Land's End (14 page)

 

By the time Sarah emerged enough from a haze of misery to think straight, she was seated across from Trent in a padded booth. The small restaurant, perched on pilings over the water, was empty in midafternoon. Trent had guided her inside, ordered for them, nagged her into eating a bowl of she crab soup, saying she needed it. He'd been right. The warmth seeped into her, and she no longer felt like bursting into tears.

“Better now?” He studied her, concern deepening the lines around his eyes.

“Much, thank you.” She put down the spoon. “I'm sorry I fell apart on you. I just—” Her voice began to choke.

“You were entitled.” He frowned. “Look, we won't talk about it until you're ready, okay?”

She nodded, relieved. Of course they'd have to talk, but not until she'd come to grips with one ugly fact. She'd have staked her life on Miles's integrity, and she'd been wrong.

Trent pushed a plate toward her. “Taste the sweet-potato fries. Genuine Gullah cooking. Tastes like home.”

That surprised her. “I thought you were from Chicago.”

“Everyone thinks that. My mother lived in Chicago, but my grandparents lived here, on an island too small for you to have heard of. When I was lucky enough, I got to stay with them.”

Something in his voice told her that had meant more to him than a casual vacation. “You loved being with them.”

“They kept me sane.” He gave a wry smile at her startled look. “Sound like an overstatement? I'll tell you something that never appears in the business magazine articles about Trent Donner. They always repeat the line that I came from a working-class background in Chicago. They don't mention that my mother really deserved the term, ‘working girl.'”

“Your mother—” She stopped. She'd imagined, whenever she'd read a bio of Trent, that his parents had been factory workers, proud of their brilliant son.

He shrugged. “She was an alcoholic and an addict. The wonder is that neither Derek nor I inherited the tendency.”

“I'm sorry.” That was inadequate, but she didn't know what else to say. “Your father?”

“I have a couple of pictures of him—proud in his marine uniform. He married my mother right before he shipped out to Vietnam. I never saw him.”

It didn't make sense to repeat that she was sorry, but she
was. Maybe that background explained something about Trent's toughness. He'd had to be tough to survive.

“Derek had a different father, then.”

He nodded. “He never knew who his father was. I don't know what saved Derek from the hell on earth she created. What saved me was getting sent down here, to my father's parents.”

The bitterness he felt toward his mother showed so clearly. She'd betrayed him in the most fundamental way. “Alcoholism is a disease. That doesn't excuse bad behavior, but—”

“What a nice, professional way of putting it, Sarah.” His tone was faintly mocking. “You're right, but that didn't help when we were her victims. All I could do was try to protect Derek when she was drunk or high.”

That explained the strong bond between them. No wonder Derek would do anything for his older brother.

“You've come a long way. How did you manage?” She thought of the advantages she'd taken for granted and was ashamed.

“My grandparents.” A faint smile touched his lips. “They didn't have much, but what they had they gave with open hands. I was their only son's only son. When I was with them, I felt like the most important person in the world. That was a good antidote to being treated like unwelcome trash.”

“They must have been wonderful people.”

He nodded. He paused in the act of sliding money from his wallet and pulled out a faded photograph. “There we are, the summer I was twelve. She let me stay with them the whole summer, and I was in heaven. I didn't ask anything more than to go out fishing every day with Grandpa and come home to the smell of my gramma's Low Country boil.”

She held the photo. A skinny kid in faded shorts and a
T-shirt stood with his arms around two people. The man had Trent's height and a lean, weathered face. The woman, short, softly rounded, looked at the boy with an expression of such love that it put a lump in Sarah's throat.

“Melissa looks like her—your grandmother, I mean.”

He nodded. “She was a lovely woman all the way through. Strong, determined, a woman of faith. Never let me get away with a thing, though. If I tried any street language on her, she washed my mouth out with a bar of laundry soap. Whatever good I have in me, I owe to them.”

“That's a beautiful tribute.” She wanted to put her hand over his, but touching him would be dangerous with her emotions already high. “They must have been proud of your success.”

“Not the money.” He smiled ruefully. “I remember their reaction when I tried to give them money. ‘Use that money to do good for someone who needs it,' Gramma said. ‘We just need to see you turning into a fine man like your daddy was.'”

It was hard to speak when her throat seemed to be closing. “And did you use it for someone else?”

“Derek.” His fingers tightened on the pen he held. “We'd been out of touch for a while by then. I managed to find them. Got Derek away, made sure he had an education. He was bright enough to make the best of it.”

“And your mother?” She said it softly, wondering if that was one question too many.

“She died in a treatment facility.”

She didn't need to ask who had provided that treatment for his mother. He might think he hated her for what she'd been, but he'd still tried to take care of her, because that's the kind of man he was.

He pushed his empty soup bowl back, dropped the restaurant bill on the table, and rose, seeming to signal that the con
fidences were over. She wasn't surprised. A private man like Trent didn't let down his guard often.

They reached the wooden walkway outside the restaurant and he paused, as if not ready to go back to Land's End and all that waited for them there. She stopped, too, hands on the railing, looking out at the gulls that swooped and soared, probably hoping for handouts from the restaurant.

“So then you became rich and famous,” she said lightly.

He planted his hands next to hers on the wooden railing. “I worked hard, made some lucky guesses, surrounded myself with the right people—and here I am. Successful.” The mocking undertone wasn't for her. Now it was for himself.

“I've always believed—” She stopped, unsure.

“What?” He focused on her, his fingers closing over hers.

Her heart stumbled over a beat. “I've always believed that God had a path marked out for me.” She nodded toward the smooth beach. Sandpipers darted through wet sand of the ebbing tide. “Sometimes it's a walk on a pleasant beach. Other times—”

“Other times it's being in a small boat in a big storm.” He finished the thought for her. “The waves over us seem pretty high right now.”

“We'll get through.” That probably sounded as if she bracketed herself with him, but she couldn't help that. They were tied together in this particular storm, at least.

“Will we? I wish I had your optimism, Sarah. It doesn't seem to me that we're much closer to a safe harbor after what we found out today.”

She took a breath, hoping her voice wouldn't shake. “If we don't learn anything else about them, if we never understand why the affair happened, at least we know this much. I hope—” Her voice petered out.

“What do you hope?” His tone was intense, as if he wanted more from her.

“I guess I hope they loved each other.” Her throat was thick with tears she was determined not to shed. “If they had to die together, I hope at least they had that.”

His hand froze. He swung to face her, grasping her arms and pulling her closer. “How can you say that?” Anger pulsed in his words. “How can you find a way to forgive them?”

His face was dark with fury. Then, quite suddenly, something else flared in his eyes. With a sharp movement he pulled her against him, and his mouth covered hers.

The boardwalk rocked under her feet, and then all she could think or feel was Trent, his arms hard around her, his heart pounding. Or was that hers? She wasn't sure.

The kiss ended as suddenly as it had begun. He drew back, looking at her with a kind of baffled anger.

“I guess that's why,” she managed to say. “I guess that's how I can begin to understand them.”

His face closed, rejecting her words. Rejecting her. “I can't.” He turned and stalked toward the car.

A
ny rational person would accept what they'd learned the previous day as the final answer. Sarah brooded over her second cup of coffee in the breakfast room, wondering if rationality had escaped her entirely. She couldn't quite vanquish the little voice of doubt in the back of her mind.

That anonymous woman who'd stood outside the door at the hotel—every grain of common sense said it was Lynette. Trent certainly believed that.

She winced, because if she thought of him, she had to think of that kiss. And remembering that made her feel as bruised and battered as if she'd been in a fight.

She cared for him, too much, and there was no possible future in that. Her heart ached. That was yet another reason why it was time to accept what she'd learned and go.

Her struggle had lasted most of the night as she'd prayed for guidance.
Show me what to do, Father. Give me a sign.

Melissa came quickly around the corner into the breakfast room, checked for an instant and then walked straight to Sarah.

“I have something for you. Something I found in my mother's room.” She held out her hand. From it dangled a necklace—a thin gold chain with a shell pendant.

Sarah blinked, startled. The girl's small face, which seemed
to change so abruptly from the child she'd been to the woman she was becoming, was very serious.

Sarah took the necklace, turning it to examine the shell. The pale, translucent ivory bore an image, painted in fine brushstrokes—a night heron lifting from the marsh grass.

“It's beautiful. But you should keep it.”

Melissa clasped her hands behind her as if to refuse. “It was hidden,” she said abruptly. “In with her clothes. I never saw her wear it.” Her voice trembled just a little. “I thought maybe Miles gave it to her. So you should have it.”

That struck right at her heart. “Melissa—” She reached toward the girl, necklace dangling from her fingers.

Melissa shook her head, whirled, and ran out of the room.

Sarah stared at the shell for a moment, trying to push away the image it brought to mind—Miles fastening it around Lynette's neck, Lynette lifting her beautiful face, smiling, for his kiss.

She started after Melissa. She didn't want it, and—She rounded the corner and ran straight into Robert Butler.

“Careful.” He steadied her courteously. “Are you—” He stopped, his gaze focused on the necklace and drew in an audible breath. “Where did you get that?”

“From Melissa. Why? You seem startled to see it.”

He shook his head. “Not startled, exactly. I'd thought about buying it myself. Amos Stark's work is increasing in value, and I decided it was worth the price he was asking.”

“Amos Stark?” The fineness of the painting had already told her this was no cheap tourist bauble.

“A local Gullah artist who specializes in shell painting.” He smiled. “Well, you have a fine piece of his work there.”

“It's not really mine,” she said slowly. “Melissa thought that Miles had bought it.” No need to tell him why.

“Miles?” His eyebrows lifted. “Miles didn't buy this.”

Her breath cut off. “What do you mean?”

“Amos told me who bought it. Not Miles. Jonathan Lee.”

For a moment she couldn't speak. “Are you sure?”

Robert shrugged, his dark eyes curious. “Positive. Jonathan has bought a number of pieces from him. Amos wouldn't make a mistake about that. Why did you think Miles bought it?”

“It—it was a misunderstanding, that's all. Excuse me. I have to find Melissa.” She hurried away, leaving him staring.

She'd nearly reached the stairs when she stopped. She couldn't tell Melissa. If the necklace was a gift from an admirer—

Jonathan Lee. She pressed her hand to her temple, trying to shake her thoughts into some sort of order. How did Jonathan fit into this? She took a breath. She should tell Trent.

She went quickly toward the office wing, intent on doing this before she gave in to the cowardly urge to throw the necklace away and pretend she'd never seen it. But when she reached Trent's office, Joanna rose from her desk.

“I'd like to see Trent, please. I'll only take a moment.”

“I'm sorry, but that's impossible.” The secretary's smile said she wasn't sorry at all. “He's out.”

The momentum that had carried her this far collapsed. “When will he be back?”

“He has an extremely busy schedule today.” Joanna smoothed back sleek hair. “Your visit to the Bayberry Inn yesterday put him behind in several important matters.”

The Bayberry Inn. The words repeated in her mind. She couldn't imagine a scenario in which Trent would discuss with his secretary where they'd gone and what they'd found out.

“How do you know that's where we went?” She flung the question at Joanna.

Joanna drew back as if she'd seen a snake. “I don't—I mean, I'm sure Mr. Donner must have mentioned it.”

“I'm just as sure he didn't.” She planted her palms on the desk, leaning toward the woman. “What did you do? Eavesdrop?”

“No! I didn't. I just knew, I mean—” She stumbled to a halt, face turning crimson.

Sarah, staring at her, read the truth with incredulous shock. “It was you. You were the woman at the inn with Miles.” She didn't even feel anything, not yet.

“Yes!” Joanna shot to her feet, the flush ebbing, leaving her face white. “All right, now you know. I loved Miles, and he loved me.” There was a triumphant ring to the words. “You never even appreciated him. I gave him more love than you ever imagined, and he loved me.”

Reeling, Sarah struggled to make sense of it. “You had an affair with my husband.”

Joanna glared at her. “Not some sleazy little affair. Oh, we went to the inn, but once we were there, Miles wouldn't go through with it. He said it wouldn't be honorable.”

It was what she'd said herself.
Miles would do the honorable thing
. She felt numb. “You—he loved you.”

“Why not? You were always pushing him. ‘Do the right thing, Miles.' I just loved him. He was going to ask you for a divorce, so we could be together.” Her voice broke, her face crumpling. “But he died.”

Sarah forced herself to breathe. This didn't make any sense. “You and Miles. But what about Lynette?”

The mention of Lynette's name seemed to galvanize Joanna, and she glared at Sarah as if she'd insulted her. “Lynette! There was never anything between them. He loved me. Don't you understand? I don't know why he was with her that day, but it had to be some kind of freak accident. He loved me.”

She broke down completely, collapsing in her chair, sobbing.

Someone should comfort the woman, but it couldn't be her. Her stomach churned, and her head was spinning. She had to get out. She hurried out of the office, back to the main house and on out the door. She had to get away from Land's End. She couldn't face anyone until she'd made sense of this.

 

She felt as if she'd walked for miles. No, not walked—run away. She'd been running from Land's End and everything it represented, but she couldn't run from herself.

Sarah sank down on a sea-battered tree trunk, bleached white and left high on the shore. Warm and smooth beneath her, it was oddly comforting in a world composed, just now, of sea, sand and the merciless blaze of the sun. If not for the ocean breeze, it would be unbearable.

About as unbearable as her thoughts.
Why, Lord? How could Miles fall in love with someone else when we promised ourselves to each other before You? And how could I not see that something was fundamentally wrong with our marriage? Was I that blind? Or did I just not care enough?

She swallowed the tears she was determined not to shed. Not now. She could collapse all she wanted once she was safely back in Boston, but for now she had to find answers.

She leaned back against sun-warmed wood. The only sounds that broke the stillness were the incessant murmur of the waves and the screech of a solitary gull. They had no answers for her. Those had to come from within.

Miles and Joanna. Put aside the pain that causes, and think it through. Joanna had been the woman at the inn with Miles. It was ludicrous to think that he could have been involved with both Joanna and Lynette at the same time.

Jonathan. She drew the necklace from her pocket. Jonathan had bought the necklace. He must have given it to Lynette. And what Melissa sensed had been true—that Lynette would not have hidden so valuable a gift unless she'd had to.

She stood. Perhaps God had guided her aimless flight down the beach. Beyond the dunes was the Lee house. She fastened the necklace around her neck, the pendant cool against her skin. She had some questions for Jonathan.

By the time she reached the house, her impulse had begun to falter. How did a well-brought-up Bostonian walk into a house and accuse her host of adultery? She sent up a silent prayer. If God was guiding her quest, she had to believe she was intended to be here now.

Jonathan could have been out, of course, but she saw him immediately, relaxing with a newspaper at a tile-topped table on the patio. He put the paper aside and rose at the sight of her.

“Sarah, how nice. Did you walk all this way? Let me get you a cold drink.”

“No, thanks.” She didn't want anything to distract from the questions she had to ask, and once she'd asked them, he wouldn't offer her anything. “I have to talk with you.”

“Of course.” Wariness showed in his glance as he pulled out a chair for her. She sat, relieved to be out of the glare.

Just get it out.
“I have to know. What was your relationship with Lynette Donner?”

His movement arrested at her words for a fraction of a second, and then he was sitting down, smiling across the table at her. “How fierce you sound, my dear. We were friends.”

“Close friends, I suppose.” She drew the necklace out from beneath her shirt. “Very close friends, for you to give her such an expensive gift—one she felt she had to keep hidden.”

Jonathan's expression didn't change, but she could almost
see the frantic thoughts tumbling behind his dark eyes. How much did she know? What could he tell her?

She was suddenly tired of the whole thing, tired and sick from thinking about it. “Don't bother to make up a story for me. Two weeks before her death, Lynette confessed to Trent that she'd been having an affair. It was you, wasn't it?”

He held out against her for a moment longer. Then, with a small sigh, he nodded.

“Yes. It's almost a relief to say it.” He looked away from her, out toward the dunes. “I'm not even sure how it happened. I was infatuated. It was a few weeks of insanity.”

He was letting himself off easily, but it wasn't her job to confront him with his sin. “Did you break it off, or did she?”

He flushed slightly. “She did. But if you're thinking that gave me a reason to want her dead, you're wrong. I was relieved. I didn't want to destroy my marriage. I love Adriana.” He focused on her, eyes pleading. “Don't tell her, Sarah. I don't deserve her, but I can't bear losing her.”

She wouldn't willingly put another woman through her pain. “I don't intend to tell her, but Trent has a right to know.”

His face tightened. “Why? So he can look for revenge?”

“Trent wouldn't do that.” But she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice. Given the depth of his sense of betrayal, she wasn't sure what Trent might do.

Probably he sensed her hesitation. He leaned forward. “Listen to me before you say something you can't take back. I don't think what happened to Miles and Lynette was an accident.”

Ironic, that the person who agreed with her was Lynette's lover. “Why?”

“I saw Trent that day, a couple of hours before the call came that Lynette was missing. He was out in his boat, and he was headed toward Cat Isle.”

“No.” Her rejection was pure reflex. “If you're saying Trent found them and killed them, I don't believe it.”

He shrugged. “You're under his spell, I suppose. Women fall for him. But you should ask him why the police hushed up everything up so quickly.”

“I've already been through that with him and the chief. He didn't deny that he wanted the investigation closed quickly, but the chief insists they didn't cover anything up.”

“He owes Trent. Everyone on the island does. He'd say whatever Trent wanted.”

Little though she liked him, she couldn't swallow the idea that the police chief was corrupt enough to hide murder, and that's what Jonathan was suggesting. “I don't believe it.”

He shrugged, standing. “That's your choice. I'll have someone drive you back to Land's End. But be careful, Sarah. Trent Donner can be a dangerous man.”