He finished slicing the onion and then tossed the pieces into a small bowl.
“How did you do that without crying?” Charlotte asked.
“I’m a man.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, tough guy, so what’s one of your deep, dark secrets?”
He wiped his hands on a paper towel. “I can’t think of any.”
“Sure you can.” She picked up the chili powder and tossed another heaping spoonful into the pot.
“Hey, go easy on that,” he said.
“I thought you wanted it hot. But I’ll go easy if you tell me something about yourself.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re very stubborn?”
“Almost everyone I’ve ever met.” She gave him an unrepentant smile. “Stop stalling.”
“Okay.” He thought for a moment, wondering how honest he wanted to be. He wasn’t used to sharing his past. But there was something about Charlotte that made him want to talk. “I joined a gang when I was thirteen years old. To show my loyalty, I had to steal a CD player from an electronics store. I wasn’t a very good thief, and I got caught.”
“What happened to you?” she asked, curiosity and concern on her face.
“The cop who caught me was Latino. He’d grown up in the neighborhood where I lived, and his brother had died in a gang when he was sixteen years old. He took me home and told my parents to lock me up, or else he would. He scared the shit out of me, but he probably saved my life. Fortunately, my parents were able to move a couple of years later, so it was easier for my younger brothers to stay out of trouble.”
“And you became a cop so you could return the favor.”
“Something like that. I still had a thirst for excitement. I just decided to work on the right side of the law.”
“There aren’t a lot of gangs here in Angel’s Bay.”
“Thank God for that. I worked gangs and vice for almost a decade in L.A. I tried to save some kids. Sometimes it worked. Most times it didn’t. The problem never went away. For every kid I got out, another one took his place. And the drug situation was just as bad. I never felt like I was making a dent.”
He sighed. He might as well tell her the rest since he’d come this far.
“I had a partner who started taking shortcuts, crossing lines that shouldn’t have been crossed. If the courts weren’t going to put some of these guys away, he would. I started thinking the same way. I beat the crap out of someone one day—justice delivered personally by me. I could have killed him; thank God someone pulled me off him in time. He was a rapist and a murderer, but I wasn’t supposed to be his judge or his jury.”
“Oh, Joe,” Charlotte said, her eyes filled with compassion. “That’s terrible, but who could have blamed you?”
“A lot of people. I’m supposed to follow the law, not break it. I realized I’d reached a turning point. I quit the department a few weeks later, took some time to get my head together. I worked construction for my brother-in-law for a while, babysat the nieces and nephews, passed the time. Then my uncle Carlos died and left this house to me, and I drove up here to see the place. I was going to fix it up and sell it, but as soon as I walked through the door, I knew I was home. Luckily, the police department here needed a new chief. It all worked out.”
“It must be vastly different to be a police officer here in Angel’s Bay.”
“Like night and day. I love what I’m doing now. I never stopped wanting to be a cop; I was just overwhelmed with the grimness of it all. It was changing me, and I didn’t like who I was becoming, so I made the move. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a move Rachel wanted me to make.”
“She must have seen what your job was doing to you.”
“She was busy building her real-estate business. Her view of L.A. was mansions in Beverly Hills and beachfront property in Malibu, celebrity parties and designer clothes. We were living in the same town but not the same world.”
“Her world doesn’t sound that bad.”
“It’s not bad; it’s just not what I want. Okay, your turn.”
She thought for a moment. “My favorite color is yellow.”
He laughed. “We’re sharing secrets here.”
A wide grin spread across her face. “That is a secret. Everyone else thinks it’s blue.”
“You’re going to leave me out on this ledge all by myself? Come on, Charlotte. Tell me something no one else knows.”
She hesitated for a long moment, her smile slowly disappearing. “I really wish you weren’t married.”
He swallowed hard. He hadn’t been expecting her to admit that. “I might not be married for very much longer.”
“I know,” she whispered.
The air between them sizzled with anticipation . . . then his cell phone rang. He wanted to let it go, but with the festival starting, he’d promised to be on call. He took it out of his pocket, even more disturbed when he saw the number. “It’s Rachel.”
Charlotte let out a breath. “Talk about perfect timing. You should answer it. And I should go.”
“Charlotte, wait.” He stepped in front of her. “I’d rather talk to you.”
“I don’t want to be a reason for you to walk away from your marriage, Joe. I like you, but I wasn’t raised by a minister for nothing. I feel guilty enough for flirting with you. You should call your wife back, because I don’t think you’re ready to say it’s over.”
“You don’t know what I feel.”
Her gaze was direct and steady. “I don’t think you do, either. If you were sure, you would have signed the divorce papers.”
He wanted to argue, but how could he? “You still don’t have to go, Charlotte. We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Not yet. Let’s keep it that way.”
Brianna got up early Friday morning after a restless night of worrying about how she would smooth things over with Nancy. After letting Digger out of his crate and setting Lucas up with cereal and cartoons in the kitchen, she headed into the attached garage where Derek’s boxes were stored.
Ever since Jason had told her about Steve Markham’s visit and his suggestion that she might have a clue she didn’t know she had, she’d been wondering if that was a possibility. It was time to unpack.
An hour later, she’d unearthed very little of personal interest. It was obvious that Nancy had been so rattled by Derek’s trial that she’d simply packed up everything in his town house, most of which was of no importance. As Brianna got deeper into one box, however, she found some old, yellowed newspapers dating back twenty or thirty years. The articles seemed to be about Wyatt and his successes as an artist. Some were from the local Angel’s Bay newspaper, others from national magazines featuring his art. Apparently, Derek had studied his grandfather’s work in great detail. Had Wyatt known how much his grandson had admired him?
Her heart sped up as her gaze fell on a slim packet of letters tied together with an old, faded ribbon. The paper was thin and yellowed and addressed to Francine Kane, Derek’s ancestor from the shipwreck. Her heart skipped a beat.
She carefully unwrapped the tie, pulled a letter out, and skimmed the passage. It was short, and the words were a mix of Spanish and English. Fortunately, after years of living aboard, she could read both.
My sweet Francine,
How sweet our time has been. You brought me out of the dark and into the light, back from the edge of despair to the brink of possibility. I will treasure our nights together for as long as I live. I cannot give you my heart, for it belongs to another, but I give you what is left of me.
Victor
Victor? Victor Delgado and Francine Kane had been lovers? Why had she never heard that part of the story? Obviously, Derek had known.
Had Nancy? Nancy had told her all about the quilt square that Francine had sewn for her dead husband, Marcus. She’d talked about the two boys Francine had raised alone and then with her second husband, George Weller. But Nancy had never mentioned a tie between Victor and Francine.
Brianna opened th
e second letter, feeling as if Victor wasn’t the only one standing on the brink of possibility.
Francine,
Why did you run from me? Did I scare you? I am sorry. I drink because Eve haunts me. I have failed her. I cannot paint her as I knew her. I cannot put what I see in my head on the canvas. At night I dream of her and see her tears, her anger, her regret that I didn’t know her. You must help me as I have tried to help you. Please, I am desperate. Come to me.
Victor
Brianna could feel his desperation in her soul. He was the tormented artist, forever haunted by his dead lover. It had never seemed so real before. Had Derek felt the same incredibly strong link to the past when he’d read these letters? Had the paintings captivated him so much that he had to have them?
Her heart thumped in her chest. She didn’t want to believe he’d lied to her for five long years, but he’d certainly never shared the connection between Francine Kane and Victor Delgado. Why hide that? It could only be because it would have meant something to someone.
Turning her attention back to the packet, she realized there was only one letter left, and the handwriting was different, more precise, neat, feminine.
Victor,
No amount of passion can replace the love you felt for Eve, just as nothing can ease my grief over Marcus. We were wrong to run away from our pain. We must face it, fight it, cherish it, for it is all we have left of them. We must not speak again. Already there is suspicion. No one can ever know about the baby. I will say that Marcus left me with this precious gift before he died in the shipwreck. Please know that I will love our son well, and he will be our hope for the future.
Eve loved you, Victor, as you loved her. Don’t ever doubt that. And I loved you, too.
Francine
Brianna’s head spun. Not only had Victor and Francine had an affair after the wreck, but they’d conceived a child.
Had Francine sent this letter to Victor? If she had, why would it be in the pile with those she’d received from him? Perhaps she hadn’t found the courage to tell him. Maybe the secret had never been revealed—at least, not to Victor.
And what had become of their son?
Her breath caught in her throat. Was Derek descended from Victor and Francine? Had Delgado blood run through his veins?
She drew in a quick breath, terrified by that thought. Had the blood connection given Derek an even stronger, more personal motivation to steal the paintings? Was that why he’d kept the tie a secret, so that he wouldn’t give the police more ammunition against him?
But the value of the paintings was in the money they were worth, not in any relationship Victor Delgado might have had to Francine Kane. These letters didn’t prove anything, except that Derek had been holding back information. They’d all spent months wondering who had the most motivation to want those paintings. And never in all that time had Derek mentioned the family tie to Victor Delgado.
Nancy and Rick couldn’t have known. They would have told her.
That left Wyatt. Had Derek shared the information with his grandfather? Or was that where Derek had gotten the information in the first place? Katherine Markham had told her that Wyatt was obsessed with Delgado’s work. Was this why? Did he have a blood tie to the dead painter? Had she actually stumbled on a new piece of information?
And if so, would the information clear Derek’s name or make him look more guilty?
The doorbell rang, shocking her out of the past. Scrambling to her feet, she went to answer it, Lucas and Digger following close behind.
Katherine Markham stood on the porch, dressed in a beautiful blue suit, her hair pulled back from her face. Brianna was suddenly very aware of her pajamas and bathrobe. A quick glance at the clock in the living room told her it was after ten. She’d lost all track of time.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Katherine said. “I’m on my way to work, and I wanted to drop this off.” She held up a large gray sketch pad.
“Please, come in,” Brianna told her.
“Hi, Lucas,” Katherine said with a smile. “I brought you something.” She sat down on the couch and put the pad on the coffee table. “This was your dad’s. He used to draw in it when he was in high school. I thought you might want it.”
Lucas gave a vigorous nod. Brianna sat next to Katherine, pulling Lucas onto her lap. She felt a little tense at the idea of looking at Derek’s art book. The pad reminded her that she needed to spend some time going through the sketches Derek had done in prison, but for some reason, she hadn’t been able to open that envelope again. His words had made her afraid, because he’d hinted that there were things she didn’t know, maybe things she didn’t want to know.
“Look, a sea monster,” Lucas said, calling her attention to the drawing Katherine had opened up to.
Brianna was surprised by the lighthearted sketch of a sea monster appearing before a boatload of shocked tourists. From everything she’d heard about Wyatt training Derek to be a superb artist, she’d never expected to see such whimsy.
“These were for fun,” Katherine said, answering her unspoken question. “The art colony runs a summer day camp for kids. Derek and I used to teach there. This kind of art was like a day off, something just for the kids.”
Finally, a sweeter side of Derek, Brianna thought, gazing down at the sea monster with genuine appreciation. She’d been doubting herself, wondering if she’d seen traits in Derek that simply weren’t there, but he had had a sense of humor, a love of fun. This was proof of that.
“Thank you,” she said to Katherine. “This means a lot.”
“Just some silly sketches,” Katherine said with a shrug. “I wish you could have seen some of Derek’s really brilliant work. Even at the sketch stage, he had an eye for detail, an interesting viewpoint.”
“Actually, I do have some sketches. Derek did them in prison. I just received them from his attorney. I haven’t really had a chance to study them yet.”
“Really? What kinds of sketches?”
“Memories of his life.”
“I’d love to see them. If you don’t mind sharing, of course.”
“Uh, sure,” she said slowly, wondering if she shouldn’t keep them private. Derek had chosen not to share them with anyone but her. She cleared her throat, stalling. “But not today. I have to take Lucas to the Kanes and go to work. I’ve taken on a shift at the quilt shop.”
“That’s great. The quilt shop is the heart of the town.”
“Do you quilt?”
“No. I’ve designed a few for my friends, but I don’t sew. My art is strictly canvas-based.” Katherine got to her feet. “I’d better get to my own job.”
“Thanks again. I really appreciate it. Aside from Nancy and Rick, there aren’t a lot of people around here who remember Derek fondly.” She walked Katherine to the door. “By the way, I heard your uncle came to see me yesterday, but I wasn’t home. Do you know what he wanted?”
“Uncle Steve was here?” Katherine asked in surprise. “I have to say that shocks me a little.”
“Me, too.”
“I can ask him what he wanted, but I’m not sure he’ll tell me. We’re not all that close.”
“That’s fine. I’m sure he’ll be back if he wants something.” Should she ask Katherine about the Wyatt-Victor connection? she wondered. But she didn’t know how much information Katherine shared with the Markhams, and she didn’t want to tip Wyatt off if the blood tie might be an important clue in finding the paintings. So she simply said good-bye.
As she shut the door, it occurred to her that she’d been putting all of her attention on Wyatt, thinking he was the one who hadn’t wanted to donate the paintings, but there were two other people involved: Gloria and Steve Markham. Perhaps one of them had wanted to keep the paintings.
Still, if Wyatt was the blood descendant, then he had the purest motive. Or Derek had found the perfect way to get back at his grandfather . . .
She sighed. So far, everything she learned made Derek seem more gu
ilty. Maybe finding the truth would only bring more pain.
ELEVEN
“I upset Nancy,” Brianna told Rick when she dropped Lucas off at the Kanes’ house on her way to work later that day. Lucas had already taken Digger inside, so it was just the two of them on the front step.
“She just had to run an errand; she’ll be right back,” Rick said, clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly.
Brianna didn’t buy that for a second. Nancy hadn’t wanted to see her; that’s why she’d been conveniently absent. “Jason is house-sitting next door to me. He’s run into us a few times and made friends with Lucas. That’s why he was at the house last night.”
“That’s what Nancy said. Lucas told us Jason made him the kite, too. Nancy and I didn’t like it, but we figured it was just something you couldn’t get out of. Lucas gets his mind set on things, and he probably pushed you into letting Jason help.”
Rick was giving her an excuse, but she knew it wasn’t all Lucas’s fault.
“But when Nancy saw Jason having dinner with you,” Rick continued, “well, it hurt her. She said he was sitting in Derek’s place. It made her cry.”
Brianna drew in a breath, seeing the pain in her father-in-law’s eyes. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t planned. Jason came by with a pizza, and it was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“How long is he going to be next door?”
“Just a few more days.”
“Well, let’s hope those will pass quickly. Unless you’re changing your mind about him?” he asked with a worried look.
She had to take a second to think about that. “It was easy to blame Jason for everything, but he wasn’t the only one who sent Derek to jail,” she said slowly.
“He was the only one who was a friend,” Rick reminded her. “Derek felt betrayed by Jason. And if you become friends with him, it’s like you’re turning your back on Derek. Do you think Derek would be happy that you and Lucas had dinner with Jason?”
“No, I don’t think he would be,” she said quietly.
In Shelter Cove (Angel's Bay) Page 15
