Arsenic with Austen (29 page)

He tasted minty fresh and smelled like lavender soap. “I could get used to this,” she murmured.

“So could I.”

“Did you see anything last night? I thought I heard something, but I couldn't be sure.”

“Yeah, I spotted somebody prowling around about two this morning. Heard a noise over by the garage, shone my high-powered flashlight over there and caught sight of somebody in black. He lit off when I put the spotlight on him. Or she. Couldn't be sure if it was a man or a woman.”

“But you're sure he left?”

“Pretty sure. I followed him with the light as far down the drive as it would go. Then I went out and had a look around. All clear.”

Emily leaned against him, trying to still her beating heart. “I have a really bad feeling about this, Luke.”

“Heck yeah. Having your life in danger's not exactly a day at the beach.”

“I don't mean just that. I mean, now that I've cut Brock out of my will and he knows it, I'm not an obstacle to a fortune anymore. If he—or someone—is still out to get me—well, it has to be personal. Doesn't it? Somebody actually hates me enough to kill me.” She tightened her arms around him. “Who would hate me that much? And why?”

“I don't know, baby. To me you're the most lovable creature on Earth.” He stroked her back. “I don't think it's really about you. I have this gut feeling it's still about Beatrice. I just don't know how.”

“I'm not sure if that's better or worse. How can I make amends for something I didn't do?”

He kissed her forehead. “Too early in the morning for such deep questions. Let me at least get some coffee in my belly before we get into that.”

“Of course. Go on down and ask Katie to get breakfast on. I'll be there in a minute.”

*   *   *

Luke put away an impressive quantity of bacon and eggs. “Lack of sleep sure gives you an appetite,” he said in response to Emily's bemused look.

She picked at a boiled egg and nibbled a piece of toast. Lack of security just as surely took hers away.

Marguerite drank café au lait and ate a brioche in perfect equanimity. Then she sent Katie to bring down her packed bag, and took her leave. “
Merci, chérie,
for a most interesting visit.” She pecked the air beside Emily's cheeks.

“Thanks for coming, Margot. And thanks for working your magic on the cats.”

“
Ce n'est rien.
I have my reward in my finished article. I hope you will permit me to return next time I need to do some writing. I am persuaded your library has some magic in it for those who work with words.”

“You're welcome anytime.” Emily waved her off down the drive and then turned to Luke. “I suppose you're leaving me too?”

He checked his watch. “Want to be at the courthouse on the dot to get that warrant. You could come along if you want.”

Emily hesitated, weighing the benefits of staying close to Luke against the unpleasantness of the errand. “No, I don't think so. I certainly don't want to be there when you arrest Brock. I'd prefer never to set eyes on him again, though I suppose I'll have to at his trial.”

“Right. I'll come back when it's all over.” He kissed her and got in the patrol car. She stood on the porch and watched the car go down the drive.

The rain had given place to a light fog, and Emily decided she needed a walk on the beach to clear her head. Remembering Agnes's fate, she descended the wooden stairs carefully, holding on tight to the banisters and testing each step before trusting it with her weight. At the bottom she looked up and down, debating which way to walk. Toward town she saw several walkers; to the north the beach was empty. She headed north.

With the surf pounding in her ears, the gulls crying overhead, the fresh breeze in her face, and the sand soft beneath her feet, some measure of her anxiety soon dissipated. She didn't exactly forget her worries, but they hung back for a time, like a heavy backpack she had laid aside but would soon have to sling over her shoulders again. She drifted, half-conscious, surrendering herself to the ocean as if floating on its waves, and soon she found herself at the entrance to the cove.

Her legs suddenly felt like jelly. She ducked inside the cove to sit on a driftwood log and rest. Absently, she kicked aside an empty beer can. Blasted teenagers, littering up her cove.

She looked deeper into the dark hollow. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw signs of more than casual habitation. On a natural ledge in the rock lay a folded blanket and a pillow; a flat spot in the sand showed where they had been spread out. Next to them stood a half-empty bottle of amber liquor and a couple of glasses, along with a half-dozen unlit candles in various stages of burning, all stuck down to the rock with wax. She moved closer to investigate. The blanket felt like a fine, soft wool, and the liquor was Glenlivet. Beside the blanket lay a plastic bottle of something. Massage oil.

Someone was using
their
cove—hers and Luke's—as a love nest. Someone with adult tastes and means.

Up to now she'd been worried, scared, shocked, and deeply disturbed by the violence around her. Now she was furious. This spot was sacred to her memories. How dare these people violate it with their tawdry affair?

She grabbed the Glenlivet bottle by its neck and flung it above her head to smash it against the rock. Then she stopped, hand in midair. Two well-heeled adults, presumably in possession of homes and beds of their own, who would go to such trouble and inconvenience to have sex must have something to hide. All of this could be evidence.

She lowered the bottle and replaced it on the shelf, chiding herself for having messed up the one item most likely to carry good fingerprints. But at least she had grabbed the neck of the bottle; someone pouring the scotch into a glass would be more likely to hold it around the middle. She might not have flunked Detecting 101 after all.

Maybe she could discover something else to redeem herself. What other clues might this cove hold?

She stood in place and pivoted, examining every surface. A second blanket had been nailed into the rock to one side of the cave entrance, with another nail to hitch it to on the other side. Nothing else to be seen. But as she turned to face the ledge again, she caught a whiff of something. Cologne. A man's scent, and a rather potent one at that. A musky smell. Where had she smelled that before?

Of course. Brock.

This was where Brock had his rendezvous with his anonymous blonde. In fact, he could have parked at the top of Emily's drive in order to come down here, and not to tamper with her brakes at all. It would be the most convenient parking spot to the cove.

She had to tell Luke right away. His probable cause had just become less probable.

She pulled out her cell and punched in his number but got only silence. What was she doing wrong? She stared at the phone's tiny screen. What did those grayed-out bars at the top mean again? Oh, right—no reception. Hardly surprising inside a cave.

She went outside and tried again. This time she heard a ring, and soon after that a faint echo of Luke's voice. The wind and the surf between them carried his words away. She covered her right ear with her hand and hit the volume switch several times. “Luke?”

“Emily? Are you okay?”

She enunciated each word. “I'm okay. I found something, but I'm on the beach and I can't hear you very well. I'll call back from the house.” Then she hung up.

She half walked, half ran back to the house and stopped on the porch to catch her breath. Sitting on the porch swing, she tried again. This time they could hear each other.

“Did you get the warrant yet?”

“Just got it. 'Bout to head back to Stony Beach now.”

“I think there might be a flaw in our theory.” She told him about her discovery.

“That sneaking bastard. I've got half a mind to arrest him just for violating our cove.”

“I know. I felt the same way. But of course you can't, can you? I don't think it's technically private property.”

“No, guess not. Could get him for vandalism, maybe, but he'd get off with a slap on the hand.” He was silent for a minute; she could hear him sucking his teeth. “Just the one blanket, you say?”

“One on the shelf and one hung up to cover the entrance.”

“So one to lie on but none to cover up with. No sign of a fire?”

“No.”

“Be pretty cold in that cove at night, wouldn't you think?”

She shivered just thinking about it. “Yeah, I guess it would.”

“And for him to leave those tire tracks, he would've had to arrive after the rain got going. That was well after midnight, coldest part of the night. Not a great time to lie in a freezing cove, even with a blonde to warm you up.”

Emily's spirits began to perk up. “So you think your probable cause still holds?”

“Still looks pretty probable to me. I'm going to go get him now.”

*   *   *

Two hours later Emily was reading in the library in front of a fire, wrapped in her finished shawl and sipping hot coffee, still cold to her core from the feeling of hatred surrounding her. Even
Sense and Sensibility,
which she'd moved on to after
Persuasion,
couldn't keep the cold entirely at bay. Outside, the fog had turned to drizzle. As a Portlander, she didn't expect June to be a true summer month, but here on the coast the weather was even drearier than in town. She began to contemplate abandoning this sinking ship.

But no. She had to see it through. As a good academic, she'd never been able to resist a puzzle, and there was still a puzzle here to be solved. Besides, not even in Portland could she sleep soundly knowing there could be someone walking the world who wanted her dead.

She jumped at the sound of the doorbell and relaxed only when Luke walked into the room. He collapsed into the chair opposite hers.

“It's done. He's behind bars. We can breathe a little now.”

The news did not bring her the relief it should have. “I don't know, Luke. I don't feel any safer than I did before. Even if we're pretty sure he fixed my brakes, we can't be certain he's responsible for the deaths as well. We still have no idea how Beatrice was poisoned, and we can't pin Brock to the scene for Agnes either. It feels to me like we still have a lot of work to do.”

Luke sighed and sat up. “Can a fella get a cup of coffee before you push him back out into the rain?”

“Of course.” She poured him a cup from the tray that stood on a table between their chairs. “I didn't mean to rush you.”

He swallowed the lukewarm coffee in three gulps. “Better get down to the cove. You wanna come?”

Stay by a warm, dry fire with one of her favorite books or traipse through the chill rain to the cove with Luke. No contest. “I'll get my coat.”

Luke grabbed a professional-looking camera from his car and slung it around his neck, and they headed to the beach. They walked along the sand in silence, hand in hand, memories washing over them. Years and troubles fell away until Emily felt like a teenager again, trembling with anticipation and a queer, delicious fear. She slipped her arm around Luke's waist, and he tightened his on her shoulders.

When they stepped into the cove, he drew her aside from the entrance and kissed her deeply. “Emily,” he said into her ear. “I may be a grown man with a job to do, but I don't know how much longer I can wait. I want us to be together, Em. For real. For always.” He pulled back and held her face in his hands. “Don't you want that too?”

In that moment, she wanted it more than anything else on Earth. But there was still a barrier between them—a barrier of her own making, but one she was not yet ready to tear down. “We have to get through this, Luke. I can't—relax until I know for sure Beatrice and Agnes's killer is behind bars.”

He sighed and dropped his hands. “Yeah. Better get to work.”

They turned to face into the cove, their eyes adjusting to the darkness.

The ledge was empty.

Emily waded to it through the loose sand and ran her fingers across the ledge as if the objects might still be there, but invisible. “I don't understand. It was all here just a little while ago. What could have happened?”

“Somebody got the wind up. Must've been Brock's blonde—I got to him too soon after you called for it to've been him. But she's had two hours to hear about his arrest and get out here to clear up the evidence.”

Emily turned to Luke, ready to cry with frustration. “What are we going to do?”

“You didn't get any pictures?”

“Pictures? I didn't bring a camera.”

“Your phone. You must have a camera in your phone—they don't make 'em without anymore.”

Emily pulled her phone out of her pocket and stared at it. “Camera? Where?”

He pointed to a tiny circle of glass in the cover. “There's your lens.”

“Oh.” She opened the phone and stared at it. None of the buttons looked like a shutter. “Never occurred to me. I don't have a clue how to use it.”

Luke laughed. “You are really something, Emily Worthing, you know that? Straight out of the Dark Ages. Here, let me show you.” He took the phone from her and pushed buttons until a picture of a camera appeared on the screen; then the screen shifted to show the empty ledge in front of them. He pushed another button, and the phone emitted a click and a whir.

Luke peered at the result. “Have to admit, it wouldn't have done a lot of good if you had remembered. Not enough light in here to get a decent shot.” He closed the phone and handed it back to her. “Might still be able to get some fingerprints off the ledge. You didn't touch it just now, did you?”

“No.” Even in her distress, her subconscious had somehow reminded her to keep her fingers above the surface.

Except for clear spots where the various objects had stood, the ledge was dusted with a fine layer of sand. Luke took close-up flash photos of each section. “Not much here, but the boys might be able to get something.” He took more photos of the sand around the flat spot where the blanket had lain, where neither he nor Emily had walked. “Might get a footprint or two if we're lucky.”