When she was finished, having sent the longest e-mail in her life, she sat back in her chair, rolled her shoulders to ease the knots and felt an enormous sense of relief. She’d made a decision. It was too late now to change her mind. The next hurdle of course, was her father.
She wouldn’t tell him on the phone. No way. So a meeting with Cara—promised in her e-mail with a date yet to be decided—wouldn’t take place until after Jack was home. Fortunately, when she’d called Charlotte with the information Shirley wanted about her credit card bill, she’d reached voice mail.
The one person she could tell about the scrapbook—and her decision—was her aunt.
“I’m so very happy for you, dear,” Aunt Isobel said after Annie told her. “You’ve made all the right decisions every step of the way.”
“You know, Auntie Isobel, I never really believed that until today. After seeing that book, I now know that Cara has had a wonderful fulfilled life. It made me feel good about my decision—for the first time.”
“And well you should. Now, what’s the latest about your father?”
Annie gave her a quick summary of the most recent phone call and, after a promise to let her know when the meeting with Cara would occur—” we all want to meet her”—hung up. She checked the time on the kitchen wall clock. Almost six-thirty. Will had been gone for about forty-five minutes.
Anxious and restless, she decided to go out to the barn to make a list of jobs for the next day and see what materials needed to be ordered from the supplier. She picked up the keys from their hook near the kitchen door and went out into the yard. It seemed empty and lonely—almost deserted. She paused midway and scanned the area. Everything looked the same, but suddenly felt very different.
You’re seeing this place through different eyes now, Annie. It won’t ever be the same. Not after finding Cara. Not after Will. That must be it, she realized as she unlocked the door. There was no Will inside or walking back from the kitchen with cold drinks. No Will suited up to move supers or collect honey frames. She had a vivid picture of what life at the apiary would be like after he left. And she didn’t like it.
Dust beams streaked across the shadowy interior of the barn, lit from the side windows. It was eerily silent and Annie shivered. Overactive imagination at work, she told herself. She went to the long counter and checked the supply of plastic packaging for the honeycomb she and Will would be taking off in the morning. Unless he’s still occupied with Henry Krause. Poor Henry, she thought, having to endure such stress at his age.
After counting up the packages she had on hand, she took a pen and piece of paper to make up her order. But where was the catalogue? She checked all the drawers and cupboards beneath the counter. Then she remembered seeing it on the desk her father used, in a corner at the end of the barn.
Annie was surprised to find the desk covered with shards of glass and the window above it with a gaping hole in the center. Sometimes birds hit the windows, but this had to be a very big bird. Like an owl or hawk. She bent to check the floor and noticed something lying in the gap between the desk and the wall.
Getting down on her hands and knees, she stretched to feel for it. Her fingers latched onto something sharp. Glass. Broken. She swore at herself for being so stupid and pulled her hand back. Blood oozed from a thin slice across her fingers.
She got to her feet and sat down in her father’s chair. Her hand was beginning to throb and she wrapped a tissue around the cut. When she felt steady, she got the sturdy commercial-size broom hanging on the opposite wall to sweep under the desk.
Blood was starting to seep through the tissue as Annie used the broom to drag out a large rock, with a piece of paper held in place around it by an elastic band. Her hands were shaking as she snapped the elastic off the rock and unfolded the paper.
YOU’RE NEXT.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WILL’S CELL RANG just as the sheriff was attempting to ask Henry the same question he’d already posed twice. Will was getting sick and tired of the whole farce. Henry was gray with frustration and stress, though bravely refusing to buckle.
Glaring at the sheriff, Will said, “Hold that a minute, okay?” He walked a few feet away to talk to Annie, whose number had popped up on call display.
Her voice came across as shrill and insistent.
He listened, trying not to let his face reflect what she was telling him because the others were right there, sitting at Henry’s kitchen table. She was upset, but more worried than frightened. He wanted to ask her some key questions but didn’t want to say too much within earshot of the others.
“Stay right there,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
When he ended the call and put away the phone, he glanced up to see Captain Andrews’s quizzical expression. He knew he had to tell him about the threat, but hesitated in front of the sheriff. He was certain if he did, the sheriff would insist on taking Henry into town. Perhaps even lay a charge. There was no way to tell exactly when the rock had been thrown into the barn. They’d been working there yesterday and would have noticed the broken window. It had to have been in the night or sometime that morning. He’d been with Henry since nine in the morning and through the lunch hour. But he knew that Henry was an early riser. So the perp could possibly be Henry. At least, that’s how the sheriff and maybe Andrews might spin it.
“Everything okay?” Captain Andrews asked.
Will gave a casual shrug but didn’t say a word.
The sheriff made one last try to get Henry to confess, but the poor man simply repeated what he’d been saying for the last half hour. “I haven’t seen those bottles for years. I put them away in my shed when I stopped making wine and haven’t seen ’em since.”
The sheriff, a heavyset man in his late fifties, heaved a sigh that seemed to shout, I hate to have to do this but…
Will quickly spoke up. “Henry contacted his lawyer yesterday in town and frankly, I don’t think he ought to have been talking to you gents at all. But he wants to be up front about everything. He’s got nothing to hide, right, Henry?”
Henry kept his gaze on the tabletop, but nodded.
“So rather than have this go on any longer—you can see he’s tired and it’s getting near supper time—I suggest I bring Henry into town tomorrow—with his lawyer—and continue any questioning there. Okay?” He crossed his arms and stared unflinchingly at the two pairs of eyes focused on him.
The sheriff turned to Andrews. “He’s one of your men?”
“A damn fine firefighter. We’re lucky to have him. And he’s perfectly right, Sheriff Johnson.” Andrews got to his feet, placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Sorry about all this, Henry. We have to take those bottles with us, but otherwise, we’ll let this go until tomorrow.”
Will walked the men to the door and watched them drive off. Then he turned and looked at Henry, still staring blankly into space.
“I don’t suppose you have any of that wine tucked away, do you?”
Henry cracked up. “Got something much better. A bottle of rum Jack Collins gave me for Christmas a couple of years ago. I think there’s even a cola in the fridge. Unless you want yours straight?”
“I’ll get the cola, you get the rum.”
After a few sips, Will decided the time was right to tell Henry about Annie’s phone call.
Henry was shocked. “I can’t think of anyone in this valley who’d want to harm the Collins family. I don’t understand what’s happening here. Take those empty wine bottles—I can see how some kids might’ve come across them and taken a few. But threatening Annie? I don’t get it.” Henry shook his head.
“Can you think of anyone who knew you had them?”
“I don’t know. I mean, no one’s been around the farm much at all since Ida Mae died. And that was fifteen years ago.”
“Were you making the wine then?”
“Heck, yes. Ida Mae loved it. We had a glass every night before supper. Right up to the time when her med
ication was increased and she couldn’t take alcohol anymore. That’s when I stopped drinking it, too.” He averted his face. “Wouldn’t have been fair.”
Will waited a moment, then asked, “Did you ever give it to people?”
“All the time. For Christmas, mostly, ’cause we didn’t have a lot of money for expensive gifts.”
“And did the people you gave wine to give you back their empty bottles?”
“Some did, some didn’t.”
That really narrows the field, Will thought. “So you probably gave wine to Annie’s father.”
“He loved it!”
“Anyone else you can think of?”
Henry frowned. “Lots of people. Back then.”
The loneliness of Henry’s life tugged at Will. He peered down into his drink, not trusting himself to speak.
“’Course, there were more neighbors then,” Henry added. “Ed Waters—Sam and Mike’s dad—and his wife were still alive. They liked my wine. And there were some people who rented the farm a few miles farther north of the Waters place. A few people in town, too.”
“Where did the Waterses live?”
“Two miles north of the campground. That’s why Ed wanted that piece of land. He was thinking of getting into raising goats, but nothing came of it. Don’t know why.”
Will mulled that over. “And who lives there now?”
Henry gave him a “who do you think” kind of look. “Sam Waters and his wife. Plus their three kids. Thought you knew that.”
He probably had been told that Waters lived nearby. It made sense, the way he appeared at the campground early morning or late afternoon. On his way back and forth to town, he guessed. Something turned over in Will’s mind. He needed to think.
“Look, Henry, I told Annie I’d be right over and I think I should check on her. Make sure she’s okay.”
“Of course, son. She’ll be worried.”
“Are you okay here, on your own?”
“Son, I been on my own for the last fifteen years.” He smiled up at Will.
Will managed a smile, patted him on the shoulder and left. Before he got into the van, he pulled out his cell and called Annie.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but definitely ticked off. Someone has a lot of nerve.”
“Listen, I’ve decided to camp out in your yard tonight and every night until your father comes home.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” he said, in a tone that preempted any argument. “But will you be okay for a while longer? I want to drive by the campground and pick up the rest of my stuff. I’ll leave a note for Sam to let him know I won’t be around for a bit.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, I doubt the creep who threw that bottle in my window is going to come back.”
He wished he could agree.
“You don’t think so, do you?” she asked when he didn’t answer.
“Annie, if I thought so would I plan to stay there?”
“I thought maybe it was me you were coming to stay for,” she said, almost plaintively.
He laughed. “You’re a tease.”
“Teasing is only one of my many strengths.”
“If I had time, I could list some others,” he suggested. Her laugh thrilled him.
“Maybe we’ll have time tonight.”
“Maybe. Hey, you know what? I’ll come over right now and go see Sam later.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“See you in five,” he said, pressing the end button. As he backed the van out of Henry’s driveway, he realized he hadn’t been this impulsive in years. If ever.
She was waiting for him in the yard and was in his arms the instant he stepped out. The first thing he did was inspect her bandaged hand.
“Should I take you into town to get stitches or something?”
“It’s not deep. I put antibiotic cream on it. It’s fine.”
He kissed the bandaged area tenderly, then raised his lips to her mouth. “Why do I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks?” he asked when he came up for air.
“Well, it’s been at least an hour. Might as well be a week.”
He hugged her, breathing in Annie Collins. When she pulled away and suggested they clean up the barn first, his disappointment was slightly eased by the wink she gave him.
“I cleaned up the glass from the window,” she said when they were inside.
Will stared down at the note. He felt a combination of anger and fear rise in his gorge. “I’ll have to give this to the sheriff.”
“Will it be bad for Henry?”
“Unfortunately, they’ve only got one suspect and even if it’s an old man in his seventies, they’re not ready to look anywhere else. Maybe this note will actually help push them in another direction. I doubt even the sheriff would believe Henry could toss rocks through barn windows. And besides, what would his motive be?” He walked over to the broken window. “Let me do something about this.” He took one of the empty cardboard boxes from the counter and flattened it with his foot. “This’ll do for now.”
As Will taped it over the window, Annie said, “Want a glass of wine? We could have it…you know…before dinner.”
He turned his head. “Dinner?”
She merely grinned and walked out of the barn.
Will finished as quickly as possible, stowed the rock and note in the van and headed into the kitchen. He stopped abruptly in the doorway, the screen door flapping against his back. Music from a portable CD player on the counter filled the room. There was a small vase of flowers on the table, along with a plate of cheese and crackers and two wineglasses. Annie was nowhere in sight.
Will smiled. Nibbling on a piece of cheese, he opened the refrigerator to look for the wine, eventually finding it in the freezer. After another search through drawers for a corkscrew, he uncorked the wine and poured two generous glasses. He was sipping his when Annie came into the room.
She was wearing something clinging and filmy that looked more like lingerie than a dress. She’d had a quick shower, he guessed, from the damp tendrils at the base of her neck. The rest of her hair was swept up into a fancy knot.
“You should have told me it was formal wear,” he said. “I’d have put on my pressed jeans.”
“You have pressed jeans?”
“Well, I did once.”
“I thought maybe we could have a drink and then go to town for dinner.”
Not possible, he thought. Unless it was a very late dinner.
He passed her a glass and raised his own, sipping without taking his eyes off her. Finally, he set his glass down and moved closer, gently removing her glass and putting it next to his on the table. Then he leaned down and kissed her behind her ear.
She sagged into him. Her hands reached up to draw his head down. “Maybe we can skip dinner.”
“Hmm.” He was intent on the nape of her neck, when he felt her stiffen.
“Supper break?” a gruff voice behind him said. “And who’s this? Not the hired help?”
Will closed his eyes and prayed he was hallucinating. Ever so slowly, he turned around, still holding onto a speechless Annie.
A tall, stooped gray-haired man leaning on a cane hovered just inside the screen door. The door, Will thought, that perversely did not slam shut for once.
Annie managed to find her voice first. “Daddy.”
He shuffled to a chair and sat. The screen door opened and closed again behind a pleasant-looking woman in her sixties, smiling.
“Hi, Shirley,” Annie said as she extricated herself from Will’s arms. “This is a surprise.”
Jack Collins snorted. “Guess so.”
“Sorry, Annie, I tried to talk him out of it but ever since Arnie called, he’s been obsessed about coming home.”
“Obsessed! Makes me sound like a kook instead of someone who’s concerned about his property…. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Annie’s face r
eddened. “Oh, sorry. Dad, Shirley, this is Will Jennings.”
“You the firefighter?”
Will nodded. And the hired help, he wanted to add.
“Heard you saved the Lewis place.”
“Helped. The volunteer unit did all the work.”
Jack gave him an appraising look. “I think you’re modest.”
Will tried not to smile when he caught Annie winking at him.
“Don’t talk too much, either. Guess that’s what makes you a good worker.” He turned to Annie. “Or is it?”
The redness in Annie’s face deepened.
Then Jack gave a funny barking kind of laugh and pointed at the wine. “Are you sharing that with us, or do Shirley and I have to open our own?”
“I suppose you’ll want our cheese and crackers, too?” Annie asked, grinning, her hands on her hips.
“Guess so.” Jack motioned for Shirley to sit.
Will found the interplay between Annie and her father fascinating. They almost had a routine. Banter with an edge, but coming from strong affection. Patterned out of living alone together for a few years. Annie had hinted at a turbulent period after her mother’s death.
After Annie had found two more glasses and set them on the table, Jack reached over to pour. Asserting his place as head of the family, Will thought. And rightly so. If it were me walking in on my daughter in a stranger’s embrace, I might not have responded so well.
There was a brief interlude of small talk, mainly between Shirley and Annie. Will was aware of Jack’s eyes on him the whole time. He tried to act nonchalant, but realized he wasn’t much of a match for the old guy.
“How did you convince Shirley to bring you home?” Annie suddenly asked, turning to her father.
Jack frowned, obviously nettled by the question. He made a noncommittal sound and glared at Shirley, who smiled smugly.
“Your father and I are going on a Caribbean cruise,” she said.
Annie had a coughing fit. She plunked her wineglass on the table, tears running from her eyes. Will stared at her, alarmed, but no one else moved. He was about to jump up and pound on her back when she sputtered to a stop.
The Beekeeper's Daughter (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 19
