“I’m in here. Hold on.” She slipped the shovel out of the door handles and pushed upward on the right-side door. Callen lifted as she pushed, and it swung upward and out. Callen rushed down the stairs toward her. “What happened?”
She explained.
“But you didn’t see who it was?”
She shook her head.
“I’d say we comb the woods, but he could be anywhere, and right now keeping you safe is my priority.” He rubbed her back, exhaling. “Do you think he’d been here in the woods all along, watching?”
“I don’t know.” She moved to Julia and lifted the sheet . . . only to find grain bags underneath. Shock riddled through her. “Julia’s not here.”
“What? You don’t think . . . ?”
“He must have removed Julia’s body, saw me coming back, and . . .”
“Thought he’d take you out in the process.”
She shook her head. “What do you think he did with Julia?”
“Perhaps stashed her somewhere. We could call in cadaver dogs from the mainland, but with the storm . . .”
“Lines are down.”
“So you didn’t hang up on me,” he said.
“What? No. Of course not. Why would you think I’d hang up on you?”
“I just thought you ended the call abruptly.”
“No. The line dropped.” A thought danced through her head. “You don’t think he took out my phone lines too?”
“Probably down from the storm, but we can check them when we get back to my house.”
“But what about your investigation?”
“We already located the cause.”
She waited.
“Compromised gas line.”
“Compromised . . . as in?”
“As in, someone definitely rigged your house to blow.”
She swallowed. “With me in it?”
He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
nine
FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS, having heard the explosion, having seen the blaze, came to check on her through the night. Maxine and Jensen were the most fretful, but she assured them she was all right, though it was a bold-faced lie. She was anything but all right, but she wasn’t focusing on self-pity any longer. Rather, she intended to throw all her energy into finding the culprit and seeing him behind bars.
As morning approached, Callen, with ash smudged on his face and the acrid odor of smoke clinging to him, graciously offered her the use of his guest room. “So, you’re done with your investigation?” she asked as they walked back through the woods to Callen’s place.
“The preliminary provided more than enough evidence to prove the cause of the explosion, but I’ll do a second walk-through in the daylight for procedural thoroughness. Daylight always reveals things darkness attempts to shroud.”
She hoped he didn’t start with his Christian talk about the beauty of God’s truth and light, because from where she was standing, all she saw was engulfing darkness.
Focus on the case. “So . . . your findings definitely showed . . . ?”
“Conclusive evidence that the gas line was tampered with—cut, actually. The explosion occurred in the basement when it filled with enough gas and hit the pilot light, sending shockwaves rippling up to the top floor.”
He’d already said it had been intentional, that someone had tried to kill her, but the deep realization squeezed her chest, choking the breath from her lungs.
“You want to talk about it, Ten?”
She shook her head.
“Look, I know you’re strong. One of the strongest women I know, but you’re also tender. I’m probably the last person you want to talk to, but I’m here, and I promise I’m a good listener.”
He promised? She’d heard that before, and she’d believed him beyond measure—right up until he’d squashed that out of her. After that day on the beach, after hearing him confirm the truth of the rumor she’d heard from Everett Jones, she’d vowed never to allow someone the power to harm her like that again—not even Callen Frost.
Even if he had attempted to fight for her, to beg her forgiveness, and even if she’d somehow managed to find that forgiveness in her, things would never be the same. How could they be?
“What?” he asked, studying her as they stepped out of the forest and his lit home bade them in from the storm.
She frowned. “I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but your entire body just tensed, like something struck you suddenly.”
She shifted her thoughts off Callen and back on what she’d been thinking earlier in the night. “What if . . . ?”
He unlocked the front door and held it open for her.
She stepped inside, hanging her dripping rain jacket on the coatrack, rivulets of water drizzling down the slick material, beading at the bottom, then plopping to the thick, black mat beneath the rack. She watched as the same occurred on Callen’s hung coat.
He kicked his boots off, leaving them by the door, and she followed suit.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to ignore your question. Just wanted to get you inside, where it’s dry and warm. You were saying . . . What if . . . ?” He gestured to the sofa.
She took a seat on the couch, one leg bent beneath her. “I know everyone on the island, which means I know whoever tried to kill me, assuming he’s from around here.” Jared Connor was foremost in her mind, but would Jared really go to such lengths over the ferry? Though his anger with her ran so much deeper—always had. He hated her, hated her family, for owning the island. Was he trying to take out the remaining Kents—few as they were—one by one?
She exhaled. Was she reaching way too far in her thoughts regarding Jared? Instinct had always served her well. Or maybe it hadn’t. She thought back to the times it had let her down—the best example standing five feet from her.
Callen clicked the heat on—probably deciding it best not to make a fire, despite the exquisite stone fireplace on the opposite wall—and then hunkered down beside her. “I know it’s extremely unsettling to think it might be Jared—or if not him, it’s probably someone else you know.”
Hold unsettling and try flat-out terrifying. She knew Julia’s killer, and her would-be killer.
She rubbed her arms as a chill shot up them, crawling around her shoulders and encasing her in gooseflesh.
“What?” he asked. He had the most annoying habit of doing that, of knowing when she was upset or thinking or . . . anything. He knew her. After all these years.
“I’m just trying to wrap my mind around why he’d steal Julia’s body.”
Callen raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, unless . . .”
“Unless he was worried the ME would find something proving it wasn’t an accident once she did the autopsy.”
“Like . . . ?” Callen nudged her to work it through from the killer’s perspective.
“Evidence she was murdered, or . . .”
“Evidence that could identify him as her murderer,” he said, finishing her thoughts.
She swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
Where was Julia’s body? As foolish as it was, she actually prayed, prayed they’d recover Julia’s body so she could have a proper funeral and be buried in the family plot by her parents and Teni’s.
She inhaled. So much loss.
He’d screwed up, gotten greedy. Not only had he snatched Julia’s body in hopes of preventing the medical examiner from ruling her death a murder, he’d attempted to kill Tennyson on the same night. Of course the witch heard him. He should have known she wouldn’t blame any noises he made on the wind or the storm like a normal person. No, she was an investigator, and today those skills had served her well—but not for long.
He’d watched as they’d discovered Julia’s body washed up on Henry’s Point, and rather than collecting her and preparing her for a funeral, Tennyson had turned it into a working crime scene. The witch always had been trouble, and now she stood markedly between him and his agenda.
Rowing with adrenaline-fuel
ed arms, he cut his camouflaged raft swiftly through the water, the storm muffling any sound the oars might make. He steered into the dark cove, tied the anchors to Julia’s body, and rolled her overboard.
No one, not even Tennyson Kent, would find her this time.
Rowing back with a smile of pride and accomplishment on his face, he pondered finishing his work tonight as planned, but attacking Tennyson would be foolish, especially while she was staying at Callen Frost’s home. Of course he’d be involved, and have to be an investigator as well. No, he’d have to impatiently bide his time again—at least until tomorrow. Until she was alone in the woods. She always was at some point during the day. And he’d be waiting.
She was so confident in her skills, but her pride would prove her downfall.
He’d attack fast and without mercy, and this time, she wouldn’t escape his grasp.
Tennyson Kent would be dead before the nor’easter passed.
ten
“YOU SHOULD GET AT LEAST a couple hours rest,” Callen said, handing her a steaming cup of hot cider with a cinnamon stick. “We’ll go talk with Jared after I confirm my findings at your house.”
“Okay, I’ll rest. Just not ready quite yet.” Sleep would elude her or be filled with nightmares, she suspected.
“Okay, if you are sure.” He grabbed a yellow legal pad and a pen from the table and placed it in front of her.
She scrunched her face in curiosity. “What’s that for?”
“Start by writing down the names of everyone who came by after the fire. I’ve found most arsonists like to revisit their work.”
“That’s sick.”
“But unfortunately true.” He exhaled. “Together we can write down all the locals’ names, and then we’ll compare lists and see if we can come up with a narrowed-down suspect pool.”
“Great. Okay . . . so the purpose of this is . . . ?”
“We start with every possible suspect on the island and then narrow it down. For example, we know it was a man, so we’ll highlight the men’s names.”
“Why not just write down only men’s names?”
“Just because you saw a man in the woods doesn’t mean he worked alone or for his own purposes.”
“Meaning someone could have partnered with him or hired him?” Could Marybeth have ordered all this for her son to carry out? Her hatred for Teni ran even deeper than Jared’s.
“All things are possible at this point. I know you had a fight with Jared, but what about your ex-fiancé?”
Of course he’d heard. Everyone had by now. Gossip ran rampant on the tiny island. “Alex?”
Callen rubbed the back of his neck. “Surely he’s upset about your broken engagement.”
Teni grimaced. “Sure, he’s upset, but he is the one who called it off.”
Callen’s eyes widened a bit, and she could tell he had questions, but she didn’t want to go into her relationship with Alex at the moment, so she just said, “We both had concerns, but he initiated it.”
“But he could still be bitter about it, or maybe he expected you to resist his suggestion you break it off. If he married you he’d own this island with you, right?”
“Yes . . . ?”
“I’m sorry. I know I sound cold asking these questions. I don’t mean to be insensitive. It’s just an investigator’s training, which you understand full well.”
She nodded. She understood, but it didn’t make it pleasant. “I get it,” she responded. What Callen said was plausible, but he didn’t know how much Alex loathed Talbot—always said it would make a better golf course and expensive resort. He had tried to talk her into selling it more than once. But she’d put an end to that idea at their engagement party, when he went as far as introducing her to an interested developer who was friends with his father. But surely, he wouldn’t go so far as to . . . What would he gain? Revenge? “It couldn’t be Alex. Lenny took him back to Annapolis before the storm blew in.”
“Are you sure he made it back?”
“Yes. He called, said Lenny had anchored in the marina and was bunking with friends until the storm passed.”
“Did he call from his cell?”
“I have no idea.”
“So he could have called from a landline somewhere on Talbot before the storm knocked the lines out.” Callen had in fact confirmed the lines were out—at least at his and Teni’s places.
“Theoretically, yes. But if Lenny stayed in Annapolis, how would Alex even get back to Talbot?”
“Are you positive Lenny stayed in Annapolis, or are you only going off what Alex told you?”
“What Alex said, but . . .”
“After you rest, we can go to Lenny’s and confirm. See if his boat is tied up for the storm.”
“Fine, but if Lenny’s gone then we cross Alex off the list.”
“He could have turned around after Lenny left the docks and hired someone else to bring him right back to Talbot.”
“But the storm?”
“A strong mariner could handle this. It’s just the nor’easter’s outer bands for now, and if the price was right, you’d be surprised by what a lot of down-on-their-luck sailors are willing to voyage through for the right price.”
Could it really be Alex? Did the man she’d dated for seven months possess the heart of a killer? “But even if you’re right that he’s upset about it . . . killing me doesn’t get him the island.”
“No, but if he views it as a major loss, and you as the reason he lost it . . .”
That was a startling thought.
“Just out of curiosity, would Julia be next in line to inherit after you?”
“No. Our cousin William, as his dad is second oldest of the brothers.”
“William’s parents wouldn’t inherit?”
“His dad died of a heart attack and his mom isn’t eligible.”
“What do you mean?”
“The inheritance only goes through Kent blood. If I was out of the picture, Talbot would go to my uncle’s only child, William, and then it would go to—”
“Julia?”
She nodded. “Correct.”
“So, it doesn’t sound like an issue of inheritance. I was thinking if it went to you and then Julia, maybe . . .”
“If that was the case and it was an issue of inheritance, we’d need to warn William.”
Callen shifted tentatively, like he had something to say but didn’t want to voice it.
“What is it?”
He raked a hand through his wet, spiky hair. “Probably nothing.”
“Just tell me.” Things could hardly get any worse.
“You and Jules look so much alike, and you’re normally the faster swimmer. What if Julia . . . ?”
Teni swallowed, hard. “Wasn’t the intended target. What if it was supposed to be me and since I was swimming slowly, poor Julia was murdered in my place?” The thought was sickeningly engulfing. Hot tears stung her eyes.
“Come here.” Without waiting for an answer, Callen pulled her into his embrace. “You can’t think like that.”
“But what if it’s true?” What if she’d caused Julia’s death?
eleven
TENI ROLLED OVER, fighting the urge to pray, the pillow a squishy sponge beneath her tears.
Why would someone want to kill her, and could it really be Alex, as Callen suggested?
It seemed impossible that the man she’d been engaged to would want to kill her, and yet there was a gnawing in her gut that whispered not to dismiss the notion outright.
She released a huff and punched the pillow, trying to get comfortable but knowing comfort would elude her.
If it was true, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d neglected to see a character flaw in someone. Of all the people she would have vowed she knew to the core, Callen Frost had been first on the list.
They’d been nearly inseparable ever since they’d met that fateful day in church. She’d run into him, literally, in the hall during service. Hymns pl
ayed softly in the background as she retraced the hallway, looking for her favorite, sunshine-patterned hair ribbon, which she’d managed to lose on her way in. And there he was, bending to pick it up. She’d heard of Callen Frost, the fastest kid on the island. Of Pocomoke descent on his mom’s side, he traced straight back to the natives living on the island when it was deeded to her great—multiplied by so many numbers she couldn’t keep track—grandfather.
She was only six at the time, but she still recalled that day, and the odd stirring sensation that had raked through her, like somehow she’d known Callen all her life. They’d surely seen one another prior to that day, as small as Talbot was, but that was her first memory of him—of them.
From that day on, they were inseperable, meeting up in the woods for mystery-solving adventures. Then, fast-forward through years of joy and off he went to college . . . and within months smashed her heart.
She squeezed her eyes shut at the horrid memory of that day, then opened them.
If Callen, a man she’d known practically her entire life, had surprised her with a heart-wrenching character flaw, how could she be surprised when anybody else did?
Had her breakup with Alex been God’s way of protecting her from a man whose character flaws—one as extreme and depraved as being a murderer—hadn’t been revealed yet?
But Alex was the one who’d broken off the engagement. If he was so angry with her and wanted to own Talbot, why call off the wedding? Why not marry her and kill her afterward? Because the inheritance would never go to him upon her death. Ownership would continue through the direct Kent line, and she had made it abundantly clear that she’d never sell.
Perhaps he really was angry and was using the breakup and a supposed trip back to Annapolis as his alibi. It was a beyond-unsettling thought.
She exhaled, turning to face the window—rain pelting it in a relentless cascade.
Then there was Jared Connor. She wasn’t looking forward to interrogating him, but if he’d killed Julia, she’d do whatever was necessary to see her cousin’s killer behind bars.
She stiffened, unable to find any measure of rest. The day to come would hold its own challenges, and for the first time since before her parents’ death, she hungered for God. Deeply hungered for the connection she’d cut off. His presence would never leave her, according to His Word, but she’d done her very best to ignore Him—the easiest target for the hurt and anger eating her up inside. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe she’d spurned the only true source of comfort, peace, connection, and wholeness. Maybe her relationship with Him was what had been missing, leaving her feeling so empty all these years.
The Cost of Betrayal Page 18
