Fatal Inheritance (8 page)

“Bruiser, come here,” Becki called over her shoulder, having no clue whether the dog would actually listen. “We have another culprit to corner,” she muttered and braced herself as Sarah stepped from the car.

Bruiser raced around the corner, grazing his chin on the gravel as his legs went out from under him on the curve. But without losing a step he barreled right for Becki and took up sentry duty at her side.

Sarah arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow at the canine. Then, before Becki’s eyes, Sarah’s crusty facade crumbled. “He looks just like Max!” She squatted and ruffled the dog’s ears. “Where did you find him?”

The wistful expression on her sister’s face melted Becki’s anger. They’d always been the best of friends as children, and never more so than the weeks after Dad gave away their beloved Max.

A man’s voice jarred her back to the present. “You are the other granddaughter, I presume,” the real-estate agent said, standing well back as he eyed Bruiser.

Sarah sprang to her feet, her gaze skittering past Becki to the agent. “Yes.” Her face flushed.

“And she had no right to call you,” Becki added. “I own this property, and I have no intention of selling.”

“Most city folk say the same when they first move here, until they have to deal with the inevitable problems—annoying critters, leaky roofs, contaminated wells, not to mention the isolation. Then their idealistic view changes pretty quick.” The man ventured closer, stiffening at Bruiser’s growl, and handed Becki his card. “This is how to reach me if you change your mind. Summer is a better time to sell. These old places get drafty in winter. Expensive to heat, too.” He strode toward his motorcycle.

“Wait,” Sarah cried out. “I want to know how much the place could sell for.”

“At least two hundred thousand,” the man said, then kicked up his motorcycle stand and roared away.

“I guess now that you got what you came for, you’ll be going.” Becki turned toward the house and the phone calls she needed to make.

Sarah hurried after her. “Actually, I came to help you.”

“Help me?”

“Yes. You can’t clean and get settled in with that sore ankle. I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”

Becki stopped. “That’s right, I didn’t. So how did you find out?”

A flower-delivery van pulled into the driveway.

At least, those were the words emblazoned across the side. Becki willed herself not to imagine gunmen pouring out the back of the van to mow her down. Stuff like that only happened in the movies.

The driver jumped down from the truck, carrying a colorful assortment of flowers. “One of you ladies Rebecca Graw?”

“Yes, that’s me.” Becki lifted her hand as she gaped at the spectacular bouquet. Who would send her flowers?

The man eyed her crutches and hesitated.

“I’ll take them for her,” Sarah volunteered, and the man handed them over.

Becki hopped closer to her sister to get a look at the card. “Who are they from?”

Sarah pulled out the card. “Neil. He wrote, ‘Sorry to hear about your fall. Hope you get well soon.’”

Dread sank like a rock to the pit of Becki’s stomach. “How’d he find out?”

She didn’t realize she’d asked the question aloud until her sister answered.

“Probably the same way I did. From your former roommate. I can’t believe you’d call her and not your own sister.”

“I didn’t call anyone. She happened to call while I was at the hospital.” Becki left the
If you called once in a while...
unsaid. The only reason her sister called lately was to harass her into selling. Becki’s glance snapped to Sarah. “What prompted you to call my roommate?”

“I didn’t. She posted a prayer request for you on her Facebook page. Then when I tried to call the house, there was no answer.”

“Oh.” Becki wanted to believe genuine concern had prompted her sister’s trip, but the real-estate agent’s presence said otherwise. More likely she’d jumped at the excuse to scope out the place to compile more ammunition to give her lawyers, or lawyer husband, to force her out, which reminded Becki that she’d forgotten to call Gramps’s lawyer today.

Sarah grabbed a small suitcase from her trunk. “Rowan said I could stay as long as you need me.”

“As long as it takes to convince me to sell, you mean.” Becki plowed toward the house on her crutches.

Sarah didn’t respond.

Becki halted at the porch steps and faced her sister. “You don’t deny it?”

“That’s not why I’m here,” she said quietly, her inability to look Becki in the eye denying every word. “But yes, it’s why Rowan let me come.”

“He
let
you, huh? As if you ever ask permission to do anything you want to.” Becki let out a snort. But as she whirled to hop up the porch steps, she thought she saw tears in her sister’s eyes.

Once inside, Sarah headed straight for the kitchen, pulled a vase from the corner cupboard and arranged the flowers in it. “You were smart not to marry Neil.”

“He never asked.”

“Because you were smart enough to get out of the relationship before then.”

Becki plugged in the kettle, then leaned against the counter and stared at her sister. “I thought you liked Neil. He’s a lot like your Rowan.”

An indefinable emotion flashed in Sarah’s eyes before she glanced away, busying herself with the flowers. “But you’re not like me. You were never obsessed with getting things.”

Becki’s grip on the crutches tightened. “I’m not giving up the house, Sarah.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” Becki hated how petty she sounded. But Sarah had already admitted that Rowan had urged her to come here to convince Becki to sell. For all she knew, he was behind the attacks, too. “The value of this house to me can’t be measured in dollars. So you might as well call off Rowan and his goons, because I’m not selling.”

“Goons? What are you talking about?” Sarah set the vase on the center of the table and then tugged her long sleeves back to her wrists, gripping them with trembling fingers, as if she knew
exactly
what Becki was talking about.

And in that moment, Becki knew she wouldn’t need to make those phone calls, because Josh’s jewelry-theft theory was wrong.

“I’m talking about the creep who broke into my house, who clobbered me with a two-by-four, who—” she snatched up the note she’d found in her mailbox the day she’d arrived and slapped it into Sarah’s hand “—wants me out of this house.”

Sarah gaped at the words. “I...” She shook her head. “You think Rowan did all that?”

“You’re the only one who’d benefit from scaring me out of this place.”

“But this isn’t Rowan’s writing. I can’t believe...” Sarah’s gaze shifted away.

“You can’t believe what? That he’d stoop so low?”

EIGHT

O
utside the pet-food store, Josh tossed a bag of dog food and two dishes into the cab of his truck, grateful for an excuse to check on Bec. He yanked the truck door closed with a snort. If he was smart, he’d go home and keep a protective watch from afar.

She’d been all smiles and hugs after he sprang Bruiser on her. He’d gotten a kick out of watching her. She’d looked like an excited little kid as the dog slobbered over her face. But that hug—the one she’d given him for Mrs. O’Reilly’s benefit—hadn’t felt like a kid’s hug at all.

Worse than that, he’d wanted it to be real.

Except he wasn’t so sure anymore if she shared his faith. Never mind that another incident like yesterday’s break-in was bound to drive her back to the city faster than he could say goodbye.

He peered through the windshield at the darkening sky. A gust of wind whipped the tree limbs into a frenzy. Looked as if they were in for a bad storm. Which made for the kind of night most people would hole up at home. Hopefully, Bec’s prowler was one of them, because so far Josh hadn’t tracked down a single Henry Smith that matched their suspect’s description. Not that he’d had a lot of opportunity. As far as his captain was concerned, there was no case to investigate.

He stepped on the gas, hoping to beat the storm. Two miles from home—far too close for comfort—Josh spotted a green Plymouth.

He called dispatch. “Can you pull up the vehicle registration for...” He rattled off the license plate and a minute later had confirmation he’d found his man.

Now if only he were driving a patrol car, he could flash his lights, blip his siren and force the guy to pull over.

Instead he hung back to see if Smith would head for Bec’s.

Sure enough, he turned onto their street and a moment later slowed in front of Bec’s house.

Yes.
If Smith pulled in, Josh would have him.

A second later, Smith sped off.

Josh sped up enough to keep Smith in sight and called Hunter. “You still in a black-and-white?”

“Yeah.”

“I spotted Smith. Headed west on Elm. I’m—” Josh caught sight of a black BMW in Bec’s driveway and hit the brakes. “Haul him in for me, will you? I’ll be down as soon as I can.” He clicked off and swerved into Bec’s driveway, praying he wouldn’t regret not taking time for reconnaissance first.

The Toronto dealer’s logo on the trunk of the car suggested the car’s owner could be another one of her city friends come to lure her back or a developer trying to sweet-talk her into selling.

Both possibilities made him want to punch something, but at this point, either would be better than option three.

He shoved the bag of dog food under his arm and grabbed the pair of bowls. If she wouldn’t even agree to move out for a few days while he tracked down her intruder, some flashy BMW driver wouldn’t convince her to sell. She was too determined to hang on to the old place.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Josh strode to the back door, scanning the windows. Two figures moved about the kitchen. Both female. A friend, then. He let out his pent-up breath and knocked.

Sarah opened the door.

For a second he stood speechless.
You’re the last person I expected to see here
didn’t seem like a neighborly thing to say. She looked as perfectly put together as she had at the funeral, but from the amount of gunk caked around her eyes, clearly her vanity battled aging in daily combat.

Her gaze dropped to the bag under his arm, and she pushed the door wide. “Great timing. We were just wondering what we’d feed Bruiser.”

A chair scraped the floor. Bec sank into the seat, a pained expression pinching her face.

Josh handed Sarah the dog dishes and squatted beside Bec. “Are you okay? Is the ankle worse?”

Her gaze slid to her sister. “No, I’m fine.” She sounded defeated. Not fine at all.

Bruiser positioned himself between them as if Josh was the one she needed protection from.

Josh searched her face, but her expression had blanked.

How dare her sister come here and harangue her into giving up their grandparents’ home?

Sarah filled one of the dog dishes with water. “Can I make you some coffee?”

“Thanks, but no. I can’t stay,” he said, not taking his eyes from Bec. “I’ve got a lead on Smith,” he whispered for her ears only, then ruffled the dog’s fur before standing.

A bouquet of flowers on the table snagged his attention. He tilted his head to peek at the card, then wished he hadn’t.

“Oh, yuck. What is that smell?” Sarah wrinkled her nose.

Bec mimicked her sister’s disgusted expression. “Gross. It smells like rotten eggs. Did it come from the fridge?”

Josh sniffed the air. “Could be sulfur in your water.” He turned on the tap Sarah had just used, and the smell intensified. “Oh, yeah, you’ve got sulfur in your well, all right.”

“Since when? I don’t ever remembering smelling that when I visited.”

Josh shook his head. “No, I can’t remember your grandparents ever complaining about it. But last summer a few houses around here were suddenly struck with it. It’s usually worse after a heavy rain.” He glanced out the window at the storms piling up on the horizon. “Not before.”

Sarah pinched her nostrils. “That must be what the real-estate agent meant about people moving back to the city. How could anyone stand living with that smell?”

Josh clenched his jaw. “Winslow?” He directed the question to Bec. He should’ve expected Bart and his dad wouldn’t waste any time swooping in on the place.

“Yeah. He was here when I got home.” Becki patted Bruiser’s head. “But Bruiser let him know how we feel about real-estate agents. Didn’t you, fella?”

A sentiment Sarah, no doubt, didn’t share. “What brings you here, Sarah?” Josh asked.

She stopped holding her nose and cracked open the bag of dog food. “I came to help out my little sister until her ankle gets better.”

Bec’s lips pursed at the “little” modifier.

Josh wondered if she believed her sister’s story. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate the company. She tell you I’m a police officer now?”

Sarah set down the dish and turned abruptly toward him. “No, I thought you took over the farm.”

“Yeah, I still live next door. It’s given me a firsthand view of the trouble someone’s been giving Bec. You know anything about that?”

“No. I already told Bec I don’t.”

“But you do want her to sell the place?” He wasn’t sure what compelled him to push, considering Henry looked like their man.

Sarah folded her arms over her chest and pierced Josh with a glare. “That’s between Bec and me. I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

Whoa, talk about striking a nerve.
Josh’s cell phone rang. He checked the screen. “Excuse me, I need to take this.”

“You’re going to want to get down here,” Hunter said the instant Josh connected.

“Is Henry our man?”

“Yes and no.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just get down here.”

* * *

Josh darted through the pelting rain into the police station. The glare of fluorescents intensified the throb that had started in his head the second Hunter had called. He shook the water from his jacket.

“You’re too late.” Hunter’s sour expression sent a chill through Josh that had nothing to do with the deluge outside. “The captain let Smith go. Wants to see you in his office.”

“Let him go?” Josh stormed into the captain’s office without knocking. “What’s going on?”

Hunter leaned against the doorpost, arms crossed over his chest.

The captain stepped out from behind his desk and hitched his hip onto the corner, an action that made him seem a fraction more open-minded than the persona exuded by his severe crew cut, crisply pressed uniform and powerful build. “Hunter fill you in?”

“Said you let Smith go. Why? I can place this guy at the scene the night of the first attack.”

“Calm down.” The captain patted the air. “Smith is a P.I. The museum hired him to investigate the jewelry theft.”

Josh jerked his gaze to Hunter. “That’s his story?”

Hunter shrugged. “It checked out.”

“Okay—” Josh swung back to the captain “—so he’s a P.I. That doesn’t give him license to trespass in the Graws’ barn and clobber Miss Graw over the head with a two-by-four.”

“Smith said another guy was in the barn. He saw him sneak across the field as he drove by. It’s what made him pull into the farm lane.”

“Sounds like a convenient alibi to me. He give you a description?”

The captain put on his reading glasses and pulled a paper from his desk. “Wore a dark hooded sweatshirt. Couldn’t see any of his features.”

“Lot of help that is.”

“Look.” The captain set down the paper and removed his glasses. “The fact is, we don’t have enough resources to keep this up. Smith doesn’t think the Graws had any connection to the heist, so there’s no reason to think anyone else would.”

“Someone’s still terrorizing her.” And despite Sarah’s defensive reaction to his questions, Josh couldn’t believe she was behind this. He paced to the window and squinted into the blackness.

“
Terrorizing?
She surprised someone in her barn. Now you think everything else is connected, like that car you fished out of the quarry. A car dumped by some guy cleaning out his back forty. Don’t you think you might be letting your emotions cloud your judgment here?”

“No.” Josh squashed the memory of his annoyance at those flowers from Neil. Bec was a neighbor who needed his help. Nothing more. “She’s a citizen of Serenity who deserves our protection.”

“She’s got a police officer living next door.” The captain pushed off the desk and returned to his seat. “That’s going to have to do. She’s not the only citizen in this town.”

“But—”

The captain motioned to the door. “Go home. And don’t call any more personnel in on this. Hunter and Wes are not your personal commando team.”

Josh stalked out of the office with Hunter on his six. “Can you believe him?”

Hunter made a weird cluck and gave him a look like, yeah, he could.

Josh threw him a scowl.

“Hey, you’ve got to admit you get a little obsessed.”

“Hardly.”

“Man, you have a three-legged dog and a bird with a broken wing. If something or someone needs rescuing, you’re the go-to guy.”

Josh snorted. “Get real.” If he’d been the least bit obsessive, the Graws wouldn’t have died of carbon-monoxide poisoning.

He needed to get back to Bec. For all he knew, Smith could be on his way there now.

* * *

A scream. Her sister’s scream yanked Becki out of a deep sleep—the deepest she’d had since arriving in Serenity, which was a little unnerving considering that she was the only person that stood between her sister and more than half of their grandparents’ estate.

“Becki!” Sarah shouted again, jolting Becki thoroughly awake.

The dog barked and howled, prancing back and forth from Becki’s bed to the closed bedroom door.

Becki grabbed her bathrobe and hopped to the door. The instant she opened it, Bruiser raced out. Becki squinted at the sudden change in light.

Sarah dashed from the bathroom to her bedroom, her arms loaded with bath towels. “The roof’s leaking.”

“I’ll go down and get a bucket.”

Sarah glanced at Becki’s bandaged ankle and unloaded the towels into her arms. “Better let me get the buckets.” Sarah dashed down the stairs, turning every light on as she went. Bruiser raced after her.

Becki hobbled toward the bedroom, grateful her sister was there tonight even if Becki doubted her true motives for coming were as pure as she’d let on. Sarah had gotten too tight-lipped after Becki alleged Rowan was behind the trouble she’d been having.

Before she dared leave Sarah alone in the house, Becki needed to figure out why her sister was really here. Josh might think Henry was her attacker, but like he’d said, Sarah still wanted the house sold. And as much as Becki didn’t want to believe her sister would stoop to any means to make that happen, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Becki turned into the bedroom, and the towels spilled from her arms. “No!”

Above the bed, the plaster bulged. Every couple of seconds, a giant water drop plopped onto the pillow below. Becki wedged herself between the head of the bed and the wall and shoved.

Sarah ran back into the room, carrying two big pots. “What are you doing?”

“Saving the bed.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” Sarah moved in beside her, and they shoved the bed out of the way. “Okay, lay down some towels to catch the splash, and we’ll set the pots on top.”

Rain thrashed the window, and the drops from the ceiling came faster. Becki positioned a pot beneath them. “I can’t believe I slept through this storm.”

“At the rate it’s pouring, that plaster might not hold.”

The concern in her sister’s voice surprised Becki. She would have thought Sarah would latch onto this disaster as one more reason she should sell. Sarah certainly had continued to make a big deal about that horrid sulfur smell long after Josh had left.

Sarah passed her the second pot, and Becki gasped at the sight of her face.

Sarah’s hand sprang to cover the bruise around her un-made-up eye.

“What happened?”

“I...I walked into the door, trying to find the light switch. Is it that bad?”

Becki squinted at the yellowing mark. “That didn’t just happen.” Her gaze skittered to similar marks on Sarah’s arms.

Sarah must have noticed, because she immediately dropped her hand and tugged down the sleeves of her pajama top.

“How did you get those bruises?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about this.” Becki grabbed Sarah’s arm and shoved up her sleeve.

Sarah shrank back.

Becki stared at her sister, her beautiful sister, and felt sick and utterly ashamed. “Did Rowan...”

“I’m fine.” Sarah fussed with the towels.

Becki threw her arms around her sister. “Oh, Sarah, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You should have told me.” Here she’d been thinking such horrible thoughts about her sister when she’d really come here to escape her husband. Had Josh guessed?