She walked toward the end of the hall to the room with the walkup attic entrance. “Are you upstairs?”
The attic door stood open. Approaching it, she peered up into darkness. “Hello?”
A strange smell wafted down to her, causing her to scrunch her nose. Moonlight streamed through the windows, casting shadows on the wooden floors, but upstairs the small gable windows wouldn’t shed much light. Should she check things out in the darkness?
Once again she asked, what kind of home owner was she? She had made the choice to take on this huge house all by herself. Calling someone to check on every squeak and creak she heard in the night wasn’t an option.
With her mind made up, she took the stairs.
Gretchen reached the top landing and found the sweet odor even more pronounced. Pine trees and licorice. It reminded her of the stuff she used to clean paintbrushes.
She sniffed.
Turpentine. Had Ethan been up here painting tonight? “Ethan,” she called again. “Are you up here?”
With no answer and only the stars as light to search through the rooms, Gretchen went back to the stairs.
Only the door below was now closed.
Gretchen’s heart skipped a beat. “Hey!” She felt her way down the steps in the pitch-dark. Her foot slipped down two treads before she caught the railing. She reached out blindly until she collided with the door, feeling for the doorknob.
Locked.
“Ethan! Are you out there?” she shouted. “Anybody?” Her voice hitched. Her breathing picked up. It took her a moment before she realized she wasn’t getting full breaths.
“No, no, no, no,” she said in a panic. She couldn’t be having another asthmatic episode so quickly.
The wheezing said otherwise.
This was a full-blown attack. Two in one day after months of having none. Why? Not important. Getting it under control was all that mattered. But how could she do this without an inhaler? Even if she wasn’t locked in the attic, she’d used her last puff this afternoon.
Gretchen tried to steady her breaths. She forced her mind to focus on breathing in through her nose, but the strong piney smell assaulted her senses so that her wheezing deepened.
She realized that the odor was bringing on the attack. It was the toxicity of the turpentine! If she didn’t escape quickly, it would only get worse until…
Gretchen banged repeatedly on the door. There was no way any of the crew would hear her in their trailers, but was Ethan still around?
Gretchen turned and raced up the stairs, first on her hands and knees to feel her way, but the smell was so strong closer to the floor that she stood to get away from it.
Someone had poured the solvent all the way up the stairs. After all that had happened to her, she knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but in her piercing pain and the horrendous sounds coming from her throat she had to admit someone wanted her to suffer. Cruel didn’t describe this attack. Sinister came closer.
Dirty was even better.
But Colm did not do this. He was at the sheriff’s department for the night. And he wasn’t even here to play the chivalrous knight come to her rescue.
Right about now she would have taken that, camera and all.
Her breaths shortened to squeaking fragments. The only word to describe this awful act would be murder.
She was going to die.
Gretchen reached the top step. She fell to her hands and knees and looked up to the two windows high up in the gables. Too high to reach. But maybe she could climb up onto something. Something big enough, but not too heavy to move beneath one of the windows.
Gretchen crawled around, her heart plummeting as she felt nothing but open space. Not even small objects to throw at the windows to break them.
Oh, how she wished she could break just one window to ventilate the room. The starry sky above taunted her with the cool evening air on the other side of the glass. Tears sprang from her eyes in frustration and fear. She’d been successfully taken to her knees, right where someone wanted her. But who?
Billy had threatened her earlier, but when would he have come up here to douse the place? She’d been alone upstairs all night, and Ethan would have seen someone come through the doors downstairs.
Gretchen couldn’t give up. She had to keep looking as long as she had one breath left. She crawled back around, using the moonlight shadows as a guide, then saw an area where no light shone. Thinking perhaps she’d find something to throw, she dragged her slowing body into the darkness.
A few crawls in, her body dropped as her chest convulsed in sharp pains. She couldn’t go any farther. She swept her hand out in one direction to feel around her. Nothing. She pulled her body a little more and swept her arm again. The tips of her fingers brushed against something hard. Hope flourished, but she’d have to move her body even more to feel what it was and try to lift it to throw.
I can do this. I won’t let whoever’s trying to hurt me keep me down. I can do this!
Gretchen repeated her silent words as she reached again and touched the object with more than her fingertips. First her knuckles then the palm of her hand found the object.
It was too large to throw. Before she let her hope deflate with her lungs, she thought maybe it would be tall enough to climb up onto if she could move it toward the window. She had to try.
Agony ripped through her chest as she got to her knees and leaned against a wooden chest. She pushed uselessly with her weakened arms, then turned her shoulder into it to use the weight of her body. A few heaves and flashes of light blinked in her eyes. She pushed again and her body fell forward, slumped against the box.
Gretchen used her elbows to get back up and pushed with all her might. Wood scraped and she fell again, but this time it was because she’d moved the chest forward.
Hope blossomed again even as the last air in her lungs dispersed. She gave another shove. The chest shifted and for a split second more hope gave her a boost of energy.
Then the chest came to a stop. In the dark she couldn’t tell what halted it. Possibly a raised floorboard. Whatever it was, this was the end of the line.
And the end of her.
In frustration she cried out a distorted, raspy sound she’d never made before. A sound that would mark the end of her life, and she would never know who did this to her.
Billy? Troy? Colm?
Or maybe it was Len!
If she could, she would have laughed at that thought. It must have been the lack of oxygen to her brain. Len would never hurt her.
But he had been up in the attic the day the crew arrived. Had the town’s patriarch turned on her, too? Had he lied to her when he said he was on her side? He could have poured the turpentine when he was here. Maybe he was more upset about her turning Stepping Stones into a tourist location than he let on. Maybe he believed she was ruining his precious island and had to stop her. He may not have the physical strength to stop her, but it didn’t take much muscle to pour turpentine in a closed space and attack her at her weakest point.
Gretchen didn’t know what hurt her heart more, the asthma attack or the idea she was being killed by the man who was the only grandfather she’d ever known. She grabbed the top of the chest to try and pull herself up onto it, but her movement caused the chest to fall toward her with a thump. The hinged lid swung wide. Hard, heavy articles fell out on her.
Books. Her hands confirmed the hardback volumes. At first she thought them useless. Then she saw the stars through the glass. The fresh air on the other side awaited her if she could break through.
Gretchen lifted the heavy book and hurled it up, shattering the glass into tinkling pieces.
Now what?
It wasn’t as if she had any way to reach the fresh air beyond it. All Gretchen could do was lie on the floor, her head back, watching the expanse of sky. The last sky she would ever see.
Her breaths were shallow and useless now. The agonizing wheezes sounded more like the squeaks of a small mouse. Her body still worked to ke
ep her alive, but it wouldn’t be long before it gave up.
Gretchen closed her eyes. It took effort she didn’t have to keep them open. Darkness prevailed and some part of her brain said it was over.
She felt a light touch on her shoulder. Her body flinched but couldn’t react in any other way. Not even when she felt her body being scooped up into strong, male arms.
The first name that came to her was Colm, but that didn’t make sense. Colm wasn’t here. But then who was it? Did Ethan come back to help her as he’d promised? Or was it…Billy?
Panic raced through her befuddled mind and she tried to push away from the man’s hold. Her eyes fluttered open but not enough to get a clear image. Whoever carried her may be taking her out to the fresh air to save her, or taking her out to the ocean to dump her.
EIGHT
Colm leaned back against the mirrored wall, rolling his head side to side in a movement as useless as he felt. He’d tried sitting but that lasted all of thirty seconds. How could he sit knowing Gretchen needed defending?
What?
When had his desire changed from protecting her to defending her? She would be the first to shut him down, saying she would take care of herself. Her independence was crucial to her identity. She wanted nothing from anybody, including him. At least he didn’t have to worry about her going back to her abuser as he had with his mother. But that didn’t mean Gretchen’s abuser wouldn’t come looking for her.
The door burst wide with Sheriff Matthews behind it. “Let’s go.”
Colm raced to the door. He didn’t have to ask if it was bad. Sheriff Matthews’s tight, stricken face expressed it all. “Where is she?” Colm asked.
“At the clinic. Someone left her out front. She’s unconscious. Bad asthma attack.”
“Or made to look like it, you mean.” Colm picked up his steps. He followed the sheriff through the hall and into the main lobby of the department. But out the front door, his feet halted on the crushed-seashell walkway.
“To the right,” Sheriff Matthews instructed as the two started running together. “Two doors down.”
Two doors, but at least a thousand yards. The buildings held plenty of space between them. Ordinarily that would be a nice feature of the island, but not at the moment. He wanted to be in that clinic and beside Gretchen this instant.
“Who found her?” Colm asked.
“Doctor Schaffer. He found her lying against the glass doors and took her right in.”
“I doubt she walked herself there.”
“Maybe whoever dropped her off didn’t want the fame for saving her.”
“Yeah, right. More like they didn’t want to be fingered as a suspect.”
“As far as we know it was an asthma attack. Nothing more.” Sheriff Matthews ran under the streetlight and Colm caught the look of doubt on his face.
The lantern light in front of the clinic beamed like a beacon leading their way up to the front glass doors. Sheriff Matthews entered first and held up a hand to stop Colm.
“Tildy’s already here and may not think too kindly of you coming in. Be prepared for her to throw you out. You’re not family.”
Colm didn’t like it one bit, but the sheriff was correct. What was he to Gretchen other than the TV show host for her renovation? And yet, he couldn’t be anywhere else but by her side.
Tildy stepped out of a room off the lobby. She started. “Why is he here? Haven’t he and his crew done enough damage? How do we know he didn’t cause this?”
The sheriff said, “Colm’s been in custody all day and night.” He cast a quick glance Colm’s way. “Besides, I have reason to believe Gretchen is in danger from someone who lives on the island.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Is that what he told you? I’m surprised at you, Sheriff. You should know when someone is pulling the wool over your eyes to cover his own crimes.” Tildy turned to Colm. “You might as well leave. There’s not a chance I’m going to let you see her.”
“I respect your decision, Mum, but I’m not leaving.” Colm walked to a chair in the waiting room and sat down. “If this is as close as I can be to her, then this is where I will stay.”
Tildy and Sheriff Matthews exchanged looks of heated silence before he asked, “How is she? Has she woken up?”
Tildy hesitated, then nodded. “Briefly. Doctor Schaffer gave her oxygen to clear her airways, but my baby girl was so wiped out physically, she fell asleep right away.”
“Did she say anything when she came to? About what happened?”
Tildy shook her head and stared at the plant in the corner of the waiting room.
“Did she name any names?”
Tildy jutted her head at Colm. “His.”
“Mine?” Colm’s heart lurched in his chest. He swallowed the pain of Gretchen’s believing even for a second he’d harmed her. “She thought I did this to her?”
Tildy pursed her lips and crossed her arms at her chest. “She thought you rescued her.”
“Did she say anything else? Mention anyone else?” Sheriff Matthews asked.
A hanging thread on her pink robe became the woman’s focus.
“Tildy, who else did she mention?”
“Billy,” she whispered.
“What about Billy?”
“Sheriff.” Her whisper became desperate. “I think… I don’t want it to be true, but she seemed afraid of him.” Tildy sniffed and swallowed. “Have we been wrong about him?”
Sheriff Matthews looked at Colm, but Colm was doing all he could not to react. Help me, Lord, to stay calm. I will be no help to Gretchen if I revert to my old ways.
“Mom?” a fragile voice said from the other room. “Mom, are you still here?”
Colm jumped from his seat but at Tildy’s glare, he stopped. He’d have to deal with the torture of watching Tildy and Sheriff Matthews enter the room, when all he wanted to do was bowl them over and rush to Gretchen’s side.
Returning to his seat wasn’t an option, either. Colm stood outside the door to listen to her voice. She’d sounded as weak as a kitten. So not like her.
Come on, Goldie, where’s your neart istigh? Colm rested his forehead on the wall by her door, willing Gretchen’s inner strength to return. He needed to know she hadn’t been broken down completely. He needed to hear it to keep him from hunting down Billy Baker tonight.
*
Clean oxygen flowed freely into Gretchen’s lungs, each breath a gift she’d never take for granted again. She opened her eyes to find her mom at her bedside. The worry etched on her face took Gretchen back years to when her father died. The message her mom sent was clear that day: We won’t survive without him. For a long time Gretchen had tried to prove her mother wrong, but it caused strife between them. Strife that only ended when she went on her first date with Billy.
“Who did this to you?” her mom asked as she brushed her hand across Gretchen’s cheek. Her touch stung and Gretchen flinched.
Then she remembered why it hurt. Billy had hit her. By now there must be a bruise.
There was no hiding anything now.
Gretchen opened her mouth to tell all, but her throat closed right up. Why was admitting this weakness so hard to do?
“You need to tell us what happened.”
“Us?” Gretchen lifted her head to scan the room. Was Colm sitting beside her?
“The sheriff and me, of course. Who did you think I meant? Billy?”
Gretchen inhaled sharply, unable to stop the response even with the pain it caused in her chest. “Is he here?” She tried to push up, but her mom settled a hand on her shoulder.
“Would you want him to be?”
Gretchen looked at Sheriff Matthews in the doorway, then back at her mom. Why did she get the feeling they already knew who put the bruise on her face? Slowly, Gretchen shook her head. Tears pooled in her eyes. “He hurt me, Mom.” She looked down, away from the disappointment on her mother’s face.
Her mother’s hand touched her beneath her chin and lifted it
back up. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve been a fool. I pushed too hard. I wanted him so badly for you. I wanted you to have what I had with your father. I wanted to believe Billy would take care of you as your dad did me. With this independence tirade you’ve always been on, I was so afraid you would end up alone. When you broke it off with Billy, I thought you were back on your soapbox again. Never did I think he…”
“So, Billy did assault you?” Sheriff Matthews asked as he approached the foot of the bed. “He gave you that bruise on your face?”
A deep, ugly growl came from outside the doorway.
Gretchen tried to look behind Sheriff Matthews. “Who’s out there? Is that Billy? Are you ganging up on me again?”
Her mother patted her shoulder, but Gretchen shrugged it off. “Sweetheart, it’s not Billy.”
“Then who is it?”
Sheriff Matthews faced her mother. “Tildy, I’m calling this shot.” At Tildy’s reluctant nod, he continued, “Colm, you’re welcome to join—” Colm rushed in and right past the sheriff “—us now.”
“Colm,” Gretchen said as she reached for the hand he placed on her good cheek. His eyes had yet to meet hers. Instead, they searched her face, always returning to the injured side. “I’m okay.” She tried to grab his attention with her eyes. “Just grand.” She said it just as he would say it, accent and all.
The only thing he noticed was her face. “What happened?”
“It was an asthma attack.”
“Asthma attacks don’t leave bruises. Was it Billy or Ethan who put that there?”
“Ethan? No, Billy h-hit—” She choked and wondered if the confession would ever come easy. “Why would Ethan hurt me?”
“I hadn’t thought he would when I asked him to watch over you, but I was knocked over the head in the basement and all I saw was the color green. Billy’s deputy uniform is green, but under all Ethan’s paint splatters, he was also wearing a green shirt. Troy’s suit had green in it, too, for that matter, so I’m not thinking I’ll be able to identify my attacker anytime soon. But—”
“Wait. Stop. You were hit?” Gretchen used her elbows to hoist herself up against the pillow. “Are you okay?”
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