She held up the tire iron. “I'm not quite sure how to use this.”
“Let me see if I can help.” Alec took the tool from her. “Everything okay?” He knelt by the tire and began to remove the lug bolts. “You're driving the sheriff's spare car.”
“My business partner is missing.” Her voice trembled. “I was watching on a beach cam, and two men kidnapped her right in front of me.”
His hands stilled, and he looked up at her. “Nicole Ingram?” He'd gone out last night on the search for the missing woman. All they'd found was her cell phone on the sand, a chilling sight.
She nodded. “She'd told me when she would be at the cam, so I got on the computer. Two guys came ashore in a small boat and took her away. I called 9-1-1, but by the time the sheriff got there, all he found was her car parked along the side of the road. No sign of Nicole.”
“No sign of her in any boats that were stopped yesterday either.”
She studied him as she fidgeted with her large leather bag. “How do you know that?”
He rose and stuck out his hand. “Alec Bourne. Part-time fisherman and full-time captain in the Coast Guard. The sheriff is my cousin, and he told me about your friend. My crew did a run through the area on one of the boats, but we didn't see anything suspicious.”
She grasped his hand in a tight grip. “I'm Libby Holladay. You have to find her.”
He checked the spare. “This spare tire is flat too. Tom needs to take better care of this vehicle. Hop in. I'll take you anywhere you need to go. Tom can collect the car later.”
She studied his face. “I'm sorry, but I don't know you.”
He couldn't blame her for being cautious, especially considering what had happened to her friend. He dug out his Coast Guard ID and held it out. Her fingers grazed his when she took it, and the bolt of adrenaline he experienced nearly made him snatch his hand back. She was beautiful, but he'd seen beautiful women before.
She returned his ID. “Thank you. I'm sorry if I offended you.”
“No offense taken,” he said while he fetched her belongings from Tom's car. “It's always wise to be cautious.” He jerked his head toward the passenger side of the truck. “The door sticks. Give it a jerk.” He put her suitcase in the truck bed, then slid behind the wheel of his truck and quickly moved some nets and tackle off the seat.
She yanked on the door, then climbed in. She wrinkled her nose as she shut the door. “I guess you
have
been fishing. The truck reeks of it.” She smiled. “Sorry, I don't like fish much.”
“You just haven't had the right fish. I went crabbing this morning. Nice haul.” He started the engine. “The smell grows on you. Where you headed?”
She hesitated. “I was going to go to the Tidewater Inn, but you can just take me back to town and I'll call them.”
“You live in the Outer Banks?”
She shook her head. “Near Virginia Beach.”
“Your friend was here on vacation or something?”
She stared out the window. “Or something.”
He didn't like the way she didn't look at him. Like she was hiding something. “By herself? She didn't say anything about being worried about someone? No one was following her?”
She shook her head and rested her cheek on the window.
“I get the feeling you're not telling me everything,” he said. “I have a nose for deception. Comes with the job.”
She finally lifted her head and turned to face him. Her dark eyes were anxious and strained. “It's personal.”
He turned the truck into Dead Man's Curve and headed for downtown. “Might have something to do with your friend's disappearance though.”
Her face was pale. “Do you know Horace Whittaker?”
Was she in some kind of trouble? “Sure. He was born and raised here on the island. Good man, good attorney.”
“His secretary gave Nicole some interesting news. She said my father has left me some property out here.”
He tried to think who had died lately. “Who's your father?”
“Ray Mitchell.”
Alec raised his brows. “You're Ray's daughter? I never knew he had any other kids except for Brent and Vanessa. You never visited him here. I would have seen you.”
“I
thought
he died when I was five.” She pressed her lips together and looked down at her hands.
He absorbed the news. So the information that Ray had only died a month ago would have come as a shock. “Who told you that?”
“My mother.”
“Your mom lied to you?”
She gave a barely perceptible nod.
He made a quick decision as he parked in front of the jail. “Give me Tom's keys. I'll have a couple of deputies handle the car situation, and we'll go see Horace.”
She handed him the keys. “You think he knows what happened to Nicole?”
“He can tell us what he knows of her visit here. Maybe something will point to whatever happened. Though I doubt it's related to your inheritance, I could be wrong. Do your brother and sister know you're here?”
She shook her head. “Seems crazy that I have a brother and sister I didn't know about until yesterday.” She stared at him. “Did you see any boats out yesterday at all?”
He shrugged. “Fishing boats. Like I said, we stopped a couple but found nothing suspicious.” He got out of the truck. “I'll be right back,” he told her through the open window. He'd spring Zach while he was at it and tell the kid to go home and stay there.
L
ibby craned her neck to take in the village of Hope Beach. The main street, Oyster Road, ran straight through to the harbor. Small shops lined the road and displayed wares ranging from beads to beach gear to driftwood furniture. Alec drove the truck past a restaurant with tables on a terrace. There was an ice-cream shop and a coffee shop across the street.
It was a town unlike anything she'd ever seen. She almost felt like she had stepped into a movie about a beach town in the fifties. There were very few cars but a lot of bicycles. So quaint and charming. What a wonderful place to grow up. Live oaks lined the sidewalks, and the street itself was cobblestone. The shop fronts were mostly clapboard. Libby loved it already.
She eyed a Victorian home with decorative siding in the gables. “Why isn't this place on the historic registry? It's like stepping back in time.”
“You sound like an expert or something,” Alec said.
She stared up at the fretwork on the next house. “I'm an archaeological historian. I work in historic preservation. Some of these places are real treasures.”
She glanced back at the man beside her. Alec was a handsome guy, about six-two with sun-streaked brown hair. His blue eyes were startling in his tanned face, and his muscular frame was from either hauling in nets or working out.
He parked in front of a clapboard house that appeared to be freshly painted. “It's expensive to renovate out here. Material has to be ferried over, and workmen are at a premium. So most make do with what they have or what they can accomplish by themselves.”
She continued to stare at the buildings. “That's why they're still intact, then. In college I did my thesis on historic homes in Charleston. I compared contemporary photos that I'd taken to historic pictures I found in the archives. I wanted to show the progress over the years. What I set out to prove was that, historically, homes in Charleston were owned by folks who were too poor to paint but too proud to whitewash. So those places stayed the same.”
He nodded. “You might be right about that. Happened here for sure.”
She got out of the truck and shut the door behind her. “Why hasn't the charm been destroyed by tourism?”
“Your father gets the credit for that. He owned most of the town, and he refused to sell to outsiders. Some called him a genius and others said he blocked progress.”
A rustic sign proclaimed the building to be that of Horace Whittaker, Attorney-at-Law. The place had so much gingerbread in the gables and on the porch that it looked like a fairytale cottage. She followed Alec through the entry and into the foyer, which was surprisingly dim. A young woman in jeans sat behind the counter.
Alec glanced around. “Hi, Mindy. Why are you sitting in here with no lights?”
She rolled her eyes. “Horace forgot to pay the electric bill again. And his bill at the dive shop. That man is so forgetful.”
Or so irresponsible
. Libby was quite familiar with irresponsibility. Her mother always wanted to play and let the bills take care of themselves. Except they never did.
“They're supposed to turn it on any minute. I don't mind.” Mindy held up a romance novel. “I get to read instead of work. At least I have a window.” The woman's eyes were sparkling. “You hear about the hurricane? The first one missed us but there's another heading this way.”
Alec shrugged. “It's only a category 1. We'll be fine. Listen, is Horace busy?”
The secretary shook her head and picked up the phone. “Horace, Alec is here with a lady to see you.” She listened a moment, then replaced the receiver. “You can go on back.”
Libby saw the speculation in the woman's eyes. “I'm Libby Holladay.”
The woman's eyes widened. “I'm Mindy Jackson. I met your business partner.” She put down her book. “I got into so much trouble for telling her Horace was looking for you. He hates to appear incompetent. I was just trying to help though.” She tipped her head and stared. “You look a lot like Vanessa.”
“So Nicole said.”
Mindy winced. “I heard on the radio this morning about her kidnapping. You're the friend who saw the men take her via the cam?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Well, welcome to Hope Island, Ms. Holladay. I'm sorry about your friend. Hopefully the sheriff will find her soon.”
Libby tensed at the doubt in the secretary's voice. “I'm sure they will,” she said. “Did Nicole mention what she'd been doing? Did she seem afraid of anyone?”
Mindy shook her head. “She came in to have Horace help her with some paperwork. But she seemed more interested in the inheritance when she heard about it.” She pointed down the hall. “You know the way to his office, Alec.” Her tone dismissed them, and she stuck her nose back in her book.
Libby followed Alec down the wide hall. The woodwork was quarter-sawn oak and appeared to be original. The plaster walls were painted an accurate period gray-green. She was sure there were original hardwood floors under the carpet. Alec pushed open a door at the end of the hall, and she glimpsed a man in his fifties behind a massive cherry desk. He looked like Burl Ives with his round face and belly and his pointed beard.
When he spoke, even his voice had that rich Ives timbre. “Alec, can't say I was expecting to see you in need of an attorney.” His gaze went to Libby. “Or is it your friend in need of my help?” He rose and extended his hand. “Horace Whittaker.”
She put her hand in his. It was warm. “Libby Holladay.”
His fingers tightened on hers. His white brows rose. He pointed to the overstuffed leather chairs. “Have a seat. Let me save my work. I'm updating my website and I don't want to lose it.”
Libby sat. “You saw my friend two days ago, Mr. Whittaker?”
He nodded. “Call me Horace. It was rather embarrassing that my secretary was so unprofessional.” He smiled. “Still, it allowed me to finally track you down.”
“You'd had trouble?”
He nodded. “The last address Ray had for you was in Indiana. Your friend said you're in Virginia Beach now?”
“Yes. For the past year.” Libby leaned forward. “About my father . . .”
Horace's round head bobbed. “Ray. The town misses him already. He was a great philanthropist, always contributing to those in need. You would have passed the school on the way in. The playground equipment was bought by your father. He's been a driving force in the village for the past twenty-five years.”
A lump formed in Libby's throat and she blinked rapidly, determined not to let these men see the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. If he was so generous to everyone else, why had he ignored her all these years?
Horace wheeled his chair around. “In addition to the old letters, Ray gave me a package for you. It's in my safe.” He leaned over a safe behind him, twirled the dial a few times, then popped it open. He reached inside, then shut and locked it again. “Here we are.” He held out an irregularly shaped envelope. When she took it, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a shoe box. “Here are the letters.”
“What's in this?” She felt the package and couldn't tell what it contained.
“I have no idea. He gave it to me shortly before he died and asked me to put it away.”
Libby tucked the envelope into her large bag and put the box of letters on the floor beside it. She wasn't ready to read anything from her father in front of spectators. “Thank you.” She leaned forward. “What about my father's second family? They all live here?”