Presumed Guilty & Keeper of the Bride (13 page)

“No, I’ll take you over to Annie’s house,” said Chase. “At least
her
faculties are still intact.”

“Yeah, that’d be better,” said Lorne, reaching for his hat. “Considering.”

“Considering what?” said Chase.

“The two empty gas cans we found over by Ms. Wood’s house. Plus the two-by-fours nailed over the cellar hatch.”

Miranda stared at him. There it was. Undeniable proof someone was trying to kill her. Her body seemed to sag against Chase. “Then you believe me,” she whispered.

Lorne reached for his hat. “Well, I’ll tell you what I believe, Ms. Wood. I do believe this is one of the weirdest nights we’ve ever had here on this island. And I do not like the trend.”

“What else is going on?” asked Chase.

“An assault. On Miss Lila St. John, if you can believe it. She just called in the report.”

“Someone attacked her?” said Chase, shocked. “Why?”

“She claims she tried to stop a break-in.” Lorne, obviously skeptical, started for the door. “At Rose Hill Cottage.”

“So,” said Annie Berenger, pouring out three tall whiskeys. “Do I get to write all about the juicy details? Or is this baby-sitting job another gratis deal?”

“I thought you and Miranda were friends,” said Chase.

“Oh, we are. But I’m a reporter, too.” She handed Chase a glass. “It’s my job to take advantage of the situation.” She glanced at the closed door to the bathroom, where Miranda was showering. “You know, Chase, she looked pretty beat-up. Shouldn’t she be in a hospital or something?”

“She’ll be fine right here, Annie. As long as you keep your eagle eye on her.”

“Terrific. What I always wanted to be. A mommy.” She tossed back a quick slug of whiskey. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I like Miranda. I used to be a lot like her. About a century ago.” She poured herself a second glass. “But women grow up fast these days. We have to. It’s the men who age us. Take my boyfriend, Irving. Please. I’ve been waiting a year for him to pop the question. It’s giving me gray hairs.” She took a sip of whiskey, then turned and looked at Chase. “So how much trouble is she in?”

“It could get dangerous. Are you ready for that?”

“Ready?” She went to an end table and opened the drawer. Casually she pulled out a revolver. “Little souvenir I picked up in Boston. I’m a lousy shot, but sometimes I get lucky.” She tossed the gun back into the drawer. “Good enough?”

“I’m impressed.”

Annie laughed. “Men always are when they see my pistol’s bigger than theirs.” She glanced over her shoulder as the bathroom door opened. “Hi. Feeling better?”

“Just cleaner,” said Miranda, walking barefoot into the living room. She was wearing one of Annie’s huge T-shirts. It hung like a dress over her slim hips.

Annie held out a glass of whiskey. “Join us in a toast.”

“To what?”

“Just drink it. We’ll think of something.”

Miranda came toward them and took the glass. She brought with her those fresh shower smells, the scent of flowers and soap and feminine warmth. Her hair, still damp, was a mass of unruly waves. The sight of her sent Chase’s head swimming. Or was it the whiskey?

“So what happens now?” asked Annie.

Chase turned away and set his glass on the nearest table. “The police are handling it.”

“Look, I’ve been covering that beat for five years. I wouldn’t be too optimistic.”

“Lorne’s a bright guy. He can figure it out.”

“But whose side is he on? I’m not saying Lorne’s corrupt, or anything. But you did find that page about him and Valerie Everhard.”

“A fling with the local librarian?” Chase shrugged. “I’d consider that only a minor scandal.”

“Did you ask Lorne about it?”

“Yes. He didn’t deny it. And he didn’t seem bothered by it.”

“Annie, did you know Richard had those files?” Miranda asked.

Annie shrugged. “We had a number of files on local personalities. Jill did the interviews, wrote the pieces. Every summer we’d run a few profiles. But nothing that’d make tongues twitter.” She set her glass down. “Well, whatever was in those files, it’s all up in smoke now. A pity you didn’t have copies. You’ve lost your only clues.”

“I don’t think so,” said Chase. “Those were the papers the burglar left behind. Whatever he’s really after is still at Rose Hill.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he went back there tonight.”

“What he didn’t count on,” said Miranda, “was tangling with Miss Lila St. John. Again.”

Annie shook her head and laughed. “That is one poor, unfortunate burglar.”

Miss Lila St. John was, at that moment, holding a bag of ice to a nasty-looking goose egg on the back of her head. “What do you mean, did I get a good look at him?” she snapped. “Does it seem likely I got a look at him? Considering where he whacked me?”

“It was just a routine question, ma’am,” whimpered Ellis.

“That is the problem with you police people. You are so tied up with your routine questions you never bother to think.”

“Miss St. John,” Lorne politely interjected, “allow me to rephrase Ellis’s question. What, exactly,
did
you see?”

“Precious little.”

“A figure? A face?”

“Just a light. I told you, I was sitting here reading.
Death Becomes You.

“Excuse me?”

“The name of the book. It features a police detective with a genius IQ.” She paused. “Obviously, a novel with no basis in reality.”

Lorne let that one slide by. Miss St. John deserved a little leeway tonight. After all, a blow on the head—even a head as hard as hers—would make anyone cranky. “Go on,” he said.

“Well, I put the book aside to make tea. And as I did, I happened to look out that window. It faces south, toward Rose Hill Cottage. That’s when I saw the light.”

“A car headlight?”

“No, much dimmer. A flashlight, I think. Moving through the woods. I knew it was headed for Rose Hill. That’s all that lies in that direction. So I decided to check on it.”

“Why didn’t you call us?”

“Because it might simply have been one of the Tremains. Now, how would it look if I dragged you men all the way out here, just to confront the rightful owner?”

“The rightful owner seems to be in doubt.”

“Let’s not confuse ourselves with that issue. Anyway, I went out—”

“Alone?”

“If only! I would have been just fine if Ozzie hadn’t followed me.”

“Ozzie?” inquired Ellis.

As if on cue, an enormous black dog sauntered across the room and eyed Ellis.

“Yes, you certainly made a racket,” said Miss St. John to the dog. “All that yowling and thrashing in the bushes. No wonder you never catch anything.” She looked at Lorne. “It’s
his
fault. He followed me up the road. Somewhere along the way I lost track of the light. I was trying to see through the dark and shoo off Ozzie at the same time. He was making such unattractive noises. I turned around and gave him a slap. And that’s when he whacked me.”

“Ozzie?” asked Ellis.

“No! The man. Or woman. It was dark, so I couldn’t tell you which.”

“Did you black out?”

“I’m not sure. Things got a little confused at that point. I remember being on my knees in the bushes. Hearing footsteps run away. And feeling mad as hell.” She glared at Ozzie. “Yes, and I do mean at
you.
”

The dog, unperturbed, began to lick Lorne’s brand-new boot. Gingerly, Lorne gave the dog a little shove. Ozzie, looking insulted, redirected his affectionate overtures toward a more agreeable target—Ellis’s leg.

“Then you never saw your attacker?” Lorne asked.

“No, I can’t say I did.”

“What happened then?”

“I came back here. Oh, I got a little turned around in the dark, but I found my way back, eventually. And I called you.”

“So the attack happened—when?”

“It would be about two hours ago.”

About the same time the flames were consuming the last of Miranda Wood’s house, thought Lorne. It seemed unlikely that the same culprit could have set fire to the house, then raced out here in time to knock Miss St. John on the head. Two crimes, two criminals. Too bad.

Lorne preferred simple solutions.

“Are you certain your attacker was headed for Rose Hill?” he asked.

“I know he was. And he’ll be back.”

“Why?”

“Because he didn’t get what he wanted.”

“You’re referring to the scandal sheets?”

Miss St. John gave him a look of pure innocence. “Oh. You know about that?”

“Yes. And for your information, Miss St. John, I didn’t come on to Valerie Everhard. She came on to me.”

Ellis looked up from the dog now nuzzling his knee. “What was that about Valerie Everhard?”

“Never mind,”
snapped Lorne and Miss St. John simultaneously.

“There was a report on me, too,” said Miss St. John with a faint note of pride. “As well as almost everyone on this road. I had no idea Richard Tremain was such a busybody.”

“Any idea why?”

“I’ll give the man the benefit of the doubt and attribute it to mere curiosity. As opposed to less benign motives.”

Blackmail was what she meant. Lorne couldn’t see that such a scheme made much sense. First of all, none of those secrets was particularly nasty. Embarrassing, perhaps, but nothing that couldn’t be lived down. And that included his own penchant for married librarians. Second, the would-be victims ranged from the moderately well-to-do Forrest Mayhew to the outright cash-strapped Gordimers. Why blackmail a family that can scarcely pay their grocery bills?

Unless money was not the sought-after payment.

He wondered about this all the way back to town. Wondered why Richard Tremain would want those secrets. Wondered if he was even the one who’d collected them in the first place. The cottage, after all, had been open to others in the family. Cassie. Phillip.

Evelyn.

No, not Evelyn, he thought. She wouldn’t dirty her hands in this filth.

“You and Valerie Everhard,” Ellis muttered as he drove. “I never woulda guessed.”

“Look, I felt sorry for her,” said Lorne. “She needed some male attention.”

“Oh.” Ellis kept staring straight ahead at the road and nodding to himself.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Lorne demanded.

“Oh, I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“How awful sorry you must be feeling for that woman right now.”

“Valerie Everhard?”

“No.” said Ellis. “The widow Tremain.”

“It’s a matter of loyalty, Chase,” said Noah. “To the family. To your brother. To the people who
matter.
”

Chase said nothing. He simply continued slicing his ham, albeit with more concentrated vigor than usual. He knew they were all watching him. Noah and Evelyn. The twins. They were waiting for him to respond. But he kept on slicing that meat, mangling it, really, into smaller and smaller pieces.

“Never mind, Daddy,” said Evelyn. “Can’t you see? He’s so wrapped up with that witch, he can’t see the trap he’s—”

“Please, Evelyn.” Chase set down his knife.

“She’s twisted you around, Chase! She has a talent for that! Among other things. But you can’t be bothered with the facts anymore. No, all you want to believe are her lies.”

“I want to believe the truth,” he said quietly.

“The truth is, she’s a whore.”

“Evelyn,” cut in Noah. “That is quite enough.”

Evelyn turned on her father. “Whose side are you on?”

“You know damn well I’m on your side. I always have been.”

“Then why don’t you back me up?”

“Because this conversation doesn’t become you. You’ve forgotten all I taught you about dignity. Pride.”

“Well,
excuse me,
Daddy. It’s not every day one’s husband gets murdered.” She glanced around at the sideboard. “Where’s that wine? It’s not too early for a drink.”

“You will get over the murder. You’ll get beyond it. And you will remember who you are.”

“Who I am?” She rose to her feet. “Who I am is more of an embarrassment every day.” She shoved her chair back against the table and left the room.

There was a long silence.

“She does have a point, Chase,” said Noah, sounding quite reasonable. “The family should stick together. No matter what attractions this Miranda Wood person offers, don’t you think it’s best you stand by us?”

“What attraction
does
she offer?” asked Cassie.

“That’s irrelevant,” snapped Chase.

Noah raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

Chase met Noah’s gaze with a look of sheer indifference. Which, at that moment, wasn’t at all what he was feeling. He had plenty of feelings when it came to Miranda Wood, and indifference wasn’t one of them. All night he’d dreamt about her. He’d awakened sweating, remembering the fire, feeling once again the panic of not being able to find her in that well of smoke and flames. He’d drop back to sleep, only to sink yet again into the same nightmare. Some time during his fitful tossing and turning, he’d come to several realizations. That he was incapable of logical thought where Miranda Wood was concerned. That the attraction he felt for her was growing more dangerous every day.

And that, no matter what his instincts told him, the weight of evidence still pointed to her guilt.

This morning he’d risen from bed exhausted but absolutely clearheaded. He knew what he had to do. He had to put some distance between them. As he should have done from the very beginning.

He said, “You don’t have to worry, Noah. I don’t plan to see her again.”

“I always thought you were the smarter Tremain,” said Noah. “I was right.”

Chase shrugged. “Not really a flattering comment. Considering how little you thought of Richard.”

Noah glanced at the twins. “You two! Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Not really,” said Phillip.

“Well, clear the table, then. Go on.”

“It’s not as if we didn’t know,” said Cassie.

Noah frowned at her. “Know what?”

“That you and Dad didn’t get along.”

“For that matter, young lady, he didn’t get along with you, either.”

“Normal father-daughter disagreements. Not like you two, always at each other’s throats. All that yelling and name-calling—”