Peppermint Creek Inn (20 page)

“Preoccupied?”

A quick concerned frown trashed his smile. “You’re not sick are you?”

“No. No. Would I be hungry if I was sick?” Hungry in more ways than one. She should have made him leave. He’d be gone now, and she’d be snuggled away with all her work. No sexy man hanging around the house. No sexual cravings for him to make love to her. No problems.

But since he was still here, she might as well ask him the big, burning question she’d been dying to ask ever since she’d seen him sifting through the ruins. “You didn’t find anything in the building that I should know about did you?”

His mouth halted in the middle of a chew.

“Could we hold off on that question until I’ve had another biscuit?”

“I can tell by your face, it’s not good news. So let’s have it now, Tom.”

He shoved the last piece into his mouth and stood. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

She waited for a few anxious minutes until he strolled back in with a lunch-size brown paper bag.

“You went grocery shopping?” she teased half-heartedly as she set her coffee mug down on the table with a slightly shaky hand. By the watery smile on his face, he wasn’t too pleased at what he’d put into the bag.

“I went shopping, but not for groceries. Do you have some plastic wrap?”

“Sure.”

A moment later Tom was ripping some clear wrap from the box Sara had given him. He placed a strip of wrap across an area of the table, free of any dishes. Then he wrapped some plastic around his hand and delved into the brown paper bag.

“You’re not going to like what I’ve come up with.” The serious tone of his voice had her heart thumping madly. She watched anxiously as he withdrew some green shards of glass and laid them one by one on the plastic wrap. Next, he pulled out what appeared to be a full green wine bottle with a yellow shoestring hanging out of the spout.

“What in the world is it?” Curiosity raked through her and she reached out to grab the bottle.

“Don’t touch it,” he warned. “It may still have fingerprints. It’s highly unlikely, but you can’t take any chances.”

“What is it?”

“A homemade bomb.”

Sara couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Did you say a bomb?”

He nodded and she leaned forward to stare more closely at the green wine bottle.

So innocent.

So deceiving.

It was filled with a liquid. A gray putty was stuffed into the mouth of the bottle. From the putty, sprouted a yellow plastic-looking string about six inches long, with a blackened end.

“There were more out there. This is the only one that wasn’t broken. I checked four of the burned-out rooms. There were green glass fragments in all but one of them. And the one that didn’t contain glass, I found this bottle. Right outside the building, under some debris, opposite to where a window would have been. My guess is whoever started the fire, broke the windows, placed the bottles just inside on the ledge, close to the curtains, lit the fuses and boom. Instant fire.” He nodded to the wine bottle. “From the looks of it, the person lit this one and it went out before it could explode or somehow rolled along the window ledge, dropped outside the building and fizzled out. When was the fire? Three? Four months ago?”

“New Year’s Eve,” she whispered.

“About five months ago. It probably rolled into a snowdrift and disappeared. That’s why the fire marshal missed it.”

“We don’t have a fire marshal. The fire department is on a volunteer basis around these parts.”

Tom scowled. “Who was in charge of the investigation?”

“Justin and Sam.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why am I not surprised. They’re the ones who said it was arson?”

Sara nodded. “They found the empty jerry cans. They’d been removed from the barn.”

“The gas from the jerry cans is most likely what the suspects used to fill the bottles. Don’t you normally keep your barn door locked with all those supplies in there?”

“Yes, usually.”

“Who else has access to the keys to the barn?”

“Practically everyone. All my summer crew. Family members. Whoever needs the keys to the barn and truck easily. The keys to the cottages and the inn are securely locked up in one of the upstairs rooms. But during open season, they’re kept under close watch behind the lobby desk at the inn.”

“So pretty much anyone coming in through the front door could have picked up the key during the open season, made a copy then put the key back before anyone was the wiser then came back in the winter, removed the jerry cans, used them.” Tom’s brow knotted thoughtfully for a moment then he asked, “Or a better scenario would be someone could have taken the key shortly before the fire. Did you by any chance have company that day? Or maybe earlier in the week?”

“Jo stayed for a few days around then. I can’t think of anyone else.”

“Are you sure? It was around New Year’s. You must have had some holiday visitors dropping in around that time.”

Sara shook her head slowly. “I don’t— Oh, my God! Cran Simcoe dropped by. He’s the town drunk. But it couldn’t be him.”

“Why not?”

“We never let him inside. He showed up drunk and Jo told him to take a hike.”

Tom sighed. “Okay, so he’s out of the picture. What about Jeffries and this Sam character?”

“Yes, they did drop in.”

“And both were in the house? Unescorted?”

“Yes, of course. They’re police officers. I trust them.”

Tom shook his head in disbelief. “Why is it people automatically trust cops? They’re human like the rest of us, Sara. They make mistakes, and some are corrupt, too.” The statement was made without anger or hatred, but as if he were stating a plain fact.

His voice grew lower, gentler. “The nearest town is how far away?”

“Thirty minutes drive if you go the speed limit,” Sara joked.

But Tom didn’t smile. The look of seriousness gave Sara an uneasy feeling.

“You didn’t notice anything odd that night? Strangers in the area? Footprints in the snow? Odd smells? Noises?”

“We called the fire crew the minute we saw—” Sara stopped mid-sentence as she suddenly realized something. “You know what? I heard something odd that night now that I think about it. I heard popping sounds. A couple of them. I was half-asleep and well—you know how it is when you’re half-asleep, things just don’t register.”

“Jo never mentioned hearing anything?”

“No. She sleeps like a log, especially when she’s here. She says it’s the fresh northern air. She didn’t come downstairs until I started yelling. That popping sound had woken me up. I wandered into the living room and that’s when I saw a strange light flickering against the curtains. When I looked out, I saw the inn on fire. We called and the fire department and the crew were here pretty fast.”

“How fast?”

“I’d guess maybe ten to fifteen minutes. I don’t think they were following the speed limit though if that’s where you’re going.”

Tom managed a thin smile. “What I’m getting at is how did these volunteer firemen get suited up so quickly and get to the station house and then here in ten to fifteen minutes from when you called if the town is thirty minutes away.”

“Actually, I wasn’t the first one who called the fire crew that night. Justin was cruising down the highway when he saw a suspicious-looking vehicle racing out of the road onto the highway. When he came into the road, he saw the orange glow in the sky and called the fire department.”

“How convenient,” Tom whispered snidely under his breath. “Can I ask you a question about your husband’s murder?”

Sara bit her lip and nodded.

“How did you get help for yourself that day?”

“Thankfully Sam and Justin were on their usual rounds and found me.”

“Did they find you before or after you heard the gunshot?”

Sara’s mouth dropped open in shock at the horrible question.

Tom frowned and placed a calming hand on hers.

His delicate, caring touch didn’t feel one bit like Justin’s cold, clammy hand. His hand felt warm and soothing, and Sara suddenly felt safe.

“I’m not sure. Things are jumbled like I mentioned.”

“I’m sorry.” He attempted a weak smile. “I shouldn’t be so callous. It’s just that someone murdered your husband and bombed your inn, and both times the cops were here in the nick of time to help you out. I just find everything a little too convenient.”

“I can see why you may want to suspect them. They probably know how to make bombs. But why would policemen want to bomb my place and kill my husband?”

“It might not even be them. Practically anyone can make a bomb. The ingredients are in our households, in our stores, on the Internet. Everywhere. A bottle, a fuse, gas, a little putty. It’s so simple a three-year-old can make one given the instructions.” He threw her such a serious business-like look—it suddenly made her think he was some sort of professional himself.

“As to why they would want you out of here, I don’t know. It’s not like you have any competition out here. There has to be another reason. We just have to find it.”

Sara shook her head slowly. “You’re way off on this Tom. Way off.”

“You said Jeffries got suspicious and called the fire department. How did he know to call them? Your place is situated in a valley surrounded by high hills and so far off the beaten track. How could he see the smoke? Or flames? Or a glow when there are so many trees along the road hiding everything from view? It just isn’t possible.”

As Tom spoke, Sara began to realize he was right. Everything did seem too convenient. “Okay then, if Justin set the fire why would he call the fire department to put it out?”

Tom shrugged. The question had apparently caught him off guard. “Good question.”

“And why would they not kill me after killing my husband if they wanted this place so bad?”

Tom chuckled. “Another good question. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am way off base. Oh, and before I forget, I checked out the office.”

Sara swallowed at the chunk clogging up her throat. “Did you—find anything?”

“I have a theory. When you saw the flash and movement at the window, the lights and phone went dead soon after, right?”

“That’s right.”

“The window sill is pretty wide. It could easily be used to hoist someone up allowing them to climb onto the sill to disconnect the line to the phone. The line to the lights is just a reach away.”

Sara shuddered.

“Did the cops mention anything about the wiring?”

“No.”

“Then if my theory is right, whoever disconnected the wires, reconnected them either before or during an investigation.”

Sara’s head spun. “You mean the murderer might have hung around. He could have been watching me as I was miscarrying. God, that’s sick.”

“Whoever shot your husband is sick, and you’re in danger out here all alone if he’s not caught. And Sara…the flash in the window could have been the refection off someone’s belt buckle or someone’s glasses. Maybe even Jeffries’ glasses.”

Sara couldn’t say a word as she let the information absorb into her mind. Tom leaned forward in his chair and said softly, “I’m sorry but like I said it’s only a theory. It might not be him. Could have been anything flashing. A knife. A button. It’s just that this morning when I saw the flash on the hill alerting me to his presence, I just kind of thought of what you’d said about seeing a flash in the window.”

Sara nodded, trying hard to still the chills ripping through her. The last person she would ever think would harm Jack was Justin. They were best friends. “I understand, but I still can’t believe Justin could do something so sinister.” She focused her attention back to the green glass fragments and the wine bottle.

“What do we do with all this stuff now?”

Tom removed his hand from hers, grabbed his mug of coffee and took a thoughtful sip before answering. “We’ll give this evidence to Jo and Garry.”

“What do we do until then?”

“We wait and see if anymore shadows turn up.”

—

Three days later Tom yawned as he flopped wearily onto a comfortable living room armchair. It had been a tough day and his muscles screamed for relief. Thankfully, the days had passed without any more unexpected visitors and he’d spent most of his time working alone while Sara filled more orders for her peppermint business.

He’d constantly looked over his shoulder as he tackled the various odd jobs of reshingling leaking roofs on a couple of old cabins, doing some plumbing, repairing the porch, rebracing the front wheelchair ramp and replacing the glass in the kitchen window.

He’d been surprised to find everything he needed in the workshop inside the barn. Sara’s husband Jack had been a planner. He’d stocked his workshop with everything imaginable.

From kegs of roofing nails, shingles, glass panes, right down to the exact size of washers fitting a bathroom tap. And when he’d bought something, he’d bought it in bulk, taking advantage of quantity discounts.

Tom had been here more than a week and because the phones were still out, there’d been no word from the two people Sara said might be able to help him. He was beginning to wonder if they’d ever be able to return Sara’s calls. Not that he was in a hurry to find out about his true identity.

Far from it.

The intense physical labor during the day seemed to be exactly what he needed to keep his sexual urges about Sara in check. By the time he ate supper he was too pooped to pursue her the way he wanted.

Nights, however, were another story.

There were dreams. Lots of them. Some of ripped him awake and he’d lie in bed drenched in a chasm of fear and cold sweat, torturing himself, racking his brains, trying to remember what the dreams involved. Then there were dreams he remembered, erotic dreams of Sara that left his body heated with carnal desires, his groin hard and aching and demanding satisfaction from her.

God, did she know what effect she had on him? Did she know every time she looked at him with those luscious chocolate eyes, his cock remembered how perfectly her mouth had slid over his shaft? Or how his mouth watered at the thought of wanting to suck the warm pleasure cream from her body again?