The older deputy, Jeff, a hard-faced, middle-aged man with glints of silver in his military-style haircut, wasn’t quite as cordial. After dusting the front door for fingerprints and taking samples of their own for the process of elimination, he questioned them more thoroughly. “What time did you say you left the house this morning, Miss Pierce?”
“Around ten-thirty,” Jessie said.
The deputy glanced at his watch. “It’s one o’clock, now. That’s a little over two hours, plenty of time for someone to break in.” Raising a brow, his gaze slid to Samuel. “If you don’t mind me asking, Samuel…where were you this morning?”
Samuel wasn’t surprised by the question. His only surprise was that it hadn’t come sooner. Since his youthful days of indiscretion, whenever there was trouble in town, he continued to make the sheriff department’s short list of suspects. As he’d told Jessie earlier, memories were long in a small town…and they were far from forgiving.
Tamping down his anger, he said, “I was on the Marianna until half past eleven. After that—”
“He was with me,” Jessie interrupted, her voice filled with indignation. While he’d learned to school his emotions around those he didn’t trust, Jessie felt no such compunction. Her dark eyes flashed with anger. “We’ve been together ever since the Marianna docked. Samuel isn’t the one who broke into my house, deputy. He’s been a good friend and a great help to me.” She stepped forward, jabbing a finger at the badge pinned to the surprised deputy’s shirt. “Further-more, I resent any implications to the contrary—”
“Now, hold on there, miss.” The deputy held up both hands in mock surrender. “I was just doing my job. I had to ask. Samuel knows that. Don’t you, Samuel?”
Samuel stared hard at the man, wishing he could say what he really felt in his heart. But he knew it wasn’t the time or the place to stir up further trouble. Now was the time for a cool head and an open mind. “Sure,” he said, his tone flat, emotionless. “I understand.”
Looking uncomfortable, the deputy adjusted his gun belt. He riffled through his notes, giving himself a moment to recover his composure. “Now, you say you didn’t see anyone. Not when you drove up? Or when you first looked around?”
“No,” Jessie said, still looking as though she’d like to continue the fight where she’d left off.
Samuel shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
The deputy frowned. “And there’s nothing missing?”
“Not that I can tell,” Jessie said with a frustrated sigh. “Everything’s such a mess.”
“Yeah, it sure is.” Appearing puzzled, the deputy glanced around the shattered living room. Shifting from one foot to the other, his troubled gaze returned to Jessie. “It almost seems as though someone was trying to make a point. You haven’t done anything lately to make somebody mad, have ya?”
Jessie hesitated, glancing at Samuel.
In that single exchange, Samuel knew what she was thinking. The investigation into her mother’s death. Jessie had been asking questions, digging into the past, looking for the truth behind the murder. It would seem that Samuel hadn’t been the only one disturbed by her actions.
Was it possible that Jessie had shaken a murderer out of hiding?
Jessie cleared her throat. Her gaze drifted over the room, purposefully not meeting the deputy’s eyes. “I have no idea who would have done such a thing. I’m new to the island. I’ve only been here a few days. That’s not nearly long enough to make any enemies.”
A lie of omission. Yet still a lie. Samuel tensed, but remained silent at her side.
Purty, the baby-faced deputy, joined them, signaling to his older partner that he was finished.
The older man said, “Well, there’s not much more we can do here. We’ll be sure to beef up patrols in the area.” His frown deepened as he glanced, once again, around the rooms. “If I were you, Miss Pierce, I’d change the locks. Maybe add a keyed dead bolt to the front door.”
Jessie nodded.
The older deputy shot an uncertain glance at Samuel. Then with a curt nod he turned to leave. With his younger partner close on his heels, he strode to the front door, closing it behind them. Silence echoed hollowly in the cottage.
Once again Samuel found himself alone with Jessie.
Feeling awkward, not sure what to do next, he reached for an upended chair and put it back in its place. He stooped to pick up a cushion. Fingering the cotton stuffing that oozed from a tear in the fabric, he slid it onto the couch. Just as he was about to reach for another cushion, he noticed that Jessie wasn’t moving.
She stood with her back to him, facing the bank of windows overlooking the overgrown treeline of the property. Even with the length of the room between them, he saw her body shaking.
Slowly he walked toward her. Hesitating, he placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her eyes were red, her breath choppy. She was crying—silent, jerking sobs of despair.
Without thinking of the consequences, he gave in to his wants and pulled her into his arms.
With a soft cry she melted against him. She turned her face into his shoulder and curled her arms around his waist. Holding on tight, she allowed him to support her fragile weight, letting the tears flow unchecked.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed. He didn’t care. His shirt grew damp with her tears. His heart felt heavy with her pain. Still he rocked her in his arms, holding her until her tears were spent, all the while trying not to think about how much he was beginning to care about her.
They’d known each other for such a short time. But that hadn’t stopped a bond from forming between them. A bond born of a troubled past. Samuel tightened his hold upon her. He didn’t want to see her suffer anymore.
After a moment he pushed away. Just far enough so he could look into her eyes. Brushing damp locks of hair from her face, he whispered, “No more.”
Jessie’s brow furrowed. She looked up at him, confused.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you, Jessie,” he said, feeling a thickness in his throat. “This search for your mother’s killer…it has to stop.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. She stepped back out of his arms, letting cold air rush up to meet him. “Don’t you see what this means? Someone is running scared.”
“Someone who might be a killer,” he reminded her, the words sterner than he’d meant. He was agitated. The walls felt as though they were about to close in around him. The damage seemed more threatening without the reassuring warmth of her body next to his. He swept a hand around the living room. “Take a good look, Jessie. Whoever did this was mad enough to cause a hell of a lot of damage. The next time they might not take their anger out on the house. Next time they might be looking for you.”
She cringed, but refused to back down. “I’m not what they were after. They were looking for my mother’s diary.”
He frowned. “The diary?”
“Of course. What else could it have been?”
“A warning,” he said bluntly. “Someone wants you to leave Prudence Island.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” she said, straightening her shoulders. She lifted her chin in defiance. “I refuse to be intimidated. I’m not leaving until I’ve found out everything there is to know.”
Samuel closed his eyes. They’d had this disagreement before. He could argue with her until he was blue in the face, and still she would not change her mind.
Slowly opening his eyes, he looked around the vandalized room and knew he could not abandon her. Like it or not, they were partners in this dangerous search for the truth. Aloud he said, “Then I have no choice but to help you…God help us both.”
“It’s getting late,” Samuel mused.
Startled, Jessie looked up from the torn book of poems that she’d been skimming. A book of love poems, with verses that someone—her mother, she assumed—had highlighted with a yellow marker. Finding a touchstone, a
connection to her mother, was the one good thing to come out of the horrors of the day’s events. This unexpected glimpse into her mother’s life somehow reassured her that her decision to continue her search into her mother’s death was the right one. Slowly she rose to her feet, rubbing an aching spot in small of her back.
Samuel stood in the doorway, examining the keyed dead bolt he’d just finished installing in the front door. A small square of plywood temporarily covered the missing pane of glass.
Jessie glanced at the bank of windows facing the beach. Wind pummeled the coastline, kicking up sand and dust, bending the tall sea oats that lined the dunes. Black, ominous clouds scudded across the horizon. A late-day storm was brewing.
They’d spent the last several hours sifting through the damaged rooms, setting aside articles that could be salvaged, stuffing into trash bags items that were beyond repair. The house wore the vacant, empty look of a wounded soul. While Jessie told herself the damage was only superficial, she knew in her heart that the spirit of the house had been dealt yet another serious blow.
A blow from which she doubted it would ever recover.
Her stomach growled, interrupting her thoughts, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since early this morning. Embarrassed, she placed a quieting hand on her tummy.
Samuel’s face eased into a half smile.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” she admitted, with a sheepish grin. “How would you like some dinner?”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” he said, closing the door and bolting the lock.
“Samuel,” she said, sighing her impatience, “after all you’ve done for me today, a meal is the least I can offer you.” Then, remembering all the tainted food they’d thrown out, she added, “At least, I think I can offer you a meal. I’d better check to see what I’ve still got in the pantry.”
“Do you need some help?”
She waved away the offer. “No, I’ll be fine. Why don’t you have a seat and relax for a while? I won’t be long.”
Samuel didn’t answer. Instead, he stood in the foyer, frowning thoughtfully as he glanced around the devastated rooms.
She hesitated, following his gaze. There was still so much to do. The ruined couch would have to be replaced or recovered. She would need someone to come in and smooth out the gouges in the wooden floors and clean the stains from carpets. Even more daunting, her mother’s paintings were torn beyond repair. But she hadn’t found the strength to take them down from the wall and throw them away.
Jessie shivered at the thought of how much there was still to do. And yet she just wasn’t sure how much time or money she wanted to spend on repairing the damage. While Gull’s Cottage was a beautiful house, she’d yet to feel comfortable inside its doors. She hugged her waist, rubbing her arms to ward off a sudden chill. She was beginning to think this house could never feel as though it were a home.
Awareness stirred as she felt Samuel’s gaze upon her. She turned to see him watching her, a concerned look on his face. Forcing a smile, she said, “It’s still a bit overwhelming.”
“You mean the break-in?”
“Not just that,” she murmured. “It’s the fact that someone hated me enough to do so much damage.” She looked into his eyes, challenging him to disagree. “That is what this is all about, isn’t it? Hatred? I can feel it every time I step into a room and see something else that’s been destroyed. Whoever did this was filled with so much anger, so much bitterness.”
He didn’t answer. But the troubled expression on his face and the pity in his eyes told her she was right. He had come to the same conclusion.
“Dinner won’t be long,” Jessie said with a sigh, and turned away.
Earlier, they’d thrown out the spoiled food and spilled drinks. The floors had been washed and the counters cleaned. But the kitchen still felt sullied. And while she couldn’t explain the reaction, every time she stepped into the room her stomach clenched with apprehension.
Jessie pushed aside her unease and strode to the pantry to see what the shelves held in way of a meal. Snapping on the light, she opened the wooden door and stepped inside.
Despite the overhead bulb that lit the small room, darkness seemed to reach out and engulf her. One step more and the floor began to spin beneath her feet. Her chest tightened. Her stomach roiled in revulsion as another paralyzing panic attack struck her.
Voices, loud, angry voices.
Jessie drew in a strangled breath. It was the nightmare of her youth coming to her in the middle of the day while she was wide-awake. She closed her eyes and tried to blot out the horrible images.
The night-darkened hallway…hurrying toward the sound of shouting…the voices, louder…
No matter how hard she fought them, the images kept coming. Unable to move or to scream out, Jessie stood panic-stricken, shuddering in the center of the small pantry. There was nothing she could do to stop the nightmare from happening again.
Then, suddenly, there was silence. A heart-stuttering silence.
A beam of light sliced through the inky darkness, blinding her, paralyzing her with fear….
A shape emerged from the shadows of the kitchen.
A shape large and frightening, coming closer, closer…
Her heart leaping in her chest, she stumbled back, one step, two, until she couldn’t go any farther…
And then there was nothing but darkness. All-encompassing darkness.
A scream tore from her throat, unlocking her frozen limbs. She reached out, flailing her arms against invisible hands that tried to hold her. Stumbling forward, she fell against the pantry shelves. Cans and bottles toppled from their perches onto the floor, the crash echoing in the small room.
A glass jar of spaghetti sauce splattered against the tiled floor, looking like spilled blood. Spinning around in a blind panic, once again she felt hands reaching for her, arms surrounding her, binding her.
Their grip was tight, too tight. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs burned. Pushing and shoving, she fought the hold they had upon her.
Until she heard a voice…
Samuel’s worried voice. “Jessie!”
She stopped struggling.
His iron grip loosened, giving her room to breathe.
She gulped in cooling drafts of air, and the spinning room slowed. Slowly the tight feeling of panic in her chest eased. Her heart still thudding, she looked up into a pair of familiar, blue eyes. Her muscles went lax, and relief flooded her body as she allowed herself to be calmed by Samuel’s reassuring presence.
“What is it, Jessie? What’s wrong?”
“Where was I found?” she demanded, barely able to muster more than a whisper.
He shook his head, looking confused. “I…I don’t understand.”
“The night of the murder…the newspapers said I was found in the house.” She drew in a choppy breath, trying to slow her racing heart. “Where was I found?”
“I’m not sure. I…I thought someone said in a closet—”
“Could it have been in here?” Jessie couldn’t stop the tremors from shaking her body as she glanced around the small room. “In the pantry?”
“I don’t know. I suppose—”
“Well, I do know,” she said, her voice echoing hollowly against the walls of the pantry. “I saw it. I saw the kitchen in my dream.”
“Dream?” His expression grew more puzzled. “What dream?”
Jessie wanted to cry out her impatience. Of course he wouldn’t know about her dreams. No one knew of them. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. She blinked hard, fighting the show of weakness. All these years, she’d been too embarrassed to admit to anyone that she was still haunted by a childhood dream. She’d never trusted anyone enough to share her secret.
Now she tried to explain. “Since my mother’s death, I’ve had nightmares.” She shook her head, impatient with her own clumsy efforts. “No, that’s not right…I’ve had only one nightmare…but now, I know it’s
more than just a dream. It’s a memory.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “Samuel, I’m remembering my mother’s murder.”
Chapter 9
An hour later the storm that had threatened finally found its release. Rain pelted the glass windows of the Sassy Seagull restaurant, turning the sky and ocean a dirty gray. The beach looked almost deserted. Tourists, carrying umbrellas and wearing raincoats, hurried along the boardwalk, heading for dry places to settle for the evening.
Samuel sat across the table from Jessie, still feeling too on edge to speak. Considering the events of the past few hours, neither of them had felt comfortable staying at Gull’s Cottage. Needing a break, they’d decided it was best to eat out. Now, as the silence strained between them, the implications of what had been revealed seemed even more foreboding.
Jessie’s memory was returning. She was beginning to recall the events of the past. The events leading to her mother’s murder.
Samuel sipped his beer, then glanced at Jessie’s pale face. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased with the news, or to consider it just one more reason to worry.
“Here you go,” the waitress announced, interrupting his troubled thoughts. The young girl slid two platters onto the table before them. For Jessie she brought a sizzling plate of delicately broiled shrimp and rice pilaf. For Samuel, a stick-to-your-ribs steak and fries. With a wink and a grin, she thumped a bottle of ketchup on the table before leaving. “Enjoy your meal.”
His appetite abandoning him, Samuel forced himself to pick up his fork. He stared at the food, trying to muster the desire to eat.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Jessie said, echoing his own thoughts. He glanced across the table to find her studying him pensively. “I’m not really that hungry. We probably should have just skipped dinner.”
“We’ve got to eat sometime,” Samuel insisted. He jabbed a French fry and forked it into his mouth. Around a mouthful of the food, he said, “Try your shrimp. The restaurant’s known for their seafood.”
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