Island of Deceit

by Candice Poarch

  “I have to go,” he whispered, knowing if he didn’t leave now it would be too difficult for him to do so later. He dragged in a breath. “You’re just too enticing, woman.”

  He wanted to stay. She wanted him to stay. He could see it in her eyes. But he wasn’t going to drag her to bed when in the space of a breath she told him their time was limited. He wanted her to need him as much as he needed her.

  And was it a slip of the tongue when she said she’d moved to Manhattan at the same time her friend moved there? They had a lot to resolve before they moved on.

  This relationship was progressing too damn slowly for him. There was nothing easy about slow and easy, Harper thought. As difficult as it was to leave her after one brief kiss, he did.

  This could develop into something special and he didn’t want to rush her. He hadn’t dated another woman since Barbara came to town. And she could cook. My God. He rubbed his stomach. She’d even sent some leftovers home with him.

  When he drove away, he veered from his regular route and drove slowly through the Stones’ neighborhood. Everything seemed quiet.

  When Harper made it home, he called Barbara, but she didn’t answer her phone. Must have gone to bed right after he left. He sighed, imagining her doing that, undressing slowly, showering, donning a seductive negligee.

  He showered, got beneath the covers, and closed his eyes on another sigh. He didn’t know how long he’d slept when the phone woke him. He glanced at the clock. It had been only half an hour.

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “Somebody shot Andrew Stone tonight,” the night duty officer announced.

  Harper sat up in bed. “What?”

  “He’s at the clinic. Don’t think’s it’s life threatening, but I’m on my way there. He was on his way home from the ferry. Happened when he was going into the house. And, Harper, it didn’t wake anyone up. Whoever shot him must have used a silencer.”

  “I’ll meet you at the clinic,” Harper said, getting out of bed. As he pulled on his clothes, he remembered that Barbara hadn’t answered her phone when he’d called.

  The wind had picked up and he felt the gusts against the car as he drove the short distance to the clinic.

  Andrew was moaning. A broken arm, cracked ribs, and now someone had shot him—all within the space of a week. Was he that unlucky or was something else going on? He remembered the night he tried to get money from Barbara. Andrew had said she’d come after him like a woman gone crazy.

  Frowning, Doc scowled and glanced up with a don’t-mess-with-me expression.

  “How is he?” Harper asked.

  “He’ll live if he stops squirming long enough.” Rudely yanked from her bed, she was understandably out of sorts. Looked as if she’d stepped into the first thing she found—a pair of jeans and sneakers. She’d never win a fashion contest. “You can have the bullet as soon as I get it out. For now, just go in the other room.”

  “It was Barbara. You know it was. You’ve got to arrest her this time, Sheriff.”

  “You saw her?”

  “No, but I don’t have any other enemies. I told you that woman was vindictive. She’s not going to be satisfied until I’m dead.”

  “She’s already gotten her revenge. What makes you think she’s still after you? You didn’t get her money.”

  “Women are like that. Especially her,” he said. “She’s not going to be satisfied until I’m dead and buried. She holds grudges.”

  “For God’s sake, Harper. Do the interview after I’m through, else he’s going to end up with a slashed vein,” Doc said. “Get out until I’m done with him.”

  In the waiting room, Harper fixed himself a cup of coffee.

  A while later, a drugged-up Andrew appeared.

  With the bullet in an evidence bag, Harper helped Andrew to the car and drove him home.

  “Have you spoken to Barbara since the attempted robbery?”

  “Well, no. She spoke to my parents at the Greasy Spoon today, but not one word to me.”

  “You mean your dad and aunt?”

  Andrew nodded, his gaze darting away. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

  Harper shot him a hard glare. Was it a slip of the tongue that he called them his parents? Or had his aunt been the mother figure in his life?

  “Where were you coming from tonight?” Harper asked.

  “I was in Norfolk.”

  “Did you have an altercation with anyone there?”

  “No, just went drinking and playing pool. No big deal.” Then he looked down.

  Harper frowned. He played pool with a cast? “Any chance someone followed you?”

  “I woulda known.”

  If he was sober enough, Harper thought. But the effects of the alcohol still hadn’t worn off, and with the meds, Andrew was zoning out fast. “Are you telling me everything?”

  “Sure. I didn’t get in a fight with anybody. No words, either.”

  Harper parked in front of the house and helped Andrew out. “The deputy will take your statement after he finishes with the crime scene.”

  Suddenly, Andrew leaned heavily on Harper and he almost dropped him. The guy was barely conscious as Harper dragged him up the front steps into the house.

  That statement would have to wait.

  Monday morning, Harper stopped by Barbara’s house just as she came outside for her walk.

  “Need to change that schedule. I can time your walks to the minute.”

  “I’m not as paranoid as you.”

  She wore another cute jogging suit, black this time, with a zip-up sweatshirt, the hood pulled over her head. She stopped in front of him.

  “You look tired.”

  “Long night,” he said, leaning against the car. “I tried to call you when I got home.”

  “I took a long shower after you left, then went to bed. Why didn’t you leave a message or call me back?”

  He shrugged. “Went to bed after I called you,” he said, regarding her closely. “Andrew was shot last night.”

  She appeared genuinely shocked. “Is he going to be okay? Who shot him and why?”

  “The bullet went into his upper arm. And we don’t know who shot him. He claims you did.”

  “Me? Why on earth would he say such a thing? I’ve never held a gun in my life. Why would he think I’d try to shoot him over one night’s earnings?”

  “Because you broke his arm.”

  “What do you think, Harper? Do you think I shot him?”

  “What I believe isn’t the issue.”

  “To me, it is.”

  “The truth is, all I can go on is instinct and the fact that I like you. A dangerous combination. It could be said I’ve lost my objectivity.”

  “But what does thirty years of experience tell you?”

  “You don’t want me to answer that.” One hand cupped her cheek. As his mouth descended to hers, she moved a fraction and his lips grazed her cheek instead. Then she glared at him and her tongue swiped her lips.

  He pulled her close, and this time he pressed his lips to hers. For a second, her body tensed; then she relaxed and her arms circled his waist. He tightened his hold on her, bringing her tight against him, feeling her delicious softness. His tongue burrowed deep into her mouth, tasting her.

  His heart pounded in his chest. God, this woman got under his skin like no other. Harper pulled away from her, his breathing hard.

  “What thirty years of experience has taught me,” he said, his body raging with need, “is that I can’t be objective when desire is ruling my head.”

  He let her go, got in his car, and pulled away with her still regarding him.

  Barbara watched him leave with a mixture of emotions. She pressed a hand to her mouth. Desire and need raced through her with equal strength. And they hadn’t gone to bed yet. She wondered why he was waiting. She was beginning to have emotions for this man that she hadn’t felt for a very long time, and for him to think she’d shoot someone hurt. It shouldn’t. It wasn’t
as if she wasn’t being deceptive. Or that she’d told him the truth about anything, starting with Sarah Rhodes.

  No, she didn’t shoot Andrew, but her other secrets were just as bad. For the first time, she wondered if what she was doing was worth damaging her relationship with Harper, or what it could develop into.

  Wednesday morning, Barbara stood at the edge of the marsh watching the Hughes’s home through her binoculars. Another woman, younger than Minerva, was with him. Must be his daughter. Barbara smiled. If only she were a fly on the wall.

  Barbara walked home and dressed for work. When she arrived at her shop, Trent was outside smoking a cigarette.

  “You understand there’s no smoking in the shop,” she warned. Something she forgot to check when she hired him. She hoped he wasn’t one of those smokers who needed a cigarette break every half hour. At least his clothes didn’t stink of cigarette smoke.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He crushed the butt beneath his boot.

  What was it with the “ma’am”? He made her feel eighty. “This is not going to work with you calling me ma’am.”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s an ashtray inside. I don’t want butts on my sidewalk. Doesn’t look good.”

  “Yes…um…Barbara.”

  “Your references checked out.” She had a full day of back-to-back appointments. She’d tried to come up with another plan for the Stones, but she was at an impasse. Maybe she would have to go to Harper, after all, and ask for help. But then the seniors would never get their money.

  Barbara was wondering whether Minerva would show up for her ten o’clock hair appointment when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number and recognized it belonged to Ivy Russell, one of the women the Stones had scammed.

  “Trent, can you excuse me a minute?” she asked, and stepped outside to answer.

  “Barbara?” Ivy asked.

  “I’m here.”

  “I was wondering if you’ve had any success in getting my money?”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t, but don’t give up. I’m still working on it.”

  “I can’t even afford all my medicine any longer. The bill is nearly six hundred a month out of pocket. So far I’ve been able to borrow from the family, but I can’t keep doing that.”

  Barbara felt the weight of this woman’s distress on her shoulders. She had to come up with another plan.

  “I’m working on it, okay? I’ll call you soon,” she said, ending the call.

  As much as she’d like to leave this at Harper’s door, she couldn’t. He had to work within the law. He couldn’t just get the money and give it to the victims. It would take years for a court to sort it out. And all the victims were seniors, and all of them desperately needed their money. She had to do this.

  Even if it destroyed their relationship.

  Harper wished he could have run with Barbara before coming to work. When he’d mentioned running at six, she nixed it quickly. She’d said she got up before five most of her working life, but don’t even think of bothering her before eight.

  What hairdresser got up at five in the morning? She didn’t have children to cook breakfast for before school, and she didn’t have any dogs to walk. Customers certainly didn’t show up at the hair salon that early—at least not the women he knew.

  He’d found a fresh size 9 men’s running shoe print near the Stones’ place. It looked as if someone had been waiting for Andrew to return home. Men’s shoes ran a size smaller than women’s. A women’s 10 was a man’s 9. So either the intruder was a man or a woman wearing men’s shoes.

  Which did not eliminate Barbara, especially with her failure to answer the phone when he called her.

  When Harper entered his office, his secretary and deputy, John Aldridge, were laughing. There wasn’t a damn thing funny about this situation. Not after the crime spree they’d had the last few months.

  “Coffee ready?” he asked, just in case he’d have to fix his own.

  “John started a pot,” his secretary said.

  Harper opened his office door, and scowled. Who was in his…He sighed.

  A Kevlar vest perched on his chair as if it were a living, breathing person.

  John approached him, grinning. “Thought you needed some protection, Sheriff, now that you’re dating.”

  “Do I look like I can’t handle my woman?” Harper asked. He was twice the size of John. A heck of a lot brawnier, too.

  “Ah, no, Sheriff.” Still grinning, John retrieved the vest and carried it to storage.

  Harper sighed. The holiday season was coming up fast and the last thing Harper needed was folks afraid to go outside because of some hotshot roaming the island.

  Many islanders owned guns. It wasn’t like the city with the no-gun push. Before you knew it, islanders would be shooting at each other or at some kid sneaking home through the neighborhood after his parents’ curfew.

  He thought back, reviewing any new people on the island—Trent, in particular. The cabin owner’s brother-in-law had reported gunshots at the outhouse days before Trent arrived. Trent lived near the marsh where Sarah’s body was recovered. Could these crimes be connected?

  The outhouse had been shot up with a Glock. Andrew had been shot with a .45. The outhouse shooting occurred before Trent arrived.

  Harper rubbed his forehead. Two crimes had occurred at the Stones’. First the robbery and now the shooting. Who were these almost invisible people to attract this negative attention?

  Robberies didn’t occur often on the island. Shootings were rare. Naomi Claxton was known to keep a “little spare change” in the house for emergencies, yet no one had ever robbed her. Of course they’d have Alyssa on their case, and who on the island wanted her breathing down his neck? And Naomi had sons, practically all of whom rose to six five. Then you throw in the countless grandsons and granddaughters. And the fact that everyone knew her husband, Hoyt, owned a shotgun and that Naomi wasn’t afraid to shoot it. A thief would reason that she wasn’t worth the trouble.

  He called John into his office. He wanted him to interview the Stones again. Find out their histories. What kind of work did the old man do? And the son and aunt? What did she do before she became Hughes’s caretaker? But he wanted to know where each of them worked before they came to the island. He wanted to know everything.

  Usually Harper didn’t go after the victims. But the son had robbed, correction, tried to take money from Barbara. More than likely this wasn’t his first offense. Obviously he’d gotten away with it before. Perhaps the incident with Barbara would convince him to change his ways.

  His secretary set a cup of coffee on his desk. Harper waved his thanks.

  Minerva arrived late for her hair appointment. Had Trent not been there, it would have thrown Barbara’s entire day off. He washed hair like a pro. It was obvious he’d worked in a salon for a while, and her customers were pleased with the washes—and him. He’d even had time to do nails.

  By the time Harper entered the shop for lunch, heads were under the dryer and Barbara could actually stop for a few minutes. Knowing his appetite and that for some reason he’d stop by, she’d packed an extra chicken salad sandwich with multigrain bread. She’d even added cut-up fruit with a dollop of whipped cream.

  “Oh, baby. This is good,” was all Harper said.

  Trent talked someone into a manicure and they enjoyed a few minutes of privacy.

  Harper sipped bottled water. “You’re making me seem cheap, you know?”

  Barbara swallowed her food. “How is that?”

  “I’m always eating your home-cooked meals. Why don’t I bring something by tonight on my way home? Make me feel better? I know you’re a fabulous cook and it’ll take a lot to even match.”

  “The Greasy Spoon isn’t the best place for dinner, Harper.”

  “I can do better than that.”

  “I’m going to be late.”

  He glanced in toward the main room, in Trent’s direction. “How late?”

  Bar
bara leaned so she wouldn’t be overheard. “The news about Trent has spread. I’m getting calls left and right.”

  Harper scoffed. “If men only knew,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Women don’t come here to get their groove on. We fix hair and nails here, period.”

  “But the men don’t know you got some guy feeling up on their wives’ and girlfriends’ legs.”

  “We will not discuss this again. You just never noticed before.”

  “I never came in here before, except for interviews.”

  “Am I going to have a problem with you?”

  Barbara had that no-nonsense look on her face. Harper knew he had better keep his feelings to himself. After all, she already knew how he felt about that guy feeling her legs.

  “No problem.”

  “I don’t plan to stop getting pedicures because of your ridiculous bias.”

  “That’s from your point of view. I don’t consider it bias.”

  “My point of view is the one that counts.”

  “I’m a man protecting his space.” Harper decided reasoning with Barbara would do no good. He’d have a little talk with Trent the next time he saw him. Satisfied, he smiled at Barbara.

  Barbara pushed a finger into his chest. “And you had better not approach Trent about my business. If you do, you’re toast. Got it?”

  Harper held up his hands. “I said I didn’t have a problem with him.”

  She regarded him suspiciously.

  Okay, so this little petty thing with Trent wasn’t worth disturbing the waters. Obviously she wasn’t romantically interested in the younger man.

  “You never told me what time you’ll be home.”

  “Around seven-thirty.”

  “I’ll pick up the food and close up with you. How does that sound?”

  “Trent will be here.”

  “But I’m the sheriff. I’ll feel better if you have my protection.”

  “Whatever pleases you.”

  “I like the sound of that. Wish you would say it more often.” Harper could only manage a small smile, because Barbara didn’t go out of her way to please him. She must have been a hell of a business-woman. She let nothing interfere with it.