Devlin's Light

by Mariah Stewart

  “Zoey?” He laughed. “You thought Zoey was my girlfriend?”

  “Nick, I had no way of knowing. All I knew was that I saw an absolutely beautiful young woman on your deck and you had your arm around her.”

  “Well, how ‘bout that?” He rubbed his chin. “And here I was, all put out because you didn’t let me know you were here, and there you were, all … all … what would you say you were?”

  “Jealous,” she told him. “Sick with envy.”

  “You weren’t.”

  She nodded and could almost feel the knot well up in her, just thinking back to it. He put his arms around her and held her very close to him.

  “There is no girlfriend, Indy. There isn’t anyone I care about, except you. No one I’d care to have as a house guest—family excluded, of course—except you.” He wrapped her up close to his face, rubbing his cheek against hers. “There isn’t anyone I want in my life except you. Got that, Indy?”

  “Got it, Nick,” she whispered.

  “Well, well.” Darla’s eyebrows were raised in surprise as she stepped inside the doorway and bumped into the embracing couple.

  Nick groaned.

  “Could’ve been worse, honey.” She winked as she stacked dishes on the shelf. “I could have been Corri. That’d be just like having everyone in Devlin’s Light pass through.”

  Zoey stuck her head in through the doorway. “Oh. So that’s where the plates go. Here, Nicky, put these away.”

  “Do you people care that you’re interrupting a moment here?” Nick complained as he reluctantly disengaged himself from India and took the stack of plates from his sister.

  “Oh.” Zoey looked from Nick to India, then back to Nick. “Sorry.”

  “Come on, Zoey.” Darla grabbed Nick’s sister by the arm. “Let’s go find some dishes to wash.”

  “Talk about a mood breaker,” Nick muttered. “Now, where were we?”

  “You were put out and I was jealous,” India reminded him. “And I was right about here.” She tucked his arms around her and lifted her face to his.

  “Right. Oh, right, I remember.” He nodded. “I think I was just beginning to do this”—he nibbled lightly on her bottom lip—“sort of as a prelude to this.” His tongue parted her lips and slid into her mouth, and she tasted wine and raspberries and knew that if he didn’t stop immediately, they would very shortly embarrass themselves in front of both their families.

  India struggled slightly to pull herself away, fighting off the mental image of her dragging him to the floor of the butler’s pantry and having her way with him.

  “I think we’d best join the others,” she whispered.

  “In just a minute.” He sought her mouth again, still hungrily and insistently. “I haven’t quite finished giving thanks.”

  Cousin Rachel’s Cranberry Relish

  1 package (16 oz) fresh cranberries

  1/2 cup water

  2 oranges, unpeeled, quartered

  1 cup sugar

  2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

  Wash and pick over cranberries. Mix berries with sugar, water and lemon juice in large, heavy saucepan. Over medium heat, cook berries until they begin to pop (5-7 minutes). Using off/on turns, chop oranges in food processor, gradually add cooked cranberries to processor and chop until berries are coarse. Cover and refrigerate until ready to use.

  Chapter 17

  “Indy, there’s a man at the door to talk to you. Corri bounced into the laundry room and, having made her announcement, was preparing to bounce right on out.

  “What man?” India frowned as she sorted darks from lights, heavy fabrics from delicates, and yesterday’s table linens from everything else.

  “I don’t know.” Corri shrugged. “A man.”

  “Where’s Aunt August?”

  “She went to the library to return some books.”

  “Ask him to wait.” India flipped the last handful of yesterday’s dish towels into the gaping mouth of the washing machine and closed the lid. “You didn’t let him in, did you?”

  “Of course not.” Corri drew back, stung by the very suggestion that she would not know better than to let a total stranger into the house. “He’s waiting outside.”

  “I’ll be right down,” India told her. She turned to see Corri pulling a brightly knit wool cap down over her strawberry curls. “Are you going out to play?”

  “Me and Ollie are going to roller skate.”

  “Be careful.” India eased up the zipper on Corri’s jacket, smoothed the flat brim of the hat and kissed the tip of the child’s nose. Corri had already made a dash to the steps to join her friend by the time India realized she had done what every mother does before sending her child out to play on a chilly late fall day. Zip the jacket. Straighten the hat. Kiss the kid and always remind them to be careful.

  “I’m India Devlin,” she announced as she opened the front door. A well-dressed man in his late thirties stood patiently on the porch, hands respectfully folded in front of him, military style.

  “I’m sorry.” He smiled, not unpleasantly. “It was Maris Devlin I was looking for.”

  “Maris?” India’s eyebrows were raised nearly to her hairline.

  “Yes. Is she available?”

  “Ah, Mr. …”

  “Byers. Lucien Byers.” His voice held a gentle trace of the South.

  “Mr. Byers, Maris Devlin is dead.”

  “Oh,” he exclaimed, clearly taken aback by the news. “Oh, I had no idea. I’m so sorry. And she was … your sister?”

  “No. My brother’s wife.”

  “Well then, perhaps I should speak to your brother.”

  “Mr. Byers, my brother is also deceased.”

  “Oh, dear. I really am so sorry.” He seemed to digest this latest bit uneasily.

  “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Actually, Miss Devlin, I’m not sure. You see, I—that is, my company, Byers World—purchased some land from Mrs. Devlin several years ago.”

  “I wasn’t aware that Maris owned any land.”

  “Well, actually, I believe it may have belonged jointly to her and her husband.”

  “Mr. Byers, any land that my brother owned was part of a family trust. Since I am the only other party to the trust, I can tell you with all certainty that there has been only one parcel of Devlin land sold in the past hundred or so years. And it was not to Byers World.”

  “Miss Devlin, I have a deed, I have an agreement of sale for the property that we purchased.” Byers looked confused.

  “With you?” India raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Not the deed, but I think there may be a copy of the agreement of sale in the file.” He patted the side of a plush chocolate-leather briefcase.

  “Mr. Byers, perhaps you should come in.” India opened the door all the way to permit him to enter.

  “May I?” he asked, holding up the briefcase.

  India nodded, gesturing to the mahogany table at the bottom of the steps.

  Byers slid a pair of tortoise-shell glasses onto his well-tanned face and opened the leather case, from which he removed a carefully drawn map.

  “This”—the index finger of his right hand traced a bright yellow line on the map—“marks the boundary of the land we purchased two years ago.”

  India peered over his shoulder. “Why, that’s the land on either side of the river.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Byers—”

  “’Lucien.’”

  “Lucien, I think there’s been a terrible mistake here. We—the Devlin family, that is, the Devlin trust—own that land. We have not sold that land.”

  “Ah, but you have.” He searched through his files, opened one up and said, “Yes, this one. Here. Right here.”

  He handed her an agreement of sale. Her eyes quickly scanned the page until resting on the signature and date at the bottom of the document.

  Maris Steele Devlin. June 21, 1994. Right next to a very poorly forged ve
rsion of Ry’s signature.

  India half laughed. “Mr. Byers—Lucien … I hate to have to tell you this, but this agreement of sale is worthless.”

  “Worthless? How can you say that? It’s notarized, I paid Mrs. Devlin.”

  “Lucien… here, come sit down.” She led a shaken Byers into the sitting room and offered him a chair. “Lucien, I don’t know what Maris told you, but she couldn’t have sold that property to you. She didn’t own it. Her signature is worthless, and the signature purported to be my brother’s is a very obvious forgery.”

  “What!”

  “That land belongs to the Devlin trust. The trust was controlled by my brother and me. If both our signatures are not on that document—or at the very least my brother’s and my aunt’s, since she has power of attorney in my absence—it’s totally worthless.”

  “You mean I’ve been …”

  “Duped. Yes. I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, this is terrible. Absolutely terrible.” He rose and began to pace. “Miss Devlin, I purchased that land in good faith on behalf of my shareholders. We have spent considerable money on surveys and development plans. We have entered into an agreement with a builder to construct little cottages on those lots. The whole purpose of my visit today was to see if I could persuade Mr. and Mrs. Devlin to sell me just a small additional piece, which would give the future owners of these cabins access to the beach.”

  “Lucien, I’m afraid I do not know what to tell you.” India suddenly felt very sick to her stomach.

  “Miss Devlin …”

  “‘India.’” She gestured for him to sit back down.

  “India, I paid Mrs. Devlin a great deal of money for that land.”

  “How much, might I ask?”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, as you can see.” He pointed to the line where the cash part of the transaction was indicated.

  “Oh,” India exclaimed. “Oh,” was all she could say.

  “Oh, indeed.” Lucien sank back onto the sofa, looking every bit as miserable as he must have felt.

  “I think perhaps you’d better start from the beginning.”

  “A little more than two years ago, I started to look for some undeveloped land around the Delaware Bay. A place where I could build a new community of small, relatively inexpensive beach homes. I found Devlin’s Light, and of course, when I saw that entire stretch of undeveloped land running along an unspoiled beach, well of course, I had to find out who owned it. It wasn’t difficult to get in touch with your brother. I made him an offer—a very generous offer, I should tell you—right there on the spot. And on that very same spot, your brother flat out turned down my very generous offer and told me in no uncertain terms that the beach was not for sale. There seemed to be no reason to even attempt to negotiate. I thanked him for his time and that was that.”

  “Lucien, if you approached Ry to buy land and he refused to sell it to you, why would you have called his wife to sell it to you?”

  “Oh, I didn’t,” he told her. “Mrs. Devlin called me.”

  “Maris called you?”

  “Yes. She said that her husband didn’t want to sell the beach property but that he had some property along the river that I might be interested in.”

  “You obviously did not speak with my brother about this.”

  “Well, I believe that all of our dealings may have been strictly with her from that point on.”

  “‘We’?”

  “I personally was not involved other than to speak with your brother that first time, and to speak with Mrs. Devlin when she called back. Will Shuman, our then-vice president of development and special projects, handled this transaction for Byers World.” Lucien’s eyes knit together pensively.

  “Then perhaps you should discuss this with your employee.”

  “My ex-employee.” Byers sighed heavily.

  “Where is he now?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.” He shook his head. “I should have known there was something …”

  Byers rose and began to pace again.

  “How long ago did he leave your employ?”

  “He resigned about two years ago. Said he was moving to Atlanta to be closer to his family.”

  “Lucien, Maris has been dead for two years.”

  “May I ask how she died?”

  “She drowned in the bay.” India told him the story, then added, “Her body was never recovered, though we did find a few things that had been hers. One of her sandals. Her sunglasses. A hat she always wore while she was crabbing.”

  “Hmmm. An accidental death.” He gazed out the window. “Now that I think back on it, I think this may have been the last piece of business Shuman worked on for us.” Lucien sat back down on the chair and exhaled loudly. “You know, I had heard rumors, but I never for a minute suspected that he could have been so desperate.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There had been some rumblings that Shuman had a gambling problem. That he had run up a sizable tab at one of the casinos in Atlantic City.” Lucien tapped his pen in the palm of his left hand. “Since his departure, some small irregularities have appeared in several of his expense accountings, a few minor shortages involving several of the deals he was working on, but nothing of this magnitude.”

  “You think he worked with Maris to defraud you?”

  “Actually, I’m thinking perhaps he defrauded both Byers World and Mrs. Devlin.” Byers looked at her, his eyes heavy with speculation.

  “You mean he worked with Maris to take your money, then disappeared with it all himself?”

  He nodded.

  “Maris was not one to go quietly, Lucien. If Shuman had defrauded you and cut her out, you can bet your bottom dollar that she’d have come straight to you about it.”

  “Not if Shuman killed her first.” He spoke the words softly, his voice fraught with a quiet horror.”

  “Killed?” Her eyebrows raised at the thought of it. “You think Shuman may have killed Maris?”

  “I think we have to consider that possibility, don’t you? How difficult would it be to overturn a boat? To take the body out to sea?”

  Maris murdered? A chill ran though her. Ry had definitely been murdered, but the thought that Maris had met with foul play had never occurred to her.

  “Lucien, it’s no secret that the circumstances surrounding my brother’s death are still being investigated. Now you’re suggesting that his wife had been murdered? If Maris had been killed by this Shuman, why would Ry have been killed? Shuman would have already had the money. And it was more than two years between the time that Maris died and the time that Ry died. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  Byers pondered this. “Maybe Shuman hid the money somewhere around Devlin’s Light, then came back looking for it. Maybe your brother caught him.”

  “I guess that’s possible.” India frowned, her arms crossed against her chest.

  “The other possibility is that the two deaths, while unfortunate, were unrelated.”

  “Let’s think this through. Who else was there when your company went to settlement on this property?”

  Byers sorted through the papers in his briefcase. “There was Mrs. Devlin and a lawyer named Patricia Sweeney. A representative of the title company named Peter Hales. Shuman …”

  “Lucien, we need to talk to these other people.” India looked over the papers.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Byers nodded. “And first thing Monday morning, I will personally do that very thing. May I call you next week?”

  “Let me get one of my cards for you,” she said as she left the room. “I’ll be right back.”

  Once in the dining room, where she’d left her pocketbook earlier that morning, she searched through her wallet with shaking hands until she found a card. Returning to the sitting room, she found Lucien Byers looking out the front window to where Corri and Ollie were trying to maneuver over the cracked pieces of sidewalk on roller skates without falling. Corri ma
de it through the worst of it, but Ollie did not. India grimaced as the child fell half onto the sidewalk, half onto the grass.

  “Ollie, are you all right?” India called from the front door.

  The child picked herself up and brushed the leaves and pine needles from her denimed bottom, nodding that nothing much was damaged but her pride.

  “Is she hurt?” Byers asked with apparent concern as India handed over her business card.

  “No, just embarrassed. I’ll have to have that sidewalk repaired, though, before someone does get hurt. It’s the sort of thing that my brother used to take care of.” She smiled wanly.

  “It’s obvious that you miss him terribly. I’m so very sorry.”

  “We all are.” She shrugged, then turned her attention back to the card. “I’ll be at this number on Monday.”

  “Assistant district attorney, city of Paloma, Pennsylvania,” he read. “Quite impressive. I suppose you could look into the whereabouts of some of the players.” He raised the sheaf of papers and shook them slightly.

  “Absolutely. As a matter of fact, if you fax copies of those documents over to my office, I’ll get someone working on it first thing this week.”

  “Excellent. And I will start to gather what information I can on Shuman. I know a very fine private investigator.”

  “Maybe I can help locate Shuman. I’ll see what’s in the computer banks on him.”

  “Wonderful. Maybe if we work together we can get to the bottom of this. And perhaps, eventually, reach some sort of agreement on that tract of land.”

  “An agreement?”

  “India, regardless of what our combined efforts find, I— my company, that is—is still out a quarter of a million dollars. Money that was paid to your sister-in-law.”

  India stiffened. “Lucien, I am not responsible for Maris’s actions, nor do I have any responsibility to you or your company. Certainly I feel terrible that this has happened, but I don’t believe I have any obligations here, even if I had two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to pay you back.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to. It isn’t the money I want. We have invested a good deal of money into the development of that land—land that our records show we purchased. I would like to think we could work out something that would permit me to proceed with those plans.”