How Secrets Die (13 page)

It seemed even the precaution of parking in full view of the town wasn't enough to block out the attraction that pulsed between them. He wasn't sure what would be.

* * *

K
ATE
GLANCED
AT
her watch and then took a last look at herself in the mirror to be sure she was suitable for supper with the Whiting family. This had to be the worst possible time to be going to supper with Mac's family.

After those charged moments in the police car this morning, she'd managed to beat a hasty retreat, muttering something about the need to get to work and fleeing. Mac hadn't made any attempt to delay her.

Neither of them could possibly deny the power of the attraction that had flared between them. But they could decide not to act on it, couldn't they?

Kate grabbed her bag and headed for the car, locking the door behind her. She hadn't had any difficulty in putting emotions on hold in the past—at first because she'd been so preoccupied with taking care of Jason and more recently because grief seemed to have left her emotionally numb.

Even Casey, her closest friend in Baltimore and an inveterate matchmaker, had finally stopped trying to fix her up with someone. She'd declared that until Kate got over being so prickly and guarded and started giving out some signals that she was interested, it was hopeless.

Well, she hadn't deliberately sent out any signals to Mac, and she suspected he'd say the same. And look what had happened—they'd still been ambushed by desire.

As she followed the directions Ellen had given her out of town, Kate tried to console herself that at least Mac was in the same boat she was. He hadn't intended to feel anything, either, and might even now be getting out of the prospect of having dinner with her and his family. Apparently he didn't live at his parents' farm, and he could always plead the need to work, unlike her. And if he were there, she'd been warned now. She could certainly keep her guard up.

An hour later, Kate was finding it all much easier than she'd expected. The Whiting clan, including Nick's fiancée, Allison Standish from the quilt shop, was gathered around a long table in the sprawling farmhouse dining room, but the talk stayed general, and even though Mac was there, he was seated at a safe distance from her.

At the moment, they all seemed intent on hearing from Nick on the subject of the recent town council meeting.

“Have a little pity on Kate,” Jim Whiting, seated next to her, interrupted his sons. “She doesn't have the least interest in your battles with the council.” Jim, a leaner, grayer version of his sons, gave Kate a smile that was uncannily like Mac's. “Do you?”

“Well, I might if I knew why Nick is involved. Are you on the council?”

Nick grinned. “Heaven help me, I'm the mayor.”

“Easiest job in the world,” Mac said. “All he does is sign a few proclamations once in a while and smile for the camera.”

“Better than riding around all day in a police car or sitting at a desk with your feet up,” Nick retorted.

“Behave yourselves, boys,” Ellen said, looking as if she'd said the same words, with the same smile, a few thousand times. “Remember we have a guest.” She turned the sweet smile on Kate. “I did try to teach them how to behave, though you'd never know it the way they turned out.”

Mac threw his arm around her in a hug. “Don't let her fool you. She secretly thinks her kids are the smartest, best-looking—” He stopped, dodging the napkin his brother threw at him.

Even as she smiled at their teasing, Kate's heart ached, just a little. How differently might Jason's life have turned out if he'd enjoyed this kind of family life? Jim and Ellen obviously adored their kids, and the feeling was just as obviously returned. Did Nick and Mac know how lucky they were to have a family like this behind them?

It struck her that it explained a lot about Mac. He had that secure, settled outlook on life, that solid acceptance of his responsibilities, because he had this family life behind him.

“Being mayor of Laurel Ridge isn't a full-time job,” Ellen assured her, as if she might have taken Mac's words seriously.

“I only ran because no one else would, except for a couple of the local cranks,” Nick put in. “The most difficult part of my job is to try to get the council to ignore personalities and cooperate on things important to the town.”

“See, I said you wouldn't be interested,” Jim interjected, his eyes smiling.

She shook her head. “Oh, I get it, all right. One of my first reporting jobs, while I was still in college, was to cover local school board meetings. I learned, to my cost, that if you didn't know who was second cousins with whom, and whose wife had just left him, and who wanted taxes lowered no matter what, that you'd never make sense of anything they did.”

“Nailed it,” Mac said, and the other adults laughed.

Jamie looked up from his cherry pie and vanilla ice cream. “What's a school board? Is it like a paddle?”

That raised another laugh, and Allison gave Jamie a quick hug. “It's just a bunch of boring grown-ups, sweetheart. Finish up your pie, and then you can show Kate the baby goat.”

“Do you actually have a baby goat?” Kate asked him.

Jamie nodded, mouth full of pie. He swallowed quickly so he could speak. “Grandpa says baby goats are supposed to come in the spring. So we call him Tardy.”

“I'd love to see Tardy.” She managed to suppress the urge to laugh, because Jamie's little face was so serious. “Do you take care of him?”

“'Course I do. He's mine, so I take good care of him.”

The child's words seemed to say it all. You took care of what was yours. She began to see where Mac's sense of responsibility came from. It seemed to be bred in this family.

Mac pushed his empty pie plate away and stood, stretching, then came to her, grasping her hands. “Come on. We need some exercise to work off that pie.”

“I'm not the one who had a second piece,” she reminded him. “And I should help with the dishes first.”

“No, you don't,” Ellen said quickly. “It's Jim's turn to do the dishes, and Nick will help him. Go on now, before it's time for Jamie to get ready for bed.”

With Mac tugging one hand and Jamie the other, Kate let herself be pulled out the back door. She paused for a moment on the porch, taking in the scene around her. The setting sun turned the fields to gold, and the ridges were turned to flame with the light on the orange-and-yellow leaves.

Mac's gaze met hers. “My favorite time of the year,” he said. “I don't think any spot on earth is more beautiful than home.”

“I can see why.” The farmhouse nestled into the land as if it had grown there, and the lawn stretched out to the red barn behind it. A cluster of smaller red outbuildings surrounded the barn like chicks around a mother hen.

“Come on.” Jamie grabbed her hand and tugged. “Hurry up.”

Mac grinned. “At his age, there's no such thing as standing still and enjoying the view. Okay, come on, buddy. I'll race you to the barn.”

They set off—Jamie running full tilt while Mac jogged along effortlessly. His long legs could easily outstrip his nephew's pace, but he obviously wouldn't do that. She liked the way he moved, with such graceful control that it seemed he'd never tire. Kate followed more sedately, reaching the barn after they were already inside.

She paused, letting her eyes adjust to the dimmer light. Jamie was hanging over a pen built at the end of a couple of stalls occupied by two horses that leaned their heads over the doors to watch them curiously.

“Does your dad use the horses for farming?” she asked. How could Jim Whiting run the cabinetry business and a farm?

Mac chuckled low in his throat. “He's always threatening to do it, but, no. We don't really farm, not like our Amish neighbors do. Dad just likes to grow enough to fill the freezer and feed the family. Both Mom and Dad think it's good for kids to grow up on a farm. Teaches responsibility.”

“I'd say it worked with the two of you.” Her gaze entangled with his.

“This is Tardy,” Jamie said. “Don't you want to pet him?”

“Sure thing.” She knelt next to Jamie, who was reaching through the bars to pat the small brown goat. “Show me what to do.”

“Just put your hand in like this. But be gentle,” he warned.

Kate slid her hand between the bars, reflecting that being introduced to a pet goat hadn't figured in her image of what she'd be doing in Laurel Ridge. The goat sniffed at her fingers delicately, and then licked them, its tongue surprisingly rough for such a dainty creature.

“Tardy likes you.” Jamie grinned. “Know what? I'll get a handful of grain, and you'll see how he'll eat it right out of your hand.”

He jumped up and darted for the door. Mac looked down at her, his lips curving slightly, and then reached out, caught her by the elbows, and raised her to her feet.

“What are you doing?” She glanced at his face, seeing the warmth that filled his eyes, and her breath caught.

“Taking care of some unfinished business,” he said. He leaned in, until she could feel the warmth of his skin and capture the masculine smell of him. Slowly, very slowly, his lips found hers.

For an instant the kiss was almost tentative, as if he waited for her to pull back. And then his arms came around her, pressing her against him as the kiss deepened. She couldn't pull back now if she wanted to, and she didn't want to. She grasped his shoulders, feeling the strength of him as she returned passion for passion. This was what she'd been waiting for, she knew through the dizzying emotion that took possession of her. And she hadn't even realized it until now.

Finally she freed her lips with an effort. “Jamie,” she murmured. “He'll be back.”

Mac loosened his grasp, drawing his head back enough to give her that teasing smile. “He has to go to bed eventually.”

“What about the rest of your family?” Kate took a retreating step, trying to match the lightness in his tone. Not easy, when she was shaken down to her toes.

“They—” His cell phone went off, interrupting him. Making a face, he pulled it from his pocket. The instant he put the phone to his ear, he became again the cop. “Whiting,” he snapped. He listened, a frown carving lines between his brows. “Right. On my way.”

Even before he'd clicked off, he was turning, heading for the door. “Sorry.”

She followed him out, to see Nick bolting from the house, the rest of the family gathered on the porch.

“I'll pick up Reuben and meet you there,” he shouted to Mac.

Mac was already headed for his vehicle. “Sorry,” he said again over his shoulder. “Fire. I have to go.”

She nodded, then crossed the yard back toward the porch. This was the sort of thing that her mother hadn't been able to tolerate—the constant calls, running off to face danger, leaving her behind to cope. Her mother hadn't been able to. Maybe that hadn't been Tom's fault, but it had happened. How did anyone know how they'd react until they were in that situation?

Jamie was already on the porch, hanging on his grandfather's arm, telling him something excitedly. He'd obviously forgotten about letting her feed the goat.

“You poor girl,” Ellen said warmly when she reached the others. “I'm sure you're not used to the way everyone runs when the fire alarm goes.”

“Is Mac a fireman as well as police chief?” It seemed unlikely, but everything at Laurel Ridge was out of her experience.

“No, although he went through the training just like Nick did, so he can lend a hand if they need it.” Ellen sounded cheerful enough, but Kate didn't miss the worry in her eyes.

“Volunteer firefighters,” Jim explained. “We can't afford a professional company. So when there's a fire, everyone turns out. Maybe I should—”

“No, you don't,” Ellen said firmly. “You know what the doctor told you about that kind of stress. And don't bother telling me you'd just watch, because we both know you'd jump in the minute you got there.”

Jim shrugged, putting an arm around his wife. “No wonder my heart skips a beat now and then, married to a woman like you.” He kissed her temple. “Okay, I'll stay put. Let's go listen to the scanner to see how bad it is.”

Allison gave her a sympathetic look as the others headed into the house. “Sorry. There's no way you'd know, but we had a terrible time with a firebug earlier in the summer. He was caught, but somehow we all still overreact a little when the alarm goes.”

She nodded. “I can understand that. And really, it's time I was leaving, anyway.”

But when she went inside to say her goodbyes, she found she wasn't going to get away that easily. First she had to listen to the police scanner, learning that the incident was a chimney fire in a farmhouse on the far side of Laurel Ridge. No one was injured, but it sounded as if they'd be on scene for a time yet.

Kate could sense the relief in the room at the report. They must worry every time the alarm went, but this time, at least, everyone was safe.

Ellen insisted on packing up several pieces of pie for her to take home, and Kate barely escaped having an entire dinner pressed on her again. Finally, after hugs from Jamie and invitations from Ellen to come again, Kate got on her way.

The sun had long since disappeared behind the ridge, and darkness was gathering in. Kate pulled carefully out onto the country road, turning toward Laurel Ridge. The drive back to town wasn't going to be long enough, she decided, to process everything that was on her mind.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

K
ATE
PULLED
INTO
her parking space along the side of the bed-and-breakfast. As she'd expected, her thoughts were still in a state that could only be described as chaotic. She couldn't pretend that Mac's kiss hadn't been welcome. It had been a long time since she'd responded to a man that way. Maybe ever.

Always before, she'd had the sense that some little part of her held back, in control, watching what was happening but not participating. Not this time. She'd been completely involved in the moment, her emotions overwhelmed with the touch and smell and feel of him.

There was no future in a relationship with Mac. She knew that. So did he. Eventually she'd have her answers, and then she'd move on. Mac would stay here, in the place where he belonged.

Where did she belong? The thought came out of nowhere, and she didn't have an answer.

The back porch light Mrs. Anderson usually left on was turned off, so that the lawn between the main house and the cottage lay in darkness. Kate stifled a faint reluctance to move. Pulling out her key ring, she turned on the tiny penlight attached to it and stepped into the dark.

It was quiet—almost too quiet. She'd already noticed that Laurel Ridge seemed to close down quickly after about six o'clock. Lights reflected from cars moving along Main Street, but otherwise, all was dark and still.

The penlight produced a narrow tunnel of illumination along which she walked. When she reached the step she paused, fumbling for the key and then trying to keep the light focused on the lock while she opened it.

But the instant she put her key in the lock, she realized it hadn't been needed. The front door to the cottage was unlocked, swinging open a few inches at the slight touch.

Alarm flared. She stepped back, cautious as a cat, making no sound, and reached for her cell phone. But even before her questing fingers located it in her bag, she paused. Mac was at the fire scene, and he'd told her how small his force was. If she dialed 911, who would she get? One of the part-timers he'd mentioned, who had no idea who she was?

She eyed the door. Nothing moved. She couldn't hear anything, not from the cottage. But there was a sound—so faint it was on the very edge of her hearing. A rustling noise, as if something disturbed the thick bushes along the property line.

If she took the penlight off the cottage door, someone might come out. But it was surely more important to know if someone was already here with her. A quick glance at the bed-and-breakfast was enough to tell her that Mrs. Anderson wasn't home. There was no point in running to her door.

The sound came again, louder this time. She tried to tell herself it was a stray cat or a night bird, but she wasn't convinced. Her fingers closed over the phone with sudden decision. She'd call Mac directly, no matter where he was. She'd rather feel foolish for raising a false alarm than fail to call when there was danger.

But before she'd even pulled the phone free, she heard it again—unmistakable this time. Someone was there, behind her. She darted a glance back to see a dark figure emerge from the shadows. It—he—whatever—was between her and the street. That left only the cottage. Gripping the phone in one hand and her keys with the other, she bolted for the cottage door.

Footsteps came behind her, with no attempt to conceal them now. Kate dashed up the two steps to the door, plunged inside and slammed it shut just as something reached toward it. She flicked the dead bolt, then backed up a couple of steps, staring toward the door.

Not that she could see much. She'd been sure she'd left the small lamp on the end table turned on, but it wasn't on now. Fumbling with the penlight, Kate focused its beam on the door.

A cold hand seemed to grip her throat as the knob turned slowly—first one direction and then the other. She could almost feel the pressure against the door as she imagined a dark-clothed figure pushing against it.

But the lock held, and she could breathe again. Her mind started to work as the adrenaline she'd been running on tapered off. Larry Foust, maybe? If he knew she'd told Mac everything she knew about him, he'd have good reason to hold a grudge.

Brushing away futile speculation, she listened for any sound from outside. The scrape of a shoe on the step and then—nothing. If he'd gone...but, no, she could hear movement along the front of the cottage. Then nothing.

She stood where she was, torn. If she went to the window, she might catch a glimpse of him. But what if she pulled aside the curtain and found him looking back at her?

Idiot
, she chastised herself. If she stood any chance of identifying the man, she had to try, didn't she? But first—she punched in Mac's number.

While she waited for the connection, she used the feeble beam of the penlight to work her way toward the window. With one hand on the back of the sofa, she moved silently. But the danger was outside, wasn't it? What was she afraid of in here?

And then she knew. She wasn't alone. The sound was so soft it barely registered, but when she held her breath, she could hear it...a faint, brushing noise.

It took all her nerve to swing the penlight toward the source of the sound. The narrow beam touched fingers, scratching at the rug. Traveled up an arm toward a head, gleaming with blood that nearly obscured the face. Nearly, but not quite.

“Kate! Where are you? Answer me!”

They must have been connected for several seconds before her mind registered Mac's voice, shouting in her ear.

She swallowed hard and kept her voice steady with an effort. “Mac. It's Larry Foust. He's lying on the floor of the cottage. Hurt. It's...it's bad.” Her voice quivered on the last word.

“Kate, I want you out of there.” Mac's voice was steady, but she could almost sense his movement. He'd be racing to his car. “Go over to Mrs. Anderson's.”

“I can't.” She shot a quick look at the blackness outside the windows and knew nothing was going to get her out there. “There's someone out there. He came at me.”

Mac muttered a few words he'd probably just as soon no one heard. “Stay put and keep your phone with you. Is the door bolted?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Don't touch anything.” He must have turned away from the phone for a moment to speak to someone else. Then he was back. “We'll be there in a few minutes. Okay? I'm coming.”

It's all right to be afraid
. The voice of her stepfather sounded in her head.
But use the fear to be smart. Don't
let it master you.

“Okay.”

Fingers scraped along the windowpane, as if seeking a way in. She sucked in a breath and shouted. “The police are on their way. Hear that? They're almost here.”

She swung the penlight back to focus on the inert figure, her mind starting to work.
Don't touch anything
, Mac had said. But the blood still flowed, slowly, from the wound in the back of the boy's head. He was still alive, then. She had to do something, and she would.

* * *

W
HEN
M
AC
PULLED
up in the driveway, he left the headlights on. At least it illuminated a fraction of the yard.

“Search the area,” he told Foster. “Look for any signs of someone hiding in the bushes. And if you find any footprints, don't put your own feet on top of them. Just mark the location and come and tell me.”

“You think the guy is still here?” Foster swung the beam of his heavy police flashlight around the yard.

“Not if he has any brains.” Mac strode quickly to the door.

Kate was already opening it. “Did you call an ambulance?”

“They'll be right behind us.” He took a moment to study her face. Pale but composed. Whatever had happened, she had control of herself. “You weren't hurt?”

She shook her head. “No one touched me. But Larry—” She gestured, and he strode quickly to the inert form on the floor.

Larry lay facedown, one hand reached out as if to ask for help. A blanket had been tucked around him, and a blood-saturated towel lay next to him. There was blood on Kate's hands, as well.

“I see you didn't follow my instructions not to touch anything.”

“I couldn't just let him bleed.” She looked down at the boy, pity filling her face. “It's nearly stopped now. I hope that's a good sign. He's just a kid.” Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together.

Was she thinking of Jason? He'd been just a kid, too.

The wail of a siren was followed in short order by a couple of paramedics pulling a stretcher between them. Mike Callahan, the senior of the two, squatted next to the figure, his deft fingers checking the injury.

“You determined to produce more work for us?” His attention didn't leave his patient, but he flickered a glance from Mac to Kate.

“Not my doing,” he said. “How bad is it?”

“Not my call,” Mike said quickly. He looked at Kate. “You stopped the bleeding?”

“I did what I could.” She looked at her hands and shivered.

“Good job. We're going to transport him pretty quickly. The head injury should be looked at by a surgeon. You coming along, Mac?”

As usual, he was hamstrung by his lack of personnel. Someone should go to the hospital on the slim chance that Larry spoke and named his attacker. But someone had to question Kate and investigate the crime scene, and that had better be him.

“I'll call Harry Young and ask him to meet you at the hospital.” Harry was pushing the age limit for part-timers, and he didn't have the energy to chase down a toddler, let alone a criminal, but he was steady and responsible. “I'll have to keep Johnny Foster here to help process the scene.”

Though now that he and the paramedics, to say nothing of Kate, had already traipsed through the area, the chances of finding anything were lessened.

As the stretcher was moved out through the door, Kate seemed to wilt. “I'd like to go wash up,” she murmured, looking at her hands in distaste.

“Not yet.” In answer to her questioning look, he went on, choosing his words carefully. “I'll need to take a swab from your hands to match against Larry's blood.”

“I don't see anyone else bleeding around here.” Her temper flared, and he could see she was on the edge of losing that carefully detached facade she prized.

“It's just routine. We don't want to leave any loopholes for a defense attorney to drive through. Just hang on until I get the kit from the car. Okay?”

She managed a nod.

Mac strode outside and gestured to Johnny. The people who made up the guidelines for processing a crime scene apparently hadn't heard of police departments like his.

“Anything?”

Foster shook his head. “Some scuff marks over there by that big bush.”

“Lilac,” he corrected automatically. “Any identifiable footprints?”

“No. And I was careful, Chief. Looked like maybe the perp scuffed it up himself.”

He was more thorough than most criminals they ran across in Laurel Ridge, in that case. Foster was looking at him as if he had a question he hesitated to ask.

“What?” he snapped.

“You buy Ms. Beaumont's story?”

Mac's jaw clenched. “We investigate. We don't make judgments. But on the face of it, I doubt she'd have had time to meet Foust, get into an argument and bash his head in. We'll be looking to see if anyone saw her car arrive and can establish the time.”

“You want me to start on that now, Chief?”

“No. We process the scene first. Get the camera and crime scene kit.”

Mac headed back inside, trying to find the detachment he so desperately needed. Right now he had to be the police officer investigating, not the man who'd held Kate in his arms such a short time ago.

Soon after he'd swabbed her palms and put the result into an evidence bag, Mac realized that if Kate had anything to say about it, he wouldn't need to worry about keeping her at arm's length. She was looking at him as if he were a lower life-form. Obviously, she hadn't bought his explanation about the process being routine.

“Okay, you can wash up now. At the kitchen sink, please.” He'd be able to see her in the kitchen from here. Not that he thought she would attempt to hide anything, but because...well, because that was what he'd do if it were anyone but her in this situation.

Not speaking, Kate marched into the kitchen, taking a good long time scrubbing her hands. He could hardly blame her for wanting to get rid of the blood.

She'd done the sensible thing in a situation that would have had many a civilian running mindlessly. That control of hers was standing her in good stead right now.

When she came back into the living room, he was on the phone.

The instant he hung up, she spoke, as if the words could barely be contained. “Was that the hospital? Is he...did he make it?”

A suspicious cop could look at her eagerness two ways—either she was innocent and genuinely concerned, or she was guilty and hoping Larry wouldn't name her.

“He made it to the hospital. The surgeon's with him now. And my officer.”

“Good.” Kate's relieved sigh sounded like the real thing. “He'll be under guard, won't he? The person who did this might come back.”

“He'll be safe in the hospital.” He pushed that aside impatiently. He gestured to a chair far enough removed from the spot where Larry had lain. “Tell me what happened from the time you left the farm. What time did you leave?”

Her face tightened. For a moment he thought she'd remain defiantly standing, but then she crossed to the chair and sat, very erect on the edge of the seat.

“I'm not sure. I went in the house with...with your family.” For an instant she seemed to understand how difficult this was for him. “Your mother insisted on giving me food to bring home—” She stopped, looking around. “I don't know what happened to it.”