Authors: Norah Wilson
Her pleasure in the sunny day dimmed a little as she worried about the reception Boyd would get. She understood that this kind of thing was best handled face-to-face, but, personally, Hayden would rather have a little more notice than a knock on her door.
“Ever been to Saint Andrews?”
His question drew her from her thoughts. “Once, on a day trip with a nurse from the ER. She’s a big gardener, so we checked out the Kingsbrae Botanical Gardens. Walked the beach, did some touristy stuff, had supper at a dining room at a supposedly haunted bed-and-breakfast, and drove home. It was nice.”
As the miles passed, she asked him about the lake house—did it belong to his parents? Was it their usual summer holiday spot, or a casual rental? He responded that his parents did own it, but they rented it much of the year. The rental income made it affordable to keep, but it also meant there was always some repair or upgrade that needed doing. He’d launched into a story about some of the stuff renters had inadvertently left behind, including a baggie with just enough weed in it for the then fifteen-year-old twins to try their hand at rolling their first joint.
“And how did that work out?” she asked.
Boyd said nothing but gave her a glance, like
that
was a story that would never make it to her ears.
The rest of the trip passed in near silence, but it wasn’t an awkward one. It was very companionable. When they reached Saint Andrews, she started scanning for the street.
Boyd spotted the street sign first—it was on his side. Less than a minute later, they were there, in Sheldon Duncan’s driveway. He killed the engine but made no move to get out.
“Are you rethinking the not calling first?”
He shook his head. “Not really. And we’re here now. Let’s just see how it plays out.”
The outside of the house was neat and tidy, but not as picture-book perfect as some of them. The walkway was lined with stones—from the beach, no doubt—and pieces of driftwood added architectural interest to a few small flower beds.
“Cute,” she said, but he was too focused on the door they were approaching to respond.
There was no doorbell, just an anchor-shaped brass door knocker. He lifted the anchor and rapped it a couple of times. Hayden heard movement inside, which was a relief. It would have sucked to come all this way to find no one home. Of course, who was to say this Sheldon Duncan hadn’t taken an extended vacation at a child’s or grandchild’s house so he could rent his place out during the lucrative tourist season?
The door opened to a glossy-haired young lady in casual capri pants and T-shirt. The child she held on her hip had matching brown hair, albeit much finer. According to the information they’d found on Sheldon Duncan, Hayden suspected either he or his offspring still lived there. The young woman in front of her looked like she might be Josh and Boyd’s younger sister, or maybe their mother if they’d traveled back in time. It was those tawny-golden eyes.
Boyd noticed too. She felt him go absolutely still beside her.
The young woman searched Hayden’s face first, and, when she shifted her gaze to Boyd, her eyes widened. “Your eyes . . .”
“I guess they must be a Duncan trait,” Boyd said, “although I’ve only just discovered my mother was a Duncan.”
“Omigod! You must be . . . Are you . . . ? I mean—”
“Yes. I’m Arianna Duncan’s son,” Boyd said. “And I’m guessing you must be Sheldon Duncan’s daughter?”
“I am.” She backed up, inviting them to follow.
“Is your father home?” Boyd stepped inside and looked around.
Hayden, who’d been watching the young mother while Boyd had been scanning the environment, saw her eyes darken.
“No. I’m afraid he’d not with us anymore. He died at sea years ago when his boat got tangled in fishing gear and capsized. That was nineteen years ago.”
Hayden watched Boyd absorb that. “I’m so sorry. I looked him up in the phone book, and the number is still listed in his name.”
“I know,” she said. “Mom could never bring herself to change it.”
He looked around. “Is your mother home?”
“She went across the lines with some friends for the day.”
“The lines?”
“Sorry, across the border to the US. She’s going to feel so bad that she missed you.” The infant on her hip—a little girl, Hayden guessed, judging from that completely unnecessary barrette in her skimpy bit of silky hair—turned her head into her mother’s shoulder to hide. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea?”
Boyd smiled at his first cousin. “Coffee would be nice.”
When the woman looked inquiringly at Hayden, she said, “Yes, please. Coffee would be great.”
She led them to a bright kitchen, where she kissed the child on her head and deposited her in a playpen. As she pulled out a coffeemaker and measured coffee and water, she introduced herself as Angela Wood. Her house a few miles outside town was being renovated, so she and her husband, Jeremy, were living here with her mother, Sandra, for a few months.
Boyd introduced himself and apologized for dropping in without notice, indicating he’d be happy to come back when her mother was available. He added that he’d just discovered his mother’s identity within the past twenty-four hours.
“You clearly knew about your father’s sister, Arianna,” Boyd said. “What did your parents tell you about her?”
“I knew about her babies too—you and your brother. Mom says Dad used to talk about Arianna’s children and wonder if you guys would ever find us. I don’t remember any of that talk. I was only four when Dad died.”
“The records got messed up,” Boyd said by way of explanation for the delay. “My identical twin, Josh, spent a lot of time and energy solving the mystery.”
“I’m so glad he did.” She looked at the door. “Is he with you today?”
“No.” Boyd’s voice sounded a little strangled. “Josh died last month from a heart issue, much like our mother seemed to have done.”
Tears sprang to Angela’s eyes, and she covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” Boyd said simply.
Angela turned to Hayden. “And you are . . . ?”
Before she could answer, Boyd apologized for the oversight and made the introduction. She noticed he introduced her as
my friend
, not
Josh’s friend
. She supposed he wanted to keep it simple. There’d be plenty of time for more extensive explanations if they decided to stay in touch. Which she presumed Boyd did, given his offer to come back when Sandra Duncan was available.
“Your eyes,” Angela said. “Mama always told me I looked like my aunt Arianna, and now, seeing those eyes when I opened the door . . . I’ve only ever seen that color in the mirror.”
“These days, that’s the only place I see it too.”
Angela’s beautiful eyes darkened. “So, have you been able to find your father?”
“Actually, no,” Boyd said. “There’s no mention of our father to be found in the records I’ve uncovered so far.” He shrugged. “I guess I was sorta hoping your dad could help with that.”
She grimaced. “Sorry. And, actually, even if he was still with us, I don’t know if he could answer that. From what my mother has told me, both Dad and Aunt Arianna wound up going into foster care when they were in their early teens. Different families. Dad went to a local family here in Saint Andrews, but Arianna went to Fredericton. She’d have been well out of foster care and on her own when she got pregnant, I think. But Dad would still have been in the system. I don’t know if they had enough contact that she’d have told him about the father. And I gather he didn’t talk about it much. It made him too sad.”
Hayden could see Boyd’s disappointment, but he hid it quickly. By the time Angela had finished her long-winded explanation, there was no evidence to be seen.
“Yes, it must have been a horribly sad time for your dad, losing his only sister so suddenly and unexpectedly. I can relate.”
“And so sad for your mother, that she didn’t have a chance to know her babies, or go on to make a life for herself.”
Hayden could barely swallow around the lump of emotion in her throat, but Boyd managed to answer.
“Yes, very tragic. But if it’s any consolation, Josh and I went to a really great family. Our parents were terrific.”
“I’m glad.” Angela’s eyes glittered. With her own infant now in her arms again, Hayden knew she couldn’t help but feel for the woman who’d lost her babies, then her life.
They stayed for an hour, during which the baby—April Elizabeth—went to sleep. Hayden noticed Boyd glossed over some matters—the business with the adoption record, the birth certificates—and completely failed to mention others, specifically Dr. Gunn’s apparent suicide. She approved. Until those questions were answered, why bring that stuff up?
Boyd did gently suggest that since it looked like the Duncan side of the family carried a genetic risk for sudden cardiac arrest, that she and the baby should probably be tested. Angela assured them she would see a doctor about it right away.
As they were preparing to leave, Angela produced her phone and asked Hayden to take a picture of the two of them. Hayden obliged, then took out her own phone and took a safety shot.
After a last-minute exchange of email addresses, Boyd and Hayden left.
He started the car, but instead of putting it in gear, he looked across at her. “Are you in a hurry to get home?”
“Not a bit. Why don’t we find some food, then go for a walk on the beach?”
They ate at a little café on the main drag, taking their food upstairs where they could watch the passing tourists on the street. Just as she had the last time she’d been there, she marveled at how neat and tidy the old buildings were. And they were old. Saint Andrews had some of the best-preserved examples of colonial heritage in North America.
They also had a beach, and she sensed Boyd needed to walk. They found a place to park their car, then followed a path to the rocky floor of the bay.
“What is this body of water?”
“The Passamaquoddy Bay.” She pointed to an island not far offshore. “And that’s Minister’s Island.”
“Can we go out?”
“We could, at the right time of day. But not now. When the tide comes in, that land bridge disappears and you’re stuck until the next low tide.”
Their walk was cut short by the fact that the tide had started to turn. Back on the safety of the rocks, they huddled together to watch the tide pour in. Boyd sat behind her, his chest providing a backrest and his strong legs warm around hers. When she tipped her head back to look at him, he kissed her tenderly on the forehead, between her eyes, just above the brows.
The third eye kiss. She smiled, feeling the sense of well-being flooding her.
Hayden’s mother used to do that to her all the time. Heck, she did it to everyone she loved, claiming it was her way of “blessing” them. Hayden wasn’t sure about all that awakening psychic sight stuff, but she figured the simple acupressure applied to that point was definitely beneficial. Sort of like a tune-up to the pituitary gland.
Finally, a little sunburned and wind-kissed, they retreated to the car. At her suggestion, they stopped and bought the fixings for a seafood chowder. They talked for the first hour of the drive; then Boyd fell silent. She knew he needed time to process the reality that he had an aunt and two cousins who were anxious to bring him into their lives. As they approached Fredericton, he took her hand and sent her a smoldering look. The next ten minutes seemed longer than the rest of the drive, because Hayden knew what was going to happen when they got back to her place.
After placing the fixings for the chowder in the refrigerator, she led him to her bedroom. Despite the intensity in his eyes, he was in no rush. Slowly, almost reverently, he helped her out of her clothes, pausing to kiss each bit of skin he exposed. She did the same for him, tasting the tang of the outdoors, the sunshine and sea air. This time, she had a condom handy, but he was in no hurry to make use of it just yet. They lay down on the bed, hands arousing, then smoothing, soothing. It was a slow build. By the time he took the condom from her, she was readier than she’d ever been. For all the slow lead-up, their joining was wild, shattering, leaving them clinging together like shipwrecked souls on a beach.
Afterward, she made the seafood chowder using a Haitian recipe her mother had passed down to her. As Boyd helped her prep the ingredients, she explained that the real thing called for conch meat, but scallops, shrimp, and haddock pieces would have to do. They ate it with the last of a baguette that had already been too hard when she’d bought it yesterday, but Boyd swore it was the best meal he’d ever eaten. She was pretty sure it was all the sex endorphins talking, but she’d take it. The sex elevated everything. The so-so sauvignon blanc she’d pulled out of the fridge was way better than it had any business being for what she’d paid for it.
Then they lay down on the bed again and made slow, deliberate love. Even as she did it, Hayden knew she’d pay for it, but she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t turn away from him, even though she knew she was giving him her heart. Didn’t want to. The pain would come anyway, whether she opened herself these last few degrees or not.
Afterward, she held his face between her hands and kissed his forehead every bit as tenderly as he’d done to her earlier on the rocks. He tightened his arms around her, and she smiled against his skin.
CHAPTER 26
Boyd lay there with his eyes closed, savoring a feeling of peacefulness and well-being that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hayden’s lips moved softly over his brow, a tender caress.
He was playing with fire. He knew it. Making love like this, letting so many barriers down, it was an invitation to disaster. It was the perfect climate for these delicate tendrils that connected them to transform themselves into lasting bonds. Unwelcome ones, at least on her part. He wasn’t so sure anymore.
He’d known all of this as they’d lain so softly together in the darkness of her room. He’d been helpless to pull back, helpless to keep from taking what she so freely offered, because he’d never wanted anything more in his life.
Now he had to figure out where this left them, what it meant. For him. For her. For them.
Them.
The word resonated in his brain like an accusation. He’d promised he’d go back to Toronto when this was done and let her go back to her life. And dammit, he would. If that’s what she really wanted.
The trouble was, he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted anymore. The job was the job. It was pretty much all he’d ever wanted to do, but that didn’t mean he had to do it in the same squad, in the same division, the same police force.
His euphoric sense of well-being started to slip, eroded by the promises they’d made, the things still left unsaid. As though feeling his conflict, she pulled away. Grabbing her robe, she covered up.
“I suppose I should go.” He sat up on the edge of the bed. “At the very least, I need to discover if there’s any music to be faced with Sylvia. If she’s heard about my visit with the Senator, she might be angry enough to throw me out.”
He hoped Hayden would say that if Sylvia did that, he could come stay with her.
She didn’t.
Instead she looked away. “I’m sure it won’t come to that. She’s much too married to her dignity.”
Well, okay then.
It stung for a second, but good for her. That meant her sense of self-preservation was kicking in again. And not a moment too soon.
He dressed quickly. At the door, he kissed her. Despite the distance she was trying to put between them, the kiss still held every bit of tenderness they’d shared moments before.
It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t stay.
It was dusk, and traffic was light as he drove back to Sylvia’s, too dark to see well but too light for the headlights to be very effective. Even as he kept a sharp eye for pedestrians, cyclists, and the ubiquitous skateboarders, part of his mind worried about Hayden. But his attention snapped fully back when he met a vehicle pulling out of Sylvia’s driveway just as he was signaling to turn in. Naturally, the other driver took advantage of Boyd’s slowing down to gun it and shoot out into traffic, but Boyd had enough time to recognize the man at the wheel.
Dave Bradley.
Shit, what’s he doing here?
From Sylvia’s tone yesterday, he’d gathered she had a low threshold of tolerance for this nephew-in-law or third cousin or whatever he was to her, and even less patience for the media.
He continued around the house to the rear parking lot. Anxious to get inside and see what Sylvia had to say about Bradley, he cut the wheel and slotted the rental into his customary parking spot. Or rather, he started to. At the last second, he glimpsed an infant on the ground, partially wrapped in a baby blanket.
He slammed on the brakes and brought the Altima to a tire-dragging stop.
Oh, sweet Jesus!
He jammed the car into Park. His brain was screaming at him to leap out and see if the baby was all right, but his body wasn’t ready to cooperate. His heart thundered. A wave of dizziness swamped him. He gripped the steering wheel and squeezed so hard his hands hurt, waiting for his world to snap back. At last, it did. It could have been a few seconds; it could have been a minute—he had no idea. But suddenly, his limbs were his to command again.
He leapt out and ran around to the front of the car to find—a doll. Even before he bent to pick it up, he knew it wasn’t a baby. It had looked realistic when he’d caught that fleeting glimpse of it in his headlights, but not up close.
Goddammit!
He’d almost given himself a heart attack over a stupid doll.
What in the hell was a doll doing in the parking lot of Stratton House?
He got back in the car, parked it properly, then let himself into the house. Instead of going straight to his room as he usually did, he went toward the kitchen to see if he could find Mrs. Garner. She was there, inventorying the contents of the spice cupboard.
She looked up at him when he entered, her expression moving from surprised to alarmed when she saw him carrying the doll carelessly by one of its arms.
“Mr. McBride?”
“I found this in the parking lot. Specifically, I found it in my parking space. And by
found
, I mean I almost ran over it. For a few moments I thought it was an actual baby.”
Mrs. Garner plunked the spice bottles down on the counter and rushed to his side. “Oh, dear. The doll is mine. I bought it for my goddaughter’s little girl, but I have no idea how it came to be in your parking spot. I left it locked in my car, on the backseat.” She took the doll from him. “I am so sorry. That must have been unsettling.”
“No biggie.” Except that he’d had to peel himself off the steering wheel. “Someone probably grabbed whatever was in there and dumped the doll when they realized what it was. Although usually they like to get a little farther away before they sort through the booty and decide what to keep and what to jettison.” He raked a hand through his hair. “They must have felt pretty comfortable back there. Dr. Stratton might want to check to make sure the sentinel light is coming on at an appropriate time and staying on until full light.”
“Of course. I’ll see that it gets checked.”
“Have you got time to come outside with me now? Maybe with a flashlight, we can see if there’s any evidence of a break-in. And you can check if anything else is missing.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” She disappeared into the pantry and came back with a flashlight, which she handed to him. “I did have some other things in the car, including a new MP3 player in there. Just a cheap one.”
“Now that I’m betting they didn’t dump.”
He was right. The other purchases were gone. They didn’t find any evidence of a break-in, but, then again, the thief hadn’t had to. The car was unlocked.
“Oh, dear. I always lock it.”
“Maybe your remote is acting up,” he said. “The alarm did go off the other day for no apparent reason.”
“You’re right!”
“If I were you, I’d take it to the car dealer or to an electronics dealer and get them to replace the battery. That could be all that’s wrong.”
“I’ll do that tomorrow,” she said.
“In the meantime, you might want to call the police to report the theft.”
“Oh, I don’t know that I should do that. It’s hardly worth an officer’s time. And what are the chances they’ll recover anything? The MP3 player wasn’t expensive, and it would be indistinguishable from thousands of others.”
“You’re right that it’s highly unlikely anything will be recovered, but your report helps the police track where this activity is happening. They can put out a public bulletin if there’s a rash of car break-ins in a particular area.”
“Of course. I’ll do it.”
They headed back inside. Boyd planned to go up to his room, but Mrs. Garner offered him a drink.
“Pardon me for saying, Mr. McBride, but you look a little pale,” she said before he could decline. “And no wonder.”
He grinned. “Well, after thinking I’d run over a baby, I guess I can use it.”
He followed her back to the kitchen. She went to a different area of the cupboards and opened a door to reveal an array of bottles of hard liquor. “What would you like?”
“Any whiskey there?”
“Eighteen-year-old Scotch?”
“Perfect.”
She poured him a few fingers in a glass and left the bottle on the counter. “I’ll just go make that call to the police now.”
He sipped the neat Scotch. Damn, it was good stuff. He lifted the glass again, this time just to smell it. There was that citrusy element he’d tasted. Man, Sylvia would probably have a bird if she knew Mrs. Garner was dispensing the stuff for medicinal purposes.
He took another swallow. Better. With one ear listening for Mrs. Garner, he leaned back in the chair, trying to persuade his tight muscles to relax. To think that an hour ago, he’d been so relaxed and replete, he’d felt almost boneless. Just like that, he flashed back to Hayden’s place. Hayden under him, not being able to get close enough, deep enough. The two of them entwined on her bed, skin to skin—
“There you are!”
Dr. Stratton’s imperious words from the distance of about a foot away jolted Boyd, making him almost slosh the precious Scotch.
“Here I am,” he said, trying to cover his startle. “Although I’d almost drifted off there.”
She looked at the cut crystal glass he held in his hand. “Mrs. Garner thought I needed a stiff drink after I just had the crap scared out of me,” he offered.
She lifted an eyebrow. “How so?”
He explained about the doll in his parking space, dropped there no doubt by a thief who decided he didn’t want it, that had looked for all the world like a real baby, at least at a quick glimpse.
“How harrowing.” She went to the cupboard, took down a matching cut crystal glass, and poured herself a whiskey. “After ten minutes with David Bradley, I think I rather deserve a restorative too.”
Okay, that answered that.
Bradley must have been here to press her for more details about Dr. Gunn.
She came to stand over him. He thought about standing himself but decided against it. She was making a point with her superior position. And because he knew what she was doing, it robbed her of the intended effect. From the way her lips tightened, he figured she’d just come to the same conclusion. Nevertheless, she held her position.
“I heard about your late-night visit with the Senator.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s just that I heard him coughing, and no one seemed to be going to his aid. I couldn’t leave the poor guy like that with a tickle in his throat, so I went in and fed him some ice chips.”
“I know,” she acknowledged. “And thank you for thinking of his comfort. But henceforth, if you are ever in that situation again, please find the caregiver or myself and we will see to him. There will always be someone on duty, and we will never be farther than the kitchen or the bathroom.”
“It was no trouble.”
“But it was, Detective. Any disruption to the Senator’s schedule, to his routines, is most distressing for him. I’m sure you witnessed him beginning to get agitated?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“But nothing, Detective. The Senator is my responsibility. I will brook no interference in his treatment. Just so you know, my husband had a very difficult night and a worse day, and is only now attaining some semblance of peacefulness.”
Boyd was stricken. He thought he’d been helping the guy. “I didn’t know. I thought he might appreciate a visitor now and again.”
She held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t permit it. Please know that I don’t make these rules lightly. It’s just the way it has to be. It’s better for the Senator and for all of us. And it’s not as though he lacks for stimulation. I read to him every night.”
“I was thinking he might enjoy some male bonding,” he said, not ready to relinquish the man with the desperate eyes to his peaceful all-female existence. “We could watch a ball game on TV. Or if TV is out, we could listen to it on the radio. Baseball is great to listen to. Or you know, maybe I could just read him the game summaries or something.”
“That’s very kind of you,” she said, “but I think we’d best proceed as we mean to go on. I’m thinking you won’t be here much longer.”
He blinked.
“It’s true, is it not?” She took a sip of her whiskey. “You’ve solved the mystery of your mother’s identity, and the cause of your brother’s death seems much clearer, if there was ever any doubt. Given what will probably be a short stay from this point on, I really can’t permit you to befriend the Senator. Much as I’m sure he’d enjoy your company, he’d only suffer the more when you leave.”
And wasn’t that the truth?
Mrs. Garner chose that moment to make her reappearance. “Well, that’s done. The police have been notified.” She drew up short when she saw Dr. Stratton standing by the table with a glass of whiskey in her hand.
She blanched, but Dr. Stratton just laid a hand on her arm. “I heard someone took property from your vehicle and left some of it as an unpleasant surprise for Detective McBride.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what happened. The gifts I bought this afternoon are gone, although the doll obviously was recovered.” She sent an anxious glance toward the bottle of Scotch. “I thought after the scare he had, Detective McBride could use something to put the color back in his cheeks.”
She nodded. “You did well, Mrs. Garner. I’d have extended the same offer in your place.”
The older woman seemed to relax. “Thank you, ma’am.” She turned to Boyd. “And I’m so sorry about the doll. I thought I’d locked the car. I’ll get the battery changed in the remote, as you suggested, and hopefully that will do the trick.”
Sylvia tipped up her glass and downed the rest of the Scotch. “I don’t know about you two, but I feel I’ve endured enough trials for one day. I’m off to read to the Senator for a while before I retire.”
As soon as Dr. Stratton left, Boyd made his own escape to his room. But Sylvia’s words followed him. She was righter than she knew. If the forensics lab bumped Josh’s file to the top, or even close to the top of the list, the case could all but be put to bed. It seemed like the genetics report could be more of a formality now, something that would confirm the clear familial issue. If there was anything valuable to learn, it would be from the forensic toxicology.
What if it showed nothing at all?
Boyd compressed his lips, cursing that voice in his head. Because if that happened, he’d have to accept that Josh had just . . . died.