Authors: Cheryl Gorman
Her
back straightened at the censure in his voice. “Into the village.” Her tone was
excruciatingly polite.
Devlin
crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. “What about breakfast? You
finished awfully fast.”
“The
French toast was delicious, and now I need to pick up a few things.”
“You
need to stay close, remember?” He mustered his most patronizing tone. “If you
want something, Otis will be glad to pick it up for you.”
Abby
leaned on the handle of the umbrella and crossed one of her feet in front of
the other at the ankles. “When you said I needed to stay close, I thought you
meant at night.” Her expression stilled and grew somber. “I admit that hearing
about that poor rabbit last night was frightening, but I figured since the
ferry isn’t running, there won’t be any day-trippers coming to the island
today. Maybe some of the shopkeepers will have more time to talk about my
sister and the website.”
Devlin
didn’t want her snooping around. The bastard could attack Abby, and there might
not be anyone around to help her. He needed to tell her just enough to make her
cautious. Besides, one of the locals might accidentally spill some scuttlebutt
about him and his family. Devlin hoped to get Abby out of town before either of
those things happened.
Thankfully
he had the support of the locals, since the Morgan family had founded the
village and helped restore the economy. But people were people, and there was
nothing as tempting as a nibble of juicy gossip. “I showed the sheriff the
rabbit and the gull. He said it could be just a high school prank. However,
until he finds out who is responsible, you can’t leave the castle alone.
Understood?”
Her
shoulders squared even as her eyes narrowed. “Yes, I understand. I guess you’ll
have to come with me. You can make notes on who says what to whom, can’t you,
Devlin?”
“Wait
here a minute.” Devlin found Otis and told him to call the locksmith out to the
castle today. Afterward he walked back into the foyer, where Abby was waiting
for him. “I’ll drive. Just let me grab my coat.”
Chapter Six
Four
down and several more to go, but she’d definitely made a start.
Abby
reluctantly left the comforting warmth of the Wolf Island Library. She walked
beside Devlin, beneath the large black umbrella he gripped in his hand. Rain
pattered around them, creating small rivers of water on the sidewalk’s surface,
soaking her shoes, but she was too happy to care. Devlin stood close to her
like a knight defending his lady.
Under
any other circumstances, she might find that particular male characteristic
annoying, but today she found it charming.
Abruptly,
he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Abby halted midstride, and he threw
her an irritated look.
“What
are you looking so pleased about?” A smile played around his mouth.
“That
was the fourth place we’ve been in. The people I’ve spoken to so far have been
very enthusiastic about me building a website to advertise the island. You
should be happy, as well.”
“Me?”
“Yes,
you. Everyone was willing to give me their opinion. Mrs. Watts, the librarian,
even offered to help with research. So far, everyone thinks the site is a great
idea. Just think what it will do for the island’s economy. There was only one
problem.”
“What’s
that?”
“With
you hovering over me, everyone avoided my questions about Miranda.”
Devlin
grinned and curled a hand around the back of her neck. Before she had a chance
to react, he leaned forward and kissed her softly on the mouth. “You trying to
get rid of me, Abigail?”
Her
lips tingled and her knees weakened. So what if one little kiss brought the
events of the previous evening back to her in stunning clarity? “Yes.” Her
voice wasn’t as steady as she’d like it to be. But how was she supposed to
control her reactions when Devlin smelled so wonderful, a mixture of rain,
soap, and the distinct spicy aroma that was his alone.
He
rubbed his thumb slowly over her cheek. “Too bad. I’m not letting you out of my
sight.”
That’s
what she was afraid of. What was he hiding? Why didn’t he want her asking
questions about her sister? What did Miranda’s disappearance have to do with
him? “Could we at least stop for tea? It’s freezing out here.”
·
* * * *
Abby
and Devlin were just finishing up their lunch when the door to the restaurant
and inn called Wolf’s Lair swung open. A lanky, red-faced man, covered from
head to toe in a bright yellow slicker, rushed over to their table. Water
trickled onto the floor, forming a puddle at his boot-clad feet. “Dev, Otis
called and asked me to find you. Your boat broke its moorings.”
“What?”
Mild disbelief colored Devlin’s voice. “The storm’s bad, but not ...” His
voice trailed away, and Abby watched anger and fear blanket his face. Devlin
tossed his napkin on the table, scraped back his chair, and dug some bills from
his wallet. He threw them on top of the table -- the cost of their food,
along with a generous tip. He laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thanks,
Anson. I’m right behind you.”
As
the man headed toward the door, Devlin stepped close to Abby and gently grasped
her chin. “Wait for me here.”
Without
another moment’s hesitation, he walked swiftly toward the door. Right before he
opened it, he turned his head and looked at her. Then he was gone.
Abby
waited until the door closed behind him, then rose from her chair and walked to
the bar. She slid onto a stool and introduced herself again to Corinne, the
owner. Corinne nodded in greeting and prepared two bowls of rich blueberry
cobbler. Her curly brown hair hung in a thick braid down her back. Loose
strands had escaped and wreathed her round face in a tawny halo. “That smells
wonderful. Mind if I try some?”
Corinne
set a bowl on the counter in front of Abby and topped it with a scoop of
vanilla ice cream. “Seems Dev’s deserted you. Hope he gets his boat back in.
Doesn’t deserve to lose it.”
Loyalty.
It seemed everyone on this island was loyal to Devlin Morgan. Their loyalty
bound the village and Devlin together like an invisible net. Abby lifted a
spoonful of cobbler to her lips and tasted it. “Delicious.” She licked her
lips. “There’s a flavor I can’t identify.” Abby smiled at Corinne. “What is
it?”
“Secret
ingredient.”
More
secrets. “There seems to be a lot of secrets on this island.”
Corinne
threw her a casual smile. “You were in here the other day, looking for a room.
We had a ghost chaser here recently -- Miranda Chapel. Any relation?”
Abby
sat up straighter on her stool. “She’s my sister. Did she come in here often?”
A
customer called out for a refill, and Corinne went to oblige him. After serving
the man another beer, she moved to a small stainless-steel sink and began
washing glasses in soapy water. “She came in a couple of times. Nice girl.”
Abby
ate another spoonful of cobbler and swallowed. She thought about the e-mail
she’d found on Devlin’s computer from someone named J.D. “Did she come in
alone?”
Corinne
stopped her washing, looked at Abby, and went back to scrubbing glasses. “I
can’t remember.” She plucked a clean dishtowel from a drawer and wiped her
hands.
Abby
sipped her tea. “You know more about Miranda than you’re telling me.”
Corinne
smiled. “Like I said, she was in here a few times and seemed like a nice girl.”
Despite her patient tone, she seemed eager to end the discussion about Miranda.
“I’m
worried about her, afraid something might have happened to her. If you know why
she left or where she is, please tell me.” Abby used an urgent voice, hoping to
gain more information from Corinne.
Corinne
looked away and wiped the already clean countertop. “I don’t know anything.”
Abby
felt sure she was lying. But why?
Was
Miranda still somewhere on the island? Abby spooned more of the cobbler up, but
this mouthful seemed to stick halfway down her throat. “I think you do. I’ve
already been to the authorities, but the sheriff hasn’t been much help, and
Devlin is --”
“Look,
Dev’s a good man,” Corinne interrupted. “He’s not responsible for --”
Corinne shook her head and got busy washing more glasses.
“Not
responsible for what?”
“Never
mind.” The words weren’t much more than a mumble.
Why
was everyone on this island so steadfast in their loyalty? It was as if Devlin could
do no wrong. No one was above reproach.
Corinne’s
demeanor changed and she warmed up to Abby a bit more as Abby told her about
her plans to build a website promoting the island and offered some ideas
Corinne could implement for advertising Wolf’s Lair.
Abby
remembered the mutilated rabbit Devlin had found and the mysterious sound of
ringing chimes. “Do you know if Miranda found anything unusual while she was
here on the island?”
“No.”
“What
about the rape and murder of a young woman years ago?”
Corinne
leaned in close. “What are you driving at, Ms. Chapel?” Curiosity suffused her
low voice.
“I
found the clipping about Alice Howard’s death at the castle. I wondered why
Devlin would save something like that.”
Corinne
shrugged. “Lot of people cut stuff out of the newspaper. No law against that.
Besides, when Alice was killed, it shook everybody up. Especially Dev. Make no
mistake, Dev cares about the people here and what happens on this island. He
took Alice’s death almost personally. As if he could have prevented it.” She
paused for a moment. “I suppose if my ancestors dated back two hundred years,
I’d feel the same way.”
Abby
longed for deep roots and a strong sense of family connection. She had none.
She’d never had grandparents. Her family had always consisted of her mother and
Miranda. How wonderful it must be to know about your ancestors, know something
about their livelihood and have a record you could hold in your hand.
“The
article mentioned a Ms. Townsend. Does she still live on the island?”
Corinne
nodded. “Cathy runs the gift shop at the end of the block. It’s called The
Amulet. Can’t miss it.” She nodded toward the table where Abby and Devlin had
been sitting. “Dev left the umbrella for you.”
Here’s
your hat; what’s your hurry?
Abby
rubbed her arms as a sudden chill swept over her body. Why was Corinne
protecting Devlin? Was there truly a connection between him and the murder of
Alice Howard? Was that the real reason he’d kept the newspaper clipping all
these years?
Despite
Devlin’s air of mystery and danger, he’d intrigued her and made her like him.
Deep inside, Abby didn’t want to believe that Devlin was connected to Alice
Howard’s death in any way. It just seemed odd that he would have tucked away
the clipping in a scrapbook. Weren’t scrapbooks supposed to contain mementos
and photographs that evoked happy memories? Brushing aside her internal
questions, she pulled some cash from her purse to pay for the cobbler.
Corinne
shook her head. “On the house.”
“Thank
you, Corinne.”
·
* * * *
Devlin
raced past the marina, with rain pelting him every step of the way. His breath
sawed in and out of his lungs, and the rubber soles of his boots fought for
purchase on the rain-slicked road.
He
didn’t like leaving Abby alone. Even in the café, surrounded by people he knew.
But if she took it into her head to leave ... anything could happen. What
if the bastard was lurking about the village? There were a few alleys in
between some of the buildings.
What
if she went snooping again? The streets were virtually deserted because of the
storm, and the visibility was reduced. What if he was there, in one of those
alleys, waiting, even in the light of day? With the wind howling, would anyone
hear her scream? If Victor harmed Abby, Devlin would never forgive himself. He
would have Anson, the harbormaster, call Corinne as soon as he got to the
marina, to make sure that Abby stayed put.
When
he reached his private dock, hidden by a stand of pine trees, he pounded over
the wet planks of the dock and rushed to the slip that normally housed his
boat. Waves capped with foam churned long, watery arms upward and swept over
the pier. Devlin held his hands up to shield his eyes from the driving rain and
looked out into the writhing ocean. His twenty-eight-foot cruiser bobbed over
the choppy sea and moved steadily away from the island.
Devlin
knelt down and looked closely at the thick rope that had secured his boat. He
couldn’t believe it. He blinked rapidly and wiped a hand over his eyes,
thinking the rain had blurred his vision. When he picked up the rope, he stared
at the end.
It
had been sawed clean. If the rope had ripped away from the cleat, the end would
be frayed.
Someone
had cut the line. Deliberately.