Tidewater Inn (6 page)

The attorney nodded. “His sister, Pearl, too. She's the town postmistress. She moved into the big house to take care of him before he died.”

“What did he die from?” she asked.

“He had a heart attack a year ago and went downhill afterward. He knew his time was short, so he transferred all of his cash to a trust fund for Brent and Vanessa.”

“Do my siblings know that I've inherited something?”

“I just informed them last week. Brent was on a trip to England, so I delayed the reading of Ray's will until he got back.” Horace nodded. “He's a young hothead, and he demanded that we break the bequest. I told him he didn't have any legal grounds.”

She didn't want to admit to herself that her brother's objection hurt. “Is the inheritance so valuable?”

The attorney retrieved a file from his drawer and slid it across the desk to her. “The entire west side of the island as well as an old inn is all yours. Now, it's not as valuable as if it were on the mainland, because progress has passed us by for now. But if tourists ever start flocking here, it could be worth a lot of money. Even in its current state, it's valuable.”

She flipped open the folder. The first page was a photograph of a lovely Georgian hotel with porches and balconies. The second was of sand dunes and rolling whitecaps. “My siblings also have an inheritance? A trust fund, you said?”

“Oh yes, they're well taken care of. They each have more than a million dollars in the bank.” He steepled his fingers together. “You really should draw up a will. The property is worth well over a million dollars,” Horace said. “More if progress ever finds us.”

No more money worries for her stepbrother. And that lovely old house she was in yesterday could be hers. She could create a foundation to help preserve the neighborhood. “I think I'd like to set up a foundation after it's sold,” she said slowly. “For historic preservation.” She sat back in her chair and exhaled. “I suppose I'll need a will too.”

“I can draft something simple for you,” Horace offered. “So you have something in place for starters.”

“That would be nice. Thank you. I can't even think straight right now. I just want to find Nicole. The rest can wait.”

Wind-tossed sand stung Libby's cheeks and arms as she stood on the boardwalk staring out to sea. Gulls swooped low over the water, and a crab scuttled across the wet sand. A few clouds floated on an impossibly blue sky. It should have been paradise.

“It's so beautiful,” she said, then shivered. “And so deserted. This is the spot. I recognize the lifesaving station.” She pointed to the lone building, a low-slung clapboard structure with a hole in the roof. “You say this belongs to me?”

Alec gestured to the west. “Not the station. That belongs to the town. Just over the hill is Tidewater Inn. You own this stretch clear to the inlet.”

“Nicole was here to finalize the purchase of the station. We're going to restore it as a museum for the island.” She scanned the area and saw what she was looking for. “There's the cam.” It was mounted on one of the posts. She walked directly to it and stopped a few feet away. “Whoever you are, if you have my friend, please don't hurt her,” she said. “Her name is Nicole.”

Alec's eyes were warm with sympathy when she turned toward him and brushed moisture from her cheeks. “I thought they might be watching. They say an attacker usually goes back to the scene of the crime. And professionals say friends and investigators should try to personalize the victim.”

Alec stood with his hands in the pockets of his denim shorts. “It's possible someone's watching. A plea doesn't hurt.” He pointed to the final landing before the sand. “Her cell phone was found there. Her rental car was parked along the road with the keys in the ignition.”

She winced. “I saw one of the men toss the phone. Would his prints be on it? And what about her hat? I saw it fall off.”

“I'm sure Tom is checking that out. I'll do what I can to find her,” he promised. “The first thing we have to figure out is where she was staying. My cousin may know.” He pulled out his phone and placed a call. “Hey, Tom, I'm with Libby Holladay. Have you found out where Nicole Ingram was staying?”

His voice faded to a drone as she stepped away and stared down the deserted beach. Not a house was in sight of where she stood. No wonder the men had taken Nicole from this location. Gooseflesh pebbled her arms at the thought of what they might be doing to her friend. She swallowed down the wave of nausea that rose in her throat. She had to find Nicole. The most likely reason she was taken was too horrible to contemplate, so she considered whether there might be another reason. Nicole had been poking around about Libby's inheritance. Could there be any connection?

Libby took off her sandals and dug her toes into the warm sand. The sound of the surf washed over her in a rhythm that would have been soothing in other circumstances. Carrying her shoes, she stepped back to find out what Alec had learned. He was just finishing his call.

“Uh-huh. Okay. I'll tell her, thanks.” He dropped the phone back into his pocket. “She was staying at the small inn you own. Tom was just about to head out there. We can meet him there and see what is in her room.”

Libby glanced around one final time, but there was still nothing pointing her to Nicole's whereabouts. This search was already beginning to feel hopeless.

F
IVE

F
iltered light struck her eyelids. Nicole groaned and threw her hand over her eyes. The brightness pierced her skull like a knife. She licked dry lips, then pried one lid open, wincing when the brilliance intensified. She rolled to her back, then sat up.

Where was she? The sound of the surf rolled through the small window covered by a grimy curtain. Her head pounded, and she staggered to her feet. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the light, and she glanced around. She seemed to be in a small building. Overhead were wooden planks, and she could see thatching through the boards. Her sandals and hat were missing, and so was her pink cover-up. She wore only her swimsuit. The dirt floor under her bare feet was cool and damp.

When she put her hand on the door, a rough wooden one, it moved. Surprised it wasn't locked, she stepped out of the shack and onto a mixture of sand and grass. A small beach began twenty feet away. She glanced around and realized she was on a tiny island, barely as big as her yard at home. No other land in the distance as far as she could see. Trying not to panic, she walked along the shore, straining to see something—anything—in the distance. There was nothing but seagulls and waves.

She was incredibly thirsty. Maybe there were provisions in the shack. And what was she doing here? The last thing she could remember was talking to Libby about the inheritance she'd discovered.

She fingered the soreness on her jaw. Ducking into the shack, she circled the perimeter of the space, about sixteen feet square. There was no kitchen, just the small cot and a camp chair. No food or water. Maybe there was a stream on the little island that she'd missed.

She went back into the sunshine and cut behind the shack. No cistern, no stream. Her head spun, and she fought back the rising panic. She'd better get out of the heat and inside. As she skirted the side of the shack, she heard a boat's motor
putt-putt
ing along. Maybe she could get help! She ran to the beach and shaded her eyes with her hand. A small craft rode the waves. Maybe a fisherman?

She shouted and waved. “Help! I need help!”

The bow of the boat headed for the beach where she stood. As it neared, she saw that it held a young man about seventeen or eighteen. The wind whipped his dark hair, and he waved back. When the boat was just offshore, he shut off the motor and threw an anchor overboard. He jumped into the water, and the waves came to midthigh, barely dampening the hem of his black shorts. He reached back into the boat and extracted a box.

She waded out to meet him. When he reached her, she grabbed his arm. “I'm so glad you came this way. I need help. I don't remember how I got here, but I'll pay you to take me back to Hope Island.”

Frowning, he shook off her grip. “I brought you some food and water.”

She took a step back. “You knew I was here?” She struggled to make sense of it.

He brushed past her and walked toward the shack. “The water should last a couple days and the food is stuff like bread and peanut butter. Your brother will come get you when the room at the mental facility is ready.”

She followed him inside. “I don't understand. I don't have a brother. You're not making any sense.”

He set the box on the dirt floor by the cot and opened it. “Like I said, this should last you a few days. I'll be back then with more.”

He was going to leave her. She grabbed his forearm and squeezed. “Listen to me! I don't have a brother. You can't leave me here.”

He glanced at her, then backed away as if she frightened him. “He said you'd say that. It's only for a little while, until he can get you in. You tried to stick him with a knife, and he can't trust you around people. The mental hospital will have an opening in a couple of weeks. It's for your own good.”

His expression was closed. She bolted for the door, slamming it shut behind her to slow him down. If she could get to the boat first, she could get away. She ran to the water and struggled through the waves to the craft, where she threw herself into the bottom of it. Sitting up, she saw him running toward her. She grabbed the rope with the anchor and yanked it up, then scrambled back to try to start the motor.

He reached the water and plunged toward her. She tugged on the rope to start the engine, but she didn't pull it hard enough. Before she could try again, he was at the side of the vessel. She kicked at his hands with her bare feet, but he hauled himself aboard. He grabbed her arm, and she bit his hand. Tasting blood, she bit harder and clawed at him with her nails. He grabbed her hair, tearing the dangling ponytail holder free before he finally seized her.

He shoved her overboard, and she came up spitting salt water. “Please, you have to help me,” she panted.

“You are one crazy chick,” he said. Using an oar, he pushed the boat away, then turned and started the engine.

She screamed and shouted for him to come back, but he didn't even look at her. Sobbing, she collapsed onto the beach.

Alec cruised by his house on the way to the hotel. Zach's bike was parked in front of the house, but Alec's gut clenched when he saw Zach tying off to the piling. He'd obviously been out in the old boat in spite of having been grounded. What was he going to do with that kid? Alec couldn't be here 24/7 when he had to work. And Zach was old enough to start taking responsibility for himself.

“I need to stop here at the house for a minute if you don't mind,” Alec said.

“Of course. Is that your son?”

Alec parked the truck by the garage just off the street. “My nephew. My brother and his wife are dead, and I've got custody. As of two weeks ago.” He shoved open his door.

“I'm so sorry,” she said.

“I am too.” He led the way to the house.

“Do you mind if I use your restroom?”

“Help yourself.” He should have thought to offer. He got out of the truck and led the way to the house.