by Debra Webb
“The forensics technicians didn’t find anything useful to the investigation. Not even a stray hair that didn’t belong to the victim or to you, Ms. Hamilton,” he added, his gaze lingering on her for a time.
The chief’s face flushed. “Why don’t you take out an ad in the Foghorn Press?”
Something passed between the two officers. Whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant. Again Livvy thought of the way Chase had looked at the chief when he’d mentioned the subject of forensics yesterday. The two were clearly at odds on this case.
But why?
She thought of the kind way Chase treated her. Maybe the chief didn’t want him being nice to the prime suspect.
“Since you’re so adamant about your hired help’s innocence and since you claim no one else has access to the inn’s keys,” the chief said to Livvy, “that only leaves you. Did you do this, Ms. Hamilton?”
“I don’t believe this!” Christopher huffed.
“Livvy wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Edna scoffed. Ralph seconded her conclusion, his voice gruff in defense of his employer.
“What about someone in Beverly’s past?” Livvy reminded him. “I thought you were checking into that possibility.”
“Already did,” Chief said. “There is absolutely no one who would have wanted to hurt Beverly or anyone in her family. Can you say the same, Ms. Hamilton?”
His words had the intended effect. He had looked into her past. Knew about her husband.
Anger charged through her, obliterating her common sense. “Yes, Chief, I can safely say that there is no one in my past who would want to do this to me.”
“Really?” He baited her. “No one?”
She knew what he wanted. “No one,” she returned. “The only person who ever wanted to hurt me is dead.”
Chief Fraley didn’t stop there. “Tell us, how did your late husband die, Ms. Hamilton?”
All attention was suddenly on her. Fear and humiliation coalesced into one overwhelming emotion twisting inside her. She had told no one about her past…about what she’d been through. “He fell down a flight of stairs.” She managed to get the words out.
“Where were you when this fatal accident occurred?”
“That’s enough.”
Chase Fraley’s harsh command startled her, pulling her gaze to his rigid stance. The look of contempt on his face startled her.
The chief directed his next statement to his deputy. “Her two friends testified that she was with them.”
“I was,” Livvy protested. For God’s sake, she’d scarcely been able to walk at that point. Had only just been released from the rehab center.
“We’ve done all we can here,” Chase growled before storming out of the room.
The chief maintained his position for another thirty or so seconds, his presence keeping everyone in the room paralyzed in anticipation of his next move. “Whatever is going on here—” he thrust an accusing finger at Livvy “—I will get to the bottom of it.”
With that ominous threat, he stalked from the room.
For several moments nobody moved or spoke. Livvy imagined each person was as stunned as she was. She could also just imagine what they were thinking about her now. None of them had known about James Hamilton.
It was official now. The chief thought Beverly’s murder had something to do with Livvy. She didn’t doubt that he fully suspected she was the killer. Chase’s words suddenly echoed inside her skull. Not even a stray hair that didn’t belong to the victim or to you, Ms. Hamilton.
“Are you all right?”
Livvy shook off the haunting words. “Yes,” she said to Christopher. “I’m okay.”
Her assurance didn’t change his worried expression. “I don’t know what’s up with the chief but I think he’s losing it. Maybe this murder has dredged up the memory of losing his brother and not being able to pin it on my father.”
Livvy knew a little about the story. Maybe she needed to know more. “He just disappeared, right?”
Christopher nodded. “Into thin air.”
Edna made a harrumphing sound. “Went over those cliffs is my guess. Lots of folks over the years disappeared that way. Unless you land on the rocks, it’s impossible to find the body.”
“Whatever the chief’s problem,” Christopher, her loyal friend and the man who’d helped her restore so many of the inn’s intricate details, said to Livvy, “he needs to stop harassing you like this. Maybe you should contact an attorney.”
Fear trickled through her. She’d been through that kind of nightmare already. “I’m all right, really. The chief is only trying to do his job.” She hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no reason for her to worry. Was there?
“Will someone please tell me when I can get back to this project?” Mr. Dotson demanded. “I don’t want to be attempting to reset all those stones once freezing temperatures hit.”
“I understand.” Livvy let go a troubling breath. “I’ll see what I can do. Surely if they were going to find any evidence in the courtyard they would have already.”
Heads bobbed in agreement. Livvy noticed that Ralph remained oddly silent.
Christopher patted her shoulder. Concern still clouded his face. “Livvy, let me know if you need anything. Emily and I are here for you.”
She produced a shaky smile. “Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.”
His expression relaxed fractionally. “I’ll keep you posted on the new bedroom suite I spotted on the mainland.”
“Do that.”
She had hoped to have the east wing renovated and furnished by Thanksgiving, but that might not happen now. As much as she hated to think about that reality, she worried that the investigation was going to hurt her chances of a decent winter season. It wasn’t fair to think about that, not with Beverly lying on a slab in the morgue. But reality wouldn’t let her keep those worries at bay. Especially not after that heart-wrenching call to the young woman’s folks yesterday.
Christopher and Mr. Dotson left, with Edna urging both to come by for lunch tomorrow, she planned to try her hand at making Clara’s famous chicken salad. Now there was something Livvy could definitely count on, the mere mention of Clara’s chicken salad could change the worst of moods.
She hesitated in the long corridor that led back to the entry hall. “Are you all right, Ralph?”
He still hadn’t said a word. It was one thing for the chief to give her a hard time, but it was not right for him to pick on Ralph. A kinder man couldn’t be found.
He hunched his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know, Ms. Livvy. Maybe this old place should have been left alone.”
Livvy stilled. He didn’t have to explain. She understood perfectly what he meant. “If I hadn’t reopened the inn, Beverly would still be alive.” It was that simple and yet immensely complicated.
His face a solemn mask, he moved his head up and down in silent agreement.
The weight of guilt settled even more heavily upon Livvy. He was right. There was no denying the charge. She was guilty of setting the stage, but she hadn’t killed Beverly any more than Ralph or Edna had. Of course evidence that she had been in the room would be found. Her fingerprints and various forms of DNA were all over every room in this house. She’d scrubbed, vacuumed, measured, painted, leaving behind the occasional broken nail, trace of blood from a skinned knuckle and no doubt plenty of shed hairs. This was her home, who would expect otherwise?
None of that made her a murderer.
She could only hope that the chief would soon see that and actually start looking for the real murderer.
Another realization struck her with the intensity of a train exploding from a dark tunnel. What if the murderer wasn’t finished? Why else would he have come back here? Assuming the unlocked doors and spilled paint were his work? And who else would have done such a thing? What if he didn’t plan to stop until he’d killed everyone involved with the continued operation of the inn? Edna, Ralph, Clara as well as Livvy might all be his
targets.
She hated herself for it but she had to consider all the possibilities. She glanced at Ralph’s hands as they moved toward the entry hall and thought of another scenario. What if the unlocked doors and the paint had nothing to do with Beverly’s death? What if someone was trying to get her to close the inn for good? Someone who saw Beverly’s death as a sign or omen of some sort. I don’t know, Ms. Livvy. Maybe this old place should have been left alone.
And maybe he was right.
It wouldn’t be the first mistake of a deadly magnitude she had made.
But she couldn’t admit defeat…not yet.
* * *
“WHAT THE HELL are you trying to prove?”
Chase’s demand echoed over the cliffs surrounding Lost Angel Inn. He didn’t especially care who heard him. This had gone too far. This case wasn’t any more personal to his uncle than it was to him, and he certainly wasn’t going around making unsubstantiated accusations.
“I will not discuss this with you now, son.”
Son. That was the way it had been between them for the past twenty years. Chase’s father had gone missing, presumed dead, and Benton Fraley had taken over as both father and mother. Chase’s mother had died when he was just a baby. His father and his uncle were all he’d ever had. But the changes he’d noticed in the man in the past year just didn’t add up. From the moment Olivia Hamilton had come to the island, his dislike for her had been expanding.
“I know the opening of the inn has resurrected the past. It’s been tough for both of us,” Chase offered as he matched his pace to the chief’s deliberate one. They’d crossed the lawn and started around toward the rear of the property. Maybe it was the uncharacteristically warm day or maybe it was his annoyance at his uncle’s obsessive insistence on treating Olivia like a suspect, but Chase could barely keep his own temper in check. Olivia Hamilton was not responsible for what happened twenty years ago any more than she was for the murder of Beverly Bellamy. The chief had to see that.
Chief Fraley stopped abruptly and glared at Chase. “Do you really understand what’s going on here?”
There was something wholly unnerving about his manic expression, as if he was about to explode.
“That woman—” he stabbed a finger toward the inn “—is desperate. You know as well as I do that a desperate person is capable of most anything. I checked her out. The last time her life got out of control, someone died. Do you see a pattern forming here?”
Chase shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t really suspect that she murdered Beverly Bellamy. Good God, Chief, Beverly was killed doing Livvy’s job. Doesn’t that put her in danger rather than make her a suspect?” Just another reason why Chase intended to keep a close watch on Livvy. Apparently he was the only one who considered that she might have been the intended victim.
The chief shook that accusing finger at Chase now. “I see what’s happening here. You’re falling for her…making the same mistake your daddy—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes bulging with surprise at his own words.
“What about my father?” Chase demanded, his fury building again. “What mistake did he make that has any relevance here?”
The tense silence thickened for three beats before his uncle spoke again. “He made the mistake of becoming obsessed with a woman, and it cost him his life. I see how you look at Ms. Hamilton.”
The words were like a blow to Chase’s gut. “What’re you talking about?”
Conviction that he was right burned in Benton Fraley’s eyes. “Suffice to say that Martin Maxwell might not have killed the woman but who’s to say he didn’t kill the competition? There are times when a man’s desire for a woman can get him killed.”
Speechless, Chase watched his uncle march in the direction of his parked car. Why the hell had Chase never heard anything about this before? Why now? Out of the blue?
So what if Chase liked Olivia Hamilton, felt protective of her? What did that have to do with the murder of his father? If Chase’s father had been connected to Melissa Carlyle in any way, why would Chase not have heard rumors around town?
He knew he wouldn’t get the answers he wanted from his uncle. But there was one person he could ask who would know all about those days. And Chase intended to find out the truth.
He followed the path his uncle had taken and climbed into the cruiser’s passenger seat. He didn’t say anything else to the man, there was no point. His uncle had his reasons for feeling the way he did, and Chase would learn what they were, but from a more rational voice. Then maybe he would understand what made a levelheaded man like Chief Benton Fraley go around making groundless accusations.
Chase frowned as his uncle shoved the vehicle into gear and rocketed forward onto the washed-out back road that led toward town, eventually intersecting with the more commonly used thoroughfare. There was a hell of a lot that didn’t add up here. Since his uncle apparently couldn’t look at this case with any objectivity, Chase would have to solve it himself. Otherwise a murderer might just get away.
And a woman’s peace of mind, as well as her livelihood, might be shattered.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Maybe he was obsessed, but he couldn’t turn his back on Olivia Hamilton.
CHAPTER FOUR
CHASE RUMMAGED IN the archives until he found the box that contained the files on the Carlyle case. He wiped away the film of dust and sat at the table to review the contents of the box.
For more than two hours he read through statements and investigation reports. The newspaper clippings were the most troubling. There was plenty of speculation about his father and the primary suspect, Martin Maxwell, but there had been no evidence. Of course, now they all knew why. Melissa Carlyle’s sister had killed her. But there had been no revelation about Chase’s father. His death still remained a mystery.
Chase carefully placed the files back into the box and returned it to the designated slot on the appropriate shelf. There was only one other source of information he could trust with complete certainty.
He headed to the lobby. Ms. Shirley would be returning from her lunch break about now. Chase needed to get pertinent questions out of the way before his uncle returned. The chief was already furious that Chase had read the forensics report. Not once in their ten years of working together had his uncle behaved so possessively over a case.
Chase closed the files room door behind him at the same time Shirley Whitman settled into the comfortable chair behind her desk. She shifted, adjusting the decorative needlepoint pillow her granddaughter had made for her, and glanced up at him.
“Anything exciting happen while I was out?”
Chase sat in an upholstered chair flanking her desk. “Not really. Jeb Kendrick called about that community dinner coming up Friday night.”
Shirley’s eyes brightened. “That so?”
Chase grinned. Obviously, Shirley had herself a new suitor. “I told him I’d give you the message.”
“I’ll have to give him a call back…later.” She looked pleased with herself. “After he’s had time to sweat awhile.”
Chase managed a chuckle. Poor Jeb. The man would definitely need to be on his toes if Shirley was his romantic interest.
Chase let the silence go on longer than he’d intended in an attempt to find just the right words.
Shirley’s expression turned knowing. “If you want to ask me something, Chase, you should just go ahead. No use beating around the bush.”
That was just one of the things he liked about her. She was not only efficient; she was direct. Well, at least in all things not related to romance.
“I heard something about my father this morning that I didn’t know.”
One gray eyebrow lifted speculatively. “Your father was a fine man. Could have been chief but he knew how badly Benton wanted it so he stepped aside.”
Chase had known that. His uncle had always been open about who had been the better politician. In a small town like Cliff’s Cove the position of
police chief was more about politics than cop skills. Benton Fraley had even gone on to say that his brother had passed on the position because he had a son to take care of, unlike Benton who’d never married. It had made sense at the time to the two brothers. Benton would serve as chief since he had no outside responsibilities and Wayne, Chase’s father, would serve as his deputy. The perfect plan.
Taking care with his words, Chase ventured into the sensitive territory. “Did you ever hear that my father was involved in any way with Melissa Carlyle?”
Shirley looked surprised by the question but swiftly recovered. “They were friends. Most of the men in town wanted to be Melissa’s friend,” she added frankly.
Chase frowned. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
She heaved a sigh before she responded. “Melissa Carlyle was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Everyone loved her. Couldn’t help themselves. Personally, I believe your daddy was quite taken with her, but I’m fairly certain he kept it to himself. He wouldn’t have trespassed on another man’s territory.”
“Martin Maxwell?”
Shirley nodded. “Wayne knew how Maxwell felt, so he kept his own feelings to himself. He simply loved her from afar, so to speak.”
The news only served to further bewilder Chase. “You think that could have gotten him killed?”
Shirley pursed her lips and regarded his question for a bit. “Benton would like to think so. You have to understand,” she explained, “Martin Maxwell, your daddy and your uncle had always been the best of friends. But Melissa somehow changed the dynamics of their relationship. I’m certain it wasn’t intentional, it just happened.”
Chase nodded, understanding coming to him slowly. “Do you think it’s possible the chief still considers Maxwell the prime suspect in my father’s disappearance?”
“I believe that’s exactly how he feels, though he has never been able to prove it.” Shirley inclined her head, her expression taking on a faraway look. “I also believe that’s why your uncle has been so troubled by the opening of the inn. To him it’s a constant reminder of his own failure.”
