The Inn at Ocean's Edge

by Colleen Coble

  “Claire, I’ve been so worried.”

  She bent to hug her grandmother. “I’m okay, Grandma.” Her perfume was a comforting scent.

  “No thanks to that ruffian.”

  “Luke and I were discussing boiling him in oil.” Claire straightened and managed a smile. Her grandmother would be on her side no matter what.

  Grandma pulled a hanky from the pocket of her skirt and rubbed her eyes. “Thank you for rescuing her, young man. Maybe you’re not the ladies’ man I thought you were. You have backbone.”

  “More than you know, Grandma. He scaled a cliff and then lowered me down it with brute strength.”

  She hesitated and decided not to tell her grandmother about finding Jenny’s body. Luke had texted the picture to the sheriff, and they had stopped to give a statement on the way back to the hotel. No sense in worrying Grandma more.

  Her grandmother reached over and squeezed Luke’s upper arm. “My Claire needs a strong man to look out for her. I think you’ll do.”

  Claire’s face went hot. “Grandma!”

  Luke chuckled. “I like a woman who speaks her mind.” He brushed a kiss over her grandmother’s powdered cheek. “I’ll do my best to take good care of Claire.” Turning toward the door, he touched Claire’s shoulder as he passed. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Luke. Rest well.” Her tongue felt like it was tripping over itself. The door shut behind him.

  “I take back everything I said about that young man. I think he’s a good guy, Claire.” Her grandmother wagged her finger in Claire’s face. “I see the way you look at him, young lady. You’ve got stars in your eyes like I did when I met your grandpa. Don’t rush things, though. You have all the time in the world.”

  Claire gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat, Grandma, and I’ll get you some tea.” With her grandmother in this good of a mood, maybe she could get her to talk.

  “I can’t stay long. Timothy won’t go to bed until I get back, and he had a yawn as big as the Grand Canyon when I left.” She moved to the white sofa and settled on the overstuffed cushion. “I don’t like the things that have been happening to you. I think you should go home now that the merger talk is over. Hire a bodyguard. Keep your head down until they find that man.”

  “I’m not certain the merger is dead. I want to talk to Francisca.” Claire wasn’t about to give up that easily.

  Luke hadn’t often been in the sheriff’s office. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been in this fifteen-foot-square room that smelled of the sheriff’s ever-present Altoids. The room was painted an unremarkable beige. A few pictures of Sheriff Colton’s boys hung on the wall by the equally beige file cabinets. His hands in his pockets, Luke studied the picture of the smiling Little League team the year they won the state pennant title. Colton’s wife was gone now, carried off by emphysema ten years ago, and the pictures were a sad reminder of a happier time. Those little boys were Luke’s age and gone, too, from the fishing village where they grew up.

  The Colton boys were living out their dreams. Jack was a high-powered lawyer in Seattle, and Ben owned a Cadillac dealership in Dallas. And here Luke was, back in the remote community he’d been all too eager to escape. He’d sworn never to come back here and live close to the father he always feared. All he’d ever wanted was to be a Coastie. He loved his job in the law enforcement division. Could he give that up to run Rocco Cranberries and deal with his father every day? The thought choked off his oxygen, and he went to the open window and took a few deep breaths of grass-scented air.

  The door opened behind him, and the sheriff entered. A crumb of bread was stuck to his mustache, and it took all Luke’s concentration not to reach over and flick it away.

  He glanced at Luke and nodded. “Thanks for coming down right away, Luke. I didn’t want to talk about this in front of your dad. He’s already so frail.” He pointed to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. “Have a seat. This won’t take long.”

  Luke perched on the edge of the chair. Was that suspicion on Danny’s face? Ever since Luke had first begun to worry that Pop might be guilty of . . . something, he’d been looking for confirmation in the sheriff, who knew Pop better than just about anyone else.

  He made himself rest his hands on his knees and forced a calm but interested expression. “Is something wrong, Danny?”

  He steepled his hands together. “What’s your take on Claire Dellamare?”

  So this wasn’t about his father. “I like her, and I respect her, which is even more important. Why? What’s this all about?”

  “I find it odd that she claimed Jenny was shoved off a cliff, then days later just happens to be the one to find her out at Dead Man’s Cove. And we have that letter from Jenny. I’d like you to see if she will tell you about her relationship with Jenny. I’m not getting anything from Deputy Waters. He claims he never heard Jenny mention Ms. Dellamare, but there has to be some connection we’re not seeing.”

  “Come on, Danny. She just got to town a few minutes before she saw Jenny’s murder. She hardly had time to kill Jenny and then get the body off to the cove. You talked to her right there on the beach yourself. It would have taken hours to haul Jenny’s body out to the cove, then lift it to the cave and hide it—if she were even strong enough.”

  Danny swiped at his mustache, dislodging the crumb. “I’m not saying she killed Jenny, but I think she might know who did and is protecting him. I wouldn’t be surprised if she drew that painting to throw us off. I want you to draw her out and see if you can get anything out of her.”

  The man was as rigid as a post. Luke would have to tell him what Isabelle had said. “There’s something you’re unaware of.” He launched into what they’d found out.

  Danny popped three Altoid mints in succession, and his mouth grew more pinched. “So this should be right up your alley, Mr. Detective. I think your precious Claire is in this up to her pretty eyes. You can find out if you’ve got the guts to look.”

  “I’m not going to spy for you, Danny. Especially not when I don’t believe Claire knows anything. She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “And she’s somehow involved in your mother’s death, Luke. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

  Luke stiffened at the derision in the sheriff’s voice. “She was four years old when my mother died. Even if her crying was what lured my mother to her death, Claire was a child. She can hardly be blamed for what happened to Mom. Where is this coming from, Danny? I don’t get it.”

  His fingers convulsed on the Altoid tin he held. “She seems my most likely suspect.”

  “What about Andy Waters? He was living with Jenny. Shouldn’t you be looking at him pretty hard? The person closest to the victim is often involved. Maybe he found out she was cheating on him.”

  The sheriff exhaled so hard his mustache quivered. “Andy has an airtight alibi. He’s devastated at Jenny’s death. So it makes sense to look at Ms. Dellamare and anyone else close to the scene that day.”

  Luke stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “Want to look at me too? Meg and I were just around the curl of sand. Claire had been with us just before she was attacked. She’d only been gone fifteen minutes when Jenny was killed. So we were in the vicinity too. And there were hundreds of guests up at the inn. You checking them out?”

  Danny rose too. “You should watch yourself, boy. Better men than you have been fooled by a pretty face. I think there’s more to that woman than we know. And I aim to find out what part she plays in this.”

  Luke pressed his lips together and headed for the door. “You’ll do it without my help, then, Danny. I want no part of persecuting Claire Dellamare.” Danny’s phone rang as Luke slammed the door behind him and stalked down the hall.

  He’d just reached the door when Danny came running after him. “Luke, another body’s been found on your property. We’ve got to get out there.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen wi
ndow and illuminated dust motes dancing in the air. The aroma of coffee filled the air as Kate slathered her mother’s blueberry jam onto her toast as she kept an eye on the driveway. Mom had asked her over for breakfast, and Kate braced herself for a scolding. So far her mother hadn’t mentioned anything as she stood at the stove fixing omelets.

  The growl of an engine erupted with the crunch of tires on gravel. A big black Cadillac rolled to a stop in the drive. She’d seen the rage in her father’s eyes when he saw her sitting with his precious Claire, so she wasn’t surprised by the sight of his long legs sliding out of the car.

  Spatula in hand, her mother turned. Only now did Kate notice the pressed slacks and form-fitting top that revealed her mother’s curvaceous figure. Her hair was usually up in a ponytail, but today it curled around her shoulders. The high-heeled espadrilles were the finishing touch. A girlish flush on her cheeks showed her excitement. And she wore makeup, something Kate hadn’t seen her do in years.

  Kate’s stomach plunged. “He called, and you planned an ambush. Nice.”

  Her mother fluffed her short brown hair. “You have no one but yourself to blame, Kate. I told you to leave it alone.” Her lips curved in a welcoming smile as his shoulders blocked out the sunshine streaming through the back door. She stepped to the door and threw it open. “Harry, it’s been a long time. Join us for breakfast?”

  His smile seemed forced to Kate, but her mother preened when he put his hand on her shoulder, then brushed past her into the house.

  His presence dominated the room even more than his Giorgio Armani cologne overpowered the coffee aroma. Kate’s hands shook as she rose to face him. “Hello, Harry.”

  “So it’s Harry now? What about Dad?”

  She eyed the smile that seemed to say all the right things. “I thought you didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

  “You caught me off guard, honey. And I don’t know how to break all this to my wife.” He shot an uneasy glance at Kate’s mother before looking back at Kate. “That doesn’t mean you and I can’t have a relationship. I’d like to get to know you better, get caught up. What’s this about being sick?”

  She managed to loosen her tight grip on the coffee handle and set it on the kitchen table. “I have aplastic anemia.”

  He reached out and ran one finger over the bruises on her arm. “Your disease caused these?”

  She flinched and pulled her long sleeve down over them. “Yes, just a slight bump bruises me when it’s acting up. I got it after a viral infection when I was eighteen.”

  “You need money? I can give you what you need, Kate.”

  “I need a stem-cell transplant. Mom isn’t a good match. You might be, but Claire would have an even better chance.”

  His eyelids flickered. “I’ll take some of that coffee, Mary.”

  “Of course.” In her haste to get it, she nearly spilled her own cup.

  Harry leaned forward. “Here’s the thing, Kate. If you and I are going to have a relationship, it needs to be kept quiet. My wife would never understand. Claire wouldn’t understand. Surely among all the people in this country, we can find a donor for you. I can be tested too. But let’s leave Claire out of it, okay?”

  He seemed so logical, so earnest. She should have known better than to expect him to be the dad she needed. All he cared about was hiding her away. His smiles and kind words were only meant to get her to stay quiet.

  She ducked her head. “That’s not why I wanted to meet her. She’s my sister. How would you feel if you had a brother you never got to see? Claire deserves to know she has a half sister.”

  He licked his lips. “Give me some time, honey. When the time is right, I’ll tell Claire.”

  His lie coiled in the room like a rattlesnake. Pressing her hand to her throbbing temple, she bit back the angry words on her tongue. “Why now? Why try to have a relationship with me now?”

  “I shouldn’t have cut you off, Kate. I’m sorry for that. But let’s not upset Claire and Lisa over my shortcomings. This is between you and me, not them.”

  Kate’s eyes stung at the way her mother moved beside him in a solidarity stance. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of him. “What’s your precious Claire been through? I bet it’s nothing like what I’ve endured growing up fatherless and thrown away like some piece of trash. And when I got sick, you never even—” She looked away.

  “I didn’t know you were sick. You seem fine now, healthy and strong.”

  She opted not to answer that. He wouldn’t care anyway. “You never even sent a birthday card. It was like I didn’t exist.”

  He glanced at her mother again. “We thought it best for me to stay away.”

  Kate gasped and studied her mother who wasn’t refuting his statement. “You agreed he shouldn’t see me anymore? You wanted the money, and it didn’t matter how it affected me, right?”

  She was done with them both. Neither of them had given any thought to how this transaction might affect her. “It would serve you both right if I got in the car now and drove straight to the hotel to tell Claire the truth. I doubt she would be as approving of your neglect as you are.”

  He held out his hand toward her. “Please don’t do that. I know I’ve been a lousy father, but there’s no reason to ruin my wife’s and daughter’s lives because of it. Think about someone besides yourself.”

  She wanted to hit him. “I’ve done that all my life. You’d know that if you’d ever been around.”

  Was he right? Would knowing the truth hurt Claire? Kate didn’t want to bring her pain, but she’d understood her half sister’s longing for more family. Wouldn’t the news come as a wonderful surprise?

  Her mother touched his arm. “Let’s all sit down and have some breakfast. We can discuss this as adults.”

  He shook off her touch. “I’ve said all I came to say. I can’t change the past, Kate. Just stay away from Claire and Lisa.”

  His peremptory tone stiffened her spine again. “I’ll give you forty-eight hours to tell Claire and your wife yourself. If you don’t confess, I’ll tell Claire the truth. I think she’ll believe me.”

  She didn’t tell either of them she feared the frequent weak spells she’d had lately meant she needed her sister’s help more than ever. Tomorrow’s appointment would tell her for sure.

  The sun beat down in an unseasonably warm day, and vultures swooped in the blue sky over the woods where Luke stood watching the events unfold. Circles of sweat stained the shirts of the diggers bending to their task in the ditch. It had only been a week ago tonight since Luke had stood in this old field and looked down on his mother’s remains. Who else had died here, or had they found more of his mother’s bones?

  His expression somber, Beau approached Luke. “Sorry to put you through this again.”

  “More of Mom’s bones? At least we’ll have them all for the memorial service.”

  Beau shuffled his boots in the freshly turned dirt. “Can’t really tell yet. The coroner just got here, and we should know more soon.”

  Luke frowned at the way Beau seemed way more interested in checking out the dirt. Why wasn’t he talking? “Looked like quite a few bones from what I could tell.”

  Beau didn’t reply. He stood off from Luke a few feet with his hands thrust in his khaki slacks and his expression carefully blank. The coroner gestured for the sheriff to join her. Beau started forward too, and Luke found himself walking quickly through the weeds and scrubs toward the men clustered around the coroner, Genevieve Ross, who huddled protectively over the pile of bones.

  Genevieve had been coroner for as long as Luke could remember. She had to be in her seventies by now, but she walked the rolling hills with as much grace as a thirty-year-old.

  Beau turned and frowned. “You’d better stay back, Luke.”

  Luke folded his arms across his chest. “This is Rocco land, Beau. I’m staying unless you want to arrest me.”

  His old friend heaved a sigh. “Keep your mouth shut or the sheriff just
might do that.”

  Luke craned his head over the top of Beau’s shoulder and didn’t answer. The scent of freshly upturned soil hung in the air. Genevieve was saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words. He edged closer and let his gaze sweep over the scene. Her iron-gray hair hung down her back. Flecks of mud marred her navy slacks, and she used a latex-gloved hand to push her glasses up on her nose. She’d quit talking by the time Luke got close enough to hear.

  “So you’re saying these are definitely not the remains of Victoria Rocco?” the sheriff asked.

  “That’s right.” Genevieve reached down and retrieved a long, thin bone. “This femur belongs to a child of three to five. The remains are clearly not those of an adult woman. There is long blond hair attached to the small skull as well, so I believe this is the body of a little girl.”

  Oh no. Luke took a step back at the thought of a child being found here. A distressed murmur raced through the group assembled there. No one liked to think about a child lying undiscovered out here.

  The bones looked pitiful in the dirt. Poor little thing. “How long has she been dead?” The words were out of Luke’s mouth before he could hold them in.

  Danny turned at the sound of Luke’s voice. “I told you to stay back.” His voice vibrated with displeasure.

  Luke ignored him and stepped closer to Genevieve. “How long ago did she die? Can you tell how she died?”

  “I’ll need to run more tests when I get the remains back to the morgue, but it’s been at least a couple of years since there’s no flesh on the bones.”

  Luke couldn’t recall a search for a missing child in recent memory. He only prayed they would figure out who the girl belonged to and give her family the same closure he’d felt yesterday when he’d heard the confirmation that they’d found his mother.