by Deirdre Dore
Tavey hoped that Ryan didn’t get word of how she’d purchased the acreage surrounding the old mill. She’d paid cash to the old owner, who was actually the youngest son of one of her grandfather’s longtime golf buddies. He’d inherited the property several years earlier but hadn’t done anything with it. There was no doubt in Tavey’s mind that both Ryan and Tyler would have something to say about her plan to have her dogs search the property—none of it good. She hadn’t even told Chris and Raquel what she’d done.
Chris came into the kitchen. “Raquel told me to come take a look. Oh, and we need orange juice,” she told Thomas as she joined the little group in the breakfast nook adjacent to the kitchen.
“All right. I’ll bring it in to them.”
Tavey took the bag with the ribbon back from Tyler and handed it to Chris. “This is what the dogs found this morning. What do you think?”
Chris sucked in a breath when she saw the contents, putting her right hand over her heart. “I remember it. This was one of her favorites. She said it felt like a tiny washboard. See the texture, the little ridges.”
Raquel leaned over and took a closer look. “Is that why she liked it?”
“Yeah.” Chris nodded, chewing on her lower lip. “I still don’t remember her wearing it that day. I’m sorry.” She handed the bag back to Tavey.
Ryan tugged Chris across the circle and into his arms. Tyler moved closer to Tavey to give the couple space, moving so that his back was to the kitchen.
Tavey swallowed and returned the bag to Tyler.
“Agent Helmer.” Yarrow came into the kitchen carrying a carafe of coffee. “Raquel says to bring some cream.”
Tavey felt her lips twitch at Ryan’s long-suffering expression. He’d moved to Fate and had been commuting to the FBI resident office in Rome for about a month. He and Chris had moved out of the apartment above the yoga studio in Fate’s town center and into a small house in a neighborhood nearby, but he often met Chris at her six o’clock yoga class, which the Triplets attended regularly.
He excused himself from their conversation. “I still can’t get those girls to call me Ryan.”
Chris smiled and followed him as he crossed into the kitchen proper, pointedly meeting Yarrow’s eyes. “They’re stubborn.”
Tyler, listening to their conversation, grunted.
Tavey narrowed her eyes at him, forgetting everyone nearby in the kitchen.
“What?” She folded her arms over her chest. Sunlight streamed in from the window to her right, bathing her bold features in golden light.
Tyler looked down at her, the blue of his eyes even brighter in the glow of the light.
“I didn’t say anything,” he commented, taking her arm to pull her away from the window so he could see her face more clearly.
She resisted his tugging. “You grunted.”
A sharp crack made Tavey jump. Tyler automatically turned, putting his back to the window and pulling her into the shelter of his body, surrounding her.
“Sorry.” Yarrow was quick to apologize. She’d dropped the carafe of coffee on the floor.
Tavey exhaled, realizing that Tyler’s arms were around her, that his big masculine body was surrounding her, protecting her with his warmth.
They both seemed to realize at the same moment that they were touching, and stepped immediately away from each other and moved away several steps.
Raquel came in to see what the noise was about, her body tensed. “Ev’rybody okay?”
Tavey felt her face flush and grimaced, rubbing at the goose bumps that covered her arms. “We’re okay,” she assured Raquel, and moved to clean up the mess, but Chris was already in motion, locating a rag and wiping up the spilled coffee.
With nothing better to do, Tavey bent and picked up the carafe, which was the sturdy metal kind.
Tyler eyed Tavey’s trim backside as she bent down.
Ryan caught him looking and gave him a sympathetic been-there-man face. Tyler realized what he’d been doing and inwardly cursed. It was like this every time he was near the woman, he alternately resented her and found himself drawn to her. Raquel crossed over to him, her eyebrow up; she’d obviously seen where his eyes had ventured as well. God save him from other cops, they noticed everything.
“I’ve got to get back over to my uncle’s,” he threw out quickly as Tavey set the carafe on the counter and came back over to their little group. “I’ll check on how long it will take to process the sample,” he improvised, not wanting Yarrow to know he was talking about a blood-covered ribbon.
“Fine,” Tavey rushed to agree. “That’s fine.”
“Great.” Tyler patted his pockets. “Let me know if you have any trouble with Burns.”
“He won’t give me any trouble,” Tavey said confidently.
Tyler nodded. “No, of course not. Nothing you can’t handle.”
Tavey tilted her head, wondering what his tone implied. “Do you want me to ask you for help?”
Tyler didn’t know what the hell he wanted. His feelings for Tavey Collins confused the hell out of him. She was certainly nothing like his ex-wife, who’d been happy to ask him for help, or his mother, who’d never asked for anything but had never done anything, either. She’d just let herself get run over. Tavey didn’t need him, and he should be happy about that. Relieved. He certainly didn’t need someone so unreasonable that she’d persecuted an old man all these years.
“No,” he said finally. “I’ll let you know what I find out.” He touched the bag containing the ribbon. He’d put it in the back pocket of his jeans.
“Okay,” Tavey agreed, her face puzzled. Tyler nodded to Raquel, Yarrow, Ryan, and Chris before leaving out the side hall to the back door.
He stepped onto the flagstone path that led to the porte cochere and the drive where he was parked. Burns’s Jeep and Ryan’s truck were behind him, but the drive was wide enough that he could circle around. He looked to his right, to the window that looked into the kitchen, and saw Tavey watching him. He met her eyes, brown to blue, and deliberately turned away.
15
CIRCE FOLLOWED HER husband through the woods, remembering that he was very comfortable in them. She’d forgotten that he used to be a soldier. When she’d first met him, he’d been working with Chris’s father. He’d worn a suit and flashed a bright smile. He said he’d grown up in New York.
She shook her head; she didn’t think he’d lied, but he didn’t tell the whole truth, either. Someone had trained him to move through the woods, move through them as silently as a bobcat stalking a bird.
They’d left her house the back way so none of her family would see them, and then had crossed around the back of the Havens’ property onto Abraham’s land. They were going to end up fairly near his house. They’d be able to see the windows on the east side of it.
“Come on, Jane,” he whispered to her. He was carrying a large rifle with a scope. She didn’t know where he’d gotten it. It hadn’t come from her house—she was certain of that much anyway.
“Where are we going?” she whispered back, but she knew. You know exactly what he’s going to do. He’s eliminating problems. And just what do you think you are?
“To visit an old friend,” Mark said simply, but there was a slight smile on his face, like he was looking forward to the visit. Circe didn’t have much talent—she was beautiful, after all—but sometimes she could see things, things that hadn’t happened yet. Mark was picturing the surprised look on the old man’s face when he realized what was about to happen, when he realized that Mark was going to shoot him.
Circe scowled. She didn’t want to be involved in this. She’d never liked the killing part, the hurting part.
“Why don’t you just let him die? He’s dying anyway.”
“Not fast enough to suit me,” he said simply, climbing over a fallen log. “Get your ass over he
re, Jane.”
“But the FBI didn’t find anything. We can take it. We can take it and run.” Circe didn’t like the woods, had avoided them completely ever since that afternoon when everything had fallen apart. But she remembered how to move through them. Even dressed as she was in too-big camouflage pants, a gray tank top, and tennis shoes, she moved through the woods as her father had taught her, as he’d taught all of them, John and Summer as well.
“I’m not worried about the FBI finding something. I’m worried about our friends.” He stopped next to a tree on the edge of a rise. He took her arm and pulled her behind him. “Now shut up and stay here. I’m going to take a look-see at what the old man is doing.”
Circe waited as he belly-crawled to the edge of the trees and brush. He had to be careful. Abraham was old, but he liked to sit on his porch with a rifle at the ready, scanning the drive for anything out of place. There wouldn’t be a clear shot at him. He sat in the shadows and hung bird feeders and sun catchers from the beams that supported the porch roof. Circe didn’t see how Mark planned to kill him this way.
You forgot to tell him about Robert, the voice whispered. Circe started. She had, she’d forgotten to tell him that Robert—their old friend—had returned. Robbie had been asking, she was sure, about what they’d hidden as well. He wasn’t dangerous, though. He was slick and clever and weak, but not dangerous.
“Why didn’t you try again?”
He looked back, his face irritated. “What?” he asked in a harsh whisper.
Circe swallowed. “You tried to kill Abraham once. You hired those men. Why didn’t you finish it?”
Mark shrugged and looked away from her as if she bored him beyond words. “I didn’t want him dead then. I wanted him to be a fucking target. That stupid brat of Charlie’s helped me out enormously. Now shut up.”
Circe did, taking a seat next to a tree and curling her arms around her legs.
She wanted to be at her store, she realized. She liked her store, liked the comforting smell of lavender and essential oils, liked the books about the moon, the summer solstice. Her plans for the summer celebration were almost complete. It was going to be great. She was sure of it.
The sound of gravel under tires made her freeze. Ahead of her, Mark cursed and pulled back a little. “Who the fuck is this?”
Circe could guess. The Triplets had told her that Abraham’s nephew, Tyler, visited him on Sundays. She knew Tyler by sight but rarely spoke to him. He was hardly the type to come into her store.
She thought about mentioning to Mark that Tyler was an investigator for the county sheriff, but the voice told her to shut up.
Circe heard a car door slam and—very distantly—a man’s voice.
Mark slid back until he was sitting beside her, his rifle pointing at the sky. Even sitting, his head was above hers, enough that he was looking down at her. “What happened to her?”
Circe felt her breath catch. “Who?”
“Charlie’s girl. Belle’s brat, too. What happened to them?”
Circe swallowed. “T-T-Tavey inherited everything. She runs the businesses. Raquel is a cop.”
“A cop?” He nearly laughed, but caught himself. Leaning back against the trunk of the tree, he closed his eyes. “Gloria Belle’s bastard daughter a cop. Fucking irony. I heard Belle’s still kicking, too. Some old whores are like alley cats; they live a hell of a lot longer than they should.”
“Yes.” Circe sniffed, relaxing a little. It didn’t seem like he was going to do anything right this minute. “Raquel works in the sex crimes unit, I think.” She didn’t like it when Raquel came into the shop to talk to Old Ninny. Raquel was beautiful. Not as beautiful as Circe, but beautiful.
He didn’t open his eyes, but he seemed amused, one corner of his mouth twitching. “That sounds more like it. I’ll have to meet her.”
Circe didn’t like that, not at all. “But she’s a cop.”
Mark smiled his cruel smile, the one that he didn’t let anyone see until it was too late. “It won’t matter.”
16
RAQUEL PUT a hand on Tavey’s shoulder. “You okay?”
Tavey blinked and patted her hand, looking around and realizing that several seconds must have passed. Chris, Ryan, and Yarrow were no longer in the kitchen.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Tavey had never told Chris or Raquel what Summer had said about Tyler being her soul mate so many years ago. It seemed silly to admit that she’d believed something like that, that a part of her still believed it.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Raquel murmured sarcastically. “If the man I’d been obsessed with for years basically ran out of the house to get away from me, I’d probably take that personally.”
Tavey turned away from the window and looked down at her diminutive but indomitable friend.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about Brent Burns?”
Raquel’s eyes narrowed. “Tell you what about him?”
“That you knew him.”
“It wasn’t important.”
“When was that documentary made? In 1997?”
Raquel reluctantly nodded.
“So, when I was away at college and you and Chris were at FC?” FC stood for Fate College, the small private college nearby.
“Yeah,” Raquel said truculently, clearly annoyed at Tavey’s line of conversation. Well, that made two of them.
Tavey didn’t like to remember how difficult it had been to be away from her best friends, but her grandmother’s will had stipulated that she attend Bryn Mawr if she was to receive her full inheritance. She’d hated being that far away, so much so that she’d graduated in three years with her business degree and come home.
Tavey put her arm around Raquel and waved her other hand in the direction of the dining room. “You’ll have to tell me what happened.”
Raquel nodded. “All right. Though I’m betting you can guess.”
“Hmmm,” Tavey agreed. She could guess, all right. Raquel’s mom, Gloria Belle, had been the embodiment of town scandal for what seemed like forever, or at least as long as Tavey and Raquel had been alive. She’d apparently been wild even as a teenager, but boy could she sing. She’d sing in church, in the store, on the street, and later in the bars. She’d been discovered early, when she was still seventeen, and had let a music producer convince her to go with him to Atlanta. Bessie had never told Tavey what happened to her daughter on that trip—Tavey wasn’t certain she even knew—but Belle had come back both a famous blues singer and an obvious substance abuser.
She’d blow into town like a whirlwind, occasionally with a wealthy gentleman on her arm, and would stir up everyone. Some called her uppity, others didn’t like seeing a black woman so blatantly on the arm of a white man, and some had a problem with her wild parties and the destruction that would ensue.
On one of her trips, she’d been accompanied not by a man but by an infant instead—Raquel. She’d deposited the girl in the arms of her mother and had blown back out of town again. Bessie had raised the child as her own, alongside Tavey, whose own mother and father had died when she was little.
When Raquel had been about nine, just after Summer disappeared, Bessie had had enough, and she ordered her daughter to leave and never return. So if Burns had come along when Raquel was eighteen and had asked her questions about her mother, it probably hadn’t gone too well.
“I think we should have a lovely breakfast, send Burns on his way, and spend the morning drinking mimosas.”
Raquel laughed. “You’re forgetting the three weird teenagers.”
“Oh.” Tavey sighed. “They have a question for me.”
“Seems like quite a few people have questions for you this morning,” Raquel commented as they walked through the double doors that led to the dining room.
Everyone still at the house was seated at the long table, spread
ing jam and butter on toast, loading their coffee with cream, and digging into the small quiches with their perfect golden crusts. Atohi was there at one end of the table, looking sour as he contemplated the three teenagers, Burns, Thomas, Chris and Ryan, and Bessie.
“Like a damn party on a Sunday mornin’,” Tavey heard him mutter. “Shoulda stayed with the dogs.”
When Raquel and Tavey came into the room, Burns, who’d been buttering toast and listening with keen interest as Yarrow described their family, stopped what he was doing to look at Raquel.
Yarrow giggled as Raquel took the only available seat, next to him, pointedly ignoring his staring.
Tavey sat at the head of the table, opposite Atohi, and asked them all to stop and bow their heads for grace.
Everyone did, quickly dropping their utensils and linking hands. Tavey said grace, noting when she looked up that Raquel’s cheeks were flushed.
“All right, everyone, this isn’t our usual Sunday morning, and I take the blame for that, but it’s a pleasure to welcome our neighbors, our friends, and a stranger in our midst.” Tavey nodded to Burns.
“Everyone, this is Brent Burns, a documentary filmmaker interested in the Collins family history. Brent, this is Atohi, who has kept the hounds for the Collins family since I was a child and before that. Next to him is Bessie, Raquel’s grandmother, who I’m sure you’ve met before.”
Bessie nodded coolly to the filmmaker; she’d recognized him, all right.
Tavey continued around the table, introducing everyone quickly.
“All right, then,” she finished, “let’s eat.”
Everyone dug in enthusiastically, their hums of appreciation mixing with the occasional whine of the eager beagles on the floor.
“This is great,” Burns told Thomas, who waved a dismissive hand.
“Quiches, they are easy.”
“They’re awesome, Thomas,” Yarrow agreed, and her two sisters nodded to indicate their agreement.
