Suddenly One Summer (3 page)

As she stared down at the keys, a wave of reckless temptation swept through her. She knew she should resist. She couldn’t let herself get seduced. If she started playing anything more than simple notes, plain melodies, she wouldn’t want to stop, and she
had
to stop. Her life was different now. She could never have what she’d had.

But the lure of the keys drew her forward. Maybe just a few chords, just enough to satisfy her ears, which were still ringing from Stella’s performance. She knew she was rationalizing, but couldn’t stop herself from placing her fingers over the keys, from feeling the sense of anticipation that she always felt right before she hit the first note.

As soon as her fingers touched the smooth ivories she was lost, back in another world, another place. At first she was content to play the tunes that she couldn’t remember not knowing. Her parents had taught her to play before she could read. As the music ran through her, the melodies changed, the emotions of the past flowed through her, memories of a time when music had driven her life…

The crowd hushed as she walked across the stage in the Isaac Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall. It had taken forever to get here—all those hours of practicing, of worrying she wasn’t good enough. But here she was. As she began to play, the fear ran away. She wasn’t herself anymore. She was a conduit to the music that came not only from her piano, but also from the venerated musicians who had played in the old hall. She was one of them now, connected to the past, the music running through her veins. When she finished her solo, there was dead silence. Then the applause echoed through the auditorium. She had almost forgotten she was playing for anyone but herself.

Standing up, she took her bows, her gaze catching on the man in the front row. He wasn’t smiling. Nor was he clapping.

Maybe she hadn’t been good enough. But dammit, she was the one on the stage, not him. She glanced away. She would pay for that small act of rebellion later…But tonight she would just enjoy the moment. It was her moment—and it belonged only to her.

Reid Tanner pulled up in front of a one-story cottage at the end of Elmwood Lane. Jenna Davies’s house backed up to a grove of redwood trees and stood apart from its neighbors, an empty lot between it and the next house. On the other side of the home were more trees that wound along a steep cliff that dropped to the ocean.

Her street was a few blocks inland from the harbor and in a quieter part of town, but still only about a ten-minute walk from the action. It was a modest house, the lawn neatly trimmed, a few bushes by the porch, but nothing bright, colorful, or inviting. The windows were covered with curtains or blinds, none of which was open to let in the midday sun.

It was a lonely house, a place that felt separate and a bit outside, perhaps exactly like its owner. Or tenant, Reid amended. He knew from the town gossips that Jenna Davies had moved into the house two months ago and while she was friendly, she was also reserved. No one knew anything personal about her or her daughter, Lexie. He planned on changing that.

Reid was about to knock on the front door when the sound of music made him pause. Whoever was playing the piano had incredible talent. But there
was a painful, angry violence to the melody, a rumble of thunder, a gathering storm. His pulse began to pound in anticipation, of what, he didn’t know. The music seemed to fill the air that he breathed, flowing through his veins, sharpening every nerve in his body. He fought its pull, sensing that it was taking him somewhere he didn’t want to go, making him think, making him feel…Dammit, he didn’t
want
to feel. He needed to walk away, but he couldn’t seem to move.

The melody ended in a crashing crescendo of notes. He drew in a deep breath, unsettled by the fury he’d heard, the feeling of desperate despair, the sense of terror. He waited a moment to see if the music would start up again, but all was quiet now. The calm before another storm, or was the storm over?

Who could tell? He’d spent many a day wondering if the nightmare he was living would ever go away or if it would always lie in wait, striking when he least expected it, reminding him that he’d never be free.

Was that how the person inside felt? The one playing the piano with an intensity he’d never heard before? As he considered the thought, he debated the wisdom of his course. He really should be interviewing people in town about the angels. Unfortunately, he was far more interested in the woman who’d blown him off last night than he was in angels, and if she was the one who’d just played the piano, then he had even more questions.

Reid rang the bell then lifted his camera, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

God, she was going to be pissed. He felt more alive than he had in a long time.

She opened the door.

“Smile,” he said, snapping her photo. He caught the drop of her jaw, the flash of anger in her dark blue eyes, the tightening of her lips, and the dismay that crossed her face. He took another shot and then stuck his foot out as she tried to slam the door in his face. “I told you I could take another picture.”

“And I told you that I’m not your story. Why aren’t you down at the cliff with the other reporters?”

“I don’t like to follow the pack, Jenna.”

She frowned at his deliberate use of her name, her expression an intriguing mix of anger and wariness. He had a feeling Jenna Davies was a complicated woman, another reason he should probably not be standing on her porch.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“It wasn’t difficult. Everyone at Dina’s café was talking about your heroic rescue last night. Most people can’t imagine doing what you did. I’m surprised the local paper hasn’t been after you for an interview.” A look of discomfort entered her eyes. “They have, but you turned them down, didn’t you?”

“I’m not interested in press coverage. I only did what anyone else would have done. The local paper respects my right to privacy.”

“Then they must be a bunch of pansy-assed reporters.”

“What do you want?” she asked impatiently.

“I want to know why you did it. Most people wouldn’t get off the couch to save their own mother, but you jumped into an ice-cold bay to rescue a stranger. That’s why I’m interested in you.”

His gaze ran down her body. She’d been soaked the night before, and in the shadows he hadn’t been able to see her clearly. She was pretty in an understated way. Her thick brown hair was swept up in a ponytail, and except for two bright spots of pink in her cheeks, he doubted she was wearing a speck of makeup. Nor did she have on any jewelry, not even a wedding ring, which he found much too interesting. Her jeans were cheap and baggy. Her long-sleeved T-shirt looked like it had seen better days, and was at least a size too big. She appeared to be a woman who lived a modest life, yet it seemed contrived, as if she were deliberately trying to downplay her features. He had the distinct feeling that she’d made herself up to appear very forgettable, which only intrigued him more.

“What will it take for you to delete those pictures?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

The motion drew the material close around her breasts, and he noticed that she had some very nice curves. His body tightened in appreciation. He cleared his throat as he met her eyes. “How about an explanation for why you’re so camera-shy?”

“I want to live a quiet life, that’s all. Who do you work for, anyway?”

“Spotlight Magazine.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Well, six million people have,” he drawled. “We cover whatever stories people are interested in.”

“No one is interested in me.”

“I am.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Why are you teaching piano to beginners when you play like a concert pianist?” he challenged.

Her eyes widened in alarm. “You heard me?”

“Yes, and you’re very good. But you know that, don’t you?”

“Not good enough,” she said with a shake of her head.

“You must have extremely high standards. I’m curious as to why you chose to play such a dark piece. It sounded as if you were incredibly angry or in terrible pain, or maybe both.”

She looked away, glancing down at her watch. “I really don’t have time for this. I have a student coming in a few minutes. Look, Mr….”

“Tanner. Reid Tanner. Here’s the thing, Jenna. I have some time to kill until the angels make their next miracle appearance. Now, I can ask you my questions or I can ask around town. I’m sure people will be more than willing to talk about you. They already are because of what you did last night. But it’s your call. If you want me to go away, you have to give me something.”

She hesitated for a long moment, an internal battle going on in her beautiful blue eyes. He sensed
that she wanted to slam the door in his face, but since that hadn’t worked the first time, she needed another game plan.

He didn’t usually have much trouble getting women to talk to him, but this one was as prickly as a cactus.

“Fine,” she said. “Here’s the deal. You took two pictures. You get two questions. Then you delete my photos.”

“Will you tell me the truth? And that’s not my first question,” he added quickly.

“We’ll see.”

“All right.” He thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Where’s Lexie’s father?”

“He’s dead,” she said shortly. “Next.”

“Who are you afraid of?”

She didn’t answer right away, her lips tightening. Then she looked him straight in the eye and said, “Right now—you.”

“Me?” Reid echoed. “Why would you be afraid of me?”

“You’re out of questions,” she said, a determined glint in her eye. “Now give me the camera.”

“I’ll do it.” He stepped back in case Jenna decided to grab his camera again, then pressed a couple of buttons. “Satisfied?”

“Don’t come back here,” she warned.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not a bad guy.”

“That’s what all the bad guys say,” she replied, a disillusioned note in her voice. “Good-bye, Mr. Tanner.”

A second later, Reid found himself staring at her front door. He really hated the fact that she’d gotten the last word again. And he’d gotten nothing. He didn’t have her photo, and her answers had only left him with more questions.

He turned and walked down the steps to his car. Every instinct he had told him to go after her story.
He knew she had one. That’s why she was afraid of him. She had a secret to protect. He’d never been able to resist a good mystery—but she was trouble, and he didn’t need any more of that.

He started the car and pulled away from the curb. When he made a U-turn in the cul-de-sac, he saw the flutter of a curtain at her window.

She was watching him.

Just keep driving,
he told himself. But he found himself looking in the rearview mirror, knowing he’d be back.

Jenna knew she would have to do something about Reid Tanner. He was gone for now, but he’d be back. Like a shark, he smelled blood in the water—but she wasn’t going to tell him her secrets, no matter how often he flashed that charming cynical grin at her or gazed at her with those very interested dark brown eyes. She couldn’t trust anyone—especially not a journalist.

When the doorbell rang again, she looked through the peephole this time, then opened the door to her next student.

Marly was a twenty-two-year-old grad student getting her teaching degree, who wanted to learn some basic piano to use in her elementary school classes. The plump blonde gave her a cheery smile. “Hello.”

“Hi. How did the practicing go this week?”

“Not very well. I had so much other work to do, but I really hope to make more time this week.”

Jenna’s cell phone rang. She started in surprise. Only one person had the number of her prepaid phone. Her heart began to pound.

“Why don’t you get warmed up, Marly? I’ll be back in a minute.” She headed into her bedroom, closed the door, then redialed the number. It was answered almost immediately by a soft female voice that was quickly becoming very familiar. “Has something happened?” Jenna asked.

The woman Jenna knew only as Paula said, “Brad put the house up for sale.”

“He’s moving?” Jenna asked in shock. “What about his job?”

“He might be staying in the area, just not in the house.”

Jenna felt sick. Brad had some plan, and she had no idea what it was.

“Is everything okay there?” Paula asked. “How is Lexie doing?”

“Better. She only wakes up a couple of times at night now. She’s making friends. Stuttering less. I really hate to move her. I think she’s finally starting to feel safe.”

“You’ll do what you have to do.”

“Yes, I will.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

“Lucky? There’s no way in hell I’d ever call Lexie lucky,” Jenna whispered as she ended the call.

The Angel’s Bay Marina bustled with afternoon activity. The smell of frying fish permeated the air as Reid passed by Carl’s Crab Shack, where a line of people stood at the take-out window for fish sticks and fries. He sidestepped a group of tourists who had just returned from a whale watching trip on the
Angel Shark,
one of Angel Bay’s larger charter boats, run by the Murray family. The most prominent family in town, they were definitely on his list of people to interview, but right now he was in search of seventy-nine-year-old Henry Milton, who was rumored to spend most of his days and nights on his boat, the
Mary Lynn
.

The twenty-two-foot fishing boat, which Reid spied on the other side of the
Angel Shark,
looked like she’d seen a few storms—much like the man who was puttering around on deck. Henry Milton’s face was as weathered as his boat, a crisscross of tiny lines on skin that was dark reddish brown. His white hair stood up in tufts on top of his head, and his lean frame could have used a few pounds. As Reid approached, Henry gave him a friendly smile.

“Mr. Milton, may I come aboard?” Reid asked.

“That depends. If you want to talk to my grandson, Timothy isn’t here.”

“I understand that. He seems to be difficult to find these days.” Every effort Reid had made to talk to Timothy and his pal James, the makers of the angel Internet video, had been blocked. The
two young men had apparently gone on a deep-sea fishing trip and wouldn’t be back until the next day. They were probably feeling the heat of national scrutiny, but they wouldn’t be able to stay away forever. “Actually, I want to speak to you,” Reid continued. “I’d like to get your take on the angels and the alleged pictures on the cliff wall.”

“My take, huh? Hold on.” Henry disappeared down the stairs, then returned with two bottles of beer. He tossed one to Reid. “You look thirsty.”

“Thanks.” Reid sat down on the bench across from the old man, unscrewed the bottle cap and took a long swig. It tasted too good. It tasted like forgetfulness. But he couldn’t afford to take that slide right now. He set the beer down next to him. “So, any thoughts on the angels?”

“There are a lot of legends in this town. Hard to know where to start.”

“You’ve lived here your entire life; is that correct?”

“Same as my parents and my grandparents and their grandparents before them. My great-great-great granddaddy was one of the twenty-four survivors who made it to shore after the wreck of the
Gabriella
in the mid 1800s. He was originally from New York, made the long trek around the Cape and up the coast to San Francisco in search of gold. He didn’t find much gold, but he did fall in love and get married. He was taking his new wife back to the East Coast when the ship went down. She didn’t make it. He ended up marrying one of the other survivors and having a family, staying right here.” Henry
scratched his chin. “A lot of people died that night. More than thirty bodies were found in the bay, just a few yards away from land. Another forty or so must have floated back out to sea, because they were never found.”

“So your ancestor was one of the fortunate ones,” Reid said.

“Yep.”

“Is this video, the angels, and the pictures on the cliff just a way to bring in more tourists for the summer festival that starts tomorrow? Add color to the town?”

Henry gave him a sharp look. “Timothy said he saw angels. They were as clear to him as his own hand. He could see their faces, not just shapes. One was a female with long blond hair. She’s not so clear on that video he made, I guess, but he said he’d recognize ’em again if he saw ’em.”

“Really?” Reid tried to keep the cynical note out of his voice. He had Henry talking and he didn’t want to do anything to make him stop. “Is your grandson very religious?”

Henry shot him a quick look. “No, not at all. He lost his faith in a lot of things when his parents split up. You’re not a believer, are you, Mr….”

“Tanner. And no, I’m not.” Reid paused. “I heard that the
Gabriella
was filled with massive treasures from the Gold Rush, yet no divers have ever found the wreck or any evidence of gold.”

Henry nodded, an admiring expression filling his eyes. “You’ve done your homework. But just because
you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there. I’ve been fishing and diving off this coast my entire life. There are underground canyons, mountains, unbelievable spectacles beneath the water that can only be seen when the tides are just right. There is no doubt in my mind that somewhere not far from here sits the remains of the
Gabriella
and all she contained.” Henry paused. “Some people think the angels are trying to make a map on the cliff face to point to where the
Gabriella
lies. They want something to be found—something that’s been lost too long.”

“Treasure,” Reid murmured, a tingle running down his spine. The thought of undiscovered gold was undeniably exciting.

“That’s right.” Henry gave Reid a grin. “Got your attention now, huh? The angels you could ignore, but not buried treasure. Temptation, greed, desire changes a person. Desperation, too.” Henry paused and lifted the beer bottle to his lips, taking a long, thoughtful swallow. “This place has always been about the battle between good and evil, the two sides of every human being’s soul. In my family there are journals passed down from generation to generation, each retelling the story of that night: the terrible storm, the ship splintering apart on the rocks, the rush for lifeboats—the knowledge that there weren’t enough, that not everyone would survive, that some would not act heroically.”

Reid stared at the old man, caught up in the story. “Was your ancestor one of the heroes?”

“In his writing it seems so, but who knows?
Sometimes a man doesn’t want to look too closely at his soul. You know what I mean, Mr. Tanner?”

Reid had spent the better part of a year not looking at his soul. He had the distinct feeling that old Henry could see that. The thought unnerved him. He’d always considered himself a good poker player, not a man to give anything away.

Henry continued, “The lines between good and evil can be razor thin. Sometimes they’re blurry, and sometimes they’re impossible to see until you step over them. You think you’re doing what’s right, and suddenly you realize just how wrong you are.” He sat back in his seat and took another sip of his beer.

Surprisingly rattled by the conversation, Reid swung his gaze toward the town, needing a minute to compose his thoughts. Small shops lined Ocean Avenue, the waterfront looking like a picture postcard with antique shops, sidewalk cafés, art galleries, clothing boutiques, a quilt store, and shops selling Angel’s Bay memorabilia.

The homes in the older part of town were on the smaller side, but on some of the adjacent bluffs and hillsides, large seaside homes were being developed. It wouldn’t be long before Angel’s Bay had more business and more people than it could handle. Actually, maybe that time had already come. The manager of the Seagull Inn, where he was staying, had told him that all the rooms in town were booked. They’d never had so many tourists. Perhaps that’s exactly what the makers of the video had intended to accomplish.

“You should talk to Fiona Murray,” Henry said, interrupting Reid’s thoughts. “If you’re interested in the history of the town, that is. She runs the Angel’s Heart Quilt Shop, where all the ladies go. It’s that big red barn over there.” He pointed toward the far end of the street. “Fiona knows a lot about the
Gabriella
and the people who survived—what happened to them, where they are now. History says that some of the survivors tried to leave town, but they never made it. It’s as if those who died in the wreck had a grip on them and wouldn’t let go.” Henry stroked his lightly bearded chin with one hand. “Story goes that something bad happened on the ship before she went down.”

“Like what?” Reid asked, his attention captured once again.

“Murder,” Henry said bluntly. “Some think that’s why the angels are getting stirred up. They’re tired of waiting for the truth to be revealed. They want someone to pay attention.” He paused, his gaze drilling into Reid’s. “Maybe that someone is you.”

Murder, lost treasure, a mysterious woman…Every time he turned around, there seemed to be a new story in Angel’s Bay. Reid felt an inexplicable run of goose bumps down his arm, as if the weather was about to turn, or something was about to happen, which was crazy. He was just getting caught up in the old man’s imagination.

“Sounds like quite a story,” Reid said lightly. “Someone else will have to tell it.”

Henry gave him a speculative look. “Why don’t we go for a ride out to the cliffs? The markings on the cliff are best seen from the ocean.”

Reid looked at the distant bluffs that dotted the rugged coastline. Beyond the calm waters of the bay, the water appeared more turbulent and treacherous. “How far is it?”

“Just past the breakwater. Takes about twenty minutes to get out there. You got something more important to do? I wouldn’t have taken you for a man content to write a story from the sidelines.” Henry threw down the challenge with a smile.

Reid picked it up with an answering grin. “You got that right. Let’s go.”

“Great.” Henry jumped to his feet and prepared the boat to sail. He untied the ropes, started the engine, and they were off. As they pulled away from the dock, Reid moved to stand next to Henry at the wheel. There was a glint of excitement in Henry’s eyes.

“You love the sea, don’t you?” Reid asked.

“I’ve been on it my whole life. It’s in my blood. Wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I couldn’t see the ocean, taste the salt in the air, feel the wind in my face. There’s nothing better.” Henry gave him a regretful smile. “My sons don’t feel the same way, though. One of ’em lives in Detroit, the other in Nebraska. Landlocked, the both of them, and they’re happy.”

“I guess one of them is Timothy’s father.”

“My oldest, Paul. He and Erica divorced about six years ago. Erica was here for a while, but she re
married last year and moved to Los Angeles. Timothy decided to stay and moved in with his buddy. I see him as much as I can, but he’s a young man. He doesn’t care to spend much time with his old grandpa. What a beautiful day. God, I love this,” Henry added with a slight slur.

Reid’s gaze narrowed. “How many beers have you had?”

“Now there’s a question you should have asked before we left,” Henry said with a laugh. He gunned the motor, and Reid grabbed onto the rail to steady himself. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

The old man’s statement sent a wave of pain through Reid. The last time he’d heard those words, someone had died.

“You okay?” Henry asked, shooting him a quick look. “You look a little green. How many beers have
you
had?”