1 Dead Wrong

by Leighann Dobbs

  She ripped her hand away. “Fiona Blackmoore …and I want to see my sister now.”

  “I’m sorry, but she’s being processed. You can’t see her until visiting hours at 5 pm,” he said softly.

  “What do you mean I can’t see her? You can’t just keep her in there alone … I mean, doesn’t she get a phone call or something?” Fiona blinked away tears of frustration.

  “I’m sorry,” Jake spread his hands. “That’s the rule. I promise you she’s being treated well … I mean, heck, she seems to be old friends with everyone back there. They’ll take good care of her.”

  Jake’s soothing tone and words of comfort had the opposite effect on Fiona. She felt her anger rising and took a step closer to him.

  “Look buddy, I don’t know what’s going on here or who you people think you are, but I do know that you can’t arrest my sister on this flimsy evidence." Fiona wondered if they had some other evidence they had not told her about, but brushed away the thought. She knew Morgan didn’t kill Prudence.

  She saw a flicker of something in Jake’s eyes. Understanding? Guilt? Compassion? He leaned in toward her, lowering his voice.

  “Listen, if I were you, I’d go home and calm down. Get a decent lawyer. Then come back this afternoon and you should be able to get her out,” he said glancing over at the desk as if to make sure no one heard him.

  Fiona was taken aback. Was he trying to help her? Or was this all part of their trap? Suddenly she felt alone, confused and helpless. Why were they trying to blame this on Morgan?

  “I don’t know what you people are up to,” she said, taking a step closer to the tall officer. “But if you think my sister did this you are dead wrong.”

  She punctuated the last two words by poking her index finger hard at his chest, her eyes widening in surprise at the solid muscle she felt. Or was that his kevlar vest? Jerking her finger away before she could contemplate it further, she turned and fled out of the station.

  Flinging open the door to her truck she tumbled inside, shaking so hard she could barely get her key in the ignition. As she drove away she remembered what Jake had said about getting a lawyer. She knew a good one and wanted the best chance for Morgan, but lawyers didn’t come cheap nor did they work for free.

  Chewing her bottom lip, she wondered how on earth they would pay for a lawyer when they could barely raise the money to pay the taxes on their home.

  Her stomach felt like lead as she drove toward town on autopilot. Her mind was so busy trying to work a solution that she barely noticed how crowded the roads were getting now that tourist season had started. Or how all the shops were now opening for the season. Or Mrs. Penobscott setting up for her perpetual weekend yard sale that she stocked with random items she found in the attic of her old family home.

  Suddenly Fiona had an idea of how she could get the money to hire a lawyer for Morgan. She pressed harder on the gas and headed toward home.

  Chapter Three

  The springs on Jake’s ancient police-issue chair protested loudly as he leaned back and put his feet on the desk. He knew the woman in the holding cell was no murderer. He had a gut instinct about these things, and he was usually right. Of course, getting Sheriff Overton to see it his way was another story.

  It was curious, though, that Overton had been so adamant about arresting her, even though any fool could see the evidence was circumstantial at best. But then, Overton rarely did things that made sense to Jake.

  Jake ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. He hated to admit it, but he just didn’t get a warm feeling about his new boss. Something was strange about him. Jake often found him difficult to work with. Overton was the type of guy that was never wrong, and some of the things he did made Jake wonder which side of the law he was on. But Jake was the new guy … a peon, so he just nodded and did his job.

  Of course, he wouldn’t just stand by and let Overton prosecute someone without the proper evidence, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Surely the various lawyers and judges involved would laugh in Overton’s face if he tried to get a trial on the evidence he had … which made Jake wonder just what the Sheriff was up to with this arrest.

  He’d almost refused to handcuff Morgan, but something told him it would be better if he played along. Still, he’d felt bad snapping those metal shackles on her slender wrist. At least he’d made sure they were loose—she probably could have wriggled out of them if she’d tried. But she didn’t.

  Jake smiled thinking of the redheaded sister and how fiercely she had tried to defend Morgan. She sure was a feisty one, whereas the dark haired girl was more calm; serene almost. The two were so different. You’d never know they were sisters, except they both had those piercing ice-blue eyes.

  Jake had always been a sucker for redheads but he had no intention of getting caught up in any kind of relationship. Especially not in a small town like Noquitt where everybody knew everybody else’s business. Besides, he’d had enough of relationships to last him a lifetime in Boston.

  Probably better off to avoid the Blackmoore sisters … and maybe even the whole case.

  Still, he felt bad for the woman sitting in the jail cell in the basement of the police station. She didn’t have any prior arrest record, so she was probably terrified. Not to mention she was most likely there under false pretenses. Jake couldn’t do anything about that, but he could do something to make her stay a little less harrowing.

  He slid his feet off the desk, slapping them down on the floor and picked up his phone to dial in some take-out. The least he could do was get her something decent to eat besides the slop they’d give her down there.

  He placed the order for a pot-roast dinner to be delivered at five. He planned to take it down to her himself for dinner, convincing himself he was just doing a good deed to try to make up for his role in her arrest and it had nothing to do with the fact that her sister would be back just around supper time.

  Chapter Four

  Fiona’s heart thumped in her chest. She stared at the old door that led to the attic. Reaching for the glass knob, she turned it slowly. The squeaking of the hinges echoed loudly in the stairwell setting her nerves on edge.

  The stairs loomed in front of her, stretching up into the darkness of the fourth floor. Fumbling for a light switch, she took a deep breath. It was silly to be afraid of the attic. After all, it was just a big room … well, more than a room as it comprised the whole fourth floor of the mansion her and her sisters lived in. But she had been warned since childhood by her mother and grandmother to stay away from there and the place still scared her even if she was all grown up now.

  Of course, Fiona and her sisters had ignored the warning on several occasions, but every time she had gone in there she’d felt creeped out and never stayed long. Today, she had to go in. Morgan’s freedom depended on it.

  Ascending the stairs cautiously, she cringed as the old, dry wood creaked and groaned as if protesting her presence. The temperature rose a notch with each step she took and she felt thankful it was mid-spring and not summer when the attic heat would be unbearable.

  She swiveled her head at the top of the stairs, trying to decide where to start. The attic, which had been servant’s quarters hundreds of years ago, held a maze of rooms and cubby holes which were packed with the cast-offs of her ancestors. Two hundred and seventy five years of household and personal belongings gathered dust up here.

  Did her people never throw anything away?

  Breathing in the smell of old wood, she started picking out a path toward the back of the house. Sunlight filtered in through the windows highlighting the dust motes hanging in the still, dry air.

  She wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for. Something they could sell, pawn or trade to raise the money for a lawyer. Even though they had made a pact to never sell any of their family heirlooms, Fiona felt certain her other sisters would agree to make the exception for Morgan.

  She turned her head from side to side, slowly navigating the att
ic. Her breath caught suddenly in her throat when she spied a human figure out of the corner of her eye. Then she released it just as quickly when she realized it was just an old dress form.

  Passing old trunks, rolled up rugs, closed up boxes, dinnerware, furniture and even a kitchen sink, she realized she’d never really looked at any of the stuff in the attic and slowly became mesmerized with the task.

  Crash!

  Fiona’s heart exploded in her chest and she whirled around toward the direction of the noise, her fists tight at her side. Her eyes searched rapidly for some sort of weapon. Her mind raced. Who would be up in the attic with her?

  “Meow.”

  Fiona let her breath out sharply, her shoulders relaxed.

  “Belladonna, you scared the heck out of me.”

  She bent to pick up the cream and white cat. “What are you doing up here?” She asked, stroking her fur. Belladonna answered with a purr.

  “Probably hunting for mice,” Fiona mused.

  Setting the cat down she noticed what had made the noise. A heavy book lay on the floor, a century of dust floating in the air around it.

  Belladonna must have knocked the book off.

  Fiona went over and picked the book off the floor, taking care not to crack the leather binding. Setting it gently on a nearby table, she stared at the pages. They looked ancient, like parchment, the ink on them faded almost to nothing. Carefully she turned a page, hoping her touch didn’t cause the fragile paper to disintegrate.

  The book looked like some sort of journal; the ink clearly from a quill pen, the words barely legible. Could this be one of her ancestor’s sailing journals?

  According to family legend, the main part of their home had been built in the early 1700’s by a merchant who sailed the world. The house itself, sat on a large cliff with the ocean on two sides and the entrance to Perkins Cove on the third … A perfect location for a sailing man.

  The house had been added to over the centuries, finally becoming a massive Victorian mansion, but the main part of the house still was within the structure and she’d heard her mother and grandmother talk about old journals from the original builder of the house.

  She frowned down at the old book. She couldn’t make out any dates and it seemed a book that old would have been further toward the back. Tiny pin pricks on her leg interrupted her thoughts. She looked down to see Belladonna scratching at her.

  “Right, I’m up here to look for something to help Morgan, not read some old journals, thanks for reminding me.” She carefully closed the book and put it back in its place in the bookshelf, mentally cataloging the location so she could revisit it later when she had more time.

  Apparently satisfied, Belladonna wound her way around Fiona’s leg and scampered off with a tiny “Mew.”

  Fiona started to continue her search but was interrupted by a series of meows. Had Belladonna gotten stuck somewhere? Was she hurt? Her meows certainly sounded pitiful to Fiona’s ears.

  Following the sound, she came to a small cut out in the eaves. The area was well lit by a large window through which she could see the dark blue ocean. An old rocking chair sat under the window and Fiona felt relieved to see Belladonna was unharmed. The small cat crouched on the floor in front of the chair batting around a shiny object.

  “What do you have there?”

  “Mew!” Belladonna cast her ice-blue eyes up at Fiona before returning her attention to the shiny object which she batted in Fiona’s direction.

  Fiona bent to pick it up, watching it sparkle in the light. Spreading it out in her hands she realized it was a necklace. She recognized the style as being popular in the mid 1800’s … probably one of her great-great-great-grandmothers pieces that had been stored up here after her death.

  Fiona could tell it was well made—this was no junky piece of costume jewelry. Which was odd, because she was under the impression that nothing of real value was up here. Her mother had always said it was just a bunch of old broken junk the family was too miserly to throw away.

  But where did it come from? She looked around the floor for a jewelry box or some sort of container it might have been in but saw nothing.

  The glitter of the light from the window reflecting off the stones in the necklace caught her eye and she moved closer to the window to look at it in the light. Squinting, she held the necklace up to the glass looking for the tell-tale signs that the stones were worthless paste or glass. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a jewelers loupe?

  Her training as a gemologist had given her a keen eye and the knowledge to be able to tell a gemstone from a fake. Naturally tools helped her validate her assessment, but with the naked eye it appeared this necklace was the real deal … diamonds, emeralds and gold.

  Fiona’s heart flipped in her chest and she felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. If the necklace tested to be real, it would be worth much more than what she needed to secure a lawyer for Morgan.

  Clutching the jewelry in her hand, she turned and ran toward the stairs. She knew exactly what to do with the necklace to get the money they needed without having to sell off a potentially important family heirloom. She just hoped her sisters were home so she could discuss her plan with them and get their approval in time to put the wheels in motion before it was too late to save Morgan from spending the night in jail.

  Chapter Five

  The back stairs dumped Fiona out into the black and white tiled kitchen where Belladonna stood at her food bowl, munching away. Fiona frowned at the cat wondering how she had beat her to the kitchen without passing her on the stairs as she raced over to the pantry to get her test kit.

  “There you are.” Celeste appeared in the doorway and Fiona noticed the worry on her face. “I heard about Morgan in town so I put Diana in charge of the yoga studio and came right home. I yelled all over the house for you, but you didn’t answer. Where were you?”

  Fiona turned holding up the necklace, “In the attic.”

  Celeste looked at the ceiling. “You went up there alone?”

  “It was the only way I could think of to find something we could use to secure a lawyer for Morgan. It’s not so bad up there, really.” Fiona shrugged.

  Fiona took her test kit and the necklace back into the kitchen and set them on the large island in the center. The spacious kitchen had been built sometime in the mid-1800s and still had the original dark cabinets offset by white marble counters. Stainless steel appliances were a newer addition as was the island which had a sink in the center. It had chairs setup on one side and the sisters spent many hours there, chatting and eating.

  “So, what happened with Morgan?” Celeste plopped herself down cross legged in the chair on the other side of the island. She ran her hand nervously through her short white-blonde hair while Fiona recounted the mornings events.

  “She’s still in jail? Can they even do that without concrete evidence?” Celeste’s ice-blue eyes narrowed and she worried her bottom lip.

  “I don’t know if they can, but they have. Sheriff Overton doesn’t seem to like us much.”

  “Tell me about it,” Celeste said, making a face. “But the new guy, Jake I think his name is, seems kind of nice.”

  Fiona felt her stomach do a little flip at the mention of Jake. What was that all about? She ignored it and started cleaning off a section of the necklace, then clipped the alligator clip from her gold tester to it.

  “So what’s up with the necklace?” Celeste asked.

  “We need to get Morgan a lawyer, but, since we have no money, I thought maybe we could find something in the attic we could sell …” Fiona let her voice trail off and looked up to judge Celeste’s reaction but her sister retained her usual calm demeanor.

  “It sure is pretty,” Celeste said, leaning over the island to get a better look. “I wonder which one of our relatives it belonged to.”

  Fiona didn’t have an answer, so she turned the gold tester on and filled the well with testing acid, then dipped the section of
necklace in. Both sisters held their breath while they waited for the machine to tell them if it was real gold or not.

  Fiona felt her heart skip a beat when the machine beeped and the light lit up. The necklace was 18K gold.

  “Nice!” Celeste raised her hand up and Fiona slapped her palm in a high five.

  “So what’s your plan?”

  Fiona looked up from the task of packing up the test kit. “I think I know how we can raise the money for Morgan’s lawyer without actually having to sell the necklace, but I need you and Jolene to give it the thumbs up,” she said. “Where is our little sister?”

  Celeste pushed her brows together. “I haven’t seen her.”

  Fiona bit her lower lip. Her youngest sister, Jolene, had been a hand full since their mother had jumped to her death from the cliff behind their house four years ago. The poor girl had only been fourteen. It had affected all the girls deeply, but Jolene was hurt the most at her young age.

  Fiona, Celeste and Morgan had tried to raise her as best they could, but Celeste had only been nineteen, herself. Morgan and Fiona had been in their late twenties and had tried to share the role of mothering between them.

  Jolene had been a terror in her teenage years, which likely contributed to the dislike Sheriff Overton had for the whole family. But since she’d turned eighteen a few months ago, Fiona had started to see a change in her. She guessed she was finally growing up.

  Still, it worried her that they didn’t know where Jolene was, she was supposed to either be home or let one of them know where she was if she went out.

  As if summoned by magic, Jolene suddenly came sauntering in from the living room, head down, bopping to the music that blared so loudly from her ear buds that Fiona could hear it on the other side of the room.

  Fiona felt a nudge of annoyance when the girl didn’t even look up at either of them.

  “Jolene,” she said but the girl continued on her path to the pantry without even stopping.