“No, but—”
“I promise to have you home in less than two hours.”
“Nick—”
“This isn’t about us. There’s something I need to show you.”
“About the case?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe. So this isn’t a date. We’ll go as friends.”
And suddenly I did want to get out of Doyle, to leave, to forget. And I wanted to be with him. “Let’s go.”
He led me to his SUV, helping me inside. My skin tingled at his touch.
“I like the old world manners,” I said.
“Not old world. Just manners.” He shut the door and walked around the front of the car, getting in the driver’s side. “Any food preferences?”
“Nothing too heavy.”
“Steak and potatoes it is.” He grinned, and I smiled in response.
We drove down the winding mountain highway, pines and redwoods flashing past.
“You went away to college?” he asked.
“Boston. My sisters went to the east coast as well. We all wanted to get as far from Doyle as possible.”
“But you returned.”
“When I was young, I thought Doyle was boring. After I left, I understood how amazing the town was.”
“Amazing,” he muttered. “Interesting word choice.”
“Not really,” I said, defensive. “The town’s done a great job of preserving its historic buildings.” I liked that it looked like a movie set.
He gave me a sharp look.
“What?” I asked.
“Haven’t you noticed anything… different about Doyle?”
I held my breath. At least he wasn’t asking if there was anything different about my family. But if this romance — or whatever it was — blossomed, he would. I’d need an answer. “If you’re talking about whatever happened to us in the woods—”
“I’m talking about Doyle. But I haven’t forgotten the woods.” He braked for a truck weighted with logs.
“No,” I said. Forgetting would be impossible after his sister had vanished. “I don’t suppose you could.”
“When Emily disappeared, I thought she’d made a mistake, gotten careless. We’re so used to our lives being safe, protected, that we forget the wilderness isn’t our world. But nature has no respect for our safety.”
“And then you saw the pattern of the disappearances, and thought someone had… hurt her.”
His laugh was harsh, disbelieving. “A serial killer would be a simple answer, wouldn’t it? But there’s a lot it doesn’t explain.”
There was a crack, and a spider web of fine lines burst in the windshield.
Nick cursed and braked, putting more distance between us and the logging truck. “That’s going to cost me.”
“I hear there’s a special glue you can use to keep it from…”
The lines crackled outward.
“…growing,” I finished.
Nick sighed. “Forget the window. Tell me about Boston. I’m surprised you didn’t notice the difference.”
“Between Boston and Doyle? It’s hard to compare a big city with a mountain town, or even to compare Doyle with the smaller historic towns, like Salem. They’ve a different culture, different history.” I squirmed, embarrassed. I’d spent a lot of time there researching witches and witch trials and soaking up the atmosphere, trying to figure out how I fit into the world of witchcraft. I still wasn’t sure if I did.
“Salem?”
“It’s a day trip from Boston. I couldn’t not go there, not with all its touristy witch history.”
“And that’s the only reason you went there? To play tourist?”
I toyed with the seatbelt. “No.” I couldn’t tell him about my witchy interest. And if he found out I wrote romances, he’d want to read them. And I definitely did not want that. “It’s silly, but our family has an old legend attached to it about a curse. I went there for research, though in honesty the best sources for American folklore were in Boston.”
“What sort of curse?”
“Oh, the usual thing,” I hedged. “You can imagine how it started. The women in my line tended to die in childbirth, but it wasn’t so uncommon back then. We’ve probably got a genetic defect, and it led to the story of a curse.”
“And your mother? Did she die in childbirth as well?”
I stared out the window. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry.” His brow wrinkled. “That’s a lot less common in this day and age.”
I adjusted the seatbelt across my chest. “Don’t tell me you believe in curses.”
“I’m not sure what to believe anymore.” He shook his head. “But you don’t want to dredge up your family history, not with your aunt so sick.”
“She’s dying.” I drew a ragged breath. “She’s sleeping now, and Jayce is with her. I’m going to take over at the house when I return, take the night shift.”
“Have you thought about hiring a nurse?”
“Dr. Toeller’s been checking in to make sure Ellen’s comfortable. But my aunt doesn’t want a nurse. She wants family. And she has so little time left, we’ll give her whatever she needs. Besides, she’s no trouble, not when she’s sleeping so much.”
“You and your sisters have been taking care of her for some time though, haven’t you?”
“Not so long. A year, after she was first diagnosed with cancer. But a year’s nothing. Ellen took care of us since we were babies. And things have only gotten bad in the last month or two. So this trip is a nice break. Thanks.”
His lips compressed. “Don’t thank me yet.”
“You weren’t serious about the steak place?” I joked.
“Would you settle for quiche?”
We chatted easily — about growing up in California, the differences in our law practices, country music. I felt myself relaxing, though I knew I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t — I couldn’t be falling in love, not now.
“I’ve told you so much about myself,” I said. “It’s your turn now.”
“What do you want to know?” His strong hand slid over the steering wheel.
“What’s the story behind your tattoo?”
He didn’t speak for a long moment. “It’s a raven.”
“An ode to Edgar Allan Poe?”
“To my sister,” he said shortly. “Emily said it was her totem animal.”
My hands bunched in my lap. How did I always manage to step in it?
He took me to a café on the Gold Rush-era main street, Highway 4. We found a window seat and watched tourists wander in and out of the antique stores.
I sipped my iced tea. “What did you want me to see?”
“You’re looking at it.”
I glanced around. “The restaurant?”
“The people.”
An old man with a beer gut slouched in a booth across from us. Two middle-aged parents, stout and with hair prematurely gray, supervised a trio of children. A faded, blond waitress marched from the kitchen, tray balanced on her shoulder.
“What about them?” I asked. “They look normal enough to me.”
“They are normal. That’s the point.”
I scratched my cheek. “I don’t get it.”
“Haven’t you noticed? Everyone in Doyle looks like they’ve stepped out of a catalog. Look at you and your sisters. You could be TV stars.”
“What?” I laughed. “We’re normal.”
“Normal for Doyle.”
“Doyle is normal. It’s not all beautiful people. Look at poor Ely. He was a mess.” But only because he’d been living on the streets. Even smeared with dirt, he’d been striking. I shifted in the booth.
“How long had he been around?”
“I’m not sure.” I frowned. “The first time I saw him was the day we found Alicia.”
“Karin, even the old people in your town are sexy. Look at Doctor Toeller.”
“She’s not old. She’s…” Sixty if she was a day. But sixty wasn’t that old. Not anymore. I raised m
y palms. “So, we’ve got a high percentage of attractive people. Big deal.”
“Not a high percent. One hundred percent. Nobody’s pudgy. No overbites or buck teeth. Check your high school yearbook. I’d be willing to bet it’s acne free.”
“I don’t have a high school yearbook. We were home schooled.”
“Name a single unattractive person in Doyle.”
I opened my mouth, closed it. Sunny Peel wasn’t unattractive. I just didn’t like her, and the more I thought about it, the more unfair my reaction seemed. Councilman Woodley? I didn’t trust him because he was so good looking, so slick. I racked my brains. Even the poor, unhinged mother at the hospital had been lovely in a wild-woman kind of way. “This is nuts. I don’t sit around thinking if someone’s attractive or not.”
“You wouldn’t, would you? You grew up where nobody is unattractive. And you were home schooled, isolated. I’ll bet you never had much opportunity to go through the hazing and cliques kids put each other through. That’s probably why you don’t even notice the not-so-perfect when you’re outside of Doyle. You don’t look.”
I leaned back in the booth. “That makes me sound much less judgmental than I am. I can be as petty and shallow as the next person.”
He cocked a brow.
I folded my arms over my chest. “I think Sunny’s clothes are too tight. And low cut.”
He grinned. “I hadn’t noticed.”
My gaze flicked upward. Right. “Okay, let’s assume you’re not crazy, and Doyle is blessed with a fantastically gorgeous population. What’s your point?”
He grimaced, brow furrowing. “You see things differently. What do you think?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Can’t you say what you mean?”
“I am a lawyer.”
“Nick…”
He held up his thumb. “Every seven years, someone vanishes without a trace in the woods.” He raised his index finger. “The woods are weird. That path changed, or something happened to make us believe the path had changed. Something pulled us both down into that spring.” He lifted his third finger. “The people in your town are preternaturally beautiful — young or old. Hell, I’d never have guessed how old Doctor Toeller was if she hadn’t told me. I’ll bet she can get any man she wants.”
I bobbled my head. Doctor Toeller did have a reputation for liking younger men. And younger men had a reputation for liking her right back. “And what’s connecting the dots?” I drew in a quick breath, my eyes widening. “You think I’m connected to this somehow. That’s why you’ve been spending so much time with me.”
“No, it isn’t. I’ve been spending time with you because I want to be with you.”
I wanted to believe that, but too much was happening. I turned a coffee mug in my hands.
“I’ve been in those woods plenty of times and with a lot of other people,” he said. “Nothing that weird ever happened to me before.”
“I can’t explain what happened in those woods any more than you can.” That at least was true. Sure, I’d encountered other magical practitioners before. Necromancy, alchemy, hoodoo, shamanism… Even a metaphysical detective. But none of them could have affected the woods that way. Unless they’d affected us instead, tricked our senses. I bit my lip. Yes, that was possible, but it would mean that my daily protection work had failed. That was a depressing thought.
“I believe you.” He reached across the table, withdrew his hand, his cheeks darkening. “And that’s the only reason I’m telling you my crazy theory.”
“So you have an actual, live theory?”
“I guess you couldn’t all be aliens, could you?” he asked, expression wistful.
I laughed, hoping he would reach for me again. “Tell me that’s not your theory. There may be alien stories from the mountains around Doyle—”
“Because of the lenticular clouds. I’ve seen them. They do look like UFOs hovering over the mountains. But no, my theory doesn’t include little green men.” He frowned. “Though if the body you discovered was Ely Milbourne, I’m not sure how else to explain it besides alien abduction. The guy hadn’t aged a day.” He rubbed the nape of his neck. “We’re off track. My sister wasn’t taken by aliens and neither was Ely.”
“It all comes back to your sister, Emily, doesn’t it?” I asked softly.
Something struck the window at my shoulder, and I gasped.
A crow peered in at us. It rapped its beak against the glass.
“Must be looking for food,” Nick said.
“Right.” I forced myself to relax.
We finished our lunch. He drove me to my aunt’s house and saw me inside.
“Thanks, Nick. It’s been… interesting.”
“Is someone there?” Ellen called from her room.
“Sorry,” I whispered to Nick, worry twisting my stomach. “Give me a minute.” I hurried into my aunt’s blue bedroom. Jayce sat by the bedside and looked up from one of Lenore’s paperbacks.
Ellen raised her head. “Karin. Did I hear you talking to someone?”
“Nick. Nick Heathcoat.”
Jayce arched a brow. “Don’t tell me you found another body?”
“Of course not. He’s…” I turned to Ellen. “Nick is Jayce’s lawyer.”
“Is that why his name sounds familiar? Bring him in. I’d like to meet the man.”
“Um, sure.” I returned to Nick in the hallway. “My aunt wants to meet you. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” He followed me into the room and came to stand beside the bed. “Hello, Ms. Bonheim. I’m Nick Heathcoat. I hope we didn’t wake you.”
“Jayce was reading to me. I suppose I should give her a break and get one of those books on tape, but she has such a musical speaking voice.”
“What are you reading?” Nick asked.
“A Nora Roberts, and don’t you dare laugh.”
“What’s wrong with Nora Roberts?” he asked.
“Don’t tell me you enjoy a red hot romance? Now Karin here—”
“Is that one of her paranormal romances?” I interrupted. “I don’t think I’ve read that one.” Ellen was pretty good about not spilling the beans about my secret writing life. But in her condition she might forget. I considered that. Actually, her current condition didn’t look that bad. She seemed to be improving.
“Now what’s a nice young man like you doing in a frontier town like this?” Ellen asked.
I rubbed my temple. Was Ellen flirting?
Jayce met my gaze and rolled her eyes.
Yep, Ellen was flirting. She and Nick bantered for a good ten minutes, and then our aunt sighed, her limbs going slack. “I’m tired. It was lovely meeting you, Nick. Please come visit next time you’re in town.”
He took her hand. “I will.”
I saw him to the door.
He bent his head to me. “Like I said, all the women in this town are gorgeous. Your aunt’s no exception.”
“She can’t hear you, so you can quit sucking up.” Smiling, I pushed him onto the porch and waved goodbye. I returned to Ellen’s room.
“I approve,” Ellen announced. “He’s a keeper, Karin.”
“What?” I asked.
“He’s my lawyer,” Jayce said. “What does Karin have to do with it?”
Ellen winked. “You missed the boat on that one, Jayce. Karin, you have my blessing.”
“Blessing? But—”
“Let an old woman dream.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Bleary eyed, I blow-dried my hair. Morning sunlight glinted off the sand-colored bathroom tiles. My own bathroom. My own home. And all I wanted to do was pitch myself onto my own bed and sleep. But in spite of my morning Four Thieves shot, my brain fizzled with worry.
Last night, Ellen had woken regularly, confused, irrational. Lenore had told us it wasn’t the night for Ellen to go, but Jayce and I hadn’t dared believe. Terrified, we’d stayed in her bedroom, watching.
And Ellen had slept on.
I slipped into
my faded jeans and studied my reflection in the mirror. My auburn hair cascaded down the front of my flowered peasant top. My face was pale, pinched, and I rubbed my hands over my cheeks. It was my morning off from Ellen’s, and I was going to do something.
Alicia had worked at the local paper. If anyone knew what she was up to, it had to be one of her friends or colleagues. Now that she was dead, her colleagues must have gone through her work files.
Arms swinging, I walked downtown, the exercise setting the blood pumping in my veins.
The newspaper office was in a two-story, brick building. I climbed the steps and walked inside, pausing in the paneled hallway. A narrow staircase rose in front of me. Desks, piled high with documents, packed the room on my left. Documents and maps papered the pale yellow walls. Inside, a kid who looked barely out of high school peered at a computer monitor.
I rapped on the doorframe. “Hello?”
His head jolted up. “Hi. Can I help you?” Broad shouldered and smiling, he looked as if he’d stepped off the local football field. I reassessed his age. Not recently out of high school. Out of college.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Are you a reporter?”
“Tom Tarrent. And yes, I’m a reporter. If you’ve got an event posting to leave, you can stick it in the box over there.” He pointed to his desk, and its cluttered in-box.
“My name’s Karin Bonheim. I discovered Alicia Duarte’s body, and then Ely Milbourne’s.”
A series of emotions flashed across his face. Shock. Sorrow. Confusion. “Ely Milbourne?”
“The homeless man found in the alley parallel to Main.”
“He’s been identified?” He grabbed a yellow notepad and scrawled something on it. His pen failed, and he cursed.
“I couldn’t say if the police have released an official identification. But he could have been Mr. Milbourne’s twin brother.”
“And who’s Ely Milbourne?”
The scandal had been before my time, and it was certainly before junior’s. “That is an interesting story.” And I hoped he wasn’t experienced enough to research it himself. “But the reason I came here was to find out what stories Alicia might have been working on before she died.”
“Sorry, I can’t talk about that.”
Bound Page 18
