by Ann Yost
She wondered how he knew. Was it because he was a shaman and, as such, filled with extraordinary insight? Or because he knew her so well?
“We didn’t have sex in the room.”
Daniel’s dark eyes bored into hers. He didn’t even have to ask the question.
“In DiMarco’s office,” she admitted. “Just before I delivered Patty Sue Stottlemyer’s baby. On that sofa.”
Daniel let out a long hiss. “You like to live dangerously.”
“It wasn’t on purpose, really. We were looking for the safe and another couple came to the door. The position on the couch was just a pose.”
“And then it wasn’t.”
She nodded, miserably. “And then it wasn’t.”
In typical Daniel fashion he didn’t scold her. She knew he was on her side even when she was wrong.
“What now? Are you going to tell him about the baby?”
“We don’t know yet if there is a baby.” She flashed on Cam’s words about infertility. What on Earth had he been talking about? And then she realized he wasn’t talking about the hypothetical baby but about the real one that she’d lost all those years ago.
“I don’t see how that would be helpful.”
“He deserves to know.”
She sighed.
“I haven’t told him anything. If no baby results from the insemination, I probably never will tell him. Why complicate his life?”
He looked out the window. She knew he could see her morning glories, which had burst into beautiful, full trumpets in the morning light.
”Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Of course he was right.
Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. Her arms and legs felt as heavy as her heart. She wished she could click her heels three times and disappear.
Daniel got to his feet.
“Where’re you going?”
“I’m gonna track down the sheriff. See if he’ll let me take a look at that laptop computer. Whether he does or not I’ve got to formally shut down the casino and get a report in to the bureau. Then I need to get home to shower and clean up.”
Molly thought about Lynn Brown Bear and the others who depended upon the entertainment complex to put food on their tables and she felt sick. Then the man’s last words pierced her consciousness.
“Do you think of the Garden of Eden as your home now, Daniel?”
“I’m starting to. It’s the right place for right now.”
She nodded. “Does that mean you want to sell the cottage?”
“The cottage doesn’t belong to me, anymore, nizwia. The deed is in your name.”
She gaped at him. “Since when?”
“Since the day the divorce was final. You need this place more than I, Molly. It’s your home.”
Hot tears welled up in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. How like Daniel. He’d spent two years comforting her, trying to soothe her broken heart. He’d gotten nothing at all out of their hastily arranged marriage but he’d still given her everything he had to give, including the house.
“I love you, Molly. I want you to be happy.”
“I want you to be happy, too, Daniel.”
Chapter Eight
Molly stepped out her back door and wandered around her garden. The hollyhocks and roses and the lilies and iris and peonies were all in full bloom and the air was fresh and fragrant in pale light of morning. The Abenakis were known as “people of the dawn,” and Molly had always felt a special affinity for first light. The garden never failed to soothe her ruffled spirits but today might be an exception. She walked to the swing Daniel had built near the fence covered with honeysuckle and she sat down. Insects buzzed nearby, including honeybees and early cicadas. Song birds filled the air.
Molly tried to center herself by focusing on the beautiful sights, sounds and smells but her mind was troubled. And not just about Cameron Outlaw. She was concerned about the woman whose voice she’d recognized, Dwight Winston’s companion and the woman she’d encountered at the hot tub party.
Sandra Tall Tree.
Molly knew she should talk to Jake about Sandra but she couldn’t bring herself to turn in Davey’s wife, both for his sake and that of the tribe. And she felt a certain kinship with the half-Indian woman who, like Molly, had been left without any people or a clear identity.
Molly had been lucky. James and Muriel Whitecloud had made her feel more than welcome at Blackbird. Sandra’s fate had been different. She’d met a man at a pow-wow near Rankin in Quebec and married him immediately. Davey was nearly twenty years her senior and, while well-liked, he was the frequent butt of jokes. Sandra must have believed Davey had money or possibly she’d heard about the casino, which, by rights, should be enriching the coffers of the Blackbird Penobscots.
Whether it was boredom or the quest for independent means, Sandra had taken the job as Dwight Winston’s assistant but that didn’t necessarily mean she was guilty of anything except poor judgment. After all, there was no proof that Winston was guilty of fraud or murder and only anecdotal evidence that he was supplying spa guests with female companionship.
Molly sighed. She was making excuses for Sandra and she knew it. She had to tell Jake the sagama’s wife had been with Dwight Winston in Eddie DiMarco’s office and she would. But not yet.
First, she’d talk to Sandra herself.
****
The autumn day was unseasonably mild but Daniel barely noticed as he drove back to Eden. He feared for Molly but knew he couldn’t help her this time. Cameron Outlaw, both the man and the illusion had become an obsession with her and only she could find her way through the tangled maze of years and emotions.
Daniel had some sympathy with the guy. Oh, Cam should have considered the possibility that Molly was pregnant all those years ago, but he’d been young and heedless and Molly’s sperm-bank heist could not be laid at Cam’s door.
But while Cam and Molly were flitting in and out of each others’ lives, they were hurting an innocent party. Sharon Johnson was all but engaged to Cam and, it was as plain as a full moon in a cloudless sky that Cam still had feelings for Molly.
Daniel did not want to see Sharon hurt and the strength of his reactions made him realize he’d allowed himself to feel too much for the innkeeper. The unsought, unexpected emotion had set him back on his heels. He needed to seriously consider whether he should forget his plans to stay in Eden, whether he should return to Washington, D.C.
After a stop at the sheriff’s office to reclaim the Blackbird Casino’s laptop, Daniel turned down Walnut Street. As always, his pulse raced when the yellow clapboard inn came into view and he felt a surge of excitement when he spotted the tall, slim figure raking leaves out of a garden bed. She wore a red flannel shirt that clashed with her hair, a pair of designer blue jeans and a white baseball cap. Her auburn ponytail was drawn through the hole in the back and it gleamed in the morning sun.
Daniel parked and walked toward her, a slow smile on his face. She smiled back at him and blushed when he tugged the end of her ponytail, her hazel eyes wide above high cheekbones.
“How many are there,” he asked.
“How many what?” She sounded breathless.
“Freckles.” He studied her nose. “I count thirteen.”
“Thirteen. That’s right. I tell myself there used to be more it’s a lie. There used to be nine.”
He laughed.
“Have time for a cup of tea?”
She sounded hesitant as if she feared encroaching on his time. He knew he should decline. He needed to start searching the computer. He needed to protect his vulnerable heart. He smiled at her again.
“Sure.”
Minutes later they sat at Sharon’s kitchen bar. The brown marble surface felt cool under Daniel’s hands. Old-fashioned Priscilla curtains framed her sunny kitchen window and small pots of flowers marched along the sill. It was a serene room despite the color of the walls.
“I like the pink walls,” he said, s
urprising himself.
“The paint’s called Eros Blush.”
Eros? Eros?
“It seems less erotic than cheery,” he said, to defuse the gathering sexual tension. “Like a sunrise.”
She nodded, her eyes lidded and unreadable.
“I’m gathering a few leads on folks around town you can interview for your book. I’ll be able to give you some names and numbers in the next few days.”
“Thanks.” He was happy to change the subject. “There’s no hurry. I’m tying up some loose ends for the bureau at the moment.”
“Anything to do with what happened out at the casino last night?” He didn’t answer immediately and she sounded defensive. “I heard the manager was found dead. Everybody heard that.”
“It’s no problem only that I can’t talk about it yet.”
“But you’ll tell me when you can?”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
“He was murdered, wasn’t he?”
There had been no question about that. No doubt everyone in Eden already knew it.
“Yes. The question is, why.”
“For money I’d imagine,” she said. “Doesn’t sound like Big Eddie was a candidate for a crime of passion.”
Daniel thought of the egg-shaped casino manager.
“I agree.”
“I know Cam was there. And Molly Whitecloud.”
Daniel frowned. “He told you?”
She shook her head. “I was babysitting at his house when he got home in the wee hours of the morning.”
Of course. She was his almost fiancée. Daniel struggled not to let the jealousy and dismay show on his face.
”I imagine the casino will close down for awhile.” He nodded. “That’ll be hard on the tribe. I know Molly is counting on profits to pay for a clinic.” He nodded again. She tilted her head to one side.
“You didn’t come home last night.”
“No. I stayed out at the rez.”
“With Molly?”
His dark eyes met her light ones. What was she asking? And why?
“I stayed at the cottage. She was exhausted and upset.”
A wounded look flashed on her face and he felt oddly guilty. He wanted to point out that he’d done her a favor. If he hadn’t stayed with Molly, Cam would have.
“You obviously care about her and vice versa.”
“We go back a long way.”
“And neither of you has remarried.”
Daniel was silent, unsure of how much he should share with her about Molly.
“Our marriage,” he said, carefully, “was a long time ago. Molly and I are just friends.”
Sharon looked as if she didn’t quite believe him. Her next question caught him even more off guard.
“Is that why you didn’t move back to the rez?”
He thought she’d be embarrassed if she realized how personal her questions were but he didn’t mind telling her.
“Not really. I’ve lived in D.C. for years and I wanted to live in town. The rez is a little remote for me these days.”
“And Molly?”
“It suits her,” he said, aware that he was not telling the whole truth.
Something flickered in her golden eyes. Daniel thought he recognized it. He knew a lot about loneliness.
He drained the last of his tea. “C’mon,” he said, “Let’s finish raking the leaves.”
****
Molly spent the next days and nights virtually sleepless as a full harvest moon sent three new moms into labor. During her travel time between Millie Sharp’s trailer, Joan Wolf’s bungalow and Letha Blackmon’s mother’s home, Molly admired the unfurled glory of autumn.
She’d always loved the Moon of Ripening Berries when nature flaunted its beauty and its bounty just as she loved the sense of wonder and satisfaction she felt upon placing a tiny infant into a mother’s arms.
The brilliant red and yellow leaves of the maples and oaks warmed her heart even as the piercing blue of the sun-filled sky tore at it.
She could not put Cam Outlaw or the sperm heist out of her mind. She wanted to apologize to him, to explain. She wanted to see him again but there was no excuse, nothing she could say and, on top of that, there was no time to say it.
Finally all the babies were safely delivered. Molly celebrated by visiting her parents for supper. Muriel laid out a feast of late tomatoes and cucumbers, pumpkin and squash and late summer corn. After countless snacks consisting of a piece of fruit or sandwiches-on-the-run, Molly ate so much of the wholesome food she nearly burst at the seams like the milkweed pods by Blackbird Pond.
She drove home bolstered by her parents’ love and more at peace than she had been in days.
If the insemination worked, she’d get the baby she’d always wanted. True, it would complicate her life and Cam’s but the deed was done. There was no going back. Molly knew it would be better for everyone if she were not pregnant but she refused to pray for that outcome.
She still wanted Cam’s baby and if the fates gave her the chance, she’d raise him or her with all the love in her heart.
It was just past dusk as Molly made her way back to the cottage. As she passed the circular road that ringed the rez she remembered something that had been shoved to a back burner for the past few days. She had not yet talked to Sandra Tall Tree.
In spite of her weariness, Molly made a U-turn on the main rez road and turned west on the circular road.
The Tall Trees lived in a tumbled down farmhouse on Small Bear Drive off the circular road. The warmth of the wide, welcoming front porch was offset by the rooftop gutters that hung at odd angles like disapproving eyebrows. Molly grinned at the rakish image. Davey’s father had been handy with a hammer and nails but he’d died nearly five years earlier. The vibrant vegetable garden maintained by Davey’s mother had gone to see since her death two years earlier.
It looked like Sandra had about as much interest in pulling weeds as Davey had in home repair.
Molly drove up the dirt driveway that circled in front of the house. Window shades were pulled against the slanted evening sunlight. Molly felt a stab of guilt. She should have made more of an effort to welcome the new bride to the rez. It couldn’t have been easy for a young woman with aspirations to sophistication, to be stuck out here in this isolated house.
Davey wore a peach-colored terrycloth bathrobe with matching bedroom slippers when he answered Molly’s knock. His pudgy face flashed its usual friendly smile but, for once, it didn’t reach his eyes. Molly’s heart ached for him as he led her into the shadowed parlor. There was only one lamp burning—an old-fashioned globe that she remembered from visiting his mother years ago. The furniture was still the same, too, dingy and shabby.
Molly thought, suddenly, of the Tall Trees’ fancy new sports car and wondered where he’d found the money to pay for that. At his invitation she sat on a faded chintz sofa. She crossed her jeans-clad legs and tried not to cross her arms. Her long-sleeved canary colored tee shirt had been warm enough in Muriel’s cozy trailer but it wasn’t enough in Davey’s gloomy house. His gloomy, empty house. She knew Sharon was not home.
“What can I do you for,” the sagama asked.
His smile was strained. He had to sense, on some level, that his new domestic arrangement was faltering badly. She wished he’d never have to know what his wife had been up to with Dwight Winston. It was a wish that could not possibly come true.
She launched into the cover story she’d prepared.
“I came to talk to Sandra about the crafts cooperative, the Maine Attraction.” She tried to keep her voice light and cheerful. “As you know we’ll be selling items from crafters all over western Maine, including those on the rez and we could use some help with the marketing plan. I know Sandra’s had some experience with business and thought she might be interested in helping out.”
Davey brightened a little. “She worked in a department store in Canada. She liked retail a lot. I’m sure she’d be glad to
be included,” he said. “She’ll have some free time now since the casino’s closed. She was working up there, you know, as an assistant to Mr. Winston. ” He shook his head. “You know, Molly, she’s scared. I almost think she knows something about this business that got Mr. DiMarco killed. She wanted to get away so I sent her up north to her people for a few days.”
“Oh yes,” Molly looked deliberately vague. “She’s from a reservation near Rankin, isn’t she?”
“There’s nothing like family to hold you up during hard times.”
Molly was certain Sandra had no ‘people’ up North or anywhere else. She was a stray, just like Molly. The woman had obviously bolted, most likely with Winston. The move practically proved she was guilty of something even if it was just avoiding her husband’s company.
Molly looked at Davey sitting in his old recliner wearing the pastel bathrobe and she felt a wave of sadness.
“I let her take the Porsche,” he said. Molly wanted to ask how on earth he’d been able to afford the luxury vehicle but such a question would be unpardonably rude.
“It’s a beautiful car,” she said.
“I had some money from mother,” he said, as if aware of her question, “and Sandra made a good salary at the casino. And, of course, the car isn’t new.” His eyes looked troubled. “She really wanted it, Molly. She hasn’t had much in her life.”
Molly nodded. She didn’t doubt that at all. Davey hadn’t had much either but she didn’t point that out. She got up.
“Could you let me know when she gets back?”
“Sure.” Davey lumbered to his feet. He glanced at a photograph on a side table and fingered it. Davey, dressed in a suit and tie, beamed at the tall, dark-haired woman beside him. Sandra’s wedding dress was simple, elegant and expensive and her sharp features were softened by a smile. She looked almost happy.
“My wife’s a beautiful woman.”
Her heart ached for him. “Yes,” she said. “I know she is.”
Molly found herself wanting to reassure him.
