by Nora LeDuc
“I was proud when he got his real estate license and married. I hoped he’d be happy, settle down, and have a family. Why would anyone kill him? Sure, he could be annoying, but murder?” She locked onto his gaze. “How much did he ask to borrow?”
Liam’s resentment rose. “You believe I’m capable of shooting your brother because he wanted money?”
“I wasn’t blaming you for Ryan’s death. If you’d fill in a few blanks, I’d be grateful.”
“I don’t have all the answers. He stonewalled me when I tried to help.” Liam’s temper deflated. “I planned to talk to him again, but—” Ryan was dead. Liam was too late. The words stuck in his throat.
Sadie swung into the room with a plate in each hand. “The special is up.”
Liam introduced the women, and his chef set the food down and skimmed a glance over Lucy before she added, “Enjoy.”
“Does your cook always deliver your meals to you?” Lucy asked when Sadie left.
“Nah, she wanted to walk past Hank. They’ve got something going, but neither has admitted it yet.”
“Not many available men move into town. Is he divorced? He mentioned he needed this job to get custody of his daughter.”
“Yeah, he’s still working on getting his rights ironed out. He came to Barley from Vermont to start over after his marriage broke up. Lucky for me.”
“And Sadie is single?”
“Yes. She comes from a family of six siblings, all girls, and she’s the youngest. Two of her sisters waitress for me. They all look alike and have names that begin with S.” He shrugged and leaned back in his seat.
Sadie paused at the bar and laughed at something Hank said.
“New love is so exciting.” Lucy sighed. “Too bad things sour when you get to know each other.”
She looked down at her food, but made no move to pick up her spoon. Her face reddened. “Liam, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
She raised her chin. “I’m sorry for the years I wasted being mad at you.”
Forgotten emotions of grief and regret spun through him until he mentally shook them off. “If I’d known buying you lunch would make you forgive me, I’d have bought you one a long time ago.”
“I’m serious. I hope we can be friends.”
“Okay.” Why was he irritated with her? Maybe because he wasn’t sure he trusted her. It was obvious she was interested in news about her brother’s death, not in him. Was she fishing for more information by asking for forgiveness? Then he remembered the online picture.
“Luce, I’ve more to tell you.”
“I’m ready,” she muttered.
“Someone posted a picture of Ryan’s casket online. It’s gone viral.”
Her shoulders rose with tension as she picked up a spoon and gripped it in her fist. “A sports car drove through, and the driver took a picture. I couldn’t identify who was in the car because of the tinted windows. You must have seen it. Do you know the driver?”
“Sorry, I don’t.” He’d been too busy watching Lucy. “Maybe the school can delete the picture, and it’ll give the police a lead in the investigation.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the ID. Great timing. “I’ve got to return this call. I’ll be a minute.”
She pulled out her cell. “I’ll talk to Sullivan about the posting.”
Liam went into his office in the rear of the building for privacy.
On the walls, he’d hung framed clippings and reviews of the Moose’s recent grand opening. He paced in front of the suede couch where a customer who’d had too much to drink or had argued with his wife often sacked out for the night. The sofa was empty for the moment.
He rested a hip on the desk in the center of the braided rug. He hit the Call Return button and waited until the voice answered.
“Did you find out the damage?” Liam asked.
“He missed his last two payments.”
Hell in a hockey puck. What did you do, Ryan? “Okay, thanks for the information. I appreciate it.”
He clicked the off button and was glad Lucy wasn’t here to hear the truth about her reformed brother.
Chapter 6
Matt Hastings dug the paper out of his jacket pocket. The coat was too big, but it covered the padding of the fake stomach under his shirt. He didn’t bother to remove his outerwear or knit hat while he ate at the soup kitchen. The chicken slid past the cheek inserts that changed the shape of his face. His days in local plays and hanging around the makeup room had paid off. He looked nothing like his former self.
Smoothing the wrinkled article on the Formica tabletop, he stared at the photo the press had printed of Lucy Watson on the day she was hit by a car. Her dark hair hid most of her features. Lovely features he had loved. He remembered the media flocking to the hospital and hovering there. They had been waiting for Lucy to regain consciousness and give them the name of the driver who had run her down and left her for dead on Hawick Falls’s Main Street.
In the next column, the paper ran a story stating the police were frantic for a break after discovering missing teenager Kara Linn’s burned body in the park. He inhaled, recalling the acrid odor of burning flesh mixed with wood smoke.
He trailed a finger along the edge of Lucy’s image and imagined touching her soft skin, kissing her lips. Ah, when he found Lucy again, he’d set fire to her like he had to Kara. Ashes to ashes.
“Enjoy the barbecued chicken?”
He snapped his head up to find a middle-aged woman running a cloth over the opposite end of his table. Volunteer, Matt thought. He folded his memento. “Cooked to perfection. Brings up memories of home.” He stuffed the paper in his pocket and shoved to his feet. “Wish I could go back,” he said, gathering his backpack.
Thanks to his childhood spent skipping out on the landlord, he was always packed and ready to move. His “emergency bag,” his mother had called it.
With his belongings, he’d stayed ahead of the police and fled from Hawick Falls the night Detective Cassidy and his men found his underground chamber. Now a warrant was out for his arrest.
“Spring and new beginnings make us nostalgic,” the woman said to him. “Got a place to stay tonight?”
“Yup, then I’m on the road. I appreciate the kindness of the workers here. I wouldn’t make it on my empty pockets without a helping hand.”
“We all have low times. If you’re interested in a job for a few weeks, I heard the mill is hiring seasonal employees.”
“Thanks for the tip, but I’m moving on. I’m looking up an old sweetheart.”
The woman straightened. “Looks like you got the shoes for it if you’re walking far.” She glanced at his running sneakers.
“I love the comfort of these shoes.” A lie. Sneakers weren’t his choice or style, but his life was about breaking patterns, not being obvious. “I’ve miles to go before I sleep.”
“Robert Frost.” The woman beamed at him. “I used to teach English at the high school.”
“Nice to meet another person who appreciates fine literature.” Women fell for a line of poetry every time. “You’ll understand I must bid you adieu.” He started toward the exit.
“Good luck with the sweetheart. Is it a surprise?”
He reached for the exit handle and paused. “A big one, I hope. God bless you and all you do for others.” Matt headed into the cold to continue his hunt for Lucy Watson.
Chapter 7
March 18
At the Barley House B&B, Lucy convinced Mr. Smart, the owner and desk clerk, to scan Target’s picture and email it to her. She settled into her room upstairs and set to work forwarding the dog’s information to the animal shelters within a hundred miles.
When she finished, she called her friend Teagan in Hawick Falls. They talked for an hour, and Lucy’s spirits were on the rise. Teagan’s positive, determined outlook on life was contagious, until Lucy hit her bed.
Thoughts and questions revolved through her mind, keeping her aw
ake. Near dawn, she fell asleep. When she awoke, the sun was shining. After showering and dressing, she gathered up the sympathy cards her former neighbors had dropped off at the B&B and put them in her suitcase. Then she stuffed her phone, Ryan’s house key, and her room key into her pockets with the mini dog treats she’d picked up the day before. The wind blew against the window. She hoped her nylon running clothes would keep her warm.
The B&B’s carpeted hall and staircase silenced her footsteps. In the lobby, Mr. Smart had settled in a wingback chair by the gas fireplace. He nodded to her over a newspaper as she walked out to Main Street.
A few cars and delivery trucks lumbered past. In the bed of a pickup was a bob-house that someone had probably pulled off the river a half a mile from town. The ice wouldn’t be out for a few more weeks, but the law required they be removed before next month.
She used to love to jog in the morning. Now she went through the motions. Across the road, a shopper exited Maple Leaf Food and Drugs. He clutched a plastic shopping bag in one hand and a complimentary coffee in the other.
When Gramps was alive, they’d grocery shop together. On their trips, he told her jokes and stories about his life, which left her rolling her eyes or giggling. Once she got her license, she’d driven his pickup on their expeditions to the store. Ryan had bought her a sticker that read “Real Women Drive Trucks.” Lucy had stuck it on the front fender.
Those were the old days. Gone forever. Someday she’d complete her minor in business and open her own shop. A liberal arts degree hadn’t proved helpful in a competitive job market. Yeah, she’d run a little artsy place like the shops in the tourist mecca of North Conway, a few miles down the road. Right now she didn’t know enough to start a business from scratch.
On the bottom porch step, she stopped to stretch. Okay, body, cooperate. Make your physical therapist proud after all the work you’ve done. She’d vowed her tangle with the car last summer wouldn’t hold her back.
Today, she’d test her endurance running and find out what needed cleaning at Ryan’s. She could handle going to his house. Stress pulled at her neck. After two deep breaths, the strain eased. No problem.
Her stomach growled, and her thoughts jumped to yesterday’s lunch. When Liam had returned from making his call, a new tension had lingered in the air, and he’d seemed distracted.
She’d filled him in on her brief phone conversation with Sullivan about the online funeral picture. Although the action wasn’t illegal, the chief promised her he would get it deleted and find the poster.
Liam had nodded, but an uncomfortable silence had continued between them. She should never have mentioned the police’s suspicions of him. Had he regretted inviting her to the Moose after she’d questioned him about his fight with Ryan? Maybe seeing her after five years brought up conflicting emotions. Seeing him again had sure had that effect on her. She’d excused herself after a few bites, despite his protests.
The backfire of a passing motorbike brought her back to the present. Pedestrian traffic was sparse on the sidewalk as she headed north.
Flo, in her trademark beehive hairdo and skintight top and leggings, was unlocking the salon’s door. She waved to Lucy from the opposite side of the street. “Stop in, honey. I’ll give you a free cut.”
“Thanks, Flo.” Lucy returned the wave and recalled the “new do” ritual as she continued on her way. After the women enjoyed Flo’s services, they went to the church and the Moose to show off their latest style. Lucy picked up her speed as more memories of her life in Barley flooded her.
Gramps’s stroke had left him helpless, and his care had occupied all her non-work hours. She and Ryan had argued over how to deal with his illness until Ryan had placed him in the nursing home. He’d been legally in charge of Gramps’s medical needs.
At the corner, the “walk” light flashed for her to wait. Ahead stood the familiar white-steepled church. A few years ago, she would have dropped in and allowed the peace and quiet to soothe her nerves. Too bad she was done with houses of worship.
“I love you, Lucy.”
“Matt?” She jerked her gaze to the street and then behind her. The usual traffic lumbered past on its way to towns with more tourists and cooler stores. Two men hurried by her, talking about the best deal on riding mowers.
She shivered. Okay, her mind was playing tricks. Matt couldn’t be here. He didn’t know where she’d gone, did he? Then again, where was he?
Goose bumps popped up on her arms. The “walk” light flashed to green. Tilting her chin upward, she took off, but sent fleeting glances over her surroundings. The window of Hannah’s Gift Shop advertised handmade soaps and New Hampshire maple syrup. An awning over the door rattled in the breeze.
“Lucy Watson! Lucy!”
She slowed. Isabella— or Bella— Jackman darted across the road.
“Bella, are you okay?”
“No.” The young woman gulped a breath. Mascara ran down her wet cheeks. “The police want to ask me more questions, but I refused. I’m afraid if I go into the station, they won’t let me out. They think I shot Ryan.” Tears clouded her eyes, and she wiped her hand over them, smearing more of her makeup. “Why did you tell them I killed him? I wanted to marry him. I can’t marry a dead man.”
“You’re confused. I never said you killed him.” The girl needed to get a grip, yet there was something sad and needy about her.
“Then why did the chief want to talk to me again?”
“Isabella, I’m sure he interviews everyone several times before he has all the facts.”
“Police make me nervous.” She glanced around as if she expected Chief Sullivan to pop out with handcuffs. “He’s looking for someone to arrest. I moved to Barley because my brother told me the town was full of friendly people. I don’t feel like they’re too welcoming now. My fiancé’s been murdered. I see stares and hear whispers when I walk by a group of women, and the chief of police is asking me about my alibi.”
How well did her brother know this woman? “How long were you and Ryan engaged?”
“He proposed after two dates. We met the first day I arrived in Barley, four months ago. Ryan was at the Moose when Hank brought me over to introduce everyone.” Bella’s voice sounded far away as she stared into the distance. A small smile wavered across her face before the tears returned.
“I’m sorry, Bella, but a police interview doesn’t mean the chief assumes you’re guilty.”
“He wouldn’t waste an hour with me if he thought I was innocent.” She wiped her palm on her wet cheeks. “Please don’t bring up my name if you talk to him again.”
The clock on the church steeple bonged.
“I better go. If I’m late to work, I get in trouble.” Bella whirled around and dashed into the gift shop.
Lucy rubbed her arms. Had Bella loved Ryan, or the idea of romance? Was the woman overly sensitive?
From the street came a vehicle’s honk as Liam’s silver pickup swerved to the curb beside her. The passenger window lowered. “Hey, you forgot your meal when you took off from the Moose yesterday.” He held up a takeout box.
She inched up to his truck. “You left work to bring me my leftovers?”
“Yeah.”
The wind whipped her hair over her eyes. She shoved at it while trying to hide her pleasure over his small act.
“Get in, Luce. I’ll give you a ride.”
If only he’d stop calling her by her childhood name. “Do you always drive around town delivering forgotten lunches? By the way, you don’t know where I’m going.”
“Point me in the direction and I’m there. C’mon. Riding beats jogging in the cold. Wait till you feel my heater.” He wriggled his brows.
It was four miles to Ryan’s house, and it was chilly, and for a second, she’d been about to laugh. “Pervert.” She yanked on the door handle.
He shoved the takeout over to make room for her as she climbed into the passenger seat.
“Just you.”
“Wh
at?”
“I only deliver forgotten meals to you.” He quirked a smile and his eyes twinkled. In the past, the glint meant he was planning something that would send his parents’ hearts into cardiac arrest. As he grew older, the spark communicated a more personal message.
A small wave of pleasure lifted her spirits until her conscience warned, Be careful.
“Now, where am I going?”
“The police removed the yellow tape at Ryan’s house. I want to check out what needs to be done and to look for Target.”
“You have a big agenda.”
“If you don’t mind dropping me off, I—”
“A drop-off is not an option. I’ll take you and stay until you’re finished.”
“What about work?”
“You ask a lot of questions.” He moved his foot from the brake and steered into the street. “I have an in with the boss.”
Along stretches of the road, plastic tubing ran from maple tree to maple tree to collect the sap. Ryan had loved maple syrup on his ice cream.
Her mind flooded with memories of her brother. He’d worn his leather jacket every day in high school. When he went away to college, he packed T-shirts and jeans with holes. Their stepmother complained that she’d bought him new clothes for nothing and that Ryan was an ungrateful stepson. She stopped grumbling when their father announced he had been offered a job in Rhode Island. They’d left Barley, and at fifteen, Lucy had moved in with her grandfather a mile north of the Barley Center.
“Since Ryan wasn’t keeping up with his bills,” Liam’s voice broke into her thoughts, “if you sell his house, you might have to pay off a few debts.”
“When did you learn this?”
He glanced over at her. “Before he died, and I learned more after the funeral. I don’t know why he fell behind or what he was doing with his money. He’d kept his problem a secret until he was behind in his payments. I don’t think he was drinking, but as I said, he didn’t like to share.” Liam slowed the truck.
