Twilight at Blueberry Barrens (2 page)
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Authors: Colleen Coble
© 2016 by Colleen Coble
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or otherâexcept for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Brief quotation from
The Princess Bride
by William Goldman. Copyright © 1973, 1998, 2003.
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Publisher's Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-7180-9069-2 (Library Edition)
ISBN: 978-1-4016-9031-1 (eBook)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Coble, Colleen, author.
Title: Twilight at blueberry barrens / Colleen Coble.
Description: Nashville: Thomas Nelson, [2016] | Series: A Sunset Cove novel ; 3
Identifiers: LCCN 2016014088 | ISBN 9781401690304 (softcover)
Subjects: LCSH: Man-woman relationshipsâFiction. | GSAFD: Romantic suspense
fiction. | Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3553.O2285 T95 2016 | DDC 813/.54âdc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016014088
16 17 18 19 20 RRD 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my beloved Amanda Bostic. Thanks for unfurling my suspense wings!
NE
J
UNE
24
M
elissa's breath came hard, and the pressure in her ears built as she sprinted up the slope toward the top of the cliffs. The glow in the east told her she would have to hurry if she wanted to see the sunrise from Mermaid Rock. Small pebbles skittered away from the soles of her sneakers, and the sound set her on edge.
She glanced over her shoulder. While she'd seen no one on the trail, the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention, and she kept expecting to find a bear's gaze boring into her in the darkness. In spite of her careful perusal of the surrounding area, she saw nothing but piles of pink granite gleaming in the faint glow of the coming sunrise.
When she finally reached the summit, the view swept away her unease. The sun peeked over the water and bathed everything in a pink halo that heightened the color of the cliffs. She sat on a rock and inhaled the salty air. It was a perfect morning, but she would soon have to go back and face what she'd come to Maine to do.
Heath wouldn't be happy, but she couldn't continue this
way when she didn't want to be with him anymore. When had their giddy love changed? When Heath had been in law school, they kissed over takeout as they cuddled on crates at a table constructed from a box crate.
Now that they had everything, they really had nothing.
And what was she going to do about the girls? They adored their father. Taking them away from him would be a terrible idea, but she couldn't leave them behind. Even if that decision had been made, she wasn't sure she could go through with it.
Pain began to pulse behind her eye, and she rubbed her forehead. This was so hard. She didn't want to think about their fight, the way his voice shook with fury, but the memory swamped her.
“What's this?” Heath tossed a sheaf of papers onto the table at the coffee shop.
The aroma of espresso suddenly turned Melissa's stomach when she saw his expression. “What's what?”
The children's activity director at the hotel, Lisa Greenhill, sat at the next table over and lifted her head at his raised voice. Melissa hunched her shoulders and turned away from the curious stares. Her heart pounded as she peered up at her husband.
His eyes were narrowed in what looked like hatred, and his nostrils flared. His normally smiling lips were pressed together in a straight line. Her gaze leaped to the papers, and she bit back a gasp. He knew. “I can explain.”
His lip curled. “Explain how you've been meeting him behind my back. And that scum, of all people.”
She straightened and met his gaze. “He's not what you think.”
“No, he's worse.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “I could kill you for this, Melissa. I don't know how I can live with this.”
For an instant she cringed. Would he hit her? She'd never feared Heath before today. He was the gentlest of men and had been a good husband. She couldn't help it that she'd fallen out of love with him. The words of explanation died on her lips. If the shoe were on the other foot, she'd feel just like he did.
She tipped her chin up. “I'm sorry, Heath. It j-just happened. I didn't mean for it to.”
“Don't even think about taking the girls.” Steel laced his words. “No judge in the land would give you custody.”
She thought of the airline tickets she'd already bought for them. They'd get over losing her more easily than they would losing Heath. But could she leave without her babies? It went against everything she believed in. She'd look like a terrible mother, and maybe she was. She'd always thought a woman who would leave her children for a man was the lowest of the low. But she had to think of what was best for the girls. Maybe she should stay and ignore her own happiness, but the thought of it brought tears rushing to her eyes.
“I'm sorry, Heath.”
“Sorry isn't good enough. You'll regret this, Melissa. I'll make sure of it.” He spun around and stalked away.
A sound brought her out of her reverie, and she started to turn. Before she made a full rotation, hard hands gripped her throat from behind. Her eyes widened, and she tore at the fingers.
She tried to speak or scream, but nothing came out. Spots danced in her eyes, and her vision began to darken. Air, she needed air. She tried to pry away the vise crushing her neck, but she . . . just . . . couldn't. Then the ground rose to meet her.
*Â *Â *
Kate Mason trained her binoculars on the cliff face high above her. She'd left her yellow Volkswagen parked on the dirt road up top, and she and her sister hiked in to this remote beach on Folly Shoals, just off the Schoodic Peninsula in Downeast Maine, to see the brightly colored beaks in the craggy rocks. “They're here just like Dixie said!”
It had taken half an hour to hike down here, and she hadn't been sure it was worth it. Even the ranger they'd run into had laughed at the notion of puffins nesting here, but there they were with their bright parrot-like coloring and awkward movements. She'd heard the rumor about these birds, but she'd been afraid to hope it was true. Atlantic puffins had never been known to nest on Folly Shoals. As far as she knew, there were only five nesting sites in Maine.
Her sister, Claire Dellamare, snatched at the binoculars. “I want to see.”
Kate handed them over and shivered as the early morning fog rolled in. Even though it was late June, the wind was cold off the sea, and her thin jacket did little to hold back its bite.
Claire adjusted the binoculars and gasped. “You'll have to notify Kevin.” Their cousin was the local game warden, and he'd want to monitor this site.
“I'll call him.” Her pulse jumping, Kate studied the puffin nest way above their heads. A bird with a fish in its beak landed in the burrow.
Kate and her twin looked much alike with their dark-blonde hair and big blue eyes, but while Claire had the sharp business mind it had taken to run an aviation business, Kate was just getting past the chemo fog from the aplastic-anemia treatment that had saved her life. CorrectionâClaire had saved her life by
showing up in time to be a donor for the stem-cell transplant Kate had desperately needed.
Claire handed back the binoculars. “I heard they mate for life.”
“Which is the only reason you're interested in them. You like anything to do with romance these days.” Kate smiled at the color washing over Claire's cheeks. “You'd move your wedding up if you could.”
“I would. My mother wouldn't hear of it though, and everything is booked now. Luke and I will just have to wait it out. It's only a few more weeks. You're still going to sing, right? You need to quit hiding that amazing voice of yours. You're as good as Adele.”
Kate's cheeks warmed. “Not hardly. But yes, I'm not backing out on you.” She lifted the binoculars to her eyes again and trained them up the jagged cliff of pink and gray to the ledge jutting out over the rocky shore about forty feet up. She greedily stared at the nesting burrows. Such an exciting sight was rare.
Something other than birds filled her field of vision, and it took a moment for her to register what she was seeing. Frowning, she adjusted the binoculars. It could not be what it seemed.
The figure sharpened into focus, and she made out long blonde hair fanning out on the rocks at the base of the burrows. Wait, was that another person beside the woman? She moved her field of sight and saw short dark hair and muscular arms.
She leaped into action. “Two people are hurt. I think they might have fallen off the cliff, maybe while looking at the puffins. We have to get up there!”
Claire caught at her arm. “We don't have climbing equipment.”
Kate pulled free and headed for the water. She had to try
to get to the base of the cliffs and climb up. She kicked off her shoes and waded into the pounding waves. The frigid water took her breath away, and a huge wave tossed her back onto the sand. Gasping, she turned for another try, but Claire grabbed her arm again.
Claire held her in a tight grip. “You can't! The waves are treacherous here. We need help. I'll call the Coast Guard. Kevin too.” She dug out her phone and placed the call.
Kate paced the wet sand. There had to be something she could do. She peered back up at the rock face. A movement drew her attention, and she saw a plume of dirt from the back end of a pickup truck. Mud caked every inch of its body, and she couldn't make out the color or model as it drove along the high road. It likely had nothing to do with the accident, but at least the guy could have stopped to help.
Claire ended the call. “Luke's Coast Guard cutter is less than five minutes away.”
Was it too late already? Kate looked at the figures at the puffin burrows. They weren't moving. She eyed the rugged and weathered sea cliff that soared straight up into the air. Claire was rightâthere was no way they'd be able to climb up.
Two hours later the Coast Guard told her the couple was dead. Kate couldn't have saved them even if she'd tried.
WO
T
he small clapboard cottage where Kate grew up sat squarely in the middle of their blueberry barrens just off Highway 1, about fifteen miles northeast of Summer Harbor. The placement of its windows and shutters made the house, painted two shades of blue, seem to smile a welcome that she badly needed after the morning's events. She got out of her yellow Volkswagen and shut the door.
Her best friend, Shelley McDonald, came down off the porch as Kate pulled into the driveway. Her long red hair gleamed in the sunlight. Her pale skin never tanned, so she usually covered her bare legs with jeans. “I brought lunch, homemade lobster bisque. It's in the kitchen. And chocolate for dessert. You need a little TLC.”
Kate hugged her. “I'm still a little shaky. And to top it all off, I had a flat tire on the way home.” She followed her friend up the porch steps to the house. The aroma of bisque wafting out the screen door made her mouth water. She and Claire had spent hours going over what they'd seen and heard at the cliffside, and lunch should have been eaten two hours ago.
She led the way to the kitchen and washed her hands, filthy from changing the tire, then got down two Fiesta bowls in bright
orange, Christmas gifts from Claire last December. “The news is all over Downeast Maine, huh?”
Shelley took the bowls from Kate. “You have no idea. I stopped in to buy the bisque at Ruth & Wimpy's, and everyone stopped me to ask about it. I couldn't tell them much, not even the names. Does the sheriff know what happened?”
“They're investigating. He thinks it might have been a murder/suicide. The husband might have killed his wife, tossed her over, then jumped himself.” Kate shuddered, remembering the bodies. She pushed the thought away and focused on Shelley. “About ready to go?” Kate hated to ask. Her friend's looming move didn't make her happy, but Shelley seemed thrilled. She had taken a teaching position in Rock Harbor, Michigan, half a continent away.
Shelley nodded. “Tomorrow's the big day. Pray for me. I'm dreading that drive across country by myself. At least I'm not pulling a trailer full of furniture. Everything is packed up, and the movers come in the morning. I'll leave right after they do. I'm going to take my time and stop when I feel like it. I want to see Niagara Falls on the way, and I might stop off in Ohio Amish country and have a big plate of homemade noodles and pie.”
“It's all about food with you.” The hot bisque, rich with lobster and butter, hit Kate's taste buds. “Oh man, this is so good. I could eat it every meal.”
“Me too.” Shelley surveyed her on the other side of the table. “How's Claire holding up? She's got a lot going on with the wedding approaching.”
“She's okay. Luke arrived on scene right away.” She rubbed her forehead. “Let's talk about something else, okay? The reason we were even there was because there's a new puffin nesting site!”
“No way!”
“I saw it with my own eyes. I'm going to let Kevin know.” Kate lifted the spoon to her mouth and froze at the purplish mark on her arm. She set her spoon back in the bowl and examined the skin. “I've got a bruise. A big one.”
Shelley studied her extended arm. “Looks like a thumbprint. Did anyone manhandle you today?”
Kate started to deny it, then remembered her plunge into the water to try to reach the cliffs. “Claire hauled me out of the sea and wouldn't let me go back in. The riptide was bad. Think I should see the doctor?”
“Your color looks good. Are you feeling okay? Any weakness, heart palpitations, nosebleeds?”
“No, nothing. I feel great.” But staring at the bruise made her feel a little light-headed.
“Then put it out of your mind. You're cured, Kate. That aplastic anemia is never coming back.”
Kate reached for her huge blue-and-white bag and pulled out a small amber bottle of lemon oil. She dripped a couple of drops of it into her water. “Can't hurt.”
“No, it can't hurt.” Shelley sat back in her chair. “You have to quit worrying though. You seem to be stuck in yesterday. I want to see you move on and make a new life. Are you going to stay in Folly Shoals forever? You don't even like working the blueberry barrens. You only quit school and came back because your mother insisted. You don't have to do that anymore.”
“With her in jail, there's no one else to take care of the fields.” She knew her duty even if she didn't love it.
“And would that be so bad? The neighbors can harvest any of the berries they want. The rest can rot. It's not your concern.”
Shelley shook her head. “I see you wincing. The entire world doesn't rest on your shoulders. It's your turn to find out what you really want out of life. What makes you happy and fulfilled. God gave you specific gifts, and you're not using them at all.”
“I'm running the children's department at church. That's using my gifts.”
Shelley rolled her eyes, then smiled. “I'll give you that. I see your joy in working with kids. But you love color and texture. You've got an artist's heart for creativity, and you never get to use it. You're great with people, but you rarely see more than Claire and me except on Sunday. You're stuck in a loop here. Maybe you're the one who should be looking for a new job somewhere else.” Shelley's eyes widened, and a grin spread across her face. “I know! Come with me to Rock Harbor. The place I rented has three bedrooms. You can live in one and look for a job. It would be a fresh start.”
Kate shook her head. “Claire is here. I've just found her again and I can't leave her.” But Shelley's words resonated more than she wanted them to. Was she really stuck in this place, unable to move forward with her life?
*Â *Â *
Drake Newham rolled over in his big bed and looked at the clock. Two in the morning. In the distance he could hear the hum of cars and trucks on I-93. Traffic in Boston was a constant, even in the middle of the night. The moonlight filtered through the curtains and illuminated the faces of his two nieces who'd crawled into bed with him an hour ago. It was nearly an
every-night occurrence since his half brother and sister-in-law had died a month ago, and his chest felt heavy from trying to conceal his grief.
He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that his older brother was dead. Heath had so much to live forâa thriving law practice and a beautiful family that was the envy of everyone, including Drake.
He tucked the covers around his nieces, then swung his legs out of bed. He'd taken to sleeping in sweats since he was up with the girls so much. They'd get through this somehow, though right now it looked as hard as climbing Mount Everest.
Over the past couple of weeks he'd reached for the phone to call his brother until the stab in his gut reminded him he'd never hear Heath's voice again. How was it even possible to bear this much pain? Drake couldn't imagine how the girls felt. They cried a lot and clung to him even as he'd clung to them as all he had left of his brother.
He peered out the window. For the past week he'd had the uncanny sensation of being watched, and yesterday he'd taken a quick turn down an alley to escape a black pickup he'd been certain was tailing him. Unsure of what had awakened him, he slid his feet into slippers and padded down the steps to the kitchen. A snack of peanut butter and crackers sounded enticing. Maybe he'd pull up his computer and see if he could find out anything new about Heath's death.
The sheriff in Maine was certain Heath had killed Melissa, then himself. Drake didn't buy it. Such behavior was so unlike Heath, who was outgoing, upbeat, and the eternal optimist. Nothing Melissa could do would ever drive him to do something like that. He loved his kids way too much to leave them
orphaned. And they'd been so happy. Melissa was the type of wife Drake would have picked for himselfâfaithful, loving, a good mother.
Then what had happened? An old client out for revenge? Someone who'd gone to prison because of Heath? If that were the case, the list of suspects would be long and complex. Heath had practiced law as a defense attorney for ten years, and it would take time to go through every single case.
The moonlight gleamed off the stainless-steel appliances in his huge kitchen. He'd cooked more in here in the past month than he had in the entire two years previously. His life had changed dramatically since the girls had come to live with him. He would do anything he could to make them smile again.
His slippers crunched on something, and he looked down. Glass glimmered back at him, and a warm breeze touched the back of his neck. He whirled toward the window and saw the curtains flutter. Someone from the outside had broken the window, and the glass had fallen on the floor. Was the intruder still inside?
He grabbed a butcher knife from the block on the granite countertop and ran for the stairs to check on the girls. His phone was upstairs too. His breath sounded harsh in his ears as he took the stairs two at a time and stepped into his bedroom.
The girls were still sleeping, so he grabbed his phone and dialed 911. With the police on their way, he left the call connected, then pulled out the flashlight from the bedside table and shone it around the room and into the walk-in closet.
No one appeared to be hiding in the bedroom. He wanted to investigate the rest of the house, but he didn't dare leave the girls alone, so he locked the door and forced himself to wait by
the window. Once he saw the flashing light of the police car pull into the driveway, he unlocked the door and eased back out, then shut it behind him.
He stood at the top of the stairs and shone the light up and down the hall. The thought of going downstairs without the girls felt unsafe, so he retraced his steps. He laid down the knife and scooped up one little girl in each arm. Five-year-old Phoebe never budged, but eight-year-old Emma's eyes fluttered before she settled back against his chest. Huffing from their weight, he descended the stairs as fast as he dared to the house's entrance.
As he reached the living room, a fist pounded on the door. “Police!”
He laid the girls on the sofa, then went to answer the door. Two police officers charged inside.
The woman looked around. “You reported an intruder, Mr. Newham?” In her thirties, she was about five-five but muscular.
He nodded. “My kitchen window was busted out. I haven't probed through the house because I didn't want to leave the girls alone.”
“Smart decision,” the male officer said. About forty, he was slightly overweight with thick graying hair. “That way?” He pointed past the living room.
“Yes.” Drake glanced at the girls who were still sleeping, then followed the officers as they began to walk through the house.
After they looked in the kitchen, they swept through the dining room, living room, laundry room, then stopped outside his office door. It stood ajar. “I keep this door locked.” He reached to the wall and flipped on the hallway light. The illumination revealed the doorjamb was splintered.
He swallowed, then peered past the officers as they pushed
open the door and flipped on the light. Papers, pens, file folders, and upended file drawers lay strewn on the floor. It would take forever to pick through everything and determine what had been taken. What had the intruder been after? His blueprints were spread out on top of the desk.
He bent over and examined the drawings. “These were in a drawer, but at least they're still here.”
The female officer turned to look at him. “What are they?”
“Drawings of a new drone. I've already got several million dollars' worth of orders for it.” Drake's start-up of ten years ago had taken off in a big way in the past couple of years thanks to his innovative designs. “Could the intruder have taken pictures of the plans?”
“It's possible.” She eyed the damaged door. “Is there anywhere you can take the girls and stay for a few days while we investigate this? You definitely shouldn't stay here unless you get some good security.”
“I have an alarm system, but it didn't trigger when he broke the window.”
“Probably disarmed.”
Which meant a professional. Drake's thoughts veered again to his dead brother and sister-in-law. “I think I'll take the girls on a vacation and get out of here.” Downeast Maine might hold the answers he craved. But just in case, he shot off a text to his attorney to check out any competitors who might be sniffing around.