Vendetta

by Ruth Langan

  “Geez,” she huffed as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “I thought he’d never leave.”

  “Hey, a sale’s a sale. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to have the town’s mayor shopping here. And he bought some very expensive candlesticks.”

  “Yeah. I’m not complaining. But he took long enough.” Kendra started toward the door, where her boyfriend, sporting teal, spiked hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt straight out of the sixties, was waiting. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Kendra. And thanks for steering the mayor toward that glasswa.”

  “No problem.”

  Courtney followed the young woman to the door and locked it behind her before flipping over the little sign, indicating the time the shop would be opened in the morning. She picked up a clutch of mail before heading for the back room and the stairs that led to her apartment above the shop.

  Once there she kicked off her shoes and poured herself an iced tea before sorting through the mail. Except for the usual bills, the letter she’d been hoping for was conspicuously absent.

  In the time she’d been back, Courtney had turned this tiny shop into the talk of the town. Though she’d originally intended to stay only long enough to mend her heartache, she’d discovered something about her hometown. There was as much charm in the little town of Devil’s Cove as there was in Milan or Paris. And the number of local artists and artisans continued to surprise her.

  The quality of their workmanship was equal to or better than their European counterparts.

  Courtney had never regretted coming home. Though she’d once thought of it as an admission of defeat, she now realized that this town and its people had always held a special place in her heart. The bond she had with her family was stronger than ever. And the thought of being close to her grandparents in their sunset years gave her such pleasure. Not that Bert and Poppie were old. At least, not in Courtney’s eyes. Despite their ages, they were the youngest-at-heart people she knew.

  She walked to the balcony and looked out at the cottage that stood behind her place. Since Sarah Colby’s death, Courtney had begun keeping a close eye on the empty cottage. It saddened her to see no gardens planted. No vines drifting from the window boxes that Sarah had so lovingly painted and planted each year.

  The vacant cottage was apparently an object of some interest. Several times Courtney had seen beams of light being played along the darkened building. Fearing vandalism, she’d asked Police Chief Boyd Thompson to dispatch a scout car to the location. Now the police routinely drove by the cottage several times a week.

  Courtney wondered how long it would take to hear from the law firm in Boston. Knowing how slowly these things moved through the courts, Courtney couldn’t hold back the dreams she’d begun weaving. By moving into the cottage, she could double the space of her shop. And because the property behind the Colby Cottage ran right down to the water’s edge, she could keep her boat there. She could already picture the little paved courtyard she was planning between the shop and the cottage, ringed with gardens, which would make the perfect showcase for the garden sculptures she’d begun accumulating from several local artists.

  She was just turning away when she caught sight of a shadowy figure darting across the yard. While she watched, the figure paused at the door to the cottage and began turning the knob.

  She was across the room in seconds, dashing barefoot down the stairs and across the yard while she dialed the emergency number on her cell phone.

  “You, there.” She struggled for breath. “Stop right where you are.”

  The figure, halfway across the threshold, froze, before turning. At first glance she sucked in a breath. The man facing her was so tall she had to tilt her head to see his eyes. the moonlight they appeared as icy as the waters of Lake Michigan in winter, and were narrowed on her with a challenging look.

  “Is there a problem?” His voice matched his eyes. Frigid. Tinged with arrogance.

  “There will be if you try to break in there.”

  Now she had his full attention.

  His tone cooled by degrees. “What business is it of yours where I go?”

  “I’ve been watching out for this property since the owner died.”

  “I see. And you would be…?”

  “Courtney Brennan.”

  “Brennan?” He looked at her with new interest. “I’m Blair Colby. Sarah’s nephew.” He picked up a duffel lying near his feet. “I was told by Hibner and Sloan that you contacted them about buying the place.”

  “Oh.” Her relief was evident in the smile that touched her mouth. “You’ve come to discuss the terms. Would you like to come over to my place and we can talk? That’s my shop, and I live above it.”

  He barely flicked a glance in her direction. “Sorry to mislead you. I didn’t come to sell. I’ll be staying here at the cottage, at least for the summer.”

  “I see.” Her heart fell. “Then I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “No bother.”

  They both looked up as a police cruiser came to a screeching halt and a burly figure in uniform strode toward them.

  “Trouble, Courtney?”

  “I’m sorry, Boyd. I overreacted. This is Sarah’s nephew, Blair Colby. This is our police chief, Boyd Thompson.”

  “Chief.” Blair offered a handshake. “Nice to see everyone is looking out for my aunt’s place.”

  Boyd put his hands on his hips. “You got some ID?”

  A flicker of annoyance crossed Blair’s face as he once again dropped his duffel before reaching into his back pocket and removing a wallet. Flipping it open he held it up while the police officer studied it in the beam of his flashlight.

  “Okay.” Boyd nodded. “Can’t be too careful. Courtney here has scared off intruders a couple of times since your aunt’s death.”

  “Intruders?” Blair turned to her in surprise.

  The police chief answered for her. “Probably just teens intent on mischief. But everybody here looks out for everybody else.” He switched off his flashlight and hooked it onto his belt before offering a handshake. “Welcome to Devil’s Cove, Mr. Colby.”

  “Thanks.” Blair returned the handshake.

  “You plan on staying, or just here to go over your aunt’s things?”

  “I’ll be here at least for the summer.”

  “I see.” Boyd looked up at the voice squawking over the squad car’s radio. “I’d better answer that call.”

  As he strolled away, Blair turned to Courtney.

  “Any more questions?”

  “Sorry. I thought it best to err on the side of caution.”

  “You’re right, of course. Thanks for keeping an eye on my aunt’s place. But now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day.” Deliberately turning his back on Courtney, he picked up his duffel and stepped inside, closing the door in her face.

  Feeling more than a little foolish, she picked her way over the lawn and climbed the stairs to her apartment. From her balcony she could see the lights winking on in the windows of the Colby cottage. It seemed strange to think of someone being there. Strange and sad.

  She’d been a fool to allow herself to begin thinking of it as hers. Once again, it would seem, all her carefully laid plans had been thwarted by a man. From the little she’d seen of him, an arrogant man, as well.

  No big deal, she thought with a sigh. Story of her life.

  Chapter 2

  Blair stepped into the tiny kitchen of the cottage and switched on the light, pleased to find the power on. A phone call before he left Boston had restored both power and water, and for that he was grateful. The tiny refrigerator in the old-fashioned kitchen was humming.

  It seemed odd to see all the cupboard doors open, packages and cans spilled over onto the counter. As though someone had been shuffling through them. The curtains were drawn tightly over the windows, as if to hold out the light. The floor, too, was littered with cans and boxes, almost obliterating the little rugs his aunt enjoyed making out of strips
of colorful rags.

  He closed his eyes and could hear her voice reading aloud from her beloved books. Every wall in this little cottage was lined with shelves crammed with books. She’d read to him from the classics. From fairy tales, which seemed to thrill her more than him. And, of course, her beloved mysteries, which they had both loved.

  He stepped through the tiny dinette into the living room and stopped in his tracks. Every shelf had been swept clean of books. They now lay in a jumble on the floor.

  Alarmed, he made his way to the bedroom, the floor just as littered with his aunt’s books and knickknacks. He stood in the middle of the room, his mind reeling. Why would anyone do such a thing?

  The police chief had said teen vandals had tried to break in in the past. Was that what this was?

  A slow, seething fury began building inside him. This was why the curtains had been drawn across the windows. Not out of respect for the woman who had died here, but to hide the vandalism. He strode across the room and drew open the curtains, revealing the window latch that had been forced. It had been an easy matter to sneak inside, go from room to room and leave without anyone beer.

  He leaned a hip against the wall and studied his aunt’s bedroom. Footprints crisscrossed the dust that layered the floor. Careful not to disturb anything, he picked his way back to the kitchen and fished his cell phone from his duffel. After dialing the police, he leaned wearily against the counter.

  The mattress of his aunt’s double bed was bare of linens, but after fifteen hours on the road, it still managed to look inviting. Not that he’d get much time to enjoy it.

  He sighed. And prepared himself for a very long night.

  “What a mess.” Chief Boyd Thompson watched as his assistant dusted for fingerprints, though in his gut he’d already dismissed any chance of finding the vandals. “Still, it could have been worse.”

  “Really? How do you figure?” Too restless to sit, Blair was pacing the tiny kitchen.

  “Sometimes when these kids are through, they toss a match to hide the destruction.” The police chief frowned. “I’m thinking the summer crowd.

  Looking for some action while spending their vacation in dullsville. Doesn’t look like something our regular kids would do.”

  Blair shrugged. “What makes you so certain it was kids?”

  “Just an educated guess.” The chief pointed to the food on the counter. “A thief wouldn’t stop to think about food. He’d just take what he could carry and run. I figure after they had their fun, they went looking for munchies. Soda. Or maybe hoping to find booze.”

  Even while he seethed about anyone going through his aunt’s belongings, Blair had to admit to himself that it made sense.

  When the young police officer stepped into the kitchen, plastic bags in hand, the chief offered a handshake. “Sorry you had to endure such a lousy welcome. But I’m glad you called us right away. We’ll test those shoe prints, and hope for some fingerprints, as well. If there’s anything in our records with a match, we’ll find them.”

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  Blair waited until the police car was gone before walking to the bedroom.

  There were clean linens in his car, but he was too weary to fetch them. Instead he opened the bedroom window and watched the fresh breeze off the lake send the stale curtains billowing like sails. Switching off the light he stripped and settled himself on the bare mattress.

  He wouldn’t think about the vandalism. Wouldn’t think about strangers sneaking around his aunt’s cottage. All he would think about now was the fact that, for the first time in years, he felt as if he’d truly come home.

  He was asleep instantly.

  Courtney pulled a simple silk tank over her head before slipping into an ankle-skimming skirt the color of a ripe peach and fastening the straps of cool white sandals. As she straightened she tossed back her hair, sending it rippling down her back in a cascade of burnished chestnut. Picking up a sprinkling can, she tended to her morning ritual, watering all her plants on the balcony.

  She thought she heard a knock on the door downstairs just as the coffee began to perk. Couldn’t people read the sign? Surely they could wait another hour until she was open for business.

  When the knock sounded again, louder, she set her cup aside and with a sigh, started down the stairs. Although most deliveries were made during business hours, there was always the chance that something had been shipped overnight and needed immediate attention.

  When she yanked open the door, the uniform wasn’t that of a delivery man, but rather of a successful businessman.

  Courtney’s reaction to Blair Colby, standing on the threshold, was even stronger than it had been the previous night. Especially now that she could see, in the clear light of morning, just how hand some and perfectly groomed this man was—two things that instantly sent off warnings in her brain.

  She’d learned the hard way that men with too much charm and good looks felt they didn’t need to play by the rules of ordinary people.

  With his crisp white shirt, carefully knotted tie and suit jacket anchored over his shoulder by a thumb, he could have been a GQ model. Especially with that lock of dark hair spilling over his forehead at just the perfect rakish angle. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.

  “Good morning, Ms. Brennan.”

  “It’s Courtney.”

  “Courtney.” He was as unsmiling as he’d been the night before. “Sorry to bother you, but I have a cleaning crew coming over today, and I can’t wait around for them. I wonder if I could leave the key to my aunt’s place with you?”

  She could be just as brusque as Blair Colby. “Of course.” She held out her hand. “Too busy to clean it yourself?”

  “I’d intended to. But there’s too much mess. Someone trashed the cottage.”

  “Trashed the—” She blinked. “But I’ve been so careful to watch for any intruders.”

  “Which is why whoever did it broke in on the far side, away from prying eyes. Chief Thompson said it’s a good bet they came by boat after dark and left the same way.”

  “He was here?” She’d heard the sound of a car, but thought it was just her new neighbor, out to one of the late-night restaurants or clubs.

  “Yeah. He figures it was teens bent on a night of adventure.”

  “I’m sorry. Was there much damage?”

  “None that I could see.” He slipped off his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “They just tossed all my aunt’s things around, probably helped themselves to food from the cupboards and then left feeling pretty pleased.”

  Courtney could see the warring of anger and frustration in his eyes. “You haven’t had much of a homecoming, have you?” Despite her misgivings, her tender heart betrayed her. “Would you like some coffee?”

  He sniffed the air. “I didn’t know if that coffll was coming from your place or if I’d died and gone to heaven.”

  She wasn’t going to be swayed by a little flattery, she thought. But good manners had her opening the door wider. “I just made a fresh pot. Why don’t you come upstairs?”

  “I’d love to.” He stepped inside and followed her up the stairs. “I know my aunt had a coffee-maker somewhere in those cupboards, but I didn’t have the energy to wade through the mess to find it.”

  While Courtney reached for another cup, Blair glanced around the tiny space with a look of appreciation. “If I didn’t know I was in northern Michigan, I’d swear I was in a villa in Tuscany.”

  She handed him a steaming cup. “That was my intention.”

  Up close, his eyes were silver gray and fixed on her with the same intensity he’d used to examine the room. It was a most unsettling feeling, as though he’d already catalogued everything about her and filed it away for future reference. She couldn’t decide if he was being arrogant, or it was simply his nature to examine everybody and everything under a microscope.

  While she picked up her cup he took the time to look around more carefully. The walls and
ceiling had been faux painted in soft shades of umber and terra-cotta. A faded floral rug softened the hardwood floor. One corner of the room was dominated by an antique desk and an armchair in deep rich brocade. In front of the fireplace was an inviting sofa mounded with pillows in the same muted tones as the walls. There was the sound of a fountain on the little balcony, where a metal table and chairs seemed to be surrounded by colorful pots of trailing ivy and flowers.

  “This is amazing. How much of it did you do yourself?”

  “Most of it. I hired a handyman for the really heavy work. And a local firm handles the electrical and plumbing. My sisters give me a hand whenever I need it. But for the most part, I just do what pleases me. This was a series of small rooms until I had the walls removed.”

  He studied the stencil of a vine curving over the curved doorway. “Where did you study design?”

  Courtney arched a brow. “How do you know I did?”

  “It’s obvious.”

  She sipped her coffee. “New York first. Then Milan and Paris.”

  “Really? So did I. But then I wound up in the Greek Isles and thought I might never come home.”

  “You’re in interior design?”

  He shook his head. “Architecture. I’ve been hired to design the clubhouse for the yacht and tennis club.”

  “I see.” She led the way to the balcony. “So that’s why you came. It wasn’t necessarily for the pleasure of staying in your aunt’s cottage.”

  “That’s right. I just figured, since I was coming here anyway, I’d revisit the place I spent my childhood summers.” He draped his jacket over the back of the chair and, instead of sitting, walked to the railing and studied the cottage from this perspective.

  “Do you think your ork will be finished by the end of the summer?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Hard to say. But if things aren’t going well, I’ll just stay on until the job is completed.”