Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 #1 (49 page)

Colm's complexion washed white as a June moon. He swallowed hard. His blue eyes glistened. “Pitiful...blue... Oh, Gretchen, I am so sorry, love,” he whispered rapidly. “I'm sorry you had to endure that agony. I should have been there.”

“Why, so you could save me on film again?”

“No, of course not. I never wanted the camera filming any of your attacks. And if there was a camera in the attic last night, someone is going to pay.”

“Send the camera away for the rest of the rehab, and
maybe
I'll believe you.”

“I would if I could, but—”

“But you're not in charge. I get it. You may be the host, but you answer to your puppet master just as I had to answer to mine. It's tough, I know. But you can fight back, Colm.”

“Fight? You want me to fight back? I promised God never to fight again.”

“There are other ways to fight than with your fists. You want to help me? Don't worry about protecting me. Finish my house. Because that's the only way I'm going to win my fight.”

A smile slowly appeared on his lips. Then he grabbed Gretchen's hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss. “You got it, Goldie. And while I'm at it, I'm going to prove that you can trust me, too.” Colm nodded to Sheriff Matthews and to her mother.

“Mum, I'm going to tell you something for nothing. Your daughter is one amazing woman. She's going to prove this whole town wrong with that beautiful brain of hers.” He started for the door but called at the doorway, “And, Gretchen, going forward, I better never hear you call yourself dumb again.”

The front-entrance bell chimed and Gretchen rested her head back on her pillow with a sigh. “Well, that does it. If that man turns out to be a fraud, my heart won't be able to take it.”

NINE

“L
et me get this straight. You're willing to pay me to stop the show?” Disbelief laced Troy's voice. At Colm's nod, he let out a hoot of laughter that reached the rafters of the barn. They'd met here because the house was off-limits after Gretchen's attack last night. The sheriff had declared the place a crime scene, and they'd all woken to yellow police tape crisscrossing all the doors. No one was to enter until the house had been processed this morning by the detective and his wife from the mainland.

Troy's chuckle died down. “McCrae, a certain golden-haired beauty is about to send me down one of your rainbows right into my biggest payday ever. You don't have enough to make me walk.”

“Which you would know since you drew up my crooked contract.”

“That you signed willingly. Shall we reminisce about the day I offered you the ‘chance of a lifetime'? Your words, not mine.”

“A hungry belly tends to make a guy blind, but it also makes one frugal. I've been saving my money since day one. Nearly every penny.” A wave of regret doused him, but deep down Colm knew it wouldn't matter how much he saved. Money wasn't the key to unlocking his mother's chains. “In fact, with investments, I've made your pittance grow tenfold. So just name your figure.”

Troy stilled in the barn's early-morning light. He pushed his hands into his suit pants pockets. “Well, now, isn't this impressive. I'll admit I'm tempted to play your game just to see how heavy your wallet is.”

“What's stopping you? Later this morning the sheriff will determine a crime has occurred here. He could shut down the renovation for the time being, and you won't receive any compensation. I suggest you take my offer and walk away with something.”

Troy eyed him. He pulled his hand out of his pocket to rub his chin. “What is it about her that has you offering to break your piggy bank?”

“Easy. I put the money aside to set someone free. It might as well be Gretchen.”

Troy dropped his hand and brought his arms to cross at his chest. “I don't like what you're implying.”

“You're the one who draws up the contracts. Your words, not mine.”

“And I hold everyone to every word in them. My answer's no to your offer. You see, Colm, we both have our investments, and I'm not going anywhere until I claim mine right here on this island.” Troy's smile sickened Colm's stomach. What was the man saying? What investment?

He looked at his egotistical boss who got whatever he wanted...or else.

Was Colm staring at the man responsible for Gretchen's attacks? “Something tells me you're not talking about the show. Just how far would you go to protect your investments, Troy?” Colm stepped up to his boss.

A woman's shout drifted to the barn.

“Oh, look who's arrived home.” Troy still wore his sick smile. “Shall we go say top o' the morning to her?”

Colm wanted nothing more than to wipe Troy's smug look off his face, but another, more shrieking shout came their way that hit Colm in the heart.

Colm burst out the doors. He knew Troy was behind him, but not in any rush. The crew members came out of their trailers at the same time.

Gretchen ran straight for Colm from the porch. “I'm ruined!” she shouted. “My house! It's destroyed!”

Tears flowed down her face in rivers. She couldn't seem to focus even a second to look at him. Her hands in her hair, she paced, her footing as unsure as the rest of her. “It's ruined!” she wailed. “
I'm
ruined.”

“Take it slow,” Colm coaxed her. “Speak to me, Gretchen.”

“There's no way... no way I'll ever open now. It's over. Forever.”

Colm wasn't going to get a clear answer out of her. Whatever occurred in her home had sent her over the edge. He headed for her porch steps. The sheriff and two other people, probably the reinforcements he'd called in last night, tried to hold him back. But Gretchen had left the door wide open, and one glance through the yellow tape knocked the air right from his lungs.

Walls gouged down to their studs gaped with plaster dust coating every square foot. Colm didn't have to go any farther to know the whole house resembled the foyer, especially with the message the vandal left behind. Painted in bloodred on the floor right past the threshold:
Hand over the painting, or this time you're dead.

* * *

“They must mean Len's painting,” Gretchen said to no one in particular from her seat on the front-porch step. Her shock had meted out to a daze, but her fear stayed strong. “And they're willing to kill me for it.”

Colm spoke from behind her to the few crew members peering in the windows. “Fellas, and Wendy, head back to the trailers for now. We're not done here, so don't go packing up yet. Stand by.”

“Not done?” Gretchen gawked at him after he ushered the crew away. “Did you get a good look inside before the sheriff shut the door on us? They put holes in my walls. They thought I was hiding a painting behind them. Even if I had the painting, I wouldn't think to hide it there. Who
does
that?”

“Someone with something to hide, I suppose.” Colm sat down beside her on the porch steps. “Maybe someone who's come from a world where secret hiding places are a must.”

Gretchen sat in silence as the face of an old man appeared in her mind's eye. His stories echoed through her head as she recalled his tales from a world of unrest and fear, where secret hiding places were the norm in his homeland of Germany.

“Len,” she answered quietly. “Len knew all about hiding places, for all his valuables, including himself. Maybe he thinks his stolen painting is here, and he came looking for it. Maybe after it was stolen, he had some sort of flashback.”

Colm scoffed, “I don't think the old man has the strength to bang through walls.”

“You saw him with the crowbar, right? You even said he seemed touched with dementia. I don't know if it's that, but he is old. I think his memories from the war are coming back and he thinks they're real again. He's been through so much. If he thought someone was coming for him again, he might very well have enough strength to break through plaster to get the one thing he escaped with, so he could escape again.”

“Was that the first time you noticed him behaving this way?”

“He's always spoken a lot of Germany, but only recently as though he was still there. I just wanted to believe he was reminiscing, not actually thinking the war was still happening. I guess I've been in denial about him getting old. Then he told me he was leaving me his painting, and there was no more denying it.”

“I'd say he put you in danger the moment he did that.”

The door behind them opened, jolting them to their feet. Sheriff Matthews stepped out with the previous island sheriff, now a detective on the mainland, Wesley Grant, and his forensics investigator wife, Lydia. Under any other circumstances Gretchen would have enjoyed catching up with them and hearing about the dynamic duo's cases. It was an old skeleton found on Stepping Stones Island a couple years ago that brought Lydia into Wesley's life. She'd put a smile back on Wesley's face, and the baby she looked to be expecting was evidence they were about to become a new kind of team.

But something about death threats took precedence, and judging by their somber faces, they understood.

“Looks like someone wanted you out of the house real bad last night,” Wesley said to Gretchen as he closed the door behind him. “I wish I'd come over to the island earlier. I might have been able to put a stop to that demolition party before they destroyed everything in their path.”

“Wesley,” Lydia chided her husband, glancing at Gretchen. “Not so callous with your words, please.”

“You're right, dear. Sorry, Gretchen. Any idea what painting they're looking for?”

Gretchen hated even to insinuate Len had a part in this disaster, but Colm jumped in and relayed all she'd told him. Sheriff Matthews said, “I've had no leads with the painting and Len's been keeping to himself. Honestly, I thought he took the painting down at the restaurant when a few people voiced their displeasure about him leaving it to Gretchen. I can only assume they thought you already had it.”

“So you think one of the islanders did this?” Gretchen asked.

“Can't say at this point, but we'll be processing the house today to look for any evidence that might give us a lead.”

“If it is an islander, then that means one of my own tried to kill me.”

“Or just found a way to get you out of the house. They may also be the one who left you at the clinic.”

“You'll have to excuse me, but I'm not feeling the love. Especially since now I'm out of a home.” Gretchen stood up. “Sheriff, if it's all right with you, I'd like to go see Len.”

“Go ahead. I'll be over to chat with him later. And, Gretchen, I'm sorry about all this. It will be a sad day on Stepping Stones if one of our own is responsible.”

Gretchen took the path to the barn for her car. Then she realized Colm walked beside her. “You might as well get your crew packed up. No sense in hanging around here anymore.”

He halted and reached for her forearm to stop her. “I don't believe what I'm hearing.”

“Then I'll say it again for you. Go home, Colm.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp and walked on.

“Last night, not even a near-death incident would stop you. What happened? What's changed?”

“I'm just finally accepting that my ideas of a new life were far-fetched. It's time to go back to my old life and strap my apron back on.”

“I can't accept this, Goldie,” Colm called from behind. “I won't. Not without a fight.”

Gretchen kept walking. She had no fight left in her.

“Give me the keys. Going forward I'm not leaving your side.”

“I said go home.”

“You're plum knackered right now and not thinking clearly. Or did you forget someone out there wants you dead? Now give me the keys.”

* * *

“Some might say the Underground Küchen, or
kitchen
in English, got its name because it was built into the side of a cliff and is half-underground,” Gretchen explained.

“Some? What would you say?” Colm asked.

“Len opened it when he escaped to the island after WWII. I think he named it for what it was.” She flashed a smile. “It's just like my B&B sign for The Morning Glory. They are our covert-operation names for freedom.”

“Glad to see your smile back in place.”

The beautiful expression flitted away with the sea breeze whipping about them. She looked ahead as they approached the boardwalk.

“Were many people living here when Len came?” Colm asked as they walked past a long pier jutting out into the ocean from the boardwalk. Ornate lanterns lined the wooden walkway with benches beneath them.

“There were a few. The winters are long and difficult. It takes strong stock to make it here.”

“Explains the strength I see in you. I recognized your
neart istigh
the moment I met you.”

“What is that?”

“It's Irish for ‘inner strength,' and you have it.”

She shook her head. “It's not my strength you see. It belongs to Jesus. I would still be waiting tables here and taking my directions from Billy without Him. It was when I fully and truly understood that He bought my freedom that I knew He would also give me the strength to leave. In truth, I'm actually pretty weak.”

“Because you think you allowed someone to hurt you? You didn't. That's part of the power an abuser has over his victim. It's like...”

“Puppet strings,” she answered for him.

Colm nodded. “Yes. And I agree about the wonderful power of the Lord, but give yourself some credit, too. You took the first step and cut those strings. That took real
neart istigh
.”

She led him in thoughtful silence past many storefronts running down one side of the boardwalk, with a restaurant at each end. Clothing, groceries and fishing equipment filled the stores' display windows.

“It would seem the shelves are well stocked,” Colm said. “I'm surprised the islanders aren't jumping at having tourists on the island to shop at the stores.”

“I had thought the same thing, but no. They're just as happy to keep their patrons local.”

“Well, business can't be too good. Where is everyone? The boardwalk's empty.”

“It's lunchtime. They're all inside my mom's restaurant. It's where everyone hangs out.”

“Including Len?”

“Always Len. He lives in the house on the cliff, right above the restaurant. There's a secret staircase that's not really a secret because everyone knows about it, that runs up the back of the restaurant to his home. He comes and goes all day long and eats every meal at his table there.”

“Secret staircase, huh? Sounds like he thought of everything after he escaped from Germany. But if all he brought with him from his homeland was a painting, what would he need with secret hideaways and staircases? Unless he had other secrets to protect.”

“Don't go all spy-like on me, Mr. Bond. The man risked everything and gave up his family to come here.”

“So he came alone?”

“Not exactly. He came with two other men, another German man and a French man, who were also on the run. The restaurant on the other end of the boardwalk was owned by Frank Thibodaux, the French one.”

“Was?”

“Len is the last remaining patriarch of the three.”

“The last one to guard their secrets.”

“Oh, stop,” Gretchen said as they stepped up to the restaurant's entrance. “This isn't CIA's Most Wanted. This is tiny, little Stepping Stones Island.” She reached for the glass door.

Colm stopped her from opening it. “A tiny, little island two and a half hours off the coast of America where three European men chose to live in secret. Think about it, Goldie. Who has the most to lose if tourists start showing up here? If Len is hiding secrets, it's not the shop owners. It's him.”