Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel (19 page)

“Wasn’t all us.” Kate smoothed her apron. “But we failed her in some way. Ever since, I’ve tried to open my home to anybody God brought here. There were a couple of runaways that Sheriff Tom Logan, the current sheriff’s dad, asked me to take in. They went home to their families, so maybe I’m doing some good.”

“Did Taylor tell you I’m looking for land to build a camp for troubled kids? It’ll be only boys at first, but . . .” Nick’s heart quickened. Kate was a potter, a skill she could pass on. “Have you ever thought about giving pottery lessons?”

A broad smile stretched across her face. “I can’t take on anything full time or even part time, what with the pottery studio and all the orders, but I could spare a couple of hours a week.”

“Is there any land around here for sale? I’d like to get at least twenty acres, with access to a lake, if possible.” Nick wasn’t rich, but with his savings and Angie’s insurance money, he should be able to swing twenty acres.

“You’d need plenty of money to do that. Developers are grabbing up all the good land, offering outlandish prices.”

Reality check. Memphis was knocking on Logan Point’s door. Land would sell by the foot here rather than by the acre. “You’re right. I doubt I could afford it.”

She patted his hand. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. If God wants it here, it’ll go here.”

Nick had experienced open doors too many times not to recognize another one. He squeezed Kate’s hand. “I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that we’ve met.”

Nick stared out the fifth floor window of Scott’s hospital room at the parking lot below. A monitor beeped a steady rhythm from above his brother’s bed. “So tell me a little more about this Digger person your girlfriend mentioned.”

When he didn’t get an answer, he turned around. Scott was dozing again. The hamburger Nick had brought was still on the tray, untouched. Nick crossed to the bed and shook him. “Scott, tell me about Digger.”

“Somebody . . . I met in Newton.” Scott slurred his words.

Nick sat on the edge of the bed and waited. Overhead, the faint beeping from the monitor indicated an increase in Scott’s heart rate. “Did he take Dr. Martin’s class?”

“What? No, I told you he was too old . . .”

“What do you mean by too old? Scott!” He shook him again. “We need to talk.”

“Not now . . .”

“Did you give her the bracelet?”

Scott’s eyes blinked open, and he squinted at Nick. “What bracelet?”

“She received a diamond bracelet in the mail Monday. It was postmarked from Memphis and charged to your credit card. A five hundred dollar purchase, Scott.”

His eyes widened, and he struggled to get up as he shook the sleep off. Nick raised the head of his bed.

“I didn’t send her a bracelet. Yeah, I went to her house. But because she texted me to come. Look on my phone. You’ll see it.”

“Your phone was destroyed in the fire.” Taylor had never mentioned a text to Scott, probably because there never was one. Nick expelled an impatient breath. “How did you get to her house? You didn’t have a car.”

“I got a ride part of the way and walked the rest.”

“Were you drunk?”

“Not then. I’d maybe had a couple of drinks.” He rubbed the side of his head. “Do we have to do this tonight?”

Nick crossed his arms. “Tell me what happened when you got there.”

Scott pressed his hands against his head. “The front door was open, and I rang the doorbell and knocked, and when Dr. Martin didn’t come to the door I went in to make sure she was okay. I don’t remember anything after that until I heard a loud bang. Knew I had to get away, so I started running.”

“How did you get back to town?”

Scott laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. “When I heard the sirens, I called Digger. I walked about a mile before he came.” He took a shuddering breath. “Please.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this any longer.”

Cold chills ran over Nick as he sat silently as Scott drifted off. Before he went to bed tonight, he needed to write down what his brother had just told him and email it to Taylor. He sighed.

Scott was in deeper trouble than he had ever guessed.

T
he sun topped the trees in the Martin backyard, promising a hot Saturday as Taylor stretched first one leg then the other. After a fitful sleep, she hoped running would revitalize her, but even now her father’s case gnawed in her gut. Missing evidence and one of the investigators dead. Maybe a suicide, maybe not. The wait until Monday morning seemed interminable.

She pulled her hair up in a ponytail, then jogged the quarter mile to Coley Road and turned toward the bed and breakfast. Years ago she and Livy routinely ran a two-mile stretch of the road and back. Sometimes they even added the mile to the lake. She would forgo that leg of it today.

A horn honked, and she almost stumbled as a pickup eased beside her. She recognized one of Ben’s deputies even though he was out of uniform.

“Wade Hatcher, you scared me to death,” she said.

“Ben know what you’re doing?”

She winced. At the least, she should have called the sheriff and advised him that she planned to jog a little. “No, but it’s good to see he’s sending patrols by.”

“I’m not exactly part of the patrol, just on my way to check on my mom. I’ll radio dispatch and let them know to send a deputy by.”

“I don’t think I’ll need it, but thanks.”

By the time she reached Kate’s drive, she’d slipped into a groove again as she focused on the feel of the road under her feet. Lost in a world of her own, she didn’t hear or see Nick until he spoke.

“Good morning.”

Taylor jerked her head up. She lost focus as he fell in beside her. Her traitorous heart thudded against her ribs as she took in his lean body. “You scared me half to death,” she panted.

Nick grinned wickedly. “Sorry. Want me to run the other way?”

She shot him a sharp glance. “Think you can keep up?”

“Try me.”

Taylor’s jaw shot out. She’d do just that—as soon as she got her pace back, a difficult task with him running beside her, his body lean and taut. He hadn’t shaved, and his five o’clock shadow had grown into a day-old beard. An eye patch and he’d look like a pirate.

Breathe.
In. Out.

Muscles. Rippling. Body. Glistening
.

Her mind backslid as he matched her stride for stride. They rounded a curve in the road. Killer Hill lay ahead, so named by Livy because of the sharp incline. She’d leave him in the dust. Taylor upped her pace, stretching out her legs. Halfway up the hill she drew from reserves. Again, he matched her stride for stride. She glared at his back in disbelief as he pulled ahead before they reached the top.

Nick jogged several yards beyond while she slowed to a walk, her chest heaving. He turned around and jogged back. “You’re good,” he panted.

“I would have beaten you if we’d started even.” At least he was winded. “You didn’t tell me you were a runner.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He reached and brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Thirsty?”

Her heart erupted into a flurry of rapid-fire beats that had nothing to do with running. Taylor pinched her T-shirt and fanned it. “I’m dying here.”

His gaze lingered, and then he smiled. “Be right back.”

While she stretched her calves, Nick disappeared into the woods
beside the road. When he reappeared, he held two water bottles in his hands.

“You knew about Killer Hill?”

He laughed. “I scoped it out last night and stashed a couple of bottles of frozen water Kate gave me.” He handed her a bottle. “One will be enough for me.”

“Thanks.” Taylor unscrewed the cap and took a long draw. “I gather you stayed at the bed and breakfast last night.”

Nick nodded, then turned his bottle up and drank, the water trickling out the side of his mouth. He wiped his chin with his hand. “Kate’s an interesting woman.”

“She’s special.”

He took a breath. “The hospital will probably release Scott tomorrow, and he’s refusing to go to rehab, says he can do it himself this time. If you don’t have any objections, I’d like to bring him to Kate’s for a few days, until I can find a drug and alcohol facility he’ll agree to go to.”

“Bring him to Kate’s?” Even though she’d mentioned to Kate that Nick might want to bring Scott to the bed and breakfast, it still unsettled her.

“Before you decide, there’s more.”

From the look on his face, she wasn’t going to like the “more” part. “What?”

“I talked him last night about what happened the night you and the sheriff were attacked, then I went home and wrote down what he said. I’d like to email it to you.”

She gave him her email address. “Give me the highlights.”

He looked into the distance, then turned back to her. “He admitted he was at your house that night. But he said you texted him to come. I—”

“I what?” She gaped at him. “I don’t even know his cell phone number.”

“That’s what I thought. But he was adamant.” Nick licked his lips. “I’m not saying
you
texted, but that someone could have from your house. Maybe on your computer?”

Her computer hadn’t been moved from her desk, one of the reasons she didn’t believe robbery was part of the attack. Even so, she’d checked the computer out, and everything seemed normal. “My computer is at the house. I’ll check and see if a text was sent from it as soon as I get there.”

“I’ve been saying all along someone is framing my brother.”

He might just be right. But even if Scott wasn’t the attacker, he almost burned Nick’s house down. “You’re sure Kate is okay with Scott coming there?”

“We talked about it, and she indicated it was mostly up to you. Of course, I’d have to make sure he didn’t get any alcohol, but that shouldn’t be so hard to do at Kate’s house. I don’t think there’s any place he can buy it closer than five miles.”

She chuckled. “That’s true. If he comes, can I talk to him?”

“I want you to. I want him to tell you everything that happened that night . . . but let me get him settled first.”

“Hopefully sooner than later? After all, I might be able to help him.”

“We’ll see.”

She slugged down the last of the water and looked at the empty bottle. She didn’t want to throw it away, and she didn’t want to carry it to the house.

Her gaze flitted to his chiseled lips. How could anyone look as good as Nick this early in the morning? Nearby, a mockingbird let loose with a melody, and his mate answered. Her breath shortened, and she tried to ignore her thumping heart.

Nick’s hand brushed hers as he reached for the empty bottle, and a charge raced up her arm. She raised her head and met his gaze, drowning in his liquid hazel eyes. The air between them surged with an undercurrent. Desire to feel his lips on hers raced through her body.

Nick dropped the water bottles and leaned toward her, cupping her face in his hands. His lips, tentative at first, tasted salty and sweet at the same time. Then he claimed her mouth with such
intensity that it took her breath away. Desire she’d never known ignited in her heart, and she melted into his arms as the pleasure of being held by him blew everything else away.

“Oh, Taylor,” he said, his voice husky as his finger trailed down her cheek. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

She stiffened and tried to pull away.

“Wait . . . That didn’t come out right. I don’t regret it. I just didn’t see it coming.”

Taylor took in a shaky breath. She could live with that. “That makes two of us. So, what’s next?”

She could kick herself. Did she always have to be so direct? Did it even matter? His low chuckle was like butterfly kisses to her self-doubt.

He released her and stepped back, amusement glinting in his eyes. “That remains to be discovered.”

With a new awareness of Nick charging her senses, Taylor struggled for rhythm as they jogged toward home. Just before Kate’s drive, they slowed to a walk, and Nick took her hand. A car blew past them, creating a cooling breath of air. Another vehicle followed and a horn tooted as one of Ben’s deputies drove by. Taylor waved a thank-you.

Nick squeezed her hand. “See you at the picnic?”

“Five o’clock,” she reminded him.

Taylor’s feet barely touched the ground as she jogged to her drive. The lyrics from a song about being loved every waking moment played in her head. The day stretched before her and with it the promise of seeing Nick again.

Jonathan’s dark maroon pickup inched slowly toward her in the distance. Her gaze slid past the truck to Oak Grove, and the weathered old house cast a pall on her mood. He stopped and lowered the window as she came even with him.

“Have a good run?”

“I did.” She pulled the damp T-shirt away from her body as she glanced in the back of his truck. Several worn boards lay in the bed. “Been working up at the old house this morning?”

He nodded. “Cleaning up some of the boards lying around.”

“Wish you’d told me. I would’ve helped.” It would have been the perfect time to put her ghosts to rest.

His bushy eyebrows came together in a frown. “Last time you helped me, you ended up in the emergency room with five stitches.”

She’d forgotten that. “Why do you keep working on Oak Grove if you’re going to sell it?”

“At first I was only cleaning it out, but one thing led to another, and I decided to replace a few boards, patch a few places in the walls.” He chewed his bottom lip. “I’m calling a meeting after the picnic. The contractor wants an answer.”

“Come on, Jonathan. Let it rest this weekend. I need a little more time.”

“So you’re not a definite no?”

She couldn’t deny the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars tempted her, so she could honestly say yes. “Not definite.”

A broad grin broke across his face. “Good enough for me. I’ll wait until Monday evening.”

“Kate said you and Charlie go to the casinos. Is that why you want to sell? You’re in trouble?”

The grin disappeared. “Kate needs to keep her mouth shut. I win more than I lose.”

Taylor had read that line before in her research for graduate school. Compulsive gamblers, like all addicts, lived in denial. “Is Wayne Russo still doing investigative work?”

His head jerked back. “Russo’s dead. You’re not still fooling around with James’s case, are you?” His mouth tightened. “You are. Taylor, don’t open this can of worms.”

She looked away from his piercing eyes, toward Oak Grove. How could her uncle not want to find his brother? She straightened her shoulders and turned back to Jonathan. “I don’t understand why you’re so dead set against looking for him.”

“I’m trying to spare you some pain. Your father doesn’t want to be found.” He slowly enunciated each word. “If he did, he would contact you.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“Don’t be silly. And I don’t have time to fool with this now. Need to dump these boards and get some chairs your mama wanted.” Jonathan put his arm across the back of the truck seat and turned to look behind him as he shifted the truck into reverse.

She fanned her T-shirt again. Her uncle was hiding something. Maybe he had helped her dad disappear. That would explain a lot. Slowly, she walked to the back door and embraced the cool air inside the kitchen. Her mom turned as she closed the door. “It’s getting hot out there,” Taylor said.

“Have you lost your mind?”

She blinked at her mom. “What?”

“Someone sent you a threatening note. Shot another woman to send you a message, and you’re out running the roads?” Her mom jerked a towel from the rack and scrubbed the already spotless table. “What were you thinking? I was almost ready to call Ben Logan.”

Taylor swallowed the defense that sprang to her mind. “Ben had it covered and nothing happened.” Except Nick kissed her. “Might not have been my wisest decision, though. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” Her mother popped open the oven and took out a pan of cinnamon rolls.

Taylor’s mouth watered. “Those look so good.”

“They’re not for you.” She set the pan on a trivet. “They’re for Abby. Chase has gone after her.”

Abby. She wished her niece had another week at the camp. “Then I better get showered and dressed.”

At the door, she remembered the reporter and turned back to her mother. “Did anyone contact you about a story on Dad?”

Her mother gave her a blank stare. “What do you mean?”

“I was talking with the lieutenant who investigated Dad’s disappearance. He indicated someone was writing a story about it.”

“Why?” her mother demanded. “It’s been twenty years.”

“People are fascinated with unsolved mysteries—it’s those television programs about cold cases.”

A gasp caught in her mom’s throat as her hand flew to her chest.

“Cold case, that’s what he called it,” she said slowly. “A reporter did phone about a month ago. I refused to answer his questions, other than to tell him we had gotten on with our lives. The newspaper can’t write about that without my permission, can they?”

Taylor winced. “I’m afraid so, Mom. It’s a matter of public record.”

For a second, her mom stared transfixed at Taylor, then like a fragile flower, she wilted. Taylor wrapped her arms around her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Her mom pulled away, her face splotchy. “You were talking to the detective who investigated you father’s disappearance?”

Taylor pinched the bridge of her nose. Talk about opening a can of worms. “Briefly. I should have waited until after the picnic to bring it up. Right now, I better go take a shower.” And check to see if someone used her computer to send Scott a text.

An uncertain smile touched Mom’s lips. “Sure, but let’s do talk about this later, after the picnic is over.”

“Sounds good.” Taylor hurried upstairs and flipped on the shower. She hadn’t meant to hurt her mom. Sometimes her single-minded focus made her insensitive to the feelings of others . . . something she obviously needed to work on. But she needed answers to the question of her father’s whereabouts, and they were locked away somewhere.

Maybe Monday Lieutenant Wilson would know where to find the key.