Читать книгу Shake Down - Jill Elizabeth Nelson - Страница 12

THREE

Janice’s eyes popped open to find hazy fingers of dawn plucking at the edges of yellowed shades. Fat chance she’d get any more sleep. She’d struggled for the few hours she’d obtained. The hazardous events of yesterday haunted her.

What should she make of all the crazy things that had happened? True accidents or arranged? Was someone out to get her, or was she just skittish from her recent brush with death in Denver or because of the taint of her birth family? How could she know the difference? Probably not by running away, though the option appealed like a high, dry cave in a monsoon. She couldn’t live life huddled in the dark behind stone walls. Whatever was going on, she had to face it. Maybe yesterday was a fluke and today would be smooth sailing. No way to find out until she got up and plunged into the tasks ahead.

Janice gathered her muscles to sit up but subsided with a huff onto her inflated mattress. Her battered body objected to a perky start. Scowling, she looked around her Spartan surroundings in the larger of the cottage’s two bedrooms. The only adornments were gossamer cobwebs dangling from the ceiling. The few utilitarian objects scattered about had come inside with her.

Her suitcase yawned open in one corner. A lamp she’d bought in Edgartown sat on the floor in the opposite corner. Nothing decorated the weathered walls, not so much as a mirror, which she no doubt badly needed. She ran her tongue over her teeth. A toothbrush would be welcome, also.

There was a silvered mirror in the dilapidated bathroom, a toothbrush in her suitcase and jugs of water in the kitchen to take care of her liquid ablutions until the water was restored whenever the plumber came today. Provided the plumbing still worked after all this time, she’d be able to take a shower. Until then, she would have to be downright eighteenth century in caring for her personal needs.

The notion had been in the category of minor inconvenience until her accidents of yesterday. Now the simplest activities could be a challenge, but she’d manage. She had to. Staying at a public place and answering well-meant questions from strangers was out of the question when she’d come here for privacy and anonymity.

Finally, steeling herself against the aches and pains, Janice eased upright and gingerly stretched—with one arm anyway—then stuffed her feet into a pair of mule slippers. Yawning, she shuffled to the kitchen where her food, toaster, hot plate and cleaning supplies waited.

Yesterday when she and Shane returned from the hospital, the electricity was on—thankfully. And thank goodness for electric baseboard heat. At least the cottage was nicely warm this morning. Janice had a haunting reason to dread a cold environment. Not something she was going to allow herself to think about this morning. She pushed away the memory as she reached for a fresh bottle of water from the vintage 1950s refrigerator that went nicely with the scuffed and chipped burnt-orange countertops.

Shane had given up on urging her to seek out the comfort of a hotel and insisted on carrying everything from her trunk into the cottage. He’d made several trips to the tune of her warning about that faulty porch board. He’d even blown up her mattress with the help of the electronic air pump, calling the gadget “pretty slick,” then helped unpack and put away all her kitchen items.

“You’ve got enough here to see you through a brief famine.” He’d laughed as he stowed boxes and cans. He had a nice laugh.

Bathed in early morning sunrays that reached her through the kitchen window, Janice’s spirits took an upturn. Her unexpected helper was turning out to be equal parts amusing and exasperating. Shane had been a total mother hen about leaving her here alone last night, but she’d been firm, and at last he’d taken Atlas and headed out with a final admonishment to get a landline phone installed ASAP.

Yes, Sergeant Gillum, she’d thought and nearly saluted. After what they’d been through, he’d probably felt as though he had a stake in her well-being. What would she have done without him? Matters would probably have gone quite differently yesterday without his help.

Janice sobered. Was Shane Gillum among God’s ways of assisting her through this rough patch or were things coming together too easily? Not that her injuries equated to easy, but her replacement worker had popped up effortlessly, seemingly out of nowhere. Should she be suspicious?

Suspicion and paranoia were family traits—the guilty were naturally suspicious of others. Since she had no guilty reasons for coming here to dispose of this property, she’d like to choose a different reaction. Shane had showed up when she’d needed someone and then gone above and beyond to be helpful.

He appeared to be a private sort, as she was herself. In all other respects, he’d proved compassionate and helpful. Just a guy looking for some peace of mind through a change of scenery. Again, they had a lot in common. Hopefully, they would work together well—he’d work and she’d supervise, that is.

If he was starting a new antiquing hobby, she’d been told the storage unit in Edgartown held quite a few pieces. She’d yet to check out the contents and would need help when she started sorting through things. Shane would come in more than handy. Some items she might use to stage the cottage for sale. Others she could sell outright. Maybe Shane would be interested in some of the pieces in exchange for his work. Then her budget wouldn’t be so strained. Who knew? Maybe she’d find a few things to keep for herself.

What was she thinking? Janice shook her head as she capped the bottle of water. She wanted nothing that bore the Moran stain. Whatever she couldn’t sell or exchange for labor would go into the nearest trash bin.

An hour later she’d washed, dressed with a bit of an awkward struggle in a sweatshirt and jeans, and brushed her teeth and hair. After numerous one-handed attempts, she’d finally managed to gather her heavy locks away from her face and into a loose ponytail bound with a large hair clip.

Tired before the day had any traction under it she leaned against the kitchen counter while her bagel toasted. Her breakfast popped up just as the porch boards squealed and a knock sounded on the door. Glancing from the steaming, golden-brown goodness to the front door and back again, she sighed and headed to answer the knock. If Shane’s early-bird habits were going to cause her a cold meal, she’d dock his pay. Well, at least she’d razz him a little.

Janice opened the door, a quip on her tongue, but the words froze behind her teeth. The most unusual person she’d ever seen in her life—and she’d seen a few—gazed at her with bright hazel eyes rimmed in a virtual rainbow of eye shadow. The woman was about a head and a half shorter than Janice but nearly as wide as the doorway. She wore a floral print, muumuu-style dress under a crisp white apron edged in eyelet lace. A knitted shawl hugged sturdy shoulders, and a silver-white, beehive hairdo rose to a height that a more slender neck might find difficult to support. She hugged a small paper sack to her ample bosom.

“Hi, there,” the woman said with a beaming smile framed in vivid red lipstick. The word there came out “they-ah.” Definitely a native New Englander.

“Hello.” Janice tried a return smile, but it probably didn’t succeed as much more than a puzzled grimace.

“When I heard someone was out at the old Moran place, I could scarcely believe my ears. But here you are, pretty as a picture.” The woman bobbed her several chins.

“I take it the rumor mill is alive and well on Martha’s Vineyard.” So much for a low profile.

“You got that right, lambkin, and second to none.” The woman grinned and rocked on pudgy feet overflowing serviceable brown clogs. “I apologize that it’s taken a while for me to find a spare minute to drop by. I knew someone was here a couple of days ago when some fishermen at sea reported spotting lights up at the old Moran place. Scared their hair frizzy. They were talkin’ all crazy-like about ghosts and long-dead pirates, but I told ’em in no uncertain terms to stow their imaginations. There’s always a sensible explanation, and I’m lookin’ at her. I—”

“That’s impossible.” Janice burst into the woman’s chatter.

“What’s impossible?” The rainbow eyes blinked at her.

“Lights. Here. Days ago. I didn’t arrive on the island until yesterday morning, and the electricity wasn’t turned on until yesterday afternoon.”

“Well, what do you know about that?” Her guest frowned. “I’m thinkin’ some jackdaws bored of a poor night’s fishin’ got a snoot full and started tellin’ each other stories about bootleggers and pirates. Imagined the lights out of the reflection of the moon on the water.”

Janice inhaled a deep breath. Pirates? Bootleggers? Typical activities of her ancestors. But no peg-legged, eye-patched ghost was behind the strange clump of accidents she’d encountered since reaching Martha’s Vineyard. If those things were sabotage, they’d been carried out by flesh and blood.

“Sorry to see you’ve met with difficulties.” Her guest nodded toward Janice’s sling. “Please tell me you didn’t get hurt on our island.”

“I can’t assure you of that, but it was my own fault for not watching my step going down into the basement.” For now, Janice would count that version true, unless examination of the broken step told a different story.

The woman clucked. “I was on my way to work this morning and just had to see if I’d heard right. Then I saw your lights were on for real, so I thought I’d stop and introduce myself. Esther Mae Furbish here. Essie Mae to my friends, and that’s everyone!” She burbled a laugh that drew a genuine smile from Janice.

“I’m Janice Swenson, the Realtor handling renovation and sale of the property.”

“Sale, you say? Place like this’ll bring a pretty nickel with all those off-islanders hungry for vacation homes.” Essie Mae’s lips pursed as though she’d sucked something sour, but then she broke into her infectious grin. “Guess I should be grateful for the summer swarms. Without the tourist trade my job would be in jeopardy. My little place is next one up the road from here, Chilmark-way. You couldn’t buy it off me for love or money. To hang on to it, I wait tables at the Beach Shanty in Menemsha. You stop on in someday soon for the best chowder on the island. If I’m not there, tell ’em Essie Mae sent you, and you’ll get a 10 percent discount.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the offer.” A stiff breeze whooshed across the porch, ruffling the fringe on Essie Mae’s shawl and lapping at Janice with a chilly tongue. She shivered.

“Here I am keeping you standing in the doorway with my jawing.” Essie Mae hugged her shawl close, displaying glittery blue nail polish and an eclectic array of rings on every finger, including the thumb.

“Would you like to come in?” Janice stood back.

Maybe she could share her bagel or even toast another one, but she’d be challenged to know where to seat a guest with only a folding camp chair available. Apparently she needed to remedy the furniture situation sooner rather than later if curious neighbors were going to be stopping by.

“Another time, lambkin. Like I said, I’m due at work.” Essie Mae checked her watch and let out a little squeak. “Better scoot. Here you are.” She extended the brown paper bag. “Mulberry preserves. Made ’em myself.”

“Thank you.” Janice took the bag. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You already said it, lambkin. Thank you is more than enough.” She waggled be-ringed fingers, turned and took a step away from the door. “Whoops!” Her arms flapped as she regained her balance. “Soft spot in the floorboards, dear,” she said over her shoulder. “Good luck to you. The place needs a lot of TLC.”

“So sorry about that,” Janice called as Essie Mae hustled off the porch, holding her towering hairdo in place against the wind.

Janice’s pulse fluttered in her throat. She’d forgotten about the treacherous footing until it was too late to warn her guest. Unless she wanted to be liable for someone’s broken leg, she’d better address the porch boards first thing.

She returned to the kitchen, shaking her head. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she pulled the jar of preserves from the bag. Her mouth watered. What a thoughtful woman. And entertaining, too! If circumstances were different, Janice might enjoy a stay on the island.

At least now she had something yummier than margarine to spread on her bagel. A few more seconds in the toaster would warm it again. She pressed the toaster lever down as the creaky porch announced another visitor or maybe the return of the same.

With a groan, Janice headed for the door. A knock sounded, punctuated by a loud crack and a canine yelp. Atlas! She broke into a run.

* * *

At the sound of splintering wood and a high-pitched yip, Shane whirled from the door and dropped his gaze to find Atlas struggling to free his right hind leg that was buried in a hole in the floorboards. Scolding himself for allowing the dog to frisk around the rickety porch while he knocked, Shane knelt and placed his hand on the whimpering animal’s head.

“Steady there, boy.” The gentle words and touch must have ministered some comfort because Atlas stopped trying to tug his leg from between the boards and subsided, panting, onto the porch.

“Oh, no!” Janice knelt by his side.

“Pet him and calm him while I work his leg out,” Shane said.

She immediately complied, cooing to the animal and stroking his head. Atlas’s eyes rolled up in doggy bliss and he relaxed further.

“Perfect.” Shane gave Janice a grateful look.

Faint shadows under her eyes betrayed a fitful night’s sleep, but other than that he’d rarely seen a more attractive female completely devoid of makeup. The crisp temperature nipped color into her cheeks and her emerald gaze glowed in the sun’s early rays.

Jerking his attention from her riveting face, Shane worked his hands down between Atlas’s haunch and the boards. A few slivers pricked the skin of his hands and the backs of his wrists, but he paid no attention as he worked the dog’s furry leg upward in gentle pulls.

At last the animal sprang free and jumped up, knocking Janice over. She let out a soft squawk as she landed on her back. Atlas took her position as an invitation to bathe her face with his tongue. Laughter vied with spluttering as she received the dog’s adoration.

Shane grabbed Atlas’s collar with a stern command to sit. The dog obeyed, but gazed up at him with innocent surprise written on his whiskery face. Shane suppressed a smile. He couldn’t have his pet bowling people over and nearly drowning them in slobber, particularly someone who was already injured.

He knelt beside Janice, who was struggling one-handed into a sitting position. “Are you all right?”

“Just fine.” She wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Guess I’ve had my bath this morning, though. How’s Atlas?”

“He’s good. I think his fur cushioned him from scrapes or slivers, which is more than I can say for myself.” He grimaced at bits of wood sticking from his skin and small amounts of blood welling from a few raw scrapes.

“Come inside,” Janice said. “There’s a first-aid kit among all that stuff you unloaded for me yesterday.”

Letting out tiny groans, she began to rise. Shane reached out to help her, but she batted him away with a chuckle.

“I may be bruised and battered, but I’ll manage to stand on my own two feet, thank you. But now you’ve got war wounds, and we haven’t even begun to fight the restoration battle.”

She led the way to the door and shoved it open. Smoke billowed out, along with the unmistakable reek of burned bread.

“My bagel!” she cried.

Shane burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself. Her expression was so comical, as if her greatest treasure had been ruined. She shot him a scowl and then her lips broke apart in a grin.

She shook her head. “Are you as good a fireman as you are a paramedic? We need to open some windows and clear the smoke out of here. Then I’ll play EMT on those scrapes and slivers.”

“After that we go buy lumber to fix that break on the porch.”

“Great minds,” she quipped, eyes twinkling.

Shane’s pulse did a funky little jig and he quickly turned away and got busy prying windows open. A few minutes later he sat in the folding camp chair, while Janice knelt beside him picking slivers out of his skin with tweezers. A scent of smoke lingered in the air and Atlas went about sniffing every corner, nook and cranny. Shane fisted the hand she wasn’t working on. What got into him that he barely restrained the impulse to reach out and touch the wealth of shimmering chestnut hair that masked her face?

This tender, compassionate woman was no Moran. She probably hadn’t a clue what sort of crime family her employer came from...or what danger the jerk had sent her into. If Shane thought it would keep this innocent Realtor safe, he’d be tempted to go away. Right now, the best thing Janice had going for her as long as she refused to leave the island was his watchful presence.

“How about I try again with the bagels?” she asked as she finished cleaning and dressing the minor wounds.

“Better yet, how about I treat us to breakfast this morning? The nearest lumberyard is Vineyard Haven. I know because I bought a few things there last week. It’s only a hop and a skip out of our way to stop at this great home-cooking place in Menemsha.”

Janice lifted her eyebrows. “Let me guess: The Beach Shanty.”

“You’re kidding me.” Shane laughed. “Essie Mae’s been by here already?”

“She visited you, too?”

“Day after my arrival on the island. I think she fancies herself a one-woman Welcome Wagon.”

“Either that or she gets a commission for every bowl of chowder she sells.”

“That chowder would sell itself. My mouth is watering already.”

“Chowder for breakfast?”

“Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“With a challenge like that, I guess it’ll be two bowls of chowder. Essie Mae will be thrilled. What a unique character. I think I like her.”

“Me, too.”

Essie Mae was the sort of affable soul people took to right away. Janice was deep and sometimes hard to read, but already he liked her more than he had bargained for, and they’d been acquainted for only one day—granted under extreme circumstances that could create an atmosphere for rapid bonding.

This woman was hiding something, though. Something that troubled her deeply. What could it be? Was it just that she suspected her accidents weren’t so accidental? Or was there more to her burden? Whatever the issue, they would have to talk about it. The problem with the discussion idea was that he had things to hide, also.

“Give me a little help with a tape measure,” Shane said, “and we’ll jot down length, width and depth of the existing porch before we take off. Shouldn’t hold us up but a few minutes.”

Janice grabbed a pad of scratch paper and a pencil. She proved familiar with handling a tape measure in tandem with someone else. Probably came with the Realtor territory. As he knelt on the ground to take the height measurement, his knee pressed into the mellow earth next to the piece of the broken roof tile he’d been examining yesterday. His conscience smote him. She needed to be alerted even if he dared not offer her the reasons why.

Shane picked up the tile and handed it to her where she knelt on the edge of the porch. “Notice anything?”

She examined the edges of the tile and her lips pressed together with a soft humph. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?” Her gaze met his. Did he detect a smidgeon of relief glowing in the green depths? “I was starting to wonder about all these strange things happening, but I didn’t know how to say so without sounding paranoid or making excuses for clumsiness.”

Shane nodded. So she’d been worried that he’d think she was seeing threat where none existed or that he’d interpret any protest as a cover-up for a fault. He could understand that motivation.

“Clumsy is not a word I associate with you,” he said. “As for deliberate sabotage? At the very least, the marks look suspicious.”

“Agreed, but whoever did this couldn’t know the tile would come down on top of someone.”

“But there was a decent chance of it. Particularly if anyone knew the place was about to be renovated, and there would be a good deal of traffic and probably hammering and bumping and thumping.”

Janice frowned and her expression went distant. Then her gaze met his, grim and solid. “I surprised an intruder on my porch yesterday—just before you showed up.”

“Who was it?”

“No clue. Except he—or she—was shorter than you. Probably shorter than me, too. The person was peering through the picture window. All I could make out was the outline of a face and part of a torso. I felt like...” Her voice trailed off.

“What?”

“Nothing. Probably my imagination. You know, because I was so startled, I got the feeling the intruder meant me harm.”

“And here you have the proof.” Shane tapped the broken tile.

“No, if the trespasser had been sawing on the roof right before I caught him, I would have heard the noise.”

“The person could have been here before, you know. Maybe the intruder came back to check on his or her handiwork.”

Janice sat back on her haunches. “Could be. In fact, Essie Mae said some fishermen saw lights up here a few nights ago. But what would be the point of booby-trapping this place?”

Shane dropped his gaze to the tape measure. He couldn’t answer that question—truthfully anyway. “Let’s just be extra careful from now on, okay?”

“Should we report this to the police?”

Her voice inflection said that she dreaded that option almost as much as he did, but he wouldn’t discourage the measure—not when her safety was involved. “Probably a good idea.”

She sighed. “All right. Maybe there will be an office in Menemsha or Vineyard Haven where we can file a report. I just hate—” She bit her lip, her gaze on the rippling ocean. “I mean, I so wanted this job to go smoothly.”

“Rumors of a saboteur could hurt a sale.”

“True.” She sent him a wry smile. “But from a few things Essie Mae let drop, this place already has an unsavory reputation. Some of the locals apparently consider it haunted.”

Shane shrugged. “An air of mystery might have extra appeal to a certain sort of buyer.”

“Way to cheer me up.” She bopped him companionably on the shoulder. “We’re burning daylight so we’d better get this last measurement and be on our way.”

Soon they had all the figures they needed and headed for Shane’s Jeep. He insisted on driving his vehicle. Janice countered by insisting on paying for gas. The debate ended in Shane’s surrender on the gas issue as he buckled Atlas into the backseat.

“You’re either a really good guy or a very bad driver,” Janice said as Shane slipped into the driver’s seat.

“What makes you say that?” He started the vehicle.

She laughed. “It takes an unusually conscientious pet owner to buckle his dog into a seat belt, or else a pet owner who has serious reservations about his driving ability.”

Shane shook his head, grinning. “How about this option? I’m a nervous new pet owner who happened to adopt a dog that tolerates neurotic behavior in his master. I’m sure Atlas would rather stick his head out the window and let his tongue flap in the breeze.”

“That explanation works, too.”

The short trip passed in pleasant small talk and soon they drove into a tiny fishing village. A large statue of a marlin welcomed them to the community. Boats from dinghy-size to fishing trawlers to majestic schooners lined piers that stretched long fingers into the green-blue ocean. With the jumble of masts piercing the skyline, the land-cupped bay resembled a massive toothpick holder.

Shane brought the Jeep to a halt in a parking place across the street from a clapboard structure with portholes for windows and colorful sea creatures painted in framed sections of the exterior. Over the red-painted door hung what looked like a hand-scrawled sign proclaiming The Beach Shanty.

His passenger let out a small giggle. “This place is as unique-looking as its waitress.”

“I’d say they belong together. Actually, Essie Mae is part owner.”

“Good for her,” Janice said as she emerged from the vehicle.

“Wait here,” Shane told Atlas as he unbuckled him. “I’ll bring you a fresh-baked biscuit.”

The dog whiffled softly and stretched out in the seat.

Shane turned in time to see Janice begin crossing the street. Traffic was sparse. The types of rugged vehicles chugging down the road suggested fishermen and other laborers going about their tasks. He began to follow Janice across, but the rev of an engine swiveled Shane’s head toward the intersection behind them.

A large, rattletrap pickup squealed around the corner, Janice and Shane in the path of its rusty grille.

“Look out!” he shouted and raced toward her.