Cranberry Bluff (3 page)

Susie followed Sadie into The Closet Collection, a cozy boutique in the center of Cranberry Cove’s historic district. Racks of women’s clothing lined both walls, sorted by color and size. Susie thought this was an odd way of organizing a store. If a customer liked blue and wore a medium, anything she might want would be in one section – blouses, pants, jackets, sweaters, even shoes. For the heftier purple-lover, an equally abundant yet consolidated section could be found elsewhere. Susie was used to boutiques being organized by type of clothing article: all sweaters in one area, all skirts in another.

“This is my favorite store,” Sadie said. Her enthusiasm was evident as she browsed from rack to rack, starting with reds and moving right down the line to browns. She gathered up a dozen hangers of assorted items and headed for the back of the shop. “This is where you mix your colors!” she exclaimed as she latched her dressing room door.

Susie bypassed the clothing racks and headed for a glass case of jewelry. Pendants of semi-precious stones and crystals spread across shelving inside. Earrings and bracelets dangled from circular racks above. Susie lifted a card from one of the racks, holding a pair of pearl studs against one ear lobe. With her other hand, she shifted the remaining earring holders on the rack so they hung evenly, without spaces between the cards. Heading for the ivory section of the store, she flipped through a row of sweaters, finding a sweet cardigan with tiny pearls for buttons.
Perfect
, she thought.
And an excellent match for
… she moved to a corner display of clothing and pulled an elegant pair of beige slacks from a waterfall display. Yes, that would make a good combination and would go well with the earrings. She checked the price tags of all three items – a little expensive, but that wouldn’t be a problem.

“How does this look?” Sadie’s voice boomed across the sales floor as she stepped out of the dressing room. She wore a ruffled blouse in fire engine red, along with a flowing skirt in bright purple. Noting Susie’s raised eyebrows, she explained, “Red Hat Society! Meetings every month
.
I have to make a fashion statement at the events, you know.” She popped back into the dressing room.

Moving around the store, Susie picked up an emerald T-shirt, snug blue jeans and a lacey beige camisole, matching that with a sparkling bracelet of multicolored beads and crystals. A third and fourth outfit chosen, she joined Sadie in the dressing room area, picking a space two stalls down.

“What did you find?” Sadie shouted. Susie heard a clattering of hangers.

“Cute stuff!” Susie replied, her voice cheerful.
Not really
, she thought to herself.

A third voice entered the conversation. “Are you finding everything you need?” a salesgirl asked. “Should I bring other colors or sizes?”

“I’m fine,” Susie said. Her muffled voice carried through the camisole she was pulling over her head.

“Nothing needed here,” Sadie added. “Everything is fabulous! This is my favorite store in Cranberry Cove!”

“Delighted to hear that,” the salesgirl said. “I’ll check back in a little bit, just in case you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Susie and Sadie said simultaneously.

Susie worked her way through the outfits, while chatting with Sadie over the thin, dressing room walls. Once Sadie left and headed for the sales counter, Susie gathered her choices and left the dressing room, circling the store to replace some of the items on racks while the salesgirl was ringing up Sadie’s purchases.

As Sadie gathered her items, Susie set the ivory sweater on the counter.

“Excellent choice,” the salesgirl said. “I love the pearl buttons down the front. I have this same sweater – couldn’t resist it when the shipment came in.” She lowered her voice and bent forward as she removed the security sensor from the sweater. “I love working here because we get to see everything UPS delivers. We get first choice – and an employee discount.” She glanced around as she admitted this, which Susie found ridiculous, since there weren’t any other sales clerks or customers in the store.

Wrapping the sweater in tissue paper, the girl slid it into a sturdy paper bag with the store’s name and logo on the front. She handed it to Susie with a smile. “Enjoy!”

“I plan to,” Susie responded with enthusiasm. Though it didn’t equal Sadie’s glee, it was enough to satisfy the salesgirl.

Sadie was waiting on the sidewalk, holding several bags. Susie trailed her through an artisan co-op, a yarn shop, a shoe boutique, two jewelry stores and three other clothing establishments. Sadie left each location with a new batch of purchases. Susie bought an item or two at some of the stores, nothing at others.

“Newlywed budget,” she said as Sadie eyed her small collection of bags. “I try to buy only a few things each time I shop.”

“Widow’s wealth!” Sadie laughed, barely able to juggle the massive number of bags she held. “Time to drop these off at the inn. I must free my arms up for more shopping later!” She bustled down the sidewalk with Susie following.

Molly dried the last of the breakfast dishes and put them away before sitting down to look over the inn’s schedule. No new arrivals were due that evening, or the next. But she had to do some shuffling to accommodate Bryce Winslow’s longer stay. She still couldn’t believe she hadn’t written down his departure date. That wasn’t like her. She always kept on top of the details in her reservation book. Had their phone conversation thrown her off-balance that much? Apparently it had.

She didn’t like feeling scattered, the way she’d felt when she left Tallahassee. Taking over Aunt Maggie’s bed and breakfast in Cranberry Cove had been a chance for her to reorganize her life, to start over. It was one of the main reasons she was there.

Molly shuddered, thinking about Florida. Her life there had been peaceful for so many years. She’d loved her job as an administrative assistant at a small advertising agency. Long work hours during the week were rewarded with free weekends. She didn’t have to put in the extra hours that the ad execs did. Saturdays and Sundays often found her enjoying the warm waters on a Gulf Coast beach or adventuring through swamp areas. She’d landed some impressive alligator pictures on one of those trips.

Her duties at the ad agency were basic, which suited her just fine. She handled incoming phone calls, made coffee, kept appointment calendars updated and ran errands when needed. Aside from the lack of romance in her life, it was a perfect existence. Until that day.

She hadn’t realized at the time that she’d walked into a bad situation. It was an ordinary morning. She’d stopped at FedEx to send out an overnight package, chatting about sports with the clerk, a college student. He was a Gators fan; she was a Seminoles fan. They had a long history of jovial teasing whenever she dropped off shipments.

From the FedEx office she’d stopped at a favorite coffee house, grabbing a decaf macchiato to go. Her next stop was a quick drive-through at the post office, where she dropped a batch of metered mailings in the driveway box. And then she went to the bank.

For the three years she’d worked for the ad agency, she’d taken a daily deposit to the bank. She was a stickler for accuracy, and the execs appreciated her efficient loyalty. She never thought twice about her quick jaunts in and out of the bank building. It was an errand, just like any other errand she had to run. At least it was, until the day a woman at the teller’s window next to her pulled out a gun. One minute Molly was thanking the teller for the ad agency’s deposit receipt. The next, she was sprawled out on the floor, like everyone else who had the misfortune to be in the bank at that moment.

It had all happened so quickly, though it didn’t seem like that at the time. The news reports later would say the robber was gone within six minutes. To Molly, face pressed against the bank’s cold, marble floor, it felt like hours.

That should have been the end of it. The whole episode should have gone down as a terrifying close call. She could have gone on with her life as it had been if not for a wild twist of fate. The robber had the same build, hair length and hair color as Molly, who had walked away quickly after the incident even before police arrived. She was shaken, but assumed the experience was over. Little did she know what was about to unfold.

Molly had never been much of a television watcher. She didn’t turn on the news automatically when she walked in her apartment from work. That evening when she arrived home, her phone had been ringing, but she was exhausted from the trauma of the day and let it go to voicemail. So to say she was in shock when the police showed up at her door that evening would be an understatement. Had she been following the newscasts, she would have seen the photos being compared: the one from the teller window next to her, the one from the teller window where
she
was.

Of course, she was cleared, after being dragged down to the police station and questioned for hours. Both tellers verified that she was not the robber. The security camera on the opposite side of the building showed her walking to her car, not running in the opposite direction. Close examination indicated that her hair was approximately one inch longer than the thief’s hair. She was at least an inch shorter, one deputy said, though there wasn’t a clear shot of the robber’s shoes. And her weight was about ten pounds heavier, another added, which had caused Molly to frown. No more late night snacking, she vowed.

It should have all ended there, but it didn’t. The first few days were fine, in fact, almost fun. She was an office celebrity, the one who’d nabbed primetime television coverage without even needing to run an ad. Friends she hadn’t heard from for ages called to ask her out for coffee or lunch. Her neighbors brought over baskets of muffins. One boy rode by on a bike, waving and calling out, “I saw you on TV!”

And then the notes began to arrive; cutout letters glued to pieces of paper contained the threatening messages. She found the first one under her front doormat, short and to the point. “We know you’re the one.” The second landed in her mailbox, stating, “You won’t get away with it.” The third one sent her over the edge: “We want the money back.” That started the chills running up her spine.

Morning commutes had been leisurely drives before the bank robbery. Now they became paranoid trips with Molly checking the rearview mirror all the time. Grocery shopping felt dangerous; every passing customer made her nervous. Who was sending her the notes? It could have been anyone. Each person she ran into was suspect. She began to dread going out in public.

Her anxiety heightened when she came home from work one day to find her front door ajar, her apartment ransacked. The contents of drawers had been dumped on the floor and her closet was a mess. Another note of choppy, glued letters was left on her kitchen table, saying, “We will find it.”

She contacted the police, changed her locks and secured her windows, but it wasn’t enough to keep panic attacks at bay. Sleep was elusive and the tiniest noise sent her nerves careening. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t function at work and began staying away from home as much as possible, grabbing motel rooms or spending weekends out of town. The police had no leads.

She started seeing a therapist to work on anxiety issues, but that proved useless, as well. The therapist helped as someone to talk to, but it didn’t solve the basic problem: someone was after her.

Nothing remained of the life she’d established in Tallahassee. She distrusted the people around her, becoming suspicious of everyone from her co-workers to the police officers handling the case. Was her therapist in on it? Was the grocery clerk watching her? Were the police starting to suspect she was actually guilty? Were her friends really friends? The constant paranoia suffocated her.

And then Aunt Maggie passed away. Unmarried and childless, her aunt had left her California bed and breakfast to Molly in her will. Molly knew her mother’s twin sister had always considered her the daughter she never had. She had fond childhood memories of spending summer vacations in Cranberry Cove with Aunt Maggie, who told stories of how the town had attempted to grow cranberries, but found it wasn't as successful as it was for towns farther north, in southern Oregon. The cranberry bogs were gone, but the name “Cranberry Cove” had stuck, which was a good move for tourism. A visitor could hardly turn in any direction without running into cranberry something-or-other.

Although Molly hadn’t visited often as an adult, she’d always kept in touch with Aunt Maggie, first through hand-written letters and, later, through email. That had been something – convincing her elderly aunt to get a computer and email account!

After the bank robbery, taking over the bed and breakfast was a chance for Molly to escape, to move three thousand miles away and start a new life. She packed her bags and left in the middle of the night, bought a one-way train ticket to safety. Occasionally she still glanced over her shoulder or jumped when the telephone rang. But the threatening notes never followed her, and the guests at the inn were always pleasant. She’d kept no contact with any co-workers in Florida. Sometimes she missed the life she’d had in Tallahassee, the comfort of a longtime routine. But she never missed the daily fear.

Dan was stretched out on the bed in the Cottage Suite, flipping through a local travel magazine when Susie walked in. “All ads,” he criticized. “I don’t know why travelers even bother to read these things.”

He tossed the magazine aside. “So, how did you do today? A decent haul?”

“Not great.” Susie tossed her bags on the sofa in the sitting area. “Some pearl earrings, a lace camisole, a rhinestone bracelet and a scarf from the local artist co-op. And a sweater that I actually paid for. I like the scarf.”

“Sorry, dear. Not the cream of the crop selection you’re used to.” He patted the bed, inviting her to join him. “Maybe you need a new hobby.”

“Don’t start that ‘dear’ crap or get any ideas,” Susie snapped. “It’s bad enough I have to be affectionate to you inside the inn. Don’t push it.”

“All part of the job, sweetheart.”

“You heard me. Zip it.” Susie pulled the pearl earrings from her jacket pocket and tossed them on the table in front of the sofa. She dug the bracelet from the other pocket and the scarf from her oversized tote.

“There’s a light out along the garden pathway,” Dan said.

“Who cares?” Susie’s tone was disgusted. “It’s not like this is the Four Seasons.” She reached into a shopping bag and pulled out other items.

“Ooh, let me see the camisole,” Dan said.

“I told you, zip it.” Susie dropped her jacket on the sofa and headed to the bathroom, closing the door. She took off her baggy sweater, pulled the camisole off her slender torso and folded it neatly.

“This town is beyond boring,” she shouted through the door. “Even the stores are a drag. I miss Miami and New York and Chicago and Boston.”

“Tough luck, honey,” Dan said. “You’re stuck here for the time being.”

Susie threw the bathroom door open and glared at Dan.

“Listen, you low life. In the first place, I’m not your honey, sweetheart or dear. So lay off that crap when we’re not in public. And second of all, if you hadn’t decided to go after the reward money, I wouldn’t be trapped in a tiny diorama of a town.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad, especially when we’re going to split the reward.”

“It’s exactly that bad, and worse.”

Susie’s patience with Dan was growing thin. There were many other detectives out there who would have made more interesting fake husbands. Ralph, for example, was bright enough to add character to his roles. Or Jonathan, boring but loaded with cash. He never passed up fine dining and plentiful cocktails, and always footed the tab. Even better, Gregory, or whatever his real name was. Now there was a bonus partner – great conversationalist, great looking and one hell of a kisser. She’d pushed for more romance every time she’d been on assignment with him. But he’d always held back. He was a smart agent who didn’t mix work with pleasure. That was a man she’d like to conquer in the future. Maybe she’d try to get hooked up with him again. She’d put in a request with the agencies he worked with.

She certainly wasn’t about to go out on the road with Dan again, if she could help it. This time it had been convenient; she had an agenda of her own. But she was a free agent. She could do what she wanted. And spending time with Dan wasn’t in her plans.

“I don’t have to work with you, you know,” she said. “There are plenty of detective agencies that offer me jobs. I’ve solved more cases than you’ll see in your lifetime.”

“That’s because you’re so cute you can talk your way into anywhere just by batting your eyes.”

“Shut up. Though you’re right, I have to admit.”

“Of course I’m right.” Dan picked up another magazine and flipped a few pages.

Susie pulled a pack of cigarettes from her suitcase and stuffed them into her jacket pocket, pulling the jacket back on. “I’m taking a walk. Who knows how far I’ll have to go before I can have a stupid cigarette in peace.”

“Out of character, you mean,” Dan added. “You really hate these jobs where you have to act civilized, don’t you?”

“Whatever.” The front door of the suite slammed as she left.