Fatal Hearts

by Norah Wilson

  “And B&B customers, of course.”

  “Yes, B&B guests too. Josh tells me—” She broke off, biting her lip. “Josh told me that’s why she turned it into a bed-and-breakfast, to help defray the cost of keeping such a big staff. Although that probably points to a certain frugality, not a need to make ends meet.”

  “She doesn’t look like she’s hurting.”

  “She comes from old money, the kind that doesn’t get wiped out by a market crash. And even without the Proust money behind her, she still has a healthy medical practice, and the Senator would have a generous pension.”

  She turned toward him in the lighted parking lot, and he found himself catching his breath. The light cast a halo around her curly golden hair and plunged part of her face into shadow, but the part he could see . . . God, she was beautiful. No wonder Josh had been so hung up on her. If only she’d loved him back like he wanted, instead of loving him like a brother . . .

  He cleared his throat. “Will Dr. Stratton be around?”

  “I hope so,” she said. “I doubt we’ll get permission to check Josh’s room if she’s not here. And remember—”

  “I know. It might already be occupied by a new guest. I got it.”

  She led the way to the rear entrance, rang the bell, and stepped back. A moment later, an older woman dressed in black right down to her practical nonslip shoes, opened the door to them. Boyd recognized her as the housekeeper.

  “Dr. Walsh,” the woman said, her voice sounding younger and more melodious than her years. “Good to see you again. And who’s that with you?” The woman leaned to peer around Hayden, caught sight of Boyd, then stepped back, her hand going to her chest.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Garner,” Hayden hastened to assure the distraught woman. “This is Josh’s brother, Boyd McBride.”

  “Oh, dear, of course!” she said. “I hadn’t thought to see you again after you cleared out Josh’s room, Mr. McBride. And seeing you with Dr. Walsh . . .”

  “I understand. Sorry to pop up like a ghost.”

  “I’m just helping him get a feel for Josh’s life here, and he’d really like to see Josh’s room,” Hayden said into the awkward silence. “Do you think that can be arranged? I mean, if it’s not rented again.”

  Mrs. Garner’s features softened in sympathy. “It hasn’t been rented. Come in, and I’ll see what I can do for you.” When they stepped inside the entryway, she said, “I’m going to have to ask you to wait here while I talk to Dr. Stratton.” Her tone was apologetic. “She has strict rules about these things.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Garner,” Hayden said. “We’ll be happy to wait here.”

  When the old girl bustled off, Boyd turned to Hayden. “Strict rules?”

  “I think she’s worried someone will try to see the Senator,” she murmured, keeping her voice low. Even at that level, the acoustics of the vaulted ceilings made her voice echo around. “She’s very particular about visitation. Josh said no one gets in to see the Senator except Dr. Stratton, their son, Jordan, who’s an internist in Saint John, and the Senator’s caregivers.” She peered around to make sure no one was coming up the hall where Mrs. Garner had disappeared.

  “And you felt comfortable coming here?”

  Hayden shrugged. “Josh always met me at the door so I didn’t have to run the gauntlet alone. But we still managed to bump into her once in a while.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. Or at least he hoped it was exaggerated. The woman couldn’t be that much of an ogre. She’d been working the day he’d come by for Josh’s things, so he hadn’t met her.

  He heard the click-click of high heels on hardwood before he saw her. Then she turned a corner and entered the room. Beside him, Hayden straightened her back. Wryly, he realized he had too, in that come-to-attention response a soldier had to his officer in charge.

  “Well, well, Mrs. Garner was right. You are the spitting image of our Mr. McBride. Identical twins, I presume?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She was thin and very fit looking for her age, but her dark hair was shot with silver. And she projected incredible command presence as she crossed the room, her carriage as upright and impeccable as any queen’s. No wonder Hayden had described her as royalty. She drew up in front of him and looked him squarely in the eye. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. McBride. We still miss your brother at our breakfast table.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She extended an elegant hand and he grasped it in a firm handshake. She released her grip quickly, turning to Hayden. “Dr. Walsh. Good to see you again.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Stratton. You too.”

  She turned her gaze back to Boyd. “And what’s your first name, Mr. McBride?”

  “Boyd, ma’am.”

  “Well, Boyd McBride, for all of your shared genetics, you are a harder customer than Joshua, unless I miss my guess.”

  She didn’t add, “And I never miss my guess,” but she might as well have. He heard it loud and clear.

  “I understand you wanted to view your brother’s room?”

  “That’s right, ma’am. I’m just trying to get a feel for his life here. I never got a chance to visit, and now . . .” He let his words trail off.

  “I understand,” she said, and he felt oddly pinned by those steely blue eyes that held his gaze so steadily. The Senator must have had brass ones to take this woman on. “But perhaps I can do you one better?”

  One better? What the hell does that mean? “Ma’am?”

  “Your brother had paid his rent to the end of the month, Mr. McBride. If you’re going to be reconstructing his life and death here in Fredericton, you’re welcome to have his room. I had thought to prorate the unused rental and send a check along to his estate, but if you’re in need of a place to stay, perhaps this will work just as well.”

  Yes! Legitimate, long-term access to Josh’s room, handed to him on a platter. He could quietly tear the place apart until he found Josh’s notes. Plus it would save him a bundle. He could cancel his reservation at the Comfort Inn. Nothing of his excitement showed, though, when he spoke.

  “Thank you, Dr. Stratton. That’s very kind of you. I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  She waved his thanks away with a gracious hand. “No need to thank me. The room is bought and paid for. Breakfast is served between six and seven thirty, if you want to avail yourself of it. You may, of course, have to share the breakfast table with myself or my staff.”

  Better and better on the budget. “That’s great with me.”

  “All other meals are on your own, and please, no music or television or other loud noises late at night.” She aimed a look at Hayden as if that message were for her too.

  Boyd’s mind leapt immediately to a picture of him and Hayden in a bedroom upstairs and the kinds of noise they could make. Clearly, Sylvia Stratton’s impersonation of a general must have put him more off balance than he’d realized. Time to get a grip.

  “Thank you—that sounds very reasonable.”

  “Very well. Shall I show you to the room? The key is in there.”

  “Please.”

  She turned and click-clicked her way back along the tiled hall. With a gesture for Hayden to precede him, he brought up the rear of the procession.

  Sylvia Stratton led them up a wide, elegant staircase with an intricately carved newel post. As they climbed the stairs, he let his right hand glide along the polished banister. The dark wood felt smooth as satin beneath his hands. She hung a left at the top of the stairs and led them along a high-ceilinged hall. If Boyd hadn’t already seen it for himself, he probably would have stopped to gaze in amazement at the width of the planking on the floor, not to mention the wide, ornate baseboards and crown molding. The house had to be hundreds of years old. You couldn’t get wood like that anymore.

  “Your home is very lovely, Dr. Stratton.
”

  “Isn’t it?”

  She stopped before a tall door framed in wide trim that matched the baseboards, but with extra hand-carved details at the top corners. If he added up the running feet of trim in this old house, the cost of reproducing it would probably exceed the value of his tiny condo back in Toronto. Hell, his condo and his car.

  “This is it.” Pushing the door inward, she waved them into the room.

  He felt his chest tighten to be standing again in the room where Josh had lived for the past five-plus months of his life.

  “So, have you just landed in town, Mr. McBride, or are you already established somewhere?”

  “I hit town earlier today,” he confirmed. “But I haven’t had a chance to check into my motel.”

  “If you have your bags with you, you’re welcome to take up residence tonight.”

  “That’d be great,” he said. “My stuff is still in the car.”

  “Then, please, make yourself comfortable.” She crossed the room to the bedside and pulled open the drawer of the night table. Turning, she held out a plain key ring with a pair of keys on it. “This one will get you in the rear entrance you just used, and the other is for the room. When you’re ready, you can go fetch your things and let yourself back in without disturbing my staff.”

  He took the key from her. “Thank you.”

  She stepped back. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll go back to reading to my husband.” She glanced at Hayden. “I trust you can see yourself out later?”

  “Of course, Dr. Stratton.”

  With a regal inclination of her head, Sylvia Stratton turned and left. Boyd could hear the tapping of her heels as she retreated down the hall; then he heard them on the stairs.

  He turned to Hayden. “I see what you mean. Seems like she’d have been more at home during this house’s heyday, commanding a fleet of servants with an iron hand.”

  “Yeah, that whole lady-of-the-manor routine.” Hayden gave a delicate shudder. “The scary part is that she’s on the medical advisory board at the hospital. I try to minimize my contact with her, because I always come away from any encounter feeling as though I’ve been found lacking. I tell myself not to take it personally, since pretty much everyone comes away from her feeling like that, but it’s a challenge some days.”

  “I don’t know . . . Something tells me you can hold your own.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  Oh, yeah, he could definitely see why this woman had captivated his brother. She was pretty damned stunning.

  He realized silence had fallen, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “So, have you ever met the Senator?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think he ever gets out of his sickroom.”

  “That’s a damned shame to see a guy like Lewis Stratton laid low.”

  She was watching him curiously. “You know him?”

  His lips twitched at the idea. “Just by reputation. He took an interest in law and order.”

  “I guess that stands to reason. Josh said he was some kind of big deal lawyer before he went into politics.”

  Boyd snorted. “Isn’t every politician a former lawyer?”

  Her lips curved in a smile that was quick to come and go. “Seems like it, doesn’t it?”

  Her face sobered again, but Boyd found himself looking at her world-class lips, wondering what it would take to make that smile flash again. Or even better, to make her laugh. Would her laughter be throaty and sexy? Or clear and delighted as a child’s? And what would it feel like if he were to catch that laugh on her lips, take it into himself?

  He realized she’d caught him looking at her mouth.

  “I’m sorry—I lost my train of thought,” he offered. “Not enough sleep.” That was certainly true. His eyes felt gritty and his head clouded with fatigue.

  Her mouth softened again. “I can only imagine. It must be so hard.”

  His throat clogged with unexpected emotion at her words of sympathy. “For you too. I can see how much you miss him.”

  They stood there in the small, high-ceilinged bedroom, not touching but connected by their shared grief. He felt an even stronger pull toward her to comfort and be comforted.

  The thought had him stepping back. “So what happened to the Senator? Was it a stroke? I think that’s what Josh said. I know it was something catastrophic, since he had to vacate his Senate seat.”

  Hayden seized the change of subject, clearly eager to put the awkwardness behind them. “Yeah, the official statement said stroke.” Hayden walked to the window and drew the curtain aside to look out. “Funny thing, all the media attention seemed to focus on his seat, not the Senator himself. If I hadn’t been friends with Josh, I doubt I’d even have known he was here.”

  “Yeah, but you’re from away, right?” Boyd joined her there, taking care not to crowd her, to see what view his new bedroom offered. The rear parking lot, as it happened. He hadn’t even looked last time he’d been in this room. Or if he had, the view hadn’t registered. “Maybe folks aren’t as open if you’re not third-generation Frederictonian.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “That’s a terrible stereotype about Maritimers.” She let the curtain fall back into place and moved away. “Things haven’t been like that for, oh . . . tens of years.”

  He laughed. “So they’ve adopted you?”

  “They’re campaigning hard to add me to their census roll, all right.”

  “Ah, the hard-sell recruitment?” He took her sigh as an affirmative. “Have you told them you’re not sticking around?”

  “Repeatedly. The recruitment officer doesn’t let a little thing like my life plan deter him.”

  Boyd caught himself before he could ask her what her life plan involved besides disappointing his twin and robbing him of the chance for the kind of love he’d dreamed of.

  Shit. The thought was unworthy of him. As much as it pained him to think about the unrequited love Josh had harbored for Hayden, it wasn’t her fault. Emotions couldn’t be willed or manufactured, something he well knew. But knowing that and getting past it were two different things.

  He realized she was looking at him as though she expected him to say something. Oh, yeah. The overly optimistic recruiter. “So you’re going to break the poor guy’s heart and go where, exactly?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Not sure? After that speech about career plans and not letting relationships get in the way—dammit, after using it to shut Josh down—she didn’t even know where she wanted to end up?

  She snorted. “God, Boyd. I wish you could see your face. You look like I just said I was going to burn my diploma and walk away from medicine when I finish my residency.”

  “I’m sorry . . . It’s just . . . How could you not know where you’re going?”

  Her smile faded. “Okay, I should have said I’m bound for a bigger center. Toronto, Edmonton, Vancouver, even Halifax. It depends on what offers I get. All I know is I want to work somewhere where I can help the people who have the biggest health challenges, the people who need intervention the most.”

  He blinked. “Junkies?”

  That elicited another eye roll. “I meant the poor, Boyd. Which, yes, could include addicts.”

  “And there are no poor people here?”

  “Of course there are. There’s always poverty, wherever you go. But it’s relative. I’m sure Josh must have told you what a white-collar town this is. Seat of government, home to two universities, culturally rich. Scores very highly on all of those best places to live polls. It has a very high percentage of people with postsecondary educations, and we rank fairly high on per capita income.”

  “I see your point. Why would anyone want to work here?”

  That smile flashed again. “Okay, so it’s a great place to live and work for most people. But Frederi
cton doesn’t really need me. Rich, well-educated Canadians generally demand and receive high-quality care. They navigate the health system extremely well. They also tend to be healthier to begin with. They eat better, exercise, do all those things that reduce their risk of disease.”

  His irritation with her segued into a grudging respect. “Well, you’d certainly find your target populations in any of those cities you named. I can personally vouch for Toronto.”

  “Toronto would be great. But actually, my first deployment is going to be to Haiti.”

  “Haiti?”

  “Yep. I’m going to do a stint with Doctors Without Borders there. I’ve always wanted to do something to help the people of Haiti. That’s where my mother is from.”

  A Haitian mother? That must be where she got her slightly exotic looks. The wide, full mouth, golden skin tone, and masses of curly hair. Her father must have contributed the blue eyes and the blonde hair color.

  “So is your mom still there, or is she here in Canada?”

  “Here,” she replied. “She emigrated from Haiti to Canada with her parents in the seventies. They settled in Montreal, as so many of them did. But she still has relatives back in Haiti, including two brothers. When I got to be old enough, we—my parents and I—started to go on mission trips with the church a couple of weeks every year. I’ve met all my Haitian uncles and cousins, and now those cousins have families of their own.”

  “And that’s where you got the bug to do good deeds?”

  “I got so much more than that out of it. What I saw down there . . . that’s what gave me the passion to study medicine in the first place. It only seems right that I honor that, you know?”

  Yes, he could understand that. “Have you explained this Haitian connection to the recruiter?”

  “Of course. But it’s his job to not take no for an answer. He’s never going to let up.”

  “Guess he’ll have to when you walk out the door after your last shift, huh?”