Читать книгу The Cottages On Silver Beach - RaeAnne Thayne - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“THAT’S IT, CASSIE. You’re doing great. Focus on your sweet spot.”

Megan grinned through the chain-link fence at her niece on the pitcher’s mound, and Cassie shifted her steely-eyed attention from the pigtailed batter at the plate to send Megan a quick flash of smile. The slanted lavender light from the dying sun hit the girl perfectly, turning her face golden in the reflection. Almost without thinking, Megan lifted her camera between links of the fence, focused and clicked away.

The evening somehow managed to improve on the perfection of the morning. The air was soft and warm and lovely with the scents of freshly cut grass, popcorn and cotton candy from the Lions’ Club booth a few hundred yards away.

Behind Megan, families of the girls cheered them on with enthusiasm.

She snapped several more of Cassie then turned her 70-200 zoom lens to the batter for the opposing team, Rosie Sparks, whose parents went to school with Megan. She was a power hitter—if such a thing could exist in a softball league of nine-and ten-year-old girls—and she stared down Cassie, her face screwed up with concentration as the count rose to two strikes and one ball.

“One more, baby,” Luke called from the bleachers. “You got this. Just bring it home now.”

Megan shifted her lens to her brother, unable to resist. His features were intense and focused, without the shadows that usually haunted him, and she snapped away to capture Luke in a rare, unguarded moment.

Her brother rarely showed emotion. Some of that control had been ingrained in them from childhood but much came out of the past difficult seven years.

She photographed him for a few more moments, then amused herself by taking candids of some of the others in the stand, though she purposely avoided capturing the image of at least one person in the crowd—the man sitting on the top row of the bleachers, wearing a white dress shirt and jeans so precisely creased they might as well have been ironed.

Trust Elliot Bailey to harsh the mellow of a beautiful spring evening.

She knew why he was here. His brother’s stepdaughter was on Cassie’s team and all the Baileys were there in force. Charlene and Mike sat just below him, along with the rest of the Bailey clan.

It warmed her, the way they stepped up to support each other. There wasn’t a softball game, dance recital, soccer match or spelling bee the family would consider missing.

She wouldn’t have expected Elliot to join them all, but here he sat, part of his family, yet somehow always remote in his own way.

She shifted back to the action in time to see Cassie deliver a perfect pitch, right in the strike zone. Behind the plate, the ump thumbed over his shoulder to indicate Rosie was out, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

The Baileys and the rest of the crowd leaped to their feet, cheering wildly—okay, maybe a little more enthusiastically than a softball game between preteen girls really warranted, but Megan wasn’t about to argue.

“Good game,” Luke called to Cassie. “Way to go, Pitch.”

“Yay Cass!” Bridger called out, and his sister turned to both of them and beamed.

“Hamilton has a good arm, and she’s fast.”

Behind her, Bobby Sparks spoke loud enough to be heard by many of the people in the stands. It was his daughter Rosie who had just struck out. “She must get that from her dad. He was always fast. Look at how he’s been running from a murder charge for all these years—and getting away with it, too.”

The reference quieted the crowd around them with an almost collective hush and she caught several furtive looks at Luke, whose features looked etched in granite. She gave a hurried glance toward Bridger and saw with relief he wasn’t paying any attention to the adult conversation but was busy chattering with Elliot’s nephew by marriage, Marshall’s stepson Will.

“Cut it out, Bobby.” Wyn Emmett glared at the man, who flushed.

This was the sort of thing her brother lived with all the time, finding himself the center of whispers and veiled—and not-so-veiled—accusations. It broke her heart every single time. Since the day Elizabeth disappeared seven years ago, Luke had faced this. Despite the fact that no charges had ever been filed against him, Luke had been tried and convicted in the court of public opinion.

Not everyone in Haven Point felt that way. Many, like Wyn, had been supportive. But enough small-minded people remained in the area, especially in the other towns that surrounded Lake Haven, to make things harder than they had to be for Luke and the children.

Paul Hamilton cast a long shadow on this community. Sometimes she didn’t know if Luke was being punished for his own perceived sins or because he looked like their bully of a father.

Megan couldn’t understand why her brother didn’t simply pick up and move away from the rumors and innuendo. His life would be so much easier. His construction business had struggled the last few years. Funny, but people could be a bit wary about employing a suspected murderer to build their homes.

Every time she asked him why he stayed, Luke only said this was his home and his children’s home and he wouldn’t let small-minded people push him out of it.

Because he stayed, she stayed. As simple as that. He needed her help with Cassie and Bridger and she didn’t know how she could walk away either.

“You’re coming to help us with the project tomorrow, aren’t you?” Katrina Callahan asked as everyone began gathering up their belongings and started clearing out the bleachers to make room for the next game. Kat held hands with a little girl who had the distinctive features of someone with Down syndrome—her daughter, Gabriella, who grinned at Megan.

“Oh, I forgot about the project,” she exclaimed. “What time?”

“We’re hoping to finish scraping the paint in the morning so we can start priming the place in the afternoon.”

Since the previous Christmas, the service organization they both belonged to had taken on the cause of an older woman in the nearby town of Shelter Springs, helping spruce up her house and yard. Before Christmas, Janet Wells had taken custody of her three grandchildren after their mother had been arrested on drug-related charges. The cobbled-together family was struggling with even the most basic care.

Megan had helped do a few other things at the house and greatly respected the woman for what she was doing. It was, unfortunately, a too-common situation, grandparents raising grandchildren.

Or in her own case, aunts helping to raise nieces and nephews.

“I would love to help but I’ll have to see how the day goes,” she said to Kat.

“I hope you can make it.”

“I can’t make any promises. I’ve got a million things to do tomorrow, between the inn and the art exhibit in a few weeks.”

Wynona Emmett, wife of the Haven Point police chief, joined them in time to hear that. “I can’t believe your gallery exhibit is all the way in Colorado! We have galleries here. Why couldn’t you have it somewhere closer to home?”

Maybe because nobody here had invited her to do a showing.

“It’s crazy that you have to leave the state entirely to exhibit a photography collection that focuses on Haven Point,” Katrina added.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter where it is,” Wyn went on. “I’m just so excited someone besides us is finally recognizing how amazing you are.”

“Thank you,” Megan said, warmth seeping through her at her friends’ confidence, which she was far from sharing.

What would she do without the Haven Point Helping Hands? They had carried her through some dark and difficult times.

“Don’t worry about tomorrow at Janet’s place,” Wyn insisted. “We should have plenty of volunteers. You should focus on the preparation you need to do for your gallery showing, doing whatever it takes to knock their socks off.”

“I’ll see how things go. I might be able to make it over in the afternoon to work on the painting,” she said, just as the girls finished giving their cheer and headed out into the bleachers to greet their families.

Cassie came straight toward her, beaming a thousand-watt smile. “Did you see me, Auntie Meg?”

“I watched the whole thing. Great game, kiddo.”

“Coach said I can pitch again next week.”

She set her camera aside to hug her. “Perfect! I can’t wait.”

“Did you get any pictures of me?”

“You know it, honey. We can look through them later while we’re having pizza.”

“Yay! Pizza!” Bridger exclaimed as he and Luke walked down the steps of the bleachers toward them.

“Are you sure you have time?” her brother asked. “I heard you tell Wyn and Kat how busy you are.”

“Don’t worry. I always have time for pizza.”

“We’ll meet you at Serranos, then. I’m not crazy about the crowd here.” Luke didn’t look in the direction of Elliot but she knew exactly what he meant.

The two men once had been close friends, but all that changed after Elizabeth vanished, when Elliot came down firmly on the side of those who thought Luke had been involved.

Elliot wasn’t the only friend Luke had lost following his wife’s disappearance, but it was probably the relationship he missed most. Not that her brother would talk about things like relationships or hurt feelings, but she could tell.

Having Elliot here had to be painful for Luke. Oh, she wished the man had never come home.

* * *

“GREAT TO HAVE you join us for dinner, though I’m a little surprised.”

At his brother’s words, Elliot raised an eyebrow. “What’s so surprising about gathering with my family to celebrate a mighty victory?”

Chloe, seated across the long expanse of table from him, preened at his words, and he gave her a little smile. She was a cute kid, he had to admit. So was her brother Will. The two of them had enriched all their lives.

Two years ago, he hadn’t had any nieces or nephews. Now he counted five. Milo, Gabriella, Christopher, Will and Chloe. Three-year-old Gabi, the child Katrina had adopted from Colombia earlier that year, was the youngest.

All of the children had been absorbed into the Bailey clan through rather unorthodox ways, but now he couldn’t imagine their family without them.

“Nothing, really,” Marshall said. “Only that you seemed in a big hurry to leave after the softball game, for a moment there. I’m glad you changed your mind, especially since I’m sure you’ve got work to do on your book.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he claimed. It wasn’t precisely the truth, but close enough.

“Whatever your reason, I’m so glad you’re here.” Marshall’s wife, Andie, beamed at Elliot. “My children don’t see enough of their favorite uncle.”

“Hey, what about me?” Cade Emmett protested.

“Or me,” Bowie Callahan said with a mock glower.

Andie smiled diplomatically at Wyn’s and Katrina’s respective husbands. “Their other favorite uncle.”

Over the past eighteen months, he had come to care deeply for Andie. She had been wonderful for Marshall, had softened his hard edges and brought laughter and joy into his world.

“My point is, I’m glad you could join us,” Andie said.

“So am I.”

“How long are you staying?” Katrina asked from her spot at the other end of the table.

“I’ve got the rental cottage for three weeks. Long enough for your wedding reception and a couple extra weeks to finish my manuscript.”

After that, he had no idea what he might be doing. That was nothing he was ready to share with his family yet. Nobody here in Haven Point knew about the shooting and he intended to keep it that way.

Yes, that was right. He had lied to his family.

He had told them he had bone spurs removed, though technically that wasn’t completely a lie since the surgeon had reported he had decided to take out a couple of small ones he’d seen while he was in there.

Elliot just hadn’t mentioned the bullet the guy had also removed—nor did he plan to.

“We’re so glad you can spend some time with us, darling.” Charlene smiled at him, but it didn’t quite push away the worry in her eyes. She had a fairly well-developed lie detector, especially after raising five children. Despite what he told her, he had a feeling his mother sensed something else was going on.

She wouldn’t hear it from him, though.

“You know I wouldn’t miss Kat’s big party,” he said.

His youngest sister looked up from helping Milo and Gabi color on the white paper tablecloth with the crayons Barbara Serrano had provided before they sat down. “Excuse me—did I imagine a phone conversation a month ago where you specifically apologized and told me you wouldn’t be able to make it?”

“Things change.” He shifted. “I’m here, right?”

“And we’re all so glad,” his mother soothed. “I’m not glad you needed surgery on your shoulder but it was so nice of the FBI to give you time off for your sister’s reception.”

“Wasn’t it?” he murmured. Nice hadn’t been part of that conversation. He had been ordered off the job while his shoulder healed and his actions were reviewed.

“We should order before Elliot changes his mind and decides he’s had enough of us all,” Katrina said, and he reminded himself to hug her later.

They were debating how many pies and what toppings when Wynona suddenly looked up.

“Oh, there’s Megan and her niece and nephew.” Wynona beamed and waved vigorously. “Hey, Hamilton family!”

His heart gave a ridiculous sharp kick and he couldn’t resist looking up. Megan was walking with Luke and his children. He knew he shouldn’t notice how bright and lovely she looked, with her auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail and her cheeks a little flushed from the cool of the evening.

She smiled at the Baileys, though it became more like a grimace when her gaze landed on him before she quickly pasted her features back into a smile.

Had anyone else noticed? he wondered.

“Hey, everyone,” she said. “Great game, Miss Chloe. You rocked shortstop this week.”

His step-niece grinned. “Thanks! Cassie was the star of the game, though.”

“Great pitching, Cassie,” Elliot’s mother agreed.

“You should join us for the celebratory pizza!” Katrina gestured to a table next to theirs. “We can pull up some chairs.”

He could see instantly that idea didn’t appeal much to Luke. The other man gave the table a curt nod. “We wouldn’t want to intrude. Matter of fact, kids, maybe we should order our pizza to go. It’s been a busy day and I know we’re all beat.”

The kids looked as if they wanted to protest but finally nodded.

“You can at least wait here and visit while she brings it out to you, then,” Elliot’s mother insisted.

Luke clearly didn’t like that idea but he was apparently just as helpless against Charlene’s sheer force of will as the rest of them.

“I’ll go talk to Barbara,” he said to Megan and the children. “Go ahead and sit if you want.”

“There’s room here by Chloe and Will,” Andie said.

The children sat down and were soon talking to their friends, and Megan sat down and did the same with Elliot’s sisters. He knew he didn’t imagine the way she carefully avoided looking in his direction.

As for Luke, he stood near the hostess table talking to Barbara Serrano and didn’t even come back after making their to-go pizza order.

The man wanted nothing to do with him. Elliot sipped at his beer, trying not to look at either Hamilton sibling while he pretended to be engrossed in the conversation Marshall and Cade were having about a local auto burglary investigation.

After fifteen minutes or so, a server came out from the kitchen with a large pizza box and a bag that probably contained side items like garlic bread and salad. She carried them over to Luke, who thanked her, still unsmiling, then carried the order over to their table.

“Kids, here’s our food. Let’s go.”

Cassie and Bridger grumbled a little but slid their chairs back from the table obediently.

Luke turned to his sister. “You’re welcome to stay. I can leave you a few slices of our pizza or you can get something else.”

She hesitated for only a moment, glancing around the table until her gaze landed on Elliot.

“No. I have plenty of things to do at home tonight. I’d better run. Good night, everyone.”

“Yeah. Night,” Luke echoed.

The family left with Megan leading the way out of the restaurant, holding hands with her niece on one side and her nephew on the other.

The moment the door closed behind them, Elliot finally felt as if his lungs could expand again.

Charlene heaved a big sigh, watching after the Hamiltons. “Those poor children. My heart aches for them, growing up without a mother.”

“They seem fairly well-adjusted,” Andie said. “They have lovely manners and seem to be doing well in school and have many friends.”

“I think they’re doing great,” Katrina agreed. “I’m just sad for Luke, always living under the cloud of suspicion.”

“Maybe there’s a reason for those suspicions,” Marsh said solemnly.

“Oh, come now,” Charlene said. “Surely you don’t think he had anything to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance.”

When Marsh didn’t answer, their mother turned on Elliot. “Tell him, Elliot. Lucas was one of your best friends. I can’t even begin to count the number of times he stayed at our house. You know he couldn’t have hurt his wife.”

Elliot’s mother had been the wife of the Haven Point police chief for decades. She had to know the world was not always a safe and beautiful place. Husbands beat their wives, mothers hurt their children, strangers attacked strangers.

Sure, compared to most places, Haven Point was a fairly safe community, but it wasn’t perfect.

“It’s been quite a few years since I had a sleepover in the backyard with Luke Hamilton,” Elliot said quietly.

“But you know who he is inside.”

He didn’t. Not anymore. His friend had become a stranger since Elliot left town after high school. Most of that was Elliot’s fault. He hadn’t kept up with old friendships as well as he should have, too busy building his career and carving out his new life. But when he had come home and contacted Luke to grab a beer or something, the other man inevitably seemed to have other plans.

People drifted apart. It wasn’t uncommon, especially when geography and time intervened.

Elizabeth had been his friend, too. They had even been partners on the debate team the year he had been a senior and she had been a junior. They had both been officers in Honors Club and she had been funny and smart, the female lead in almost all the school plays and one of the prettiest girls in town.

“You heard what Bobby Sparks said after the game. That’s a tough cloud for a man to live under, all these years later,” Charlene said. “It must be so hard, not knowing what happened to her. There’s nothing worse for a family. I wish one of the departments that have handled the case could have been able to discover something—anything—that might have helped find her.”

“I can’t even begin to tell you the hours that have been devoted to the case, both by the police department and now the sheriff’s department. It’s still very much an open investigation,” Marshall said.

“With little progress, apparently,” Charlene said tartly.

“You know as well as anyone that there can be a lot going on behind the scenes that the public never knows about,” Marshall said.

“Meanwhile, Luke Hamilton has to live his life under a cloud of suspicion,” Charlene said.

The server brought their pizza just then, which effectively ended the conversation. Marshall should consider himself lucky Charlene was distracted by the children, Elliot thought. Their mother could be relentless.

Later, while the women were busy talking about details for Katrina’s upcoming reception, Elliot turned to his brother.

“What is the status of the investigation into Elizabeth’s disappearance?” he asked.

Marsh looked down the table at the women, busy chattering away with each other, before answering. “Cold as that lake out there in January,” he admitted, frustration shading his voice. “Not much has happened for years. Every six months or so I’ll send my investigators through the files to do a fresh read, but all we have are dead ends. We get a few leads here and there, a tip called in that goes nowhere and the occasional crank call, but that’s about it.”

“You must have a theory.”

Marshall’s mouth tightened. “Depends on the day. I’ve gone back and forth. We have no eyewitnesses who saw or heard from Elizabeth Sinclair Hamilton past about eight p.m. the night she vanished. According to Luke, she went to bed early. He took a phone call from a subcontractor—we have the phone records that place him at home—close to ten, then says he fell asleep on the sofa before the evening news. When he woke up, it was five a.m., the baby was crying, and his wife was gone. Her car was still there, so if she left on her own, she walked—something she apparently liked to do. They had been fighting the night before, so he says he thought she went somewhere to cool down or maybe teach him a lesson about how hard it was to be home with a couple of little kids all day.”

“Seriously?” Elliot couldn’t dispute that the burden of caring for a couple of tiny children might be tough on a relationship, but he had a hard time picturing Elizabeth being so petty.

Marshall shrugged. “Doesn’t make much sense to me either. But that’s Lucas’s explanation for why he didn’t call police until almost dark. The thing is, his alibi is solid all day, between the nanny who showed early and the crew and subcontractors who were with him all day.”

His brother paused. “There were rumors about trouble in the marriage before she disappeared but no actual facts to back that up.”

“Any domestic disturbance calls?”

“One,” Marshall acknowledged. “About a week before she disappeared, the neighbors went overseas for a month and had a couple of college students house-sitting for them. The house sitters called 911, said they heard shouting and crying coming from Luke and Elizabeth’s place and a woman in distress. Dad went to the house to check things out, talk to both of them, but didn’t end up making any arrests. He reported it as a misunderstanding.”

Elliot didn’t want to think his father might have downplayed an actual domestic disturbance report simply because Lucas had been a friend of the Bailey family. He couldn’t be completely sure, though, especially in his father’s last few years on the job.

“There were others who came forward after she disappeared and reported she seemed increasingly unhappy in the previous days,” Marshall went on. “There are also...certain indications she might have wanted to hurt herself. That’s one theory, anyway. Apparently she was suffering severe postpartum depression and was being medicated.”

He had heard those rumors, too, but couldn’t easily credit it. The girl he had known in high school had been mercurial, certainly, but he wouldn’t have ever thought her capable of self-harm. It was entirely possible he didn’t have the whole picture, however.

“Would you mind if I look over the files while I’m in town? Not that I don’t think your detectives are competent but maybe some fresh eyes could offer a new perspective.”

Marshall gave him a closer look and Elliot tried to keep his features expressionless. “Why would you want to do that? Don’t you have enough on your plate, trying to finish a book?”

More than enough, he had to admit. He would be working late every night to finish the revisions of his manuscript. But Elizabeth’s disappearance had haunted him for years and he hated unanswered questions.

“She was a friend. I’d like to find out what happened to her. More than likely, I won’t see anything your people haven’t already considered, but it wouldn’t hurt to look.”

“Sure. Why would I mind if the Bulldog takes a look?”

He frowned at the nickname his siblings still sometimes called him. At least that one was better than the other one he knew Megan and some of her friends had called him. He’d overheard them talking at Marshall’s wedding.

Mr. Roboto.

Yeah, he knew exactly what she thought of him.

“You’re welcome to take a look,” Marsh said. “Come over to the office tomorrow and you can see everything we have.”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t know if he would discover anything new, but the prospect of digging into an investigation filled him with anticipation. He would much rather focus on an intriguing case that had bothered him for years than the woman who lived next door to him, the woman he could never have—or the mess he had left behind in Denver.

* * *

“YOU NEED TO go home. Right now.”

Megan took in the pinched features of her head housekeeper. Verla looked as if she would fall over at any moment. The only spots of color on her otherwise pale features were the bright blue of her eye shadow and a bright splotch of rouge on each cheek.

“I’m okay.” Verla mustered a smile. “I’m almost done.”

“No. You’re done now. The last thing I need is for you to end up in the hospital. Go home, climb into bed, turn on some trash TV and stay there until you feel better.”

She didn’t miss the relief on the other woman’s features, though Verla did try to hide it. “We’re shorthanded,” the housekeeper protested. “Everybody else has left for the day and I don’t have anyone to clean the cabins, which are due for housekeeping services today. Cedarwood is actually overdue since Elliot put up a do-not-disturb sign all week.”

“I’ll take care of it. Only two of them are occupied right now, so it shouldn’t take me more than an hour.”

She didn’t want to think about who was staying in one of those cabins.

Elliot had been there for a week, and though she had seen him coming and going, she had somehow managed to avoid being face-to-face with him since the night of the girls’ softball game.

“I’m so sorry.” If anything, Verla’s voice sounded weaker than it had at the front end of their conversation.

She pushed away thoughts of her unwanted guest. “You have nothing to apologize for, honey. You didn’t ask to get the flu. Now, go home and rest and don’t worry about anything for the next several days. I can organize the housekeeping crew and make sure they step up to take care of the workload. I prescribe sleep, chicken noodle soup and daytime television. In that order.”

“Yes, Dr. Hamilton.”

“Do you think you’re okay to drive home? I can have someone on the staff take you.”

Verla rolled her eyes. “It’s three blocks. I think I’ll be fine.”

Megan didn’t doubt it. Verla was agile and strong as a mountain goat, tough enough that even with the flu, she could probably parkour all the way home.

“Take as long as you need. I’m not heading to Colorado for another week, and even if you’re still sick when it’s time for me to go, the rest of the staff can fill in.”

“I hate to leave you in the lurch, but I don’t think I’d be much good to anyone until I kick this.”

Megan ushered her out the door with all the assurances she could muster. As soon as she closed the office door behind Verla, her smile slipped away. Drat. She didn’t want to do this. Why did Verla’s remaining workload have to include the cottages?

One would be relatively easy. The occupants of Hummingbird Cottage were a couple in their sixties, both retired schoolteachers, who were spending the week bird-watching and hiking around the area. They were quiet and pleasant, both tidy as could be.

The other one, however, was the cottage next to hers, Cedarwood Cottage. Elliot Bailey’s temporary home.

She could probably skip it for another day or two but that seemed cowardly, especially considering he had been there a week and the cottage hadn’t been cleaned by her staff in that time.

He seemed to be keeping busy, doing his level best to avoid everyone. He went jogging around the lake every morning and sometimes again at night, his arm still in a sling and held tight to his body. She had also seen the occasional take-out delivery and he had come back once with a few bags of groceries.

Not that she was watching him or anything.

At night while she was glued to her computer, editing photos, she would look over and see lights still on at the cottage next door. Sometimes the curtains moved when she looked over, as if she had just missed him standing there, looking in this direction.

In a way, she found it rather comforting to know that she was not alone in her after-midnight creative endeavors. It formed an odd connection between them. She and Elliot were both makers, toiling away in the dark hours when most others were sleeping.

She rolled her eyes at herself. Her attraction to him made no sense whatsoever. Except for their apparent shared affinity for working after hours, the two of them were complete opposites. She considered herself creative, impulsive, drawn to color and light and energy.

He was a tight-assed stick-in-the-mud.

Mr. Roboto. That was the nickname she and her friends used to call him.

It wasn’t kind and it probably wasn’t a fair assessment. While he might seem serious and focused on the outside, the books he wrote offered a different perspective. They were full of insight into the human character, deft turns of phrase, even clever humor that always took her by surprise.

She wasn’t going to think about him anymore, she told herself. He had already occupied entirely too much of her time on a day she had so much to do. She loaded up the inn’s golf cart with cleaning supplies and clean linens, then headed for the rental cottages.

The schoolteachers were gone for the day. At the inn’s complimentary breakfast—which Elliot had yet to enjoy—they told her they were driving to Stanley for the day in search of red-naped sapsuckers. Whatever the heck those were.

As Hummingbird Cottage was currently vacant, she decided to start there. It made sense, she told herself. She wasn’t simply delaying an unpleasant task.

This would be her workout for the day. She always worked up a sweat scrubbing floors, changing sheets, wiping out bathtubs. It wasn’t the most exciting job in the world, but she loved making the rooms and cottages of the Inn at Haven Point sparkle for their guests.

She didn’t mind the physical labor. As long as she had headphones and a good audiobook to hold her attention, she could clean for hours. She turned on the latest thriller by one of her favorite authors, grabbed her cleaning tools and headed into the cottage.

Unfortunately, she was a little too efficient. She was still listening to the first chapter by the time she finished straightening up after the orderly bird-watchers.

One down, one to go.

She walked out of their cottage, leaving behind the lemony smell of the cleaning spray they used.

Elliot’s vehicle was there, parked behind the cottage. Seeing it made her insides tremble with nerves. She didn’t want to face the man but had no idea how to get out of the task now.

With luck, maybe he would refuse housekeeping services. Sometimes when people rented the cottages for longer than a few days, they preferred not to be bothered and wanted to clean up after themselves.

As much as she dreaded talking to him again, she had to ask.

She walked up the porch, inhaling the sweet blooms of the lilac trees along the porch as she went. This was secretly her favorite of the five cottages. The view was the same as the others, but the flower boxes seemed to bloom more vibrantly and she loved the little pine tree cutouts on the shutters.

She gripped her supplies tightly with one hand and knocked on the door with her other fist.

Only the lap of the water against the shore at Silver Beach and the twittering of the Steller’s jays that nested in the big pine tree next to the cottage answered her. After a long moment, she knocked again. “Elliot? It’s Megan. I’m here to clean your place.”

She still heard no response and stood there, torn by indecision for several moments. She wanted to trot down those porch stairs and head back to the main building, leaving him to deal with his own mess.

She couldn’t do that. Verla said he had been there a week without housekeeping services. That may be the way he preferred it, but she needed to hear it from him.

The inn had a reputation for immaculately cleaned rental properties, one she and Verla protected with vigor. She wasn’t about to let him give them a less-than-perfect review in that department.

She tried one more time then convinced herself that he must be taking a run or perhaps he had walked up to one of the restaurants in town for brunch with someone in his family. After knocking hard a third time with no answer, she finally used her passkey to open the door.

She hadn’t been in the cottage since Elliot took up his temporary residence a week earlier. It shouldn’t have surprised her how quickly he seemed to have made it his own. A jacket had been draped over the back of the sofa, a tin of cashews sat next to the sofa and a pair of binoculars rested on the window seat overlooking the lake. Maybe Elliot had more in common with the bird-watching schoolteachers than she might have guessed.

Beyond that, the entire surface of the kitchen table was covered in papers, along with a sleek dark gray laptop.

What fascinating case was he writing about this time? She had a wild temptation to leaf through the papers but quickly turned her attention to cleaning the place, not comfortable invading his space more than she already was.

The cottage really didn’t need much beyond what the housekeeping staff liked to call a spit and polish.

She quickly straightened up the bathroom, hung fresh towels, remade his bed and ran the vacuum around, muscles tensed as she waited for him to show up.

After she had wiped the last countertop and dumped the last wastebasket, she finally couldn’t help herself. She eased over to the table and glanced down at the manila folder on top of the stack of papers. Just a peek, she told herself. She was dying to know what his next book would be about so she could tell Verla.

With the sound of her heartbeat loud in her ears, she glanced toward the door one last time, then casually opened the folder halfway for a little peek. She caught the words Haven Point Police Department along the top and realized these were copies of an official police file.

Was he working on a local case? Her gaze sharpened and she opened the folder all the way. It only took an instant to pick up one clear name.

Elizabeth Sinclair Hamilton.

Her sister-in-law.