On Shadow Beach

by Barbara Freethy

  Yeah, the move was his idea—but she shared responsibility for some of the other problems in their relationship. And even though his move had strained their marriage, he wouldn’t take it back. He’d been losing himself, working as a cop in L.A. If he hadn’t gotten out when he had, he didn’t know what kind of man he would have become.

  Lately he’d begun to think things were changing for the better. Rachel still commuted back and forth to L.A., but she was spending more time here. Angel’s Bay was a growing seaside community with new developments going up along the coastline. There was plenty of real estate to be sold right here, and Rachel was beginning to see that—he hoped. They’d been together since they were fifteen years old, and they had a lot of history, a lot invested in their relationship. He needed to make it work.

  As he made his way toward her table, he felt a rush of pride. Rachel was one of the prettiest women he’d ever known, with her jet black hair and her dark eyes. She was thinner now than he liked, and she wore too much makeup. She’d also become obsessed with anything designer, which was no surprise, considering how much time she spent in Beverly Hills. He clamped down on the critical thoughts. He couldn’t keep focusing on what he didn’t like about her. She was changing; so was he; but they were still together—and that was something.

  “Joe.” Rachel gave him a wave. “There you are. I was wondering if you were going to stand me up again.”

  He only stood her up if he couldn’t get off duty, but that was an argument he didn’t intend to have now. He didn’t like Devlin much, nor did he trust him. The guy was too smooth, too quick to tell people what they wanted to hear. Devlin and Rachel had been friends in L.A., and she was the one who’d told him about Angel’s Bay, who’d encouraged him to consider shooting a movie here. Joe shouldn’t begrudge the fact that she had a friend of her own in town, but he wished it was anyone else.

  Sliding into the booth next to Rachel, he gave her a quick kiss on the lips and nodded at Devlin. The man looked like a surfer, with his bleached blond hair and light brown eyes, but his laid-back manner didn’t fool Joe. Devlin was a player, a manipulator—the kind of man who always had an agenda.

  “Back in town for the weekend?” he asked. “You’re spending a lot of time here these days.”

  Devlin gave him an easy smile. “I have more people to talk to about the Jamison case.”

  “Yeah, about that.” Joe leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I thought you were planning to make a horror flick about a haunted house. When did this movie become about the Jamison girl?”

  “When I realized the potential of the story—the unsolved murder of a beautiful teenage girl, in a town where angels and demons lurk side by side. Rachel agrees with me. She thinks it’s going to be fantastic, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  Joe didn’t like the casual endearment, or the smile on his wife’s face. “Don’t you think this movie might hurt the family of that girl?” he asked Rachel. “Her father still lives here.”

  “Mark will fictionalize the story,” Rachel replied. “It will be fine.”

  “Actually, I’m thinking it would be a good true-crime piece,” Devlin said. “I’ve already got a studio interested in the project.”

  “This movie could be great for the town, Joe,” Rachel added. “Just think of all the revenue that a shoot would bring in—not to mention the tourist dollars after the movie is released. It could put Angel’s Bay on the map.”

  “We’re already on the map. We’re growing fast.”

  “And this will speed things along. I can think of half a dozen celebrities who might want to build vacation homes here, if there was more to do in town.”

  Her words frustrated him. “Why can’t you live here without trying to change the town?”

  His words drew a pouting frown to her lips. “Sometimes change is good, Joe. Isn’t that what you always tell me?”

  “And that’s my cue to get another beer,” Devlin said, sliding out of the booth. “Do you two need anything?”

  “Not from you,” Joe replied, disliking the cocky smile in Devlin’s eyes.

  “Well, that was subtle,” Rachel said when they were alone. “I’m surprised you didn’t just pee to mark your territory.”

  “Would it make a difference? You’re spending a lot of time with him. You know I don’t like it.”

  “Which makes no sense, since you don’t know Mark. But it doesn’t matter. He’s my friend, not yours.”

  There was a defiant, challenging look in her eyes that disturbed him. “Why would you want to have a friend who makes me uncomfortable?”

  “You don’t have a reason to feel uncomfortable. There’s nothing going on. I haven’t been unfaithful to you. Mark and I share mutual friends, common interests. I like that. He’s never tried to get between us. If anything, he has encouraged me to spend more time here.”

  “Because he wants your help to get this movie made. Not because he wants you to be with me.”

  “The movie would be good for us. I’m still working my way into the local real estate market. If I can have a career here, I won’t have to keep commuting to L.A.”

  Rachel usually avoided making any long-term commitment to a future in Angel’s Bay. This was the first time she’d indicated that she’d given the idea some thought.

  He wanted to believe her, because he loved Angel’s Bay—the brilliant sunsets, fresh sea air, and shocking blue skies. He liked falling asleep to the sound of the waves crashing on the beach. He loved the sense of community, the way people looked out for one another. He’d grown up in a tough working class neighborhood in Los Angeles, where it was dangerous to turn your back on anyone. He felt free here. He just wanted Rachel to love the town as much as he did . . . or maybe even to love him as much as she once had.

  “Rachel,” he began.

  She shook her head, cutting him off with a wary look. “Don’t, Joe. It’s not a night to be serious. Let’s just have some drinks and toast the weekend.”

  “You don’t know what I was going to say.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, holding his gaze. “I’ve known you a long time. I’m here. I’m trying. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

  “I’m trying, too.”

  “Try harder. Be a little nicer to Mark. He’s not your enemy.”

  “I wish he wasn’t your friend,” Joe grumbled, unable to hide his jealousy. He was hanging on to his marriage by a thread and Mark wasn’t helping.

  “You have friends, too, Joe. What about that blonde you had over at the house a couple of months ago?”

  “Dr. Adams is a colleague.” He was more attracted to the pretty blond doctor than he should be, but in the past few months he’d made a point of keeping his distance from her. And Charlotte wasn’t the kind of woman to get involved with a married man.

  “Mark is my colleague,” Rachel said. “So, we’re good, right?”

  “Yeah, we’re good.”

  Mark set down a beer in front of Joe and resumed his seat. “Thought you could use a drink, Chief.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And I need a favor,” Devlin continued. “I’ve read the public records on the Jamison murder, but I’d like to see the police file. One of your officers told me he couldn’t release the file because the case was never closed.”

  “It’s an ongoing investigation.”

  “It hasn’t been ongoing in more than a decade. I spoke to Abigail Jamison’s father. I have the family’s support. And I would think the Angel’s Bay police department would welcome any assistance to help solve this crime.”

  Joe felt Rachel’s gaze on him. He needed to show her how much he was willing to try. “I’ll consider your request. There may be some information I can release.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” A look of excitement flashed through Mark’s eyes as a man entered the bar. “Well, look who just walked in.”

  “Who is that?” Rachel asked, following Mark’s gaze.

  “Shane Murray,” Joe
replied, an uneasy feeling running down his spine. The dark-haired, dark-eyed fisherman had quite the reputation from years past. In the seven months that Joe had been in town, Murray had kept to himself, and he certainly hadn’t caused any trouble. But the man had lived a reckless and wild life, fishing some of the most dangerous seas in the world. He wasn’t a man to take lightly or to mess with.

  “Shane Murray was the prime suspect in Abby Jamison’s death,” Devlin told Rachel. “He was the boyfriend of Abby’s older sister, Lauren.”

  “He was also never tried, due to lack of evidence,” Joe added.

  “That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill her,” Devlin said.

  “So you intend to ask him if he did?” Joe inquired.

  Devlin smiled. “I intend to ask him if he wants to help me find the real killer. Most innocent men would jump at the chance to clear their name.”

  “What if he’s not innocent?” Rachel asked. “You should be careful, Mark. If he did kill that girl, he might not like you asking him about it.”

  “Maybe I should take the long arm of the law with me,” Mark said, grinning at Joe. “What do you say, Chief? Want to be my backup?”

  “You’re on your own.” Was it wrong to hope that Murray would beat the crap out of Devlin? “But if he does kill you, I’ll arrest him.”

  “Joe,” Rachel said with a sigh.

  “Let’s get some chili fries,” he said, motioning for the waitress. “Looks like there’s going to be a show.”

  Shane sat on a stool at the end of the bar, watching his younger brother Michael mix drinks. Michael and their cousin Aidan ran Murray’s Bar, along with their uncle Tommy. The bar had been in the family for generations and was always crowded on the weekends. Three television screens played sports in the front, while the back room had two pool tables that could be rented for private parties.

  Like all of Shane’s siblings, Michael was fair, his hair dark blond, a strand of Murray freckles running across his nose and jawbones. Shane had escaped both the fair skin and the freckles—which had always seemed fitting for the black sheep of the family. Michael was the adored baby. Not that he would appreciate being called that at twenty-five, but he still had a youthful innocence that Shane very much wanted to protect.

  Michael slid a cold beer down the bar in his direction. Shane grabbed it with a quick hand and took a long swig. He’d felt the need for a drink ever since Lauren had appeared. He’d spent most of the past decade trying not to think about her. He’d seen the world, made some money, and there had been plenty of other women in his life, beautiful, sexy women. He just couldn’t remember any of them right now.

  He never should have kissed Lauren. That was the damn stupidest idea he’d had in a long time. Now her taste was fresh on his lips, and he could still feel the brush of her soft, full breasts against his chest. But what really stuck in his mind was that she hadn’t pushed him away. She’d kissed him back. It would have been a lot easier if she’d slapped his face.

  Michael took away the empty bottle, replacing it with another.

  “I like the service,” Shane said approvingly.

  “I figured you’d be in, as soon as I heard Lauren Jamison was back in town. Weren’t you doing her back in high school?”

  “We went out.” Michael was seven years younger and had been in elementary school when Shane and Lauren had been together.

  Michael grinned. “Is that what they called it in the old days?”

  “I don’t want to talk about Lauren. How did you hear she was in town, anyway?”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “The gossip was flying as soon as you docked her father’s boat. There’s already a betting pool as to whether the two of you will get back together. Want to tip me off ? I could use some cash.”

  “Save your money. Lauren is here to deal with her father’s living situation. That’s it.”

  “I wonder if she’s heard about the movie.”

  Shane sighed at the reminder. Angel’s Bay was buzzing about it. “If she hasn’t yet, I’m sure she will.”

  “The guy who’s making it is right over there,” Michael continued with a tip of his head. “You meet him yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s weird, isn’t it? Lauren comes back at exactly the same time that someone wants to make a movie about her sister, and you happen to be here, too. All the players are in town at the same time. It’s almost as if the angels are stirring things up again.”

  “I don’t think it’s the angels I have to worry about.” Shane felt a deep sense of foreboding. He’d waited a long time to come home, for the rumors to die down, for his family to stop being the focus of gossip, for everyone to forget. Now it was all starting up again.

  “What are you going to do?” Michael asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “You’d better come up with one fast. You’ve got company.”

  A man slid onto the stool next to Shane’s. “Mr. Murray,” he said with an easy smile. “I’m Mark Devlin. I’m making a movie based on the death of Abigail Jamison. I’d like to talk to you.”

  “I have nothing to say,” Shane replied, getting to his feet.

  Mark stood up as well and put a hand on his arm.

  Shane immediately shrugged it off, giving Devlin a small shove at the same time. He had to fight back a reckless urge to take a swing at the guy’s arrogant face, but he didn’t go off half-cocked anymore. Especially not with the chief of the police sitting a few tables away.

  Mark put up both hands. “Sorry. Look, I just want to hear your version of what happened that night. Surely you’d like to clear your name.”

  “I don’t care what people say.”

  “Well, I don’t think you did it,” Devlin said quickly.

  Shane froze. “Is that so?”

  “I have a few other suspects in mind, including one individual who was never interrogated.”

  Shane couldn’t stop the question from slipping out. “Who?”

  “The older sister—Lauren. Word on the street is that the two sisters were competitive. Lauren was jealous. Abby was smarter, prettier, more accomplished, and Lauren didn’t like the fact that her sister was with you that night.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Am I?” Devlin had a troublemaking gleam in his eye. “Are you sure about that? You should talk to me. Together, we might come up with the truth.”

  “We’re done here.”

  “For now, maybe. But I’m not going anywhere. Just think about it.”

  Shane strode through the bar, acutely aware that every eye in the place was on him. So much for the past staying in the past. Despite Devlin’s claim that Lauren was his number one suspect, Shane knew he wouldn’t be far behind. There was no way Devlin was going to make a movie and not include him. He’d been named a person of interest when the murder occurred. He’d been interrogated a dozen times. And even when the police couldn’t bring a case against him, half the town had believed him to be guilty. Some still did.

  He should have known better than to come home. And he had a feeling Lauren was going to wish the very same thing.

  It was almost midnight before Lauren gathered enough courage to enter the bedroom she’d shared with Abby. As she turned on the light, she felt as if she’d stepped back in time.

  Abby’s bed was covered by a red polka-dot comforter, a half dozen throw pillows, and Loveylou, the stuffed bunny her younger sister had slept with since she was two years old. Lauren drew in a sharp breath, feeling an overwhelming sense of pain at the sight of the one-eared bunny. She immediately looked away, but everywhere her gaze fell was another memory.

  Abby’s clothes were in the closet, and her shoes were tossed in a pile on the floor where she’d left them that last day. The bulletin board over Abby’s desk boasted her latest straight-A report card, the program from the prom, a photograph of the high school varsity volleyball team, of which Abby had been the star setter, and an unused ticket for a concert the weekend afte
r Abby’s death.

  Her gaze moved to a photograph on the desk. Her younger sister had been so pretty, with her chestnut hair and big brown eyes. Abby looked like their father, while she and David took after their mother, with dark hair and blue eyes. It was funny that the family had divided along those same lines.

  There wasn’t one thing of Lauren’s left in the room. Only her bed remained, stripped down to the mattress. When her mother had decided to take her and David away, she’d packed up all their belongings, but Ned had refused to let her touch Abby’s things. They’d had a vicious fight that last day, and her mother had cried all the way up the coast. Lauren hadn’t understood then or even now how her parents’ grief had turned them into bitter enemies, but that’s exactly what had happened.

  When she’d decided to return home, she’d never anticipated having to confront the past so vividly, to be surrounded by the things that Abby had touched, worn, and slept on. Was it her imagination, or did Abby’s perfume still linger in the air?

  She closed her eyes, but that only made the memories worse. The day that Abby died had begun so innocently, like any other Monday morning . . .

  “Abby, hurry up.” Lauren grabbed her lunch off the kitchen counter and stuffed it into her backpack. School started in fifteen minutes, but as usual Abby was running late. “I’m going to leave without you,” she added. It was two miles to the high school, and Lauren doubted Abby felt like walking.

  When there was no answer from her sister, Lauren stormed down the hall to their room. Abby was sitting at her desk, writing in her journal. She jumped when she saw Lauren and quickly closed her diary, a guilty expression on her face.

  “What are you doing?” Lauren asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Lauren hadn’t really cared what her sister was up to, but now that Abby’s cheeks were turning red, she was far more interested. “You have a secret. What is it?”

  “As if I’d tell you.”