by Marta Perry
Flora paused on the threshold. “Guess you’ve got to do what Adams says. But don’t you go letting Nathan into the house, either.” She glanced toward the cottage. “He takes drugs, you know. I saw the evidence with my own eyes. Your great-aunt knew, too.”
She wouldn’t let her expression change. “Thank you, Flora. I’ll see you later, I’m sure.”
She waited until they’d climbed into a rusty pickup and driven away. Then she headed for the cottage, fueled by determination. It was past time for Nathan to level with her.
She skirted the drainage ditch that ran along the path, catching her breath when a small alligator slid into the water at her approach. The low country can be a dangerous place. She could almost hear Aunt Henny’s voice. Dangerous, but beautiful. Aunt Henny had known every inch of this land, and every creature that lived on it. She’d taught Cathy to respect it.
A shiver went down her spine. It wasn’t the gators she feared.
The cottage door stood ajar, so she walked in, rapping as she did. “Nathan?” She stopped. Exercise equipment crowded the space.
Nathan, on a leg-press machine, grimaced as he pushed and then released. “Don’t you believe in knocking?”
“I just had a visit from Flora and son. You were right about him. I think he was trying to get at the silver service.”
He grunted, getting up and mopping his face with a towel. “That place needs a guard dog. I suppose Flora offered to help look for the will.”
“She did.” She could see the pain in his face when he moved, and her heart clutched. He’d probably reinjured himself getting to her last night. “She said something else.” Just say it, Cathy. “She said you were into drugs, and Aunt Henny knew.”
He tossed the towel away, face averted. “Believe what you want.” Pain etched the words and echoed in her heart.
She walked to him deliberately and touched his arm. “I believe you’re an honest man. Aunt Henny trusted you, or you wouldn’t be living here. So tell me. Please.”
For a moment it hung in the balance. He looked into her face, and apparently whatever he saw there satisfied him, because he nodded. “Henny and I had our ups and downs. I always thought she was too bossy. You’re a lot like her, you know?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
His smile flickered. “She wanted me to become a naturalist, because I loved the island and its creatures like she did. But that was too tame for me, so I became a cop. We fought about it.”
She wouldn’t let herself look down at his leg. “You got hurt on the job.”
He nodded. “A drug dealer smashed me against a brick wall with an SUV, leading to more operations than I want to remember. The irony is, I became dependent on the pain meds.” He took a breath. “Not anymore. Thanks to Henny, I made it. She set this up for me.” He gestured toward the equipment. “Bullied me through the bad times. Gave me my life back and never asked a thing in return.”
Tears stung her eyes. “Yes. She always thought she knew what was best for you, and most times she was right.”
“Any particular thing she was right about for you?” He was so close the question seemed to brush her skin.
She didn’t step away. “When she came at Christmas. I’d been dating someone. She sized him up in a minute and a half and told me he was a stuffed shirt and a pretentious snob. Which he was.”
Nathan chuckled deep in his throat. “I trust he’s out of the picture now.” He touched her cheek, skimming his fingers back into her hair. “Because I intend to kiss you, and I wouldn’t want to—”
She turned her head slightly, and their lips met, cutting off his words. The room seemed to fade as she let her eyes close and leaned into the kiss. She felt as if she’d come home at last.
CHAPTER SIX
“DID YOU KNOW Henny kept all the pictures you sent her?” Nathan held up a drawing he’d just unearthed from the workroom cabinet, smiling at Cathy’s expression when she saw the stick figure.
“She should have thrown that away.” Cathy knelt in front of the bookcases, pulling things from the bottom shelves. “I never could draw.”
“She wanted it. She loved you.” He could understand the feeling. Cathy was lovable, especially when she forgot about her life and career back in Boston and relaxed. Henny had always said that the island brought out what was real in people.
“Well, if she wanted us to find her will, she should have saved a little less stuff. Or put it somewhere obvious, like the safe.” She pulled a stack of books from the shelf, and a carved wooden box came with them.
“That’s mine, Cousin Catherine.”
Nathan jerked around. Fine watchdog he was. Why hadn’t he heard Clayton approach?
Cathy glanced from Clayton to him before replying, and he knew what she was thinking. Was Clayton, like Flora, eager to join the search for the missing wills?
She turned the box over in her hands. “I’m sorry, Clayton, but nothing must leave the house until after the will has been found. I’m sure you understand.”
“But that’s mine.” Clayton took a step toward her. “You have to give it to me.”
Nathan eased away from the cabinet, muscles tightening. “No, she doesn’t.” For a moment they faced each other, and he could feel the tension radiating from Clayton.
“I’ll tell you what.” Cathy scrambled to her feet. “I won’t open it, and I’ll keep it safe for you. Once I’ve gone through everything, we can sort this out. All right?”
For a moment longer Clayton stood rigid. Then he nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” He took a step toward the door. “I guess I should go.” Before they could speak, he’d hurried out.
He looked at her, eyebrows lifting. “Maybe you ought to see what’s inside.”
She shook the box experimentally. Paper rustled. “I promised. But I’d love to know how important this is to him.”
“Enough to try to get you out of the way, you mean? Frankly, at this moment I don’t trust any of them. He might have been kin, but Henny didn’t trust Clayton any more than she trusted—” He stopped, realizing he was about to go too far.
Two red spots appeared on Cathy’s cheeks. “Than my father. That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? I know they didn’t get along, but he’s not a bad person.”
He no longer suspected that she was involved in her father’s scheme, so he shouldn’t say any more. “If you say so. You know him. I don’t.”
She shoved the box onto the shelf and planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t patronize me. If you imagine you know something about my father, you can’t just imply he’s not trustworthy and let it go.”
“All right. Fine.” The anger he’d felt at the time surged to life. “Did you know your father was here six weeks before Henny died? Did you know that he pushed her to sell Morley’s End for some condo scheme he was involved in? And that when she refused, he threatened to have her declared incompetent?”
Cathy’s face had been red—now it was ashen. “That’s not true. My father wouldn’t do something like that. He wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t he?” He’d gone too far, but he couldn’t back down now. He owed it to Henny. “If you don’t believe me, ask him. Just ask him.”
* * *
CATHY SAT ON the bed in the room that had been hers as a child. She’d cried herself out after the phone call to her father, and now she had no more tears. She faced the truth—that her father was a man who’d badger a sick old woman because of his own greed.
I didn’t know, Lord. I didn’t know, and I wasn’t here to help her. Please, show me what to do now.
Aunt Henny’s Bible still lay on the bedside table. She picked it up, her throat tightening when she saw the bookmark that stuck out of it—an image of Jesus as shepherd, pasted together with a child’s care. She’d made it in Sunday School and sent it to her. The passage that it ma
rked was one of Aunt Henny’s favorites, the 23rd Psalm.
Aunt Henny had underlined several verses, as she always did when she found something that spoke to her.
She read through the familiar chapter, then closed the Bible and put it back. The words had comforted her, as no doubt they’d comforted Aunt Henny. Now it was time to take action. She owed Nathan the truth.
The house was silent as she hurried down the stairs and out the door. The setting sun touched the marsh grasses with gold, and a mockingbird swooped over her head as she trotted down the path.
Her heart was in her throat as she approached the cottage. She had been so angry with Nathan, and now she had to apologize. Had to admit that her own father had behaved just as badly as Nathan had said.
Her mind flickered back to that kiss they’d shared. How odd it was. If someone had asked before she’d come back, she’d have said that she barely remembered Nathan. And yet they’d moved so quickly to the point of arguing and caring as if they’d been together for years. Maybe, in a way, that childhood summer had created a bond that had been there ever since, even though she hadn’t seen it.
She rounded the corner of the cottage, her mind focused on what she had to say to him. And stopped, breath catching in her throat.
Where the porch had been there was nothing but a pile of jagged boards and protruding timbers, and Nathan lay, half-covered, in the midst of it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I’M FINE. STOP fussing over me,” Nathan snarled.
The tall, stately Gullah nurse who’d met them at the clinic smiled at Catherine and continued wrapping an elastic bandage around his wrist. “Might as well stop resisting, Nathan. I’ve known you since you were a tadpole, and it’s not impressing me.”
“Are you sure that’s not broken?” The vise Cathy had felt around her heart when she saw Nathan trapped in the wreckage of the porch had loosened a little, but she still shuddered when she thought of it.
Esther Johnson shook her head, gold earrings swinging against her skin. “He’s fine. Just try to keep him out of trouble.” Her gaze zeroed in on the bandage on Cathy’s forehead. “You two look as if you’ve gone a round with a gator. Take care out there at Morley’s End.”
Things came together in her mind then. “Mr. Adams told me that a nurse from the clinic witnessed my aunt’s will. Was that you?”
The woman nodded. “I knew what it was, of course, but I don’t know what was in it.”
“I guess you’ve heard that we haven’t been able to find either will.” Nathan winced as she fastened the bandage. “Did you have any sense of what she was doing with it?”
“No, can’t say as I do. It was on the desk in her workroom when I left.”
* * *
“WE’RE NO FURTHER along than we were before.” Nathan leaned against the passenger seat as Catherine drove down the narrow lane to the house. “Maybe worse, with me banged up.” He flexed his hand, and she could tell by the way he stiffened that it hurt.
“We can’t keep going this way.” The concern she felt must have shown in her voice. “Maybe we should go to the police. That porch didn’t collapse by itself.”
“And tell them what?” Nathan just sounded frustrated. “That we think one of Henny’s relatives is trying to keep us from finding the will? What can they gain by delaying us?”
It was irrational, to feel so pleased that he kept saying “us,” as if they were a team. “I’ve given up wondering why. I just want to find the new will and get this settled.”
“So you can rush back to Boston?” Nathan’s voice deepened a little, as if her answer was important.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said slowly. “There hasn’t been enough time to figure it out. But I know I’ll be leaving my father’s firm.”
Nathan reached across the seat to touch her wrist in a comforting gesture. “I’m sorry I was the one to tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
She took a deep breath to ease the pain in her heart. “It’s better that I know the truth. It explains why he was so eager for me to come. He probably hoped I’d inherit and that I’d agree to his plans. Which I wouldn’t. This place meant too much to Aunt Henny.” She hesitated. “And to you. Whatever the will says, this place rightfully belongs to you.”
Nathan stiffened. “My father left it to Henny, and she had the right to dispose of it however she saw fit. I have no desire to change that.”
“Then we’d better find that will, and fast.” She drew to a stop in front of the house. “I still think it has to be in the workroom somewhere. That was her special place.”
“Let’s get looking, then.” He opened the door with his good hand. “I’m not stopping until we’ve gone through every single inch. I don’t want to risk any more little accidents.”
“Agreed.” She slid out, wanting to help him but afraid he’d be offended if she tried. “You start looking while I go make us some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”
* * *
IT WAS DARK outside by the time Cathy sank down in the middle of the books she’d removed from the shelves. “Maybe we were wrong. Maybe she put it someplace else.”
Nathan looked worse than she felt, his face white with fatigue and pain as he shoved aside his own stack of books. “What about her bedroom? Did you take a look up there?”
She nodded. “I did that earlier. Unless she had a secret hiding place under the floorboards, it’s not there. You grew up in this house—can you think of anything?”
“I’ve already checked all the hiding places I know about.” He gave her a strained smile. “I didn’t wait for the executor to arrive from Boston—I’d already started looking as soon as I knew the will was missing. I didn’t want to let her down. Maybe if I hadn’t gone to Savannah that night—”
“You couldn’t have known. You said she seemed to be feeling well that day.”
“I hate it that she died alone.” His voice choked. He was letting her see how much he’d loved Henny, and she sensed that he didn’t show that depth of emotion easily.
“She wasn’t alone,” she said softly. “‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, Thou are with me.’ That was her favorite passage, remember? I’ve been using her Bible, and she had it bookmarked and underscored.”
“I remember.” He jerked a nod toward a sepia-toned print on the wall, with its flock of sheep settled against a quiet hillside. “That’s why that’s hanging in here, so she could see it from her desk.”
Cathy stared at the familiar print, feeling a tingle of excitement moving through her. “She’d underscored the words in her Bible. Recently—the ink wasn’t faded. What if—”
Nathan was on his feet almost before she’d finished speaking. He couldn’t manage the heavy frame with one hand, and she rushed to help him tilt it from the wall. The new envelope was white against the brown backing of the print. She pulled it out, fingers trembling.
“Last will and testament of Henrietta Morley. We’ve found it!”
“Now you can give it to me.”
They turned. Flora stood in the doorway, smiling, and in her plump hands was clutched a deadly looking rifle.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NATHAN FROZE, HIS good hand still holding the heavy picture frame. Helpless—why did he have to feel so helpless? Flora had the deer rifle aimed right at Cathy. She might be a lousy shot, but at this distance, she could hardly miss.
“Flora.” Cathy found her voice first. “What are you doing? Put that thing down.”
“Not until you give me the will.”
Flora didn’t budge from the doorway. She wouldn’t come within range, so that meant he had to move. He eased the frame back against the wall, assessing the distance between them and the clutter of books they’d left on the floor, now an obstacle course for a man with only one good leg and one go
od arm. Lord, be with us now, or we don’t stand a chance.
“You mean this?” Cathy held the envelope up, moving several steps away from him.
Way to go, sugar. Put some distance between us, so when I move she’ll aim at me, not you. A cold hand seized his heart at the thought of the damage that rifle could do.
“Stop that! Stand still!” The barrel of the rifle wavered between them. “Just give me the will, and no one will get hurt. I have the first one, so once this one is destroyed, everything is okay.”
“Destroying a will is a criminal offense,” Cathy said. Her voice was perfectly calm, as if she faced a potential murderer every day. “The court won’t let you inherit if you do that.”
“No one will know.” Flora’s face hardened. “Henny never should have written it. She said she was going to do it—going to change her will after she found out about the few little things we took from the house.”
“What did you do?” For an instant rage consumed him, and he beat it back. No good cop went into a confrontation against a weapon with his control shattered by anger.
But Cathy understood the implication. She gasped, taking an unwary step toward Flora. Toward the weapon. “Aunt Henny—you did something to her. Flora, what did you do?”
“She had everything. Everything! And she begrudged us a few little pieces of silver. She sat up in her bed like a queen with that Bible open on her lap and told me we’d have to be content with whatever we’d already taken.”
Flora was so angry that the rifle shook, and he moved to the side, searching for a clear path to her.
“You killed her.” Cathy took another step, as if she knew what he planned and was drawing Flora’s attention further and further from him. “You’re a nurse—you’d know how to make it look as if she overindulged and let her sugar get out of control.”
“I didn’t want to do it. She made me. I have to think of my son. She never had any kids, so she didn’t know what that was like.” She seemed to be asking Cathy to agree.
