Fatal Impulse: A Widow's Web Novel (17 page)

By the time she returned to her Jeep, she'd decided not to ask him. Though she told herself she didn’t want to drag him into her problems, the fact was, she didn’t want him to know that she'd lost her job. That she'd been accused of such a horrible, absurd crime. After worrying that she'd be accused of killing her husband, this turn of events seemed like a cruel joke.

She drove home, determined to find another job. Hopefully she wouldn't have to end up waitressing, but if that was all she could find, that's what she'd do. She spent the rest of the morning looking through the newspaper and calling about jobs in the classifieds, with no luck. With her frustration mounting, she turned her attention to the job of cleaning, dusting and vacuuming and scrubbing, determined to reclaim some sense of normalcy. By that point, she should've known normal was impossible. Shortly before noon, her doorbell chimed. She went to the front door, peeked through the peephole, and debated on whether or not to open the door.

Detective Johnson stood on her porch, glaring at her.

H
e rapped his knuckles against the wood, then punched the doorbell again. She sagged against the wall, then straightened her back, squared her shoulders and opened the door.

He didn’t bother to smile. “Mrs. Adams, may I come in?”

She stepped back, but made no move to leave the entryway. He pulled his sunglasses off, cocked his head sideways and stared at her. She fought the urge to collapse into a heap of quivering flesh. He shifted his weight and cocked his head the other way. He blinked first, and she raised her eyebrows.

Finally, he said, “I hear you lost your job today.”

Her eyes narrowed, then she remembered that Mildred was friends with the Sheriff's secretary, the town gossip. “Guess that means Tess knows.”

It was his turn to nod. “That it does. Want to tell me your side of the story?”

She feigned indifference and shrugged. “There is no story. I’m not sure what the real reason is I was let go, but I can tell you I certainly wouldn’t risk my only means of income by stealing a few measly cents here and there. So unless you’ve got proof enough to charge me with something, I need to get back to looking for a job.”

"Fair enough." He took a step towards the door, then turned back and said, “There’s been a police report filed on the matter and I’ll be checking into some things. Don’t leave Buccaneer Bay without checking with me first. I may need to ask you a few questions.”

She fumed at his insolence as he slipped his mirrored aviators back on and nodded curtly before he stalked out the door. Andi thought of police as the good guys, but this detective gave her the creeps and she second-guessed every interaction with him. Was she being too smart with him? Should she've been nicer?

The telephone jangled and demanded her attention.

“Hello?”

“I know what you did.”

Her nerves were already tingling and she shifted from fear to anger. She hissed, “What do you want?”

"I want those documents." He breathed heavily into the phone. "You thought they were worth killing for and I have no problem doing whatever I have to do to get you out of the way.”

The phone was heavy as a brick in her hands. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The exact location of samples and results of the geological tests. The deed. The stocks. I will have those papers in my hands before August Woodson dies, even if I have to turn you over to the cops to get you out of the way. You are running out of time.”

The line went dead, and she was left to wonder who, what . . . it made no sense. The mysterious caller thought she murdered Chad for some documents, but she'd found nothing that would warrant killing someone for. Perhaps he knew about the legal stuff, but that had been taken care of with the attorney. The Will had been filed with the court, and certainly didn’t leave her any fortune. Maybe the deed to the property bordering Acadia? But that went into the Trust just like the rest of Chad’s assets.

Unless the caller needed Chad’s notes about gems . . . the find might be destroyed if Woodson Enterprises proceeded with development.

Or was the development a cover for the gemstones?

She was tempted to stop answering the phone, but couldn’t. Paul had an aversion to answering machines and wouldn't leave a message, so she began simply hanging up as soon as she heard the tell-tale breathing. She hoped the blackmailer would tire of getting a dial tone and give up, though she knew that was nothing more than a pipe dream. The phone calls ratcheted up her blood pressure, but she couldn’t figure out how to deal with the caller. The fear that he might call the police was paralyzing. For the first time in years, her life was her own, and the thought of losing her newfound freedom terrified her, made her feel desperate.

On Friday, she arranged to meet Paul at the Harbor. She arrived early and decided to peruse Jewels by the Sea, with the goal of finding out more about the rough stones she'd found in the safe deposit box. When she asked Josephine about unpolished gems, the woman nodded enthusiastically. "You should talk to my husband. He's an amateur rock hounder, and frequently sets semi-precious stones that he finds."

She went into the back and within minutes her husband appeared. Andi blinked. "I think we've met."

His eyes widened as recognition dawned. "Yes, at the Clifftop."

A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of that night. "I didn't put it together. That you owned a jewelry store, I mean."

"Josephine and I have run the store for years." His smile faded. "Please accept our condolences on the loss of your husband."

"Thank you." She glanced around, then said, "I was wondering if you can tell me anything about local stones, what is found around here."

He gladly showed her some tourmaline crystals, and told her about two boys who discovered a major source of the crystals near Mount Paris, Maine. The only other people in the store were at the opposite end, engrossed in Pandora charms, so Andi pulled the little cloth sack from her purse and dropped the pink and green crystals onto the glass counter. "Are these worth anything?"

“Wow,” he whispered. “Where’d you get these?” He looked up at her with wide eyes.

She glanced nervously around and shrugged, “I don’t know. My husband had them.”

"That night at the Clifftop, that wasn't the first time we'd met." He hesitated for a moment, then picked up one of the stones and turned it over, examining it carefully. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, then finally said, “He came in here with all kinds of questions about mineral rights and mining. He hinted that he’d found a wicked big producer, but wouldn’t tell me where. Said that it was his ticket to a better life.”

“Do you remember anything else? Anything about where he’d found the stones?”

“No, but he did say that his girlfriend’s grandfather-“ his eyes flicked up and he said, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. The wife’s always the last to know.” She shrugged and motioned for him to continue.

He glanced at Josephine before he continued, “Anyway, he said his girlfriend’s grandfather owned the land, and that he hoped to buy it for a song. That’s why he wanted to know about mineral rights.”

The door to the store opened, and the wind chimes jangled in the breeze. Paul strolled towards them. "Thought that was your Jeep back there."

She scooped the stones up, stuffed them in the bag and dropped it in her purse. She thanked the man for his help, and turned to Paul.

His smile crinkled his tanned cheeks and his piercing blue eyes sparkled as he caught her in his arms, then gave her a quick peck on the cheek. His lips barely brushed her skin, but it still sent aftershocks all the way to her toes.

He kept one arm possessively around her while they looked at the tourist trinkets in the store. She commented on a simple hematite band displayed next to the cash register, and he slipped it on her right ring finger. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Fits perfect,” she breathed.

At that moment, she couldn’t have been happier with a diamond from Tiffany’s.

He took her hand and ran his thumb over the ring as he pulled a bill from his pocket. He laid it on the counter, never breaking eye contact with her. To Carl Franklin, he said, “Keep the change.”

The two held hands and swung them like school kids as they walked out of the store. She had to keep from skipping down the steps as they walked out to the parking lot. Suddenly, she felt optimistic. The stones tucked safely in her purse were worth something. Maybe there were more where those from. Maybe she could sell them to the man at the jewelry store. Paul opened the car door for her and she hopped in his Jeep, feeling lighter than she had in quite some time, equipped with her camera, maps and a sweatshirt. She held out her hand, fingers spread wide, and admired her new ring as they headed south and left Buccaneer Bay behind them to shoot some photos for a new brochure.

Their destination was Otter Point. The weather, beautiful for an late summer day, buoyed her spirits. Though tourist traffic slowed them, it just meant they'd be together longer. The wind ruffled her short hair and she reveled in the feeling of freedom.

He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "You want to grab me a Pepsi from the cooler? There's an Orange Crush there for you, too."

She grinned as she reached into the back seat and opened his before handing it to him.

"You didn't have to do that." He grinned at her and dimples formed in his cheeks. "But, thanks!"

She beamed. Doing little things like that had become habit during her marriage. Chad trained her to think like a servant and it became second nature, but he never thanked her like Paul did. She wondered if Caren ever did things like that for him. Probably not, gauging from his reaction. She slipped her thumbnail under the tab and popped her own soda open.

The cool sweetness slid over  her tongue. "It's been a long time since I've had a soda, much less anything not diet. Much sweeter than I remember." She sat the orange can in the cup holder.

He tapped her can with his finger. "You'd better drink up. It's better when it's ice cold."

With a smile, she grasped the can and guzzled the sugary drink. A droplet of soda slipped down the side and onto her finger. She frowned and held the drink up. "Must be a hole in the can somewhere. It's starting to lose its fizz."

He glanced over at her and frowned. "Do I need to get you another, or can you drink that one quickly?"

She laughed. "It's fine. I'll just drink quick." She tipped the cold can up and took another gulp, then another. When she finished the soda, she tucked the can in the plastic bag they'd brought along for trash, then held her hand in her lap, palm up, to keep from getting the stickiness all over.

He pointed at the glove box. "There's some wet wipes in there."

As she wiped off her hands, she let him guide the conversation, which he turned to her husband before they reached the turnoff from 3 onto Park Loop Road. He drove with his left arm draped casually out the window. He spoke loud to be heard over the rush of wind, “Thought maybe we'd go back to your house when we get back to Buccaneer Bay. We can go through some of Chad's stuff.”

"I've been chipping away at it."

"Thought you were going to wait for me." His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Have you gotten through most of it?"

She shrugged. “Some. It’s going to take quite a while, and there’s a lot to go through, so I’m just taking it one step at a time.”

He glanced over at her with those piercing blue eyes and cocked his eyebrow. “Finding anything of interest?”

Thoughts of the Will and the mysterious accounting papers flitted through her mind. “Just a lot of old memories. Even the good memories have lost their sparkle, though, so it feels good to get rid of them.”

“No marriage is perfect. By the way, did you get any more calls from that creep?” He fiddled with the radio.

“A couple. No big deal.” She glanced at him. “I’m a big girl.”

He frowned and adjusted his rear view mirror. “I know. I just don’t like it.”

She felt a little thrill at the show of protectiveness.

He continued, "Why don't you just give him what he wants?"

"I don't know what he wants." She frowned, anxious to turn the attention back to imperfect marriages. Surely, it wouldn’t be long before he grew tired of this sneaking around and left Caren, especially when she was cheating on him. It couldn't be a secret for long in a small town like Buccaneer Bay. “So, how was your week?”

"Same 'ol', same ol'." He downshifted as they neared the next turnoff. “I told you - I'm going to help you go through Chad's things. You don't need to do that by yourself.”

He turned the radio up and they drove in silence the next several miles until they reached the turn for the parking lot at Otter Cliff. He signaled then pointed the Jeep west. The sun warmed their backs, and the forest and rocks rose up around them, gorgeous, majestic in their ruggedness, deep green. They parked and crossed the road, then made their way down the rocky path. About a quarter of the way down, she felt off-balance and stepped wrong. Paul caught her elbow just as she stumbled. She shook her head. "I don't know what's wrong with me today."

He grinned at her. "The height can be disorienting sometimes."

She nodded, then looked out. The blue-green ocean spread out before them, absolutely incredible, and boats floated in the distance.

“Breathtaking, isn't it?” he whispered. There was a strange inflection in his voice that she couldn’t quite figure out.

“Yes. Beautiful.”

“Easy to forget how dangerous they can be, though, right?” He waved towards the waves crashing against the craggy red rocks.

A wave of nausea threatened to end the trip prematurely. She swallowed and shrugged in an effort to be casual. “I guess-“

Paul glanced at her, his face blank. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. That's how your husband died, right? Falling onto the rocks from a cliff?”

She gazed to the south. “Yes. He fell over a guardrail.”

His voice was rough like sandpaper, “But it wasn’t an accident, was it?”