by B. J Daniels
The women stitched for a few moments in silence, then began to plan for the Old Town Whitehorse Christmas bazaar just weeks away and what crafts and food everyone was going to bring.
* * *
BRIDGER WAS IN the kitchen at the restaurant when Spencer stopped in. Last night, the test run had been a huge success. Especially Laci’s torte. Bridger had called to tell her, even though it had been late. He’d had to leave a message on her machine, suspecting she was there but didn’t want to take his call.
He’d thought about trying to explain how it was between him and Spencer, but the story was too long and involved to leave on an answering machine. Not to mention he knew he’d be wasting his breath. Laci had no reason to believe him. Especially with Spencer acting as if they were long-lost friends.
But, damn, Bridger felt she should have given him the benefit of the doubt. Hadn’t what happened between them meant anything to her?
Damn it. Just his luck to fall for a woman who was impossible. Couldn’t Laci see that? Why would Spencer kill his wife on their honeymoon? It made no sense.
Bridger glanced around the kitchen. He had a ton of work to do if he hoped to open before Christmas. But he couldn’t get Laci out of his mind.
As Spencer walked into the restaurant kitchen, Bridger saw him look around as if expecting Laci would be there. Is that why he’d stopped by? It gave Bridger more than an uncomfortable feeling. Had Spencer heard about Laci’s suspicions and her determination to prove him a killer?
“I’m sorry if I messed things up for you yesterday evening at your opening by stopping by like that,” Spencer said.
“No, it was fine. It wasn’t my opening. I just wanted to get a response from the community as to what I planned to serve, so I did a sampler night,” Bridger said, realizing he sounded nervous. Realizing also that he hadn’t invited Spencer. Did Spencer feel slighted?
Spencer was looking at him funny. Or was it his imagination? “I didn’t mean about the restaurant. I meant about you and Laci Cavanaugh. I saw her leave not long after I did.”
Spencer had hung around outside long enough to see Laci leave?
“You should have a bell on that kitchen door so you’ll know if you’re about to be interrupted.”
“It wasn’t like that. Laci’s a chef. She’s been helping me with some ideas for dishes for the restaurant.” Why was he lying about his feelings for her to Spencer?
“Sure, whatever you say. You two looked good together. I hated interrupting your kiss.”
Bridger just wished Spencer would get to why he’d come by. “How are you holding up?” Bridger asked pointedly, remembering what Laci had said about the man’s apparent lack of grief last night. “I would have invited you to the sampler last night, but I thought you wouldn’t be interested in socializing yet.”
Spencer gave him a look as if to say he had been doing fine until Bridger had brought it up again. “I’ll never get over Aly’s death. I blame myself. I should never have let her swim alone like that. But she was such a strong swimmer and she enjoyed it so much...”
“I know how hard it must be,” Bridger said, not knowing but feeling chastised. He told himself that every person grieved in his own way. Part of him still hadn’t dealt with the past, and he knew it.
“I just take it a day at a time,” Spencer said, moving around the kitchen, picking up utensils and putting them down as if nervous.
Not half as nervous as he was making Bridger. What was this visit about? Something. He knew Spencer well enough to know that the man hadn’t just dropped in. Spencer always made him feel guilty. For not keeping in touch all these years. For not feeling close to Spencer. After everything that had happened during their childhood, shouldn’t he feel something more than a resentful indebtedness?
“It’s probably wise taking it a day at a time,” Bridger said.
Spencer turned to look over his shoulder at him. “I try not to think about it,” he said pointedly. “It’s bad enough I’ll have to live with the memory the rest of my life. Actually, that’s why I’m here.”
Finally, Bridger thought, remembering how he had wanted to turn down Spencer’s wedding invitation but had felt trapped into going. Just as he felt on the spot now.
“I was hoping you’d go to the funeral with me this morning,” Spencer said. “I don’t know anyone else in town. I mean, I’ve met people, but you’re the only person I really know.”
Bridger felt the full weight of their past press down on him. He knew at that moment why he’d avoided Spencer for years, resenting the bond between them, hating the guilt as well as the shame.
But Spencer was wrong about one thing. He didn’t know Bridger, hadn’t even when they were kids. Sure as hell didn’t know him after all this time.
Nor could Bridger be sure he knew Spencer, he reminded himself, thinking of Laci’s suspicions.
“I wouldn’t ask, but I’m feeling a little desperate,” Spencer said. “I guess it’s the grief, but I feel like I’m never going to be allowed to be happy and that Alyson’s death is all my fault because of my rotten luck.”
“That’s crazy.”
Spencer nodded, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe.”
Bridger tried to come up with an excuse not to go to the funeral with Spencer, but in the end he had no choice. He’d planned on attending the funeral anyway for Laci. He couldn’t very well tell Spencer he couldn’t make it and then show up.
“I really would appreciate it,” Spencer said. “I’m having a tough time, but with you there, well, it will make things a little easier.”
“Sure.” What else could he say? He thought of Laci and groaned inwardly. She would just see this as more betrayal, but there was nothing he could do about that now.
“Great,” Spencer said, giving him a slap on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you, old buddy.”
The old buddy grated and only made Bridger feel worse. They discussed where and when to meet and Spencer left. Bridger reminded himself that Spencer would be leaving town soon, probably right after the funeral, and it would be the last he might ever see of him. But he feared it would be too late to patch things up with Laci.
* * *
LACI WOKE WITH a terrible headache. She hadn’t slept well last night. At three, she’d gotten up and taken something to help her sleep. And now she’d overslept and felt horrible.
Unfortunately she was also still spooked just knowing Spencer Donovan was only down the road from her. She didn’t like being afraid. And knew she might not even have a reason—if she was wrong about him. That was why she had to find out the truth, she’d realized on waking. She wouldn’t be able to rest until she did.
Doing something also kept her mind off Bridger. She felt sick as she realized she’d done exactly what she’d sworn not to. She’d leaped before she’d looked. She didn’t know Bridger. Wouldn’t have guessed that he was a friend of Spencer Donovan’s. What else didn’t she know about him?
She picked up the phone and dialed information in Atlanta for a Joanna Clemmons, telling herself that the woman probably wouldn’t be listed or might still be in Hawaii.
The automated voice on the line gave her the number. Laci dialed, holding her breath.
A woman with a Southern accent answered on the second ring.
“Joanna Clemmons?” Laci asked, then rushed on before the woman thought it was a telemarketer calling. “I’m calling about the drowning of Alyson Donovan in Hawaii. I understand you were the only eyewitness?”
“Yes,” the woman said cautiously.
“My name is Laci Cavanaugh. Alyson was my best friend.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Joanna Clemmons said quickly.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Well, I already told the police, but I had seen your friend swimming in the morning whi
le I was at the hotel. She apparently loved the water.”
“Yes,” Laci said, closing her eyes to fight back the tears.
“This particular morning the surf was rough. I just caught glimpses of her out there and then suddenly I realized she was in trouble. I heard her scream for help and then she went under as if struggling.”
“Where was her husband?”
“He was in their cabana but came running out to the water after her scream for help.”
“Did he try to save her?” Laci asked and held her breath.
“He did.”
Laci heard the hesitation in the woman’s voice. “But?”
“He seemed to hesitate. I got the impression he didn’t swim.”
“But he finally went in the water?”
“Yes. Apparently he isn’t a very good swimmer. I was afraid he was going to drown before the hotel staff could get him to shore after... He was so devastated.”
Sure he was. “There wasn’t a lifeguard on duty at the hotel?”
“Not on the beach.”
Laci wondered if that was another reason Spencer had chosen that particular hotel.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” Joanna said.
“Thank you. I appreciate hearing what happened.” Laci hung up, blinded by tears of pain and fury. She wasn’t sure how Spencer had done it, but she was all the more convinced that Alyson’s drowning was no accident.
As Laci got out of bed, she knocked the white envelope off her nightstand. It fluttered to the floor, landing faceup. The words Laci Cherry stared up at her.
She let out a curse at the sight of the envelope. She’d forgotten about it, she’d been so upset about Spencer. Had he really followed her home last night, as she suspected? He’d definitely driven by slowly, as if watching her from the darkness of his car.
She shivered at the memory. He frightened her much more than some stupid note, she told herself as she picked up the unopened envelope.
The sender made her angry. She was tempted to throw the stupid thing away without opening it. If someone had something to tell her, then she wished they’d just do it and get it over with. Why the games?
Was it possible Spencer was behind this? Alyson might have told him about Laci’s family. How she and Aly were both raised by grandparents—and why. So Spencer would know about Laci’s father and mother. And about her grandfather and grandmother Cherry.
She shook her head at her own paranoia. Spencer had been in Hawaii with Alyson when the first envelope was left on her porch. Even she was beginning to wonder if she wasn’t making a case against him because she wanted someone to blame for her friend’s death.
If only she hadn’t seen that look he’d given Alyson at the reception.
Angrily she ripped open the envelope, pulled out the sheet of paper and braced herself for what she would find printed on the page.
But nothing could have prepared her for what was written there.
Your mother never left town.
Chapter Seven
“WHERE DID YOU get these?” Sheriff Carter Jackson asked, picking up the two small white envelopes Laci had put in separate plastic bags.
“They were left for me on the porch at the house,” she told him.
He nodded and, after pulling on a pair of latex gloves at her insistence, opened the bag she’d marked “No. 1.”
His gaze rose from the note to her.
Laci said nothing, waiting for him to read the second one.
“Any idea who might be sending these to you?” he asked after he’d read them.
She shook her head. “I’ve always been told that my mother left town because she couldn’t live without my father. Is there something else I should know?”
Carter put the notes back in the envelopes. “That’s what I’ve always heard, as well. After you called and said you were bringing in the notes, I did give Todd Hamilton a call. He was sheriff when your mother left. He’s living over in Great Falls now with his daughter.”
“So the sheriff was called in?” This was news.
“Apparently your mother left a note saying she needed some time alone, but when your grandparents didn’t hear from her after a couple of weeks, they filed a missing-person’s report with him.”
Her mother had left a note? “She didn’t say where she was going?”
“No. The fact that she took a few personal items with her indicated to the sheriff that she’d left of her own free will.”
Laci didn’t like the bad feeling she was getting. “Wasn’t he concerned when she didn’t turn up?”
“The missing-person’s report went out across the country, but while there were some unconfirmed sightings, she was never located.” The sheriff seemed to hesitate. “It was assumed she didn’t want to be found.”
“No one suspected foul play?”
“There was no reason to. Your mother was young, her husband had just died, she had two small children...” He shrugged. “That’s a lot for anyone to face, let alone someone her age.”
Laci shook her head, not wanting to believe her mother had just run out on them because she wasn’t strong enough. How could the daughter of Pearl and Titus Cavanaugh have been a quitter? It went against the genes.
And yet Laci had considered quitting after all the evidence pointed to Spencer Donovan’s innocence even though her instincts told her he was a murderer.
“Thank you for the information,” she told the sheriff as she got up to leave.
He rose from his chair. “Let me know if you get any more notes. I’ll run these for prints and get back to you. In the meantime, I wouldn’t put much stock in them. If someone knew where your mother was, they would have come forward before this, don’t you think?”
Unless for some reason they couldn’t.
Laci was lost in thoughts of her mother and the person who was sending her the notes as she drove to the post office to pick up her mail. She said hello to several people she passed. The post office was where you eventually ran into everyone from the county since Whitehorse didn’t have door-to-door mail service, and even with rural delivery out in Old Town Whitehorse, packages were often held at the P.O. to be picked up.
As she was coming out, she suddenly sensed someone watching her. She shivered as she looked up but saw no one. Walking to her car, though, she couldn’t shake the feeling. It wasn’t until she started to open her car door that she saw him.
Spencer Donovan. He was sitting in the coffee shop across from the post office. He acted as if he’d just noticed her and nodded brusquely before turning away.
Laci found herself shaking as she pulled open her door, convinced he’d been following her, would know she’d gone to the sheriff’s office this morning. Only he wouldn’t know that this time it had been about her mother and not him.
As she opened her car door, she caught the sweet-sick smell of the yellow rose before she saw it lying on her driver’s-side seat.
* * *
MILK RIVER EXAMINER reporter Glen Whitaker walked past the new restaurant and peered in the window. He’d been trying to get an interview with Bridger Duvall since he’d moved to the area.
Other than a brief article about Duvall’s business license to open the restaurant, he’d found out little about the man and had no luck in getting Duvall to talk to him.
Which Glen found as strange as Bridger Duvall himself. Most anyone who opened a business wanted the free publicity of a feature article in the newspaper.
But then, apparently Bridger Duvall wasn’t most people. First he’d rented the old McAllister place in Old Town and now he was starting a business in Whitehorse. There was talk that he would be moving permanently into the apartment over the restaurant since the old McAllister place had sold to a former detective and her husband.
/> On top of that, no one knew anything about Bridger Duvall—where he’d come from or, maybe more important, why he was here.
But apparently he had some connection to that man who’d married Alyson Banning—Spencer Donovan. Glen had also been trying to get an interview with the widower, with about the same luck as he’d had with Duvall. He’d heard that the two men were friends. Interesting.
Also interesting was a brunette woman Glen had seen several times—right after he’d seen Spencer Donovan. The woman had clearly not wanted to be seen. Glen had gotten the impression that she was following Donovan. To meet up with him later?
Glen had a nose for news that he was glad to realize he hadn’t lost. Since moving to Whitehorse he hadn’t covered much of interest. But he sensed that there was definitely a story in either Spencer Donovan, his recently drowned wife or this brunette. Or at least in Bridger Duvall and what he was up to.
Both men were unknowns and new to the community. Glen felt it was his job to find out as much about both and let residents know who was living right next door to them. Not to mention the fact that he was nosier than hell.
He had to drive down to Old Town Whitehorse to do a story for the newspaper on Alice Miller’s ninetieth birthday this afternoon and Alyson Banning’s funeral this morning. He’d take a few photos and—who knew—maybe catch Spencer Donovan off guard and get an interview. He was very curious about the man’s wife’s death.
Glen hadn’t been in Old Town Whitehorse in months, not since he’d been beaten and left beside the road. It had been a humiliating experience, one he tried not to think about. An Old Town Whitehorse teenager had been caught and was supposedly behind a series of men bashings, but Glen still felt strange whenever he had to do a story down that way.
As he was walking to his car, he saw Bridger Duvall pull up and go into the restaurant with a large box of supplies.
Glen watched him, thinking the man must be anxious to get his restaurant open since he’d been working day and night on the place. It gave Glen an idea. While he was down in Whitehorse maybe he’d stop by the old McAllister place and have a look around before Duvall moved out. What would it hurt?
