Her Deadly Inheritance

by Beth Ann Ziarnik

  Whatever the case, when Ruth said not to leave Windtop until she had done all God sent her here to do, the words burned in her heart. Now, more than ever, she had to find the whole truth about her mother’s death.

  By the time Jill had driven Amelia home, parked the truck, and arrived at the ballpark, Clay’s game was in the top of the seventh inning. She found a seat halfway up the metal bleachers, her heart still full with the wonderful possibility that she might not be separated from her mother for eternity after all.

  Lights flooded the ball diamond as day faded into deep twilight. She had no trouble spotting Clay in centerfield.

  She smiled to herself. That old saying about a woman’s attraction to a man in uniform must be true. Except that her attraction had made itself known long before she saw Clay in uniform.

  He ran for the center field fence, his back to the fast approaching ball. Thrusting his glove-covered hand in the air, he made a blind catch, ending the opposing team’s streak of runs.

  Amid the cheers and chatter of fans, two young women sat one row down from Jill. They laughed raucously, and she found them hard to ignore.

  “Let me have some of that popcorn,” the tall brunette demanded.

  Her red-haired companion shoved the bag at her. “Take it all. I have better fish to fry.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  The redhead leaned forward. “That guy in centerfield.”

  The brunette followed the direction of her friend’s long-nailed finger. “Clay Merrick?”

  Jill pricked up her ears.

  The redhead purred. “I see I’ve been missing something.”

  “You’re wasting your time, Phyllis. He’s not much for girls.”

  “You don’t mean—”

  “Not that. He just keeps to himself. Softball once a week. That’s it.”

  “So that’s all, is it?” The redhead took a mirror from her purse and applied a generous portion of moist, red lipstick. “He’s about to make a change and will never know what hit him. I know what pleases a guy.”

  Her friend squealed. “Oh, Phyllis, you wouldn’t!”

  Jill squirmed, her stomach turning queasy.

  Phyllis released a large hair clasp and tossed her long red hair until the curls bounced to her slim waist. “He doesn’t know it yet, but tonight’s his night. Are you with me?”

  “If you say so.”

  The two girls put their heads together, whispering and laughing. Then the redhead said, “Don’t be silly. All jocks are the same. They like the game and they like the girls. This will be so-o-o easy. Just follow my lead.”

  Jill’s cheeks burned. For two cents, she’d … she wasn’t sure what she’d do, but if Clay was anybody’s, he was hers. Yet, that wasn’t strictly true. If he belonged to anyone, he still belonged to Janice. That made one thing sure. He wouldn’t fall for that redhead’s scheme.

  Would he?

  Clay stepped up to home plate with two runners on base. His bat pinged, driving the ball over the leftfield fence. The crowd leapt to their feet, cheering as the runners crossed home plate to win the game.

  Jill remained in the stands, waiting while Clay packed his sports bag and accepted his teammates’ congratulations. When it looked as if he were ready to leave, she went down to meet him.

  Before she had covered half the distance, Phyllis and her friend rushed up to him, gushing about his winning hit. Clay gave them his attention and Jill’s heart fell.

  A few feet away with the crowd milling between them, she waited. He glanced her way but didn’t extricate himself from the conversation. After a few minutes, she returned to wait at the bleachers.

  Several more minutes passed. Each time Clay looked as if he were about to end the conversation, they bombarded him with another question. Finally, he appeared to give up.

  Maybe Phyllis was right. Maybe she knew something other girls didn’t.

  Jill left the stands. She would wait on the boat.

  Balmy night air caressed her as she passed two guys leaning against a convertible parked with other cars lining the narrow, shady street leading away from the ballpark. They glanced her way and returned to their lowkey conversation.

  A thick ground fog swallowed her as she walked down the sandy, tree-lined drive that dropped to the marina where she and Clay had left the boat. She paused halfway to the dock and turned sharply. Were those footsteps behind her? She squinted into the fog. Nothing but the lapping of the bay waters disturbed the quiet.

  She again moved toward the dock and the footsteps behind her quickened.

  Her heart squeezed. “Clay?”

  Two men emerged, grinning, and Jill caught the flash of a knife blade.

  She backed away, wildly grasping for some plan of escape. Even if she were fast enough, the docks and the rocky shoreline back to the ballpark would turn into traps. The boats in dry dock behind her were her best, and maybe only, chance.

  She burst into a dead run, throwing herself to the ground and rolling under the first boat. Coming up on the other side, she found herself trapped between two boats. The men had divided, one coming around the first boat’s bow, the other around its stern. They grinned and edged toward her. She dropped to roll back under the boat, hoping to break for the street, but rough hands caught her arms and jerked her up.

  She screamed as much from rage as from fright. Struggling fiercely, she sank her teeth into the nearest hairy hand.

  The owner swore and released her.

  The other let out a low chuckle. “It’s no use, girlie, so stop it, or Poke here will hafta hurt you.”

  Poke flashed his knife near Jill’s face while the other man’s hot breath reeked of alcohol close behind her. Her stomach churned.

  Ignoring their low laughter, she stretched to her full height. If she couldn’t outrun them, she’d outwit them. She relaxed as if she had given up the fight. “All right then. What’s this all about?”

  “We have a little surprise for ya,” the one with the reeking breath whispered. “So just come along,”

  They sandwiched her between them with Poke in the lead.

  Jill’s flesh crawled. She dug her toes into the sand. “Not until you tell me where you’re taking me and why.”

  “Where you can’t do no more mischief.”

  That scream … Jill! Clay sped down the incline at a dead run. Mumbled threats of male origin slammed his heart against his rib cage. Still hidden in the fog, he lowered his sports bag to the sand and crept forward, bat in hand.

  Jill’s demand to know where they were taking her gave him a fix on them. Enraged by their chilling reply, he charged from the fog, swinging his bat. With a swish and a thud, he cracked one man’s midsection. The guy’s knife popped into the air and clattered against the dry dock boat while he fell to the sand, grasping his stomach and gasping for air.

  Clay turned on the other whose eyes widened. His grip on Jill loosened and she tore away, diving for the knife. Clay brought the bat around for a swing, but the man sprinted away.

  His companion scrambled after him, and the two disappeared into the fog. Clay sprinted after them. As he emerged from the fog, a car engine roared across the street. Tires squealed, and a convertible peeled into the darkness. The car turned left at the end of the block and its red tail lights disappeared. It all happened too fast for Clay to catch the license plate number.

  He stood in the shadowed street, shaking with rage. After all the warnings this afternoon, he should never have left Jill alone. He’d never do it again. This was no happenstance. The killer’s efforts had escalated. No telling what would happen now that this one failed.

  Clutching his bat, he trotted back down to the marina, aware that a minute longer, and history would have repeated itself. This time, he would clearly have been at fault, and Jill would have paid the price.

  He found her sitting in the sand. She trembled as she pushed to her feet, brushing the sand from her skin and clothing. She gazed at him, her eyes still wide with lingering fright.


  Dropping his bat, he took off his warm-up jacket and wrapped it around her, gazing intently into her eyes. He would never have forgiven himself if anything had happened to her.

  “I … I’m okay,” she said, her voice shaking. “It’s always this way. I … I’m fine in a crisis but fall apart the minute it’s over.”

  She broke into sobs, wrenching his heart. His brave woman had fought those brutal men and earned the right to cope with that horror any way she chose.

  He opened his arms, and she walked into them, her warm tears falling on his sweat-soaked uniform. How could this feel so right when he knew it was wrong?

  After a while, he pulled a big, white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

  “I … I didn’t know guys still used these things.” She dabbed her eyes, wiped her nose, and lay back against his chest.

  He stroked her silky curls, recalling her tremulous lips and trusting eyes. They proved what he already knew in his heart. He needed her as much as she needed him.

  While the night held its breath, he cradled her until her trembling ceased. She made no move to pull away.

  “Jill,” he whispered, his voice husky.

  She looked up, and he brushed the backs of his fingers slowly across her soft cheek.

  How close he had come to losing his brave, beautiful Jill, but what mattered now was that she was safe. For that, he was thankful.

  Fireworks popped in spectacular display, flaring over Munising Bay and keeping time with the upheaval in his heart. He lowered his head and brushed his lips across the full softness of hers. She groaned in response. Hesitating a moment, he moved in, deepening their kiss as his pulse throbbed.

  In the sweetness of those moments, he knew he had lost his battle. His heart would never again belong to him alone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jill stretched beneath her bedcovers, the lingering memory of Clay’s tender kiss bringing a soft smile to her lips.

  Lord, Amelia was right. Clay definitely likes me. Not only likes, he loves me.

  A scampering of little paws on the bed quickly turned to a tiny wet nose pressed against hers. When she seized the kitten in a hug, she apparently applied a little too much enthusiasm.

  Button wriggled free and leapt to the floor. Skittering to a halt under the glass top table, he spun to face her with accusing eyes.

  Giggling, Jill threw back the covers and slipped into her terry robe before running barefoot to the billiard room. She opened a window and leaned out, savoring the morning’s fresh air. Had the sun ever shone so magnificently?

  Her gaze quickly found Clay working on the stone wall near the carriage house. Sunlight glistened on his dark hair as he struggled to release a heavy stone from its stubborn perch among the rubble of what had once been a sturdy wall.

  His strong arms wielded the same wonderful strength that had helped her escape those despicable men last night. The same arms that had wrapped around her ever so gently while his heart beat rapidly where she rested her head against his broad chest. How safe she had felt then. How she longed to nestle there this very moment.

  Sudden awareness of her nightgown and open robe brought a heat that crept up her neck and burned her cheeks. Well … uh … maybe not this exact moment.

  She hurried away to get dressed.

  Laptop in hand and Button scampering after her, Jill moved through the entrance hall, anxious to settle on the veranda. What a perfect place to work on the Rogers’ project for Nona while she enjoyed the pleasure of feasting her eyes on Clay without getting in his way.

  Voices in the morning room arrested her progress. She paused at its open door, taking in Tia’s worried frown.

  “You must be roasting in that long-sleeved dress, Mother.”

  Lenore caressed the folds of the Victorian gown. “Of course not. It is perfect …” Her voice trailed away. “Good morning, Jill.”

  Her aunt seated herself behind the desk and arranged her long skirts. She flicked a glance at her, and then at Tia. “If you two will excuse me, I have much to do.”

  She removed some papers from the central desk drawer. “The party is next week, you know.”

  Tia drew a shaky breath. “Can I help you, Mother?”

  Lenore’s head jerked up. “What did you say?”

  “I … want to help,” Tia mumbled.

  Jill raised her eyebrows. Had she heard right?

  “You were right, Mother. I should help you.” Tia hurried through words obviously rehearsed. She paused uncertainly. “I’m sorry I fought you. Please forgive me.”

  Lenore pursed her lips. “You are beginning to sound like Jill.” She turned to Jill. “Did you put her up to this?”

  “This is my idea, not’s Jill’s,” Tia insisted.

  “Well, then.” Lenore folded her hands in her lap and turned back to her daughter. “I suppose your sudden change of heart has something to do with that minister’s son you ran around with in the park yesterday.”

  “Minister’s nephew, Mother. Leo is not Pastor McGee’s son.” Tia’s voice held just a bit of an edge. “And, yes, he did help me see that”—she stopped to eye her mother warily—“that God wants me to trust him and obey you.”

  Lenore arched her eyebrows. “I see. I now have God and this boy to thank for your change of heart.” She didn’t appear to enjoy the idea. “Does this mean you will no longer oppose my wishes?”

  Tia shot Jill a panicky look. “I …” Her shoulders slumped. “About the party, yes.”

  Her young cousin’s uncharacteristic response didn’t make sense. How had Tia managed to grow from a rebellious teen to a submissive daughter practically overnight?

  “Excellent.” Her aunt turned a cold gaze toward Jill. “I see you also have work to do, so unless you have further business with us, you may go.”

  Jill’s inward hackles reared up. She opened her mouth to put her aunt in her place but encountered Lenore’s strangely glittering eyes, and the words froze in her throat. Now was no time to hold her aunt accountable for tactless behavior.

  Forcing herself to breathe slowly and evenly, she withdrew to the veranda where she placed her laptop on the wicker coffee table. Button rubbed up against her ankle. She picked him up and settled him beside her on the loveseat’s thick cushion.

  Lenore’s glittering eyes haunted her. Something was wrong with her aunt. When Uncle Drew mentioned she wasn’t well, had he been hinting at his wife’s mental state? Had the strain of the past years taken such a toll on her? Jill shivered.

  Within the fragrance of the porch’s honeysuckle shade, Jill prayed for her afflicted family and herself. Coming back to Windtop had dropped her in the middle of more problems than she had anticipated, and these problems were too big for her to handle alone.

  When she looked up from her prayer, her gaze rested on Clay still working on the stone wall beside the carriage house. Other than Tia’s blossoming relationship with Christ, the handsome contractor was the one factor that made returning to Windtop worthwhile.

  If only they could walk away from this house and all the problems here. If only they could start over fresh somewhere else. But that wouldn’t work. She’d already learned she couldn’t walk away from problems. They had a habit of catching up with her wherever she went.

  She sighed and opened her laptop.

  Clay strained to dislodge yet another heavy stone from the tumble-down wall. After Jill came out on the porch, he had a hard time concentrating. His traitorous heart tugged at him.

  He frowned. He was hopelessly in love with her. He wanted her more than he had a right to and more than he should ever have let on last night. What a mess he’d made in a moment of weakness. How was he supposed to protect her when he had become part of the problem?

  The sweet warmth of her lips lingered in his memory. With a growl of frustration and muscle-straining effort, he pulled the huge stone loose.

  Jill hit the save key. She had conquered the worst part of editing her rough d
raft in the Rogers’ house history document and deserved a stretch break.

  Clay glanced her way, wiping the glistening sweat from his brow, and her stomach fluttered. She smiled shyly. He nodded and turned back to dismantling the wall.

  Was something wrong? Maybe it was just the backbreaking work of removing each basketball-sized boulder in this awful heat. Wasn’t Sam supposed to help?

  The morning wore on and the day’s heat intensified. Clay’s white shirt grew more and more sweat-soaked while her struggle with the Rogers’ document slowed. They both could use a tall, cold glass of something. She shut down her laptop.

  “How about it, Button?” The kitten’s head popped up as Jill stood. “Time for a drink?”

  Button jumped down from the wicker love seat and followed her into the house and the depths of the kitchen.

  “Here you go.” She set a shallow bowl of water in front of him before she pulled a large pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator. She filled two tall glasses and carried them out the back door and across the lawn, ice cubes clinking.

  “Hey, Clay.” Smiling, she held out a glass to him.

  A sheen of sweat gleamed on his face, neck and arms. He reached for the glass and gulped the cold liquid. Returning the glass, he nodded curtly.

  She held his gaze.

  He shook his head slowly, pain in his eyes.

  “It’s no good, Jill. I have no right to love anyone. Least of all you. Let’s not make more of last night than we should. It was a gesture of comfort, of friendship.”

  Her cheeks flamed. That had been his idea of a gesture of friendship? No friend ever kissed her like that before.

  “I’m nearly finished here, Jill. I’ve told you before, when I leave, you won’t see me again.”

  “Won’t see you?” The words refused to make sense.

  “Trust me, Jill.”

  “But …”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Don’t make this harder than it already is. I wish things were different … but, they aren’t. They never will be.”

  “It’s over? Just like that?”