her ex-husband, who still wants their daughter near him, not here,” Jace told him.

  “I’ll check that out,” Rob said, frowning. “Oh, one thing I do have to pass on to all of you. Our common acquaintance who has lived in Grand Cayman and, more recently, Cuba was not at his home in Havana. Let’s just say, we checked. Vacated—even took his flesh-eating fish—and whereabouts unknown. Ah, let’s order our food. I’ve got a room for tonight and, after stopping to see Sheriff Archer tomorrow, will be on the first plane out, weather willing.”

  He signaled for the waiter, and the men ordered two large pizzas to share and Claire a soup and salad.

  “I like your courage and smarts, Jenna,” Rob said when the waiter was gone again. “I know it’s very hard not to follow your instincts and desires—like how Seth here wants to fly and Jack not only to defend someone in court but nail his nemesis as badly as I do. And you, Jenna, want to jump in with both feet and testify in that court, after you drag someone in.”

  “True,” she said, “but you, of all people, know what I’m trained to do is not like what you see on the TV shows, with risks and arrests. Good forensics is really about asking the right questions of the right—or wrong—people. If I’m very careful, that’s not dangerous. Truly, crime is all about character.”

  Rob pursed his lips and nodded. He knocked twice on the table. “So is life. I’ll keep in touch. Come back if I have to. I’m not asking you to hang out in your house. Go ahead and attend the memorial service, do what you can to act normal—whatever that means when you’re in WITSEC. If any of you pick up on something or someone else who could have hurt Julia, let me as well as the authorities here know but don’t get deeply involved. Got that?”

  “Sure, sure,” Jace said, looking uncomfortable again.

  “That’s what I’ve been telling Jenna,” Nick said.

  “Jenna?” Rob said, staring her down.

  “Family first,” she said. “Our extended family here. Their safety trumps everything else.”

  “Fair enough,” Rob said. “Fair enough for now.”

  24

  “Mommy, this snow is so beautiful, better than in movies!” Lexi cried and ran in crazy circles in the backyard the next morning after breakfast. “The snowflakes taste good too! Like cold water!”

  Despite her sorrow, Claire forced a smile. “There’s only about an inch of it right now, but we’ll build a snowman if more falls.”

  If more falls echoed in her mind. The off-island coroner had ruled that the cause of Julia’s fall and death was undetermined, that was, he was unable to rule whether it was an accident, suicide or homicide. The fact that it was not a natural death was all he could state at this time. He had also said that her body was so injured that pre-fall battery or assault could not be specified.

  The sheriff had called to say the coroner confirmed there was no alcohol in her blood, no drugs, no toxins. Officially he had to close the case, and he’d advised them to do the same in their minds, for their own sakes. But it mattered. It really mattered to Claire.

  She knew Julia’s death would haunt her. She frowned up at the snow-etched cupola on the roof, glad to see no sign of anything amiss, but no wind was blowing.

  She hated to admit it, but this Victorian house she liked so much reminded her of the first murder/suicide case she’d worked with Nick at a historic Florida mansion. There, years before, a woman had thrown herself off a balcony to her death and was said to be a ghost seen by some. But Claire was certain sure-footed Julia had not thrown herself off the cliff. The sad thoughts she had shared did not necessarily indicate suicide. She would not have abandoned her father, her daughter or her FBI duties. But how Claire wished she’d followed up on what Julia had said that day to determine whether she needed counseling instead of just support and sympathy.

  “Mommy, I said, can we sneak up on Berto and Gina and hit them real hard with snowballs? They’re right down the hill, see?”

  “Lexi, that would be mean,” Claire said, shaken by the frown on Lexi’s face. She pointed her finger at her daughter. “You like them. I’m sure you don’t mean that.” As far as Claire knew, it was her only Lily-like comment since Lexi had said her imaginary friend should come back. “Besides, honey, this snow is so soft I don’t think it will pack together well, but we’ll see plenty of bigger snows this winter and have fun, including with Berto and Gina.”

  “Lots of snow is why we have to go for snowmobile lessons, right?”

  “Yes. Cody’s even going to work in the store that rents them since he won’t be spending time with Mr. Logan anymore.”

  “’Cause got his head hurt and he fell?”

  “Kind of. Mr. Logan’s going to come back to his house, but have someone with him all the time. Now you’d better run in and say goodbye to your uncle Seth before he heads to work at the airport today.”

  “Oh, yeah. But it’s not airplane work like he wants to do.” Lexi zoomed her mittened hand around like an airplane. “Maybe he’ll help us build a snowman later too.”

  She ran into the house. The back door slammed behind her. Claire had no clue what she would do without her. She desperately wanted to keep her spirits up for Lexi, Nick and the others. And for this child she carried, but the weight of grief kept pulling her down. Even the house and cupola seemed to loom over her, watching, staring. At night, her meds didn’t seem to be mellowing her out as much. Last night again, she’d dreamed a statue of a woman came to life and held a dead stone baby in her arms.

  The hill that slanted down behind the yard toward the harbor was not steep, and she leaned against a tree there. The ferry was still running, no doubt bringing in Somewhere in Time fans for the convention this weekend. Maybe it would cheer her up to dig into those costume boxes Liz had given her and try on costumes with Gina and Nita. Nick had been iffy at first about their going to an event with so many outsiders, but she’d convinced him since they’d look so different costumed, wearing big hats with their hair swept up under them. Besides, would bad guys like the ones Ames usually had working for him truly hide at a romance-movie convention?

  She shuddered as the extra push of chill wind buffeted her face, making her eyes water. Amazing to think that the snowmobiles they were going to learn to operate would be able to travel over an ice bridge to St. Ignace this winter. And Rob had said the freeze would come sooner than usual if the polar vortex hit here with a vengeance.

  The shift in wind lifted Heck’s voice to her. “Gina, mi chica, you know what Christopher Columbus said when he first saw Cuba?”

  Gina said something in return, and Claire saw her cuddle closer to him about twelve feet below, where they stood, gazing over the harbor. Claire turned away so she wouldn’t be eavesdropping, but his words floated to her again. “He said it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. And that’s what I thought the first time I saw you and I still...”

  Claire hurried back toward the house. Julia had said something similar about the view of the lake and Arch Rock the day she died, her favorite view... And, come hell or high water—Nick or snow or danger—Claire was going to prove the woman did not kill herself.

  * * *

  Nick was glad the snow had let up by the time they all—except Jace, who was at the airport—trekked to the snowmobile rental place on Bogan Street late that afternoon. Before the real snowstorms hit, they needed to learn how to drive the three machines sitting in their carriage house. Two were doubles, one a single, and that one had chains to connect it to a box mounted on a sled for transporting groceries or other goods. Hard to believe that the horse/bicycle culture here morphed to snowmobiles soon.

  Nick and Claire brought up the rear of the group. Lexi, who
would only be riding not driving a snowmobile, was skipping along at Nita’s side, kicking up snow where it had caught or made a small drift. Heck and Gina held hands, which Nick thought was great since they’d seemed so uptight lately. But weren’t they all? He wasn’t sure how they’d get through the memorial service for Julia on Friday.

  “Our friend Pat did a lot in the short time he was here,” Nick told Claire. “But he still didn’t say if we’re going to have another handler.”

  “He said there would be more information soon.”

  “Man, I wish they’d at least nailed down where Ames is right now. But he’s obviously not a cold-weather guy—and neither am I.”

  “I’m just grateful Pat Robart didn’t move us again. I almost feel safe here—or did before what happened to Julia.”

  “Yeah,” Nick said only. He was aching to keep after the sheriff for details about Julia’s death. Ruled undetermined, but maybe, considering things Claire told him Julia had said, a suicide. Yet there were motives for murder. Every fiber of his being yearned to jump in with both feet—lawyer and South Shores feet. He’d felt that way ever since that shattering boyhood moment he’d found his father dead of a bullet to his head with the gun in his hand and knew damn well he hadn’t killed himself.

  Despite the official ruling, Nick didn’t think Julia fell or jumped. Yet he couldn’t risk everyone’s safety by pursuing it and possible perps, or even by drawing attention to himself. But as they passed a store with books in the window, an idea hit him: maybe he could let word out he was writing a mystery novel about a murder that could be an accident, and he was just curious about anything like that.

  The sign over their destination read AA SNOWMOBILE PURCHASE AND REPAIR.

  “Good thing we have three in the carriage house,” Nick said, “because you can’t rent them on the island. Our visitor said they don’t want a bunch of daredevils here messing up their extensive natural trails in the winter. I hear they have lanterns on some trails at night, and that must be beautiful.”

  Claire didn’t say so, but she still was leery of riding these machines, and at night, lanterns or not.

  The owner was Andrew Archer, the sheriff’s younger brother. Rob had asked the sheriff to set this up before he left, making Nick realize he had been shortsighted not to arrange it himself. But living in the North still felt like a foreign country to him, even with Claire and the others here.

  “Hi, guys. I’m Andy Archer,” the lanky man said as they streamed into his shop. He had freckles, blond-red hair and a big grin with a slight gap between his two front teeth. “Yep, I’m Sheriff Archer’s little brother, but I’m taller and smarter, proved by my not running for office and chasing bad guys,” he greeted them with what was, no doubt, an often-used line.

  Nick introduced everyone and said that Cody, who was going to be working here, could make sure Seth, who was not here today, learned how to run a snowmobile. Bronco/Cody just grinned and nodded. The back of his head was still bandaged. Nick was glad to see the big guy in a place where he didn’t have to deal with an old man who wasn’t in his right mind. Nick was also grateful that, besides the fact that Bronco’s short-term memory loss might be permanent, he was pretty much back to normal.

  Andy promised to come to the house with Bronco and be sure their three machines were “good to go.” As Andy began with a short safety lecture, Nick was amazed there was so much to learn. And safety—for sure, they all needed that.

  “A lot more to know than flying across the water on a Jet Ski,” he told Andy.

  “You’re used to warmer weather, right?”

  “Right,” Nick said, suddenly realizing even little things that slipped out could lead to too much information. The next question would be So where are you from? As a man who lived on his words in a courtroom, Nick knew he needed to watch it with other people, even the sheriff’s kin. So he said, “We’re ready to hear the basics of this machine.”

  Andy ran through the layout of the typical snowmobile: pull cord, brake lever on the left, throttle on the right, headlights, brake lights. It was, Nick thought, a unique-looking contraption with its water skis–like front and circular tread on the rear that propelled it.

  “These babies can be dangerous,” Andy was saying, “so all riders should always wear a helmet with shatterproof goggles or face shield. And it’s a whole new bag if you ride one over the ice instead of the snow, but you’ll have to learn that too in case you need to go to the mainland this winter and don’t want to pay the fee to fly. I think it’s about forty-some bucks one way in the plane, so these are most folks’ winter vehicle of choice.”

  “So what would you say is the hardest thing to manage?” Heck asked.

  “Body-weight maneuvers. Shifting your body to get what you want, especially on hills or turns,” Andy told them. “Comes with experience, comes with the territory. Hate to say it, but knowing that can mean life or death, so as much fun as this is, what I’m telling you is serious stuff.”

  Which, Nick thought, fit the way things had to be for them here. Yeah, without letting Claire know, he might just keep close contact with the sheriff or his deputy, using the excuse of research for his novel, but really researching who might have hurt Julia Collister.

  * * *

  Jace had decided not to try his bike even in shallow snow, and to his surprise, just when he was about to walk home from the airport, Vern Kirkpatrick pulled up in a small wagon he was driving.

  “Don’t look so damned surprised,” the older man said, looking down at him. “You can rent these here, you know. I think your sister-in-law proved anybody can drive one.”

  The hair on the back of Jace’s neck prickled. “You mean Jenna, the day Julia Collister died?” Did that imply this guy was around the murder site and saw her? No, news spread fast here about anything, but he still asked, “How did you learn that?”

  “Word gets around, that’s all. It’ll probably be in that little local paper that’s out weekly in season but has gone to once a month now.” He gave a loud snort. “Jeez, like living in the boondocks for sure here. Get in. I’ve got something I need your help with.”

  Jace’s gut clenched. Maybe he’d got in over his head with this guy. He probably wasn’t to be trusted, but that was why Jace had cozied up to him.

  “Well, you with me or not? I’ve got a hundred-dollar bill for you here, says you are. So, look, I’ve got a plastic tub of stuff I want to stash out here, not keep in my hotel room or even on my charter plane yet. I need help to bury it in the Crack in the Island.”

  Jace’s first instinct was to ask what the hell the Crack in the Island was, but that would for sure give away he was an outsider.

  “It’s just off the airport grounds over yonder,” Vern said, sounding even more impatient.

  “Right. Okay,” Jace agreed, hoping he’d be able to see inside the plastic tub to whatever the stuff was the guy was hiding.

  “You drive horses?” Vern asked as Jace climbed up beside him and they pulled away, skirting the airport property just past the runway. They turned left down a dirt road, which told Jace this guy had been here before.

  “Drive horses? Not really,” Jace said. “About my sister-in-law, Jenna... I suppose word’s all over town she found Julia Collister. Which reminds me—that dead woman owned a stable in town. I wonder who will take that over now? You didn’t hire these horses there, did you?” Jace knew he was stumbling through this but he’d been jolted by Vern’s earlier mention of Claire. He wasn’t very good at this pretend stuff, and he was in deep now.

  “Naw, not at Collister’s. Maybe Julia’s daughter will take it over. Her grandfather owns it and real estate around the island, but he’s got Alzheimer’s or something, which is one reason I thought they might want to sell his memorabilia to someone who would take good care of it, honor it. They’re probably land-poor. You think they’d
be eager to unload stuff the old man can’t so much as inventory anymore.”

  “So, you’ve spent some time there?”

  “They let me see it once before they heard I want to buy it.”

  Jace listened intently. He wished he had Claire, even Nick, to help separate the truth from the lies here. He’d need more, something to prove Vern Kirkpatrick was at the Collister house that day so the link to hitting Bronco and letting the old guy loose could be checked out—and the possibility he’d followed Julia or the old guy, argued with her and pushed her to her death.

  “I learned to ride horses and drive a team out west.” Vern kept up chatter. “But limos and private planes are my transport of choice. Stick with me, buddy boy, and we’ll see where this C-note and loyalty takes you.”

  Vern fished a crisp hundred-dollar bill out of the inside of his coat pocket and thrust it at him. Jace hesitated a moment. If he took money from the man, that elevated—or sank—this clumsy charade to a whole new level. Maybe he’d better clue Nick or Claire in on this, even the sheriff. But would they then home in on the fact he had seen Julia the day she died? Damn it, he’d managed to trap himself in more ways than one.

  Just off the runway, on the other side of a white fence, Vern reined in the two-horse team and wrapped the reins around the brake. Jace finally twisted around to look at what was in the wagon, but the large, hard plastic under-the-bed type storage chest was wrapped in an old sheet.

  “Help me get that down,” Vern ordered, and they hefted it up and over the side. Jace scanned the area—scrub brush, saplings and a rocky outcrop—looking for what could possibly be called the Crack in the Island. At first he saw nothing but a path that quickly sank into the earth with rough, gray limestone outcroppings on both sides. The so-called crack was a little over a body width wide and full of leaf litter, so their feet rustled dead, dry autumn leaves as they went in knee-deep.