Her Deadly Inheritance

by Beth Ann Ziarnik

  He squirmed. “I’d like to believe you’re right.”

  He didn’t? Clay had to agree.

  With a hefty sigh, Bradwell slapped his knees. “Well, my wife finally has what she wants. Most of it anyway.”

  “Why is this house so important to her, Uncle Drew? Did she know about it before you were married?”

  He shook his head “We were married four months before I brought her here to meet my parents.”

  Jill’s forehead crinkled. “Then why?”

  “I don’t know really.”

  “But if you had to guess?”

  Bradwell propped his elbows on his thighs, laced his fingers together, and rubbed his chin with his forefingers. “If I had to guess, maybe the family roots that Windtop represents. Generations of Bradwells have lived here. Lenore didn’t have our stability as she grew up. Her parents died when she was a baby. Her grandmother took her in but died when she was ten, and Lenore grew up in a county group home until she turned eighteen.”

  “What a sad childhood.”

  Clay agreed. But lots of children grew up in less than ideal circumstances—himself included although he’d never been sent to a county group home.

  “It made her strong, Jill. Still, for Susannah’s sake and yours, I wish I had been firmer with my wife. Your mother might not have despaired. She might still be with us.” He stood, silent for a few moments. “I wish you had told me. If I’d known what you had in mind, I would’ve stopped you.”

  “Then I’m glad you didn’t. Our family has fought over this house long enough, Uncle Drew. Now, it’s finally over.”

  “It’s not over,” her uncle said as Clay eased the door to the butler’s pantry back into place.

  He’d heard enough. Jill had made either a brilliant or deadly move with her sudden invitation. Either she had thwarted or made it easier for a killer who might just go after her.

  Chapter Five

  At the kitchen counter, Clay was jotting a quick note to Jill when the door to the butler’s pantry suddenly thwapped back and forth. He jerked his head up, crushed the small paper in his hand, and stuffed it in his pocket.

  Fists on her slim hips, Jill grinned. “You remembered. And I can keep Button, right?” She hurried forward and swerved to peer around him. “Wow! A battery-powered litter box and a bag of deodorized litter, kittensized food and water dishes, and a five-pound bag of food. And more. You, uh, brought so much.”

  Had he gone overboard? But then, what did he know? “A woman at the supermarket who has five cats recommended all this.”

  Jill’s eyes crinkled with merriment. “A real authority, I take it?”

  Was she laughing at him? No, just having fun in a harmless manner. He liked it. “You might say that.”

  She ran a delicate hand over the fleece-lined pet bed and picked up a toy mouse. “Thank you so much. Oh! Wait right here. I’ll get my checkbook. How much do I owe you?”

  “No rush. I take it you plan to stay for a while.”

  “Not long.”

  Perfect!

  She washed the pet dishes and filled one before stashing the bag of kitten food in a lower cupboard. After stacking them with the rest of the supplies, she hugged them in her arms.

  “I could help you carry those things to your room.”

  “I’m good. See you tomorrow.” She shot him a twinkle-eyed smile before she disappeared up the back stairs.

  Was he smiling? He wiped the grin off his face and strode to the back door. He had no business developing feelings for her.

  He shut the door. For Pete’s sake, he’d better get a grip.

  Urgent mews greeted Jill as she reached for the knob and opened the bathroom door. Button sprang forward and curled around her ankles.

  “Look what I have, fella.” She placed the litter box in one corner of the bathroom and the kitty bed in another. After spreading a clean finger towel near the kitten’s bed, she set out the food and water dishes.

  Button dove in, crunching the dry food while Jill changed into jade-colored jeans and a long-sleeved tee. Her exhausting day had left her craving a bit of fresh air. She sat in Maggie’s rocker and bent to tie her running shoes.

  Dashing over, Button pounced on the laces.

  “You little gray fuzz ball.” She picked him up, relishing the nuzzling of his soft, furry head under her chin and the rumble of his purr.

  He was so warm-hearted and easy to please. If only people were the same, instead of so often complicated and hard to predict.

  She leaned back in the rocker. Setting it gently into motion, she closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in its comforting rhythm. Lord, is Uncle Drew right? Did I make a mistake?

  Inviting the family to stay at Windtop seemed the right thing to do. If they lived together, maybe they could work out their differences. Not that she held any grand illusions. Her aunt and cousins weren’t all that eager to welcome her into the family, and her uncle’s first allegiance would be with them. But they had all made a beginning, hadn’t they?

  If not, it was too late to change anything now.

  Button leapt from her lap and scampered under the glass-topped table. Sniffing, he batted an object around with his paws.

  The puzzle! She’d forgotten all about it. Joining him, she first picked up the two loose pieces on the table and pressed them into place, then looked for the last. So that’s what Button was batting around.

  When she reached for it, he sat regarding her with solemn yellow eyes. She flipped it over, and the strength melted from her limbs like gelatin in the sun. She closed her eyes and opened them, hoping against hope. The word jumped at her again, and she groaned.

  Murder!

  Heart thundering in her ears and fingers trembling, she pushed the last piece into place. Then, dropping to the varnished floor, she gathered the kitten into her arms and looked up to read Maggie’s words.

  Her breath caught.

  They say you are dead. In my heart I know it’s not true. I pray you never return, but if you do, that you find my words quickly. You are in danger. Leave if you can. Your mother’s death was no suicide. I say murder! If you stay, trust no one. Especially the one who tried to end her baby’s life by falling down the stairs. I pray for you. With much love, M.

  Her body numbing, Jill struggled to catch each breath. She skimmed the words again, hoping she had read them wrong. But, no, Maggie’s message was plain.

  Leave … mother’s death … no suicide … murder!

  Her skin prickled. Choking back a cry, she dropped the kitten and backpedaled from the revolting words until she hit the brass bedpost behind her. Pain shot through her shoulder.

  Murder! Leave! Murder! Leave!

  The awful words tumbled through her brain, gaining momentum. She grabbed the bedpost, pulled herself to her feet, and bolted from the room.

  Keeping to the edge of the forest, Clay peered through its twilight shadows and caught a flash of movement. Jill fleeing the house like a frightened bird.

  Something ugly crawled in the pit of his stomach. He clenched his jaw. The deadly game had begun. Just when he dared to believe she would be fine until morning. What had he been thinking? He never should have brought her here. But if he hadn’t, someone else would have. Either way, she was in trouble.

  Jill sprinted across the open lawn and entered the forest a few yards ahead of him. Doubling over, she sucked raspy gasps and looked back at the house. Light shone through lace-curtained windows, but he saw no one. Her ragged breathing slowed, and she hung her head and moaned.

  He retreated to melt into the woods before she could turn and discover him, but a twig snapped beneath his boot. She spun, her eyes wide. She searched until her gaze found him.

  Arrgh! He stepped forward. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She covered her heart with her hands and expelled a tense breath. “What are you doing here?”

  “Checking the grounds. I do it every evening.” He offered a reassuring smile though h
e doubted it made any difference. She seemed pretty shaken. “Are you all right?”

  She let her hands drop to her sides. “I’m fine. Just have to catch my breath.”

  Her guarded expression let him know whatever had frightened her, she found no reason to trust him with it. He was still a stranger. A few hours acquaintance hadn’t changed that. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  A long moment of silence passed between them. “No.”

  The naked vulnerability in her gaze washed through him, and the tenderness stirring in his chest startled him. “Then good night, Jill Shepherd.” He moved past her onto the open lawn, certain her frightened gaze drilled his back and followed his every step.

  Sadness settled in his heart. If she knew why he had sought out this job at Windtop, she’d be appalled. If she knew, she would never trust him.

  He kept moving.

  Jill tracked Clay’s retreat across Windtop’s lawn, certain he had witnessed her wild dash. What he must think! But then why should she care unless he reported it to Lenore. The possibility chilled her. She had seen kindness—or was it pity?—in his eyes moments ago. Had she misread him? No, whatever else he might be, he didn’t seem the type to expose her like that.

  Trust no one at Windtop!

  Maggie’s words burst through her heart, scattering every crumb of comfort. She turned away to find the familiar forest path. Though overgrown, it still led to the edge of the island’s east cliff where the rock of her childhood days waited like an old friend. She climbed onto its cool, flat surface and hugged her knees to her chin. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

  If true, Maggie’s warning changed everything. Everything she thought she had accomplished in the past few hours. Worse, it might mean she was truly in danger.

  Her mother murdered?

  Shoulders shaking, she fought the sobs that came too easily since arriving on this island. “Dear God,” she whispered, “please say it isn’t true.” Tears soaked the knees of her jeans. “It’s all some terrible mistake, isn’t it?”

  Far below, the lapping of Trout Bay’s waters worked its comforting rhythm, slowly calming her like a child rocked in her mother’s arms. When her tears stopped, she stared into the deepening velvet of the evening sky. A smattering of stars winked at her like promises too far away to grasp.

  If her mother was murdered, Maggie was right. Only the Bradwells had anything to gain, and by returning to Windtop, she may have unwittingly walked into a trap. “God, would You really let me make such dreadful a mistake?” Would he lead her into mortal danger?

  Crickets broke the silence of the summer night while moonlight danced on the bay’s dark waters. Lacking the will to move, Jill revisited the events responsible for bringing her here. Yes, it was God’s doing, which meant she was in the right place. No matter how frightening it appeared at the moment, Nona would say to trust him. Walk by faith, not by sight, right?

  Her gaze found the flames from campfires on the beach below. They grew brighter as the evening deepened. With blankets and baskets, people too small to recognize at this distance emerged from cottages. Soon, the aroma of roasting hot dogs and the soft sounds of guitars and singing floated on the night air.

  If only she and the Bradwells could enjoy such happy times. Instead, warnings and suspicions flitted among them. Hopefully, Uncle Drew was wrong.

  As for Maggie’s warning, she was often right about people. Yet, over the years, she had begun to nurse a deep distaste for Lenore. Had it colored her perception? Maybe the housekeeper was wrong this time. Nothing else made sense.

  Jill stretched her legs and slid down from the rock. As she made her way back to the house, forest trees pressed in close around her. She shivered, searching the darkness and hurrying, uncomfortably aware she had stayed out longer than wise on a wilderness island.

  When she broke free of the trees, she paused. Windtop’s silhouette stood against a moonlit sky while the damp night air stole around her in billows of ground fog. She hurried up the wooden steps of the back porch and twisted the door handle.

  Locked!

  Chapter Six

  Clay’s hands stirred a discordant clinking of dirty dishes and silverware in the sink full of hot, soapy water. Scrubbing a plate with more vigor than necessary, he rinsed it in hot running water and dropped it into the dish rack.

  Visions of Jill’s golden hair, alive with noonday sunlight, filled his senses as he stared into the darkness beyond the window above the sink. Her anxious gaze haunted him.

  Her frantic flight earlier coiled in his gut. Something or someone had frightened her enough to drive her from the shadowed house. The deadly clock was already ticking.

  He should’ve said something at the airport or Powell’s Point, or the cemetery. He’d had plenty of opportunities to spill the suspicions he couldn’t quite prove yet. Would she listen now if he gave her the chance? Or toss him out with yesterday’s garbage?

  A sudden spurt of adrenaline shot like fire through his veins. He seized the glass casserole dish and scraped at the crusty edge of baked lasagna as if it were the offending party. A determined scrubbing finished the job but did nothing to help him remove the threat to Jill.

  Was she still out there, a prey to her enemy? Or had she returned to the house? Either way, Windtop was no sanctuary, and the Bradwells’ presence stripped him of easy access to ensure her well-being.

  He pulled the sink plug, and dishwater spiraled into the drain, gurgling on its final exit. He rinsed the dishrag, ringing the excess water from it. Snapping it flat, he folded it once before hanging it on the sink’s edge to dry.

  Focus. Be methodical. Maintain control. If he did that, he might get the job done before harm ambushed her.

  Most of all, he had to be careful. Something in him softened a bit more each time he neared Windtop’s golden-haired beauty. He couldn’t let her sidetrack him.

  He flicked the faucet handle and sprayed the sink with clean water, then rubbed it dry.

  A little more time. If he stepped up the hunt, that’s all he’d need. Then he’d be gone.

  Jill released the front door knob. It, too, refused to budge. What kind of game was this? What kind of trick?

  Raising a fist, she prepared to pound on the door but pulled back. Why give her aunt the satisfaction? She’d find another way.

  Skirting the house, she tested each window of the first floor. All secure. Never in all the summers she’d lived in this house did she have this much trouble getting into it. She dropped down on the bottom step of the front porch. She’d get in without Lenore knowing, but how?

  Clay knew the house and might help her. But knock on his door at this hour? Too embarrassing. She’d think of another way.

  Rubbing her arms against the evening’s damp chill, she moved away from the house and let her gaze roam its shadowed recesses. Honeysuckle vines festooned the veranda to the roof line. Well beyond the eaves, the tower room windows looked out into the night. While a teen, she had used those windows and the roof to sneak in and out of the house after dark. Not tonight. Her old room now belonged to Tia. If she climbed in through one of those windows, she would startle the girl. What a ruckus that would cause.

  Letting her gaze drift to the right, she stopped where the porch roof intersected with another section extending over the driveway. Her pulse quickened. That was it! From there she could reach Maggie’s balcony and get into her room. She hadn’t locked the French doors. All she’d have to do was move quietly and she’d outsmart Lenore yet.

  Hurrying up the porch steps, she grasped the roof’s first supporting column and pulled herself onto the railing. The rich scent of roses from her mother’s bush wafted upward, and her heart lurched. Tending the rose bush had been her mother’s joy, and the only reason she would venture outdoors during those last years they had summered at Windtop.

  Quick tears blurred Jill’s vision. She blinked them away and reached with one hand for the ledge above.

  “Need a boost?”


  Jill gasped, hugged the column, and peered over her shoulder.

  Clay stood below in the moonlight, a quizzical expression on his upturned face.

  Warmth crept over hers. “I, uh …” Wait a minute. She didn’t have to explain herself. The house belonged to her. She could do whatever she pleased. “You almost scared me to death!”

  He chuckled. “Sorry about that. What’s going on?”

  Obviously, he wasn’t about to allow her a graceful way out. “If you must know, I’m locked out.” Good grief! Was amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes?

  He hooked his thumbs in his jean pockets. “Someone must have activated the security system.”

  “Security system?” Windtop didn’t have a security system.

  He strode up the porch steps. “Here, let me help you down.”

  She did feel a bit silly hugging the column as if it was a life preserver, but she certainly didn’t need his help. “No thanks. I can manage.”

  Relaxing her grip too fast, she started to slip. Oops!

  His broad hands caught her by the waist, but momentum prevailed. She pitched forward, grabbing his well-muscled shoulders. The ploy broke her fall, but she found herself eye-to-eye with her rescuer.

  He lifted her down amid the sweet fragrances of red roses and creamy-yellow honeysuckle swirling around them. Her skin tingled beneath his touch, and for a breathless moment, she gazed into eyes of fathomless depth.

  This was crazy. She didn’t even know him. All right, a little, but really, how much could she know anyone in a mere matter of hours? Besides, he wasn’t making a pass.

  Clay released her and she shivered. He hadn’t answered her question yet. “So, whose idea was this security system?”

  “Your mother’s.”

  “Well, you could have told me before!” And even though a bit miffed, she could’ve spoken to him with a less edgy tone.

  His gaze remained steady. “I didn’t know it was in use again. After your mother’s … death, your uncle ordered it disarmed.”