Читать книгу Deadly Homecoming - Barbara Phinney - Страница 10

They found a table in the back, deliberately ignoring the two curious strangers parked by the window. Spying the large duffel bag with a TV station logo between them, Peta knew the man and the woman were reporters.

The small café had been redecorated sometime in the last ten years. Gone were the plastic tablecloths and brown wallpaper in that dated eighties style. Instead, the place had adopted a whale-watching theme, with old-fashioned spyglasses and framed newspaper articles hanging on the pale blue walls.

Who was responsible for this? Not too many islanders would appreciate the touristy feel. And she had yet to see any obvious tourists. Reporters didn’t count.

Was this place still owned by Trudy Bell? Sitting down, Peta glanced around hesitantly. The sun that had been streaming in the long, six-paned windows suddenly dipped behind a cloud. The door to the kitchen swung open, and a waitress trudged out.

She held her breath. Trudy’s longtime employee, Ellie, now made a beeline straight for them, and her expression wasn’t welcoming.

She held her menus tight to her sturdy frame as she spoke to Lawson. “We’ve got a good clientele here, Mr. Mills. Trudy’s already told me not to serve the likes of your guest.”

Peta shut her eyes as the heat surged into her face. Of course Trudy would think that way, after the vandalism.

Lawson stood slowly. “In that case, Ellie, you won’t be serving me today, either.” He walked around to the back of Peta’s chair and pulled it out, with her still in it. “It’s a shame you only serve perfect people. I’ll be sure to recommend this place to the next one I meet.”

Her jaw sagging, Peta rose. Lawson’s hand gripped her elbow as he practically dragged her out of the quiet café. Even the reporters up front gaped at the scene.

Outside, he let her go. “We didn’t have to leave, you know,” she said quietly, though not wanting him to think she was ungrateful. “Ellie would have served us. Her bark is worse than her bite.”

“If she wants to act like a dog, then she shouldn’t be in the hospitality industry. I’ve worked all my life in a restaurant, at all levels, and believe me, you don’t turn customers away.”

He turned around, a questioning frown creasing his forehead as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Are you for real?”

“I’m as real as you are,” he said.

“I mean, as a Christian. You just told off that woman. And basically called her a dog!”

He smiled briefly. “I think you did first. All I said was if she wanted to act like one she shouldn’t be working in a café. My family runs—ran—a restaurant for years. You don’t treat your patrons like that.” He shook his head. “Peta, being a Christian doesn’t mean you should be a doormat. Or allow injustice to stand.”

“But what you said—”

His jaw tightened. “Maybe I sounded a bit harsh to you, but that’s the way I feel.”

She thought of her congregation in Toronto, an ethnically mixed group of caring people. How would they react to hearing that she’d become a suspect in a murder? How would her minister react to what just happened in that café? He wouldn’t have taken it lightly, either. “You sound like my pastor. He recently said, if I remember correctly, ‘Resistance to tyranny is obedience to God.’”

“He was quoting Susan B. Anthony, an American activist,” Lawson said. “So where’s your church?”

“In Toronto. Downsview, actually, the north part of the city. The church I attend has a lot of immigrants, so my pastor finds himself battling intolerance from a lot of different angles. But what I meant was, so many Christians just try to maintain a strong, silent presence for the Lord. I’ve both admired and scoffed at that.” She blinked, amazed. “I always thought I was the one more likely to overturn the tables in the temple than just make a quiet statement.”

He tipped his head. “What makes you think you’re a disruptive person?”

She shrugged and kept on walking. “I used to be. Hence the shunning here.”

“People change.” They’d reached his Jeep, and for the first time, Peta noticed the mud and peat splashed onto the fenders. No one really needed a car on the island. Twice a week—Monday morning and Friday evening, if she remembered correctly—the car ferry came over for those who needed to head to or return from the mainland. Today was Tuesday. Would she see many cars this Friday night? Would she even be here then?

Lawson opened the passenger door for her. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Is there another restaurant?”

“No, so we may as well go back to my house.”

She climbed in and looked up at him as he still held the door. “You don’t have to feed me.”

“What kind of Christian would I be if I walked away from you now? Besides I’m hungry and you must be, too, because you didn’t buy any food at the store.”

A practical man—and a compassionate one—she decided. As she watched him open his door to climb in, she found herself glad that he’d stood up to Ellie.

But who was he? What had brought him here?

Once buckled in, he drove through the village, past Danny’s house and up a side street that led to the fishing weirs. In the time she’d been gone, a few homes had been built on the once-empty road. Years ago, Danny’s parents had owned all the land up this way. She and Danny and others used to head here on warm summer nights to party, and plan the trouble they’d eventually get into.

She hated those memories and the guilt they heaped on her now.

The driveway Lawson pulled into led to a modest, modern home. She liked the house immediately. Built of logs, it seemed to be more an appendage of its environment than a building. The rustic cabin swept down on the south-facing side, while keeping the north face tucked into the dense mix of spruce and pine.

She looked around. The house had no yard. It wasn’t as if, being new, the yard might still need to be landscaped. No, the house was deliberately nestled in the crowded woods that were still standing as they had for years. Odd that someone wouldn’t want even a small lawn.

She looked over at him. “Did you build this house?”

“No, I rent it.”

She frowned. “This was Danny’s folks’ land. Did you rent it from him?”

“Danny used it as income-generating property.”

She nodded. Danny preferred the easy life, leaving her to wonder once again why he’d remained on this sparsely populated island that had so little action. She turned to Lawson. “Why rent the lighthouse cottage, too? This place looks better.”

A pause. “A change. The cottage has a lot of history.”

His answer didn’t make much sense to her. But something in it hinted that she shouldn’t push the issue. Instead, she asked, “What brought you to Northwind, anyway?”

Another distinct pause. “My parents died and I needed to de-stress.”

The answer was curt and brief. And a little too pat, she thought. There was clearly more to it, but she dropped the subject. She liked her privacy and would return the same courtesy.

Lawson shut off the engine. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make us some sandwiches. I can even give you some food to hold you over until you get to the store.”

“Thanks.” It was hardly his responsibility, but she appreciated the gesture. Lawson was being very kind to her. Too kind, almost, but after what happened at the café, she wasn’t about to bite the hand willing to feed her.

Her pastor often said that to allow someone to minister to you was as good as ministering to others. Accepting help was a part of glorifying God.

Who felt rather far away right now.

Inside the house, she glanced around. Spartan, almost, with little furniture. Next to the dining room table stood a desk, on which a laptop sat closed, and papers lay scattered in an arc around it. In a far corner was a large metal detector. Beachcombing, to de-stress, or was it for something else? Beyond was the living room, also sparsely furnished with just a couch, a chair and a side table.

After starting a pot of coffee, Lawson set everything needed for sandwiches on the dining room table. Peta, hungrier than she realized, made herself a large sandwich. They ate in silence, the only sound the coffee as it percolated and dripped into its pot.

“You know I’m going to ask why everyone on this island hates you,” he said mildly after finishing half his sandwich.

“What happened to Christian discretion?”

He smiled briefly. “Did I show any of that at the café?”

True, he didn’t. She eyed him cautiously. Then, knowing he may as well learn the truth from her, she began.

“I was the bad kid growing up,” she started. “My parents split early on, and I went to live with my mother, but I was young and unruly, and she couldn’t handle me. By the time I was six, my mother had dumped me back on the island with her older sister.”

“You were born here?”

She nodded. “As was my mother, right in the clinic beside the B & B. In fact, the lady who owns the inn is my oldest aunt, Aunt Kathleen. But blood isn’t always thicker than water when you’re a troublemaker and a financial burden.”

“Children are never a burden.”

That was nice to hear, but he didn’t know the whole story. “I came back to live with Aunt Linda, who never married and I know why. She was cold and nasty and told everyone that she only kept me because my mother paid her. So I grew up knowing that I wasn’t loved.” She tilted her head slightly at his own cautious expression. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I can’t believe that your whole childhood was miserable.”

“There were some okay moments. I hung out with Danny, and we had fun at first. But he was wild, too, and I was mad at everyone. So we ended up becoming the island’s troublemakers. If anyone criticized us, we’d do our best to get back at them. My aunt would punish me, and I’d fight back. One day, the Family Services—that’s what I think it was called back then—came to talk to her, but she said she wasn’t going to let me go, because I meant too much to her.”

“So she did care for you.”

Peta laughed and shook her head. “Not quite. I heard her telling Aunt Kathleen afterward that she’d just said that because she’d asked my mother for more money, and my mother had agreed.”

Lawson took a sip from his mug, a slight frown pressing his brows together. He looked comforting sitting there, his dark blue shirt open at the neck, and the sleeves rolled up to just below the elbows. Like someone she could trust.

She cleared her throat. “In all fairness, I wasn’t the easiest kid to raise. I defied everyone. I set fires to brush, I vandalized buildings, and did tons of rotten stuff. Even to Danny.”

Lawson’s hand froze as he was setting down his mug. “Wasn’t he your friend?”

“Kids aren’t always nice, Lawson. I did stupid things.”

“Like what?”

She looked away. Should she even be mentioning this? Would it affect her defense, if she needed one? Would Lawson go straight to the police with what she was about to say? For the first time, she thought about getting a lawyer. Why hadn’t she considered that before now?

She sighed. “I went over on the mainland for the weekend once when I was sixteen. Danny followed me and we headed into Saint John for the evening. Being a port city, we figured we’d see some action. I’d met some kids there the year before when Aunt Linda went to a funeral and I had to spend time with my mom. I dragged Danny down to their place, and introduced them to him. He was looking for a job by then, and this older guy was there and just happened to be looking for someone to work for him.”

“What kind of work?”

Wetting her lips, she set down her sandwich. “Selling drugs, doing odd jobs, scaring people who didn’t pay what they owed him. Stuff like that. Danny was husky enough for the work.” It hurt to admit, even after all these years, that she’d been the one who had gotten Danny mixed up with drug dealers.

“Drugs?” Lawson straightened. “You should tell the police that. It could be important to the investigation.”

She shrugged. “It was a long time ago, and Danny said he’d quit working for Gary. It was my fault, really. I had introduced the two.”

“Gary?” Lawson’s word was tight.

“Yes. Gary Marcano. I wish I’d never met him. Danny changed after he started working for him. He got cocky and ruder, and had too much money.”

She looked around at the sparse surroundings. “A year and a half later, Aunt Linda died and willed everything to Aunt Kathleen. I was left with nothing, so I just left. The islanders were glad to see me go.”

She stood, scraping the chair along the hardwood floor. All of a sudden, she hated that she’d told her sorry story to someone who was practically a perfect stranger, as much as she hated that the old fear of being abandoned could still grip her. “I should leave. Thanks for the food. I appreciate it.”

He rose. “Let me take you home.”

“No. I can walk. It’s still light out and I need the exercise. I’ll be fine, really.”

He tilted his head, gauging, she was sure, if she was really okay. “You’ve been through a lot today.”

Finding her old boyfriend dead, being accused of his murder and then being shunned by everyone? Oh, yeah, she’d been through a lot today. “That’s why I need to walk.” She grabbed the grocery bag with the foodstuffs he’d put together, and stuck out her hand. “Thank you. For everything.”

Lawson’s warm fingers wrapped around her small, cold hand. A comforting gesture. For the briefest moment, she wouldn’t have minded a hug from this man. Anything to remind her that she was…lovable.

Something that her Lord couldn’t provide for her right now.

She shook away the folly and yanked back her hand. She wasn’t there for any comfort. And a stranger, however handsome and helpful, wasn’t going to be her lifeline. Certainly not if he lived on this island.

The only sign of life on her way to the cottage was a couple of children coloring the sidewalk outside their home with sturdy sticks of chalk. They watched her with keen interest as she stepped onto the road so as not to disturb their masterpiece.

Beyond the clinic, the road bent right and headed past the church. Her driveway plunged into the trees at a narrow lane on the left. The land around the old lighthouse and its replacement was kept clear, but at the perimeter, thick trees cloaked the lane’s entrance.

Daylight was fading behind some distant clouds, so Peta quickened her step, knowing she hadn’t left any lights on in the cottage and not wanting to be near the edge of the cliffs at dark. She heard a soft, rustling noise to her right, and quickened her pace. Another stupid cat, no doubt trying to freak her out.

Sea and salt caught on her tongue, telling her she was near the cliff, and that the wind had picked up. The drive in here this afternoon had been breathtaking, literally, with the road skimming too perilously close to the cliff.

But now the way felt damp and lonely and her heart tripped up several beats. She hefted up her groceries. Don’t look down. Don’t look at the edge of the cliff.

She glanced that way just the same. Her knees gelled, then liquefied. Her breath stalled in her throat. So high up, it made her ears ring. A gust buffeted her and she pushed too hard against it—

And stumbled. Then, in a desperate attempt to regain her footing, she tumbled over the cliff.