Hideaway Cove (A Windfall Island Novel) (7 page)

L
ance Proctor?” George Boatwright, Sheriff of Windfall, let the front two legs of the chair he’d leaned back on thump forward. “On island?”

“If he’s not there yet, he will be soon,” the voice on the other end of the phone said.

That took George to his feet, to pace the confines of the Windfall Island Sheriff’s station. As the place was barely twenty by ten, the trip didn’t take nearly long enough to settle him. “I think I’ll have a talk with him, see if I can’t get him to leave quietly.”

“Is that really wise?”

George scrubbed a hand over his face. “Suppose you tell me why he’s here?”

“Jessica Randal is working on the genealogy.”

“And Lance is here to work on her.”

Silence.

“Mort was bad enough,” George said, referring to the young Solomon Charters handyman who’d tried to kill Maggie. He’d been like a little brother to her, so the murder attempt had been betrayal enough without adding the pain of his suicide on top of it.

But at least Maggie was an adult; she could understand Mort’s need for money to help his dying mother. Benji Randal was only seven. Lance was surely going to screw with Jessi, but what he’d put his son through would be brutal, and heartbreaking to watch.

“You know there’s a kid involved, right?”

More silence, then, “If I had a choice—”

“I know,” he said on a sigh, “but I’m telling you now, I’m not letting anything happen to Benji Randal.”

“Proctor is only there to gather information, not to harm anyone.”

“There’s all kinds of harm.” And sometimes, George knew, you couldn’t prevent it, no matter how hard you tried. He looked at the tiny cell where Mort had taken his own life, tried not to blame himself. And failed.

George scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d gotten into this mess because he’d sworn to serve and protect the people of Windfall Island. He wasn’t losing anyone else.

“I take it you’ve heard from Dex Keegan,” he said, which was the real reason he’d called.

“Not directly. He’s here in Boston, he’s asking questions. It won’t do him any good.”

“Unless a Stanhope helps him.”

“It isn’t time for open warfare…yet.”

“The war is here, now, on my island,” George shot back. “When this all started, you convinced me—”

“No, you convinced yourself, for your own reasons.”

The silence this time was on his side of the conversation. He let it spin out, not because he wanted to make a point. Because he was a slow and deliberate thinker. Because he didn’t make snap decisions. And because, as had been pointed out to him, he’d gone into this insanity for what he’d thought were good reasons. If he’d let those reasons get twisted, well, that was on him.

The trouble was, he had to roll with events he couldn’t predict or control. Lance Proctor, he reminded himself, was the current event. Time to concentrate on the problem he could solve in person and leave the game-playing to those whose minds were quick and agile.

He might not be the brains of the operation, but he had the brawn—and the balls—to do what needed to be done. Added to that, Windfall was his place; these were his people. He had everything to lose. That meant he’d do anything not to.

The front door opened and Josiah Meeker sauntered in. His people, George reminded himself. All of them. Even the ones who rubbed him the wrong way.

“Got company,” he said and hung up the phone, settling himself back behind the desk. “Josiah,” he said, and the familiarity had Meeker’s jaw clenching. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about Dex Keegan, and that other man, Abbot.”

“What about them?”

“Exactly.”

George knew what Meeker meant, but it served his purpose to play at ignorance. Not to mention it was pure fun to screw with a man who took himself way too seriously. Someone ought to warn Meeker about the perils of underestimating others. But it wasn’t up to George to set him straight.

It took Meeker a minute, during which he sighed heavily and rolled his eyes before he said, “Why are they here?”

George shrugged. “Keegan is engaged to Maggie Solomon. I’m surprised you haven’t heard that. It’s the talk of the island.”

“Of course I’ve heard that. It’s not why he originally came here.”

“Oh? Why did he come here?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Meeker snapped out, not bothering this time to bite back on his impatience. “You’re the sheriff on this island; shouldn’t you know what they’re up to?”

“I am the sheriff,” George said equably, putting an extra measure of laziness into his voice. “And being as I’m up to date on the penal code, I can’t think of a single law broken by either one of them.”

“But Keegan claims to be a lawyer. I haven’t seen him do anything…”

“Lawyerly? What do you want me to do, ask him for his time card?”

“I want to know—”

“You can want ’til hell freezes over, but you don’t have any right to know Keegan’s private business, or Holden Abbot’s, either.”

“They’re visitors here, not residents.”

George sat back, crossed his arms. “Last I heard we were still part of the U. S. of A., which is a free country where people don’t have to account for their whereabouts or actions just because somebody gets a wild hair over it.”

“We’ll see what Ma Appelman has to say about it.”

“She’ll say the very same thing, especially seeing as Keegan is about to become a resident.”

“Right,” Meeker shot back, “and Maggie Solomon can do no wrong in Ma’s eyes. She can lie and tell stories—”

“Careful,” George said softly, all pretense at stupidity and affability gone. “We both know Maggie told the God-given truth, and you’d best be thankful she kept it between her and me. She could have cost you your family.” He sat forward, locked his gaze on Meeker’s. “If I hear you’ve been running your mouth, you’ll have me to worry about.”

“You won’t talk about Maggie—”

“No. I won’t talk about Maggie.” George rose to his feet. “I won’t talk at all. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You tried to take advantage of a sixteen-year-old girl. If Maggie hadn’t been fast, agile, and lucky, you’d have assaulted her. And you’d be dead.”

Meeker swallowed hard, but George had to give him credit for sticking to his guns, even when they were out of ammo. “Your precious Maggie isn’t above blackmail,” he sneered.

Maggie had used the past to coerce Meeker into lending her his collection of Windfall Island journals, in order to search them for clues to Eugenia’s fate. George knew all about it, but he didn’t want the rest of the island finding out.

So George came around his desk, all six-plus feet of him looming over Meeker. “I warned you once, Joe. I won’t do it again,” he said. “I find out that kind of slander is riding the gossip train, you’re going to want to watch your back. And just in case you’re fuzzy on the details, that’s a threat, and one I’ll make good on.”

Meeker held up a hand, but wisely held his tongue. He paused at the door, sending a long, speaking look over his shoulder before he saw himself out.

Gone, but not done, George decided. He’d have to keep a weather eye peeled in Meeker’s direction, he told himself, wondering how many balls he could keep in the air.

As many as it took, he decided. When lives were at stake, dropping one really wasn’t an option.

W
ithout Jessi in it, the office at Windfall Airport seemed dull, boring, like an overcast day with no breeze and no break in the clouds.

Hold should have been able to get some work done on a quiet Saturday morning without the phone ringing, office machines humming, Jessi’s music blaring—and her cute little backside wiggling to the beat.

Instead, he’d been restless, unfocused, unsettled. He missed her, he realized, and while it should have troubled him, he only sat back and smiled. She was so damn irresistible; why wouldn’t he miss her?

It wasn’t just the feel of her, the taste of her, the heat of her mouth, the way she’d kissed him back so sweetly.

She just sparkled. Despite her daily struggles, she always had a smile on her face, a kind word, an offer of assistance. Even when she’d pushed him away after they kissed she’d done it gently, without giving offense.

And he had to stop reliving that kiss. If you took your eye off a gator, you got bit in the ass, his granddaddy used to tell him. He’d come to Windfall to create a genealogy and found himself in a life-and-death contest with an unknown enemy. Not a great time to lose focus.

Hold bent back to his research, still ruling out the off-islanders and beginning to work on some of the island families he was pretty positive would not turn out to be connected to Eugenia Stanhope. Not much more he could do at this point, he reminded himself when frustration began to eat away at his patience—not without putting Windfallers in danger. Including Jessi and Benji, and that he would not do.

But ruling out was as necessary a part of solving any mystery as zeroing in. Every avenue eliminated made the true road a little clearer.

Unless it was a road not taken. That’s what Lance Proctor meant to Jessi. No matter what she said, what resentments she harbored, Jessi had to be wondering what might have happened, where she might be, if Lance had stuck around.

The idea of it pissed Hold off royally. Any man who could walk out on a pregnant girl, on his own child…

But if Lance had stayed, Hold reminded himself…

Jessi would have married him, might still be married to him. And Hold would have no chance with her.

Not that he had much of one now.

He bent back to the family Bible in front of him, determined to stop circling his mind around the what-ifs and what-thens, and do what he’d come to Windfall to do. Jessi would make the decisions that were right for her and Benji; she’d already proven that. And while she might have a forgiving heart, there wasn’t an ounce of stupid in it, or in her. Whatever Lance wanted from her, he’d play hell getting it.

Still restless, and frustrated on top of it now, he got to his feet and went outside, lifted his face for a moment into the stiff, frigid wind and let it blow away some of the clouds gathered around him.

He spotted Maggie near the open hangar door, instructing a kid of about sixteen, one of several part-timers she’d taken on after Mort had died. None of them were scheduled to work too many hours, none allowed to get too close—although Hold could see the puppy-dog adoration in the kid’s eyes. No big surprise he had a crush on Maggie, Hold mused. What teenage boy could resist a woman like her—tall, slender, striking, strong, and confident.

Maggie finished with the kid and started over to join him.

“The place is looking pretty good,” Hold said when she was close enough to hear him over the crash of the surf.

“Yeah.” She stopped beside him, turning to look around as he’d done. “Mort kind of checked out, I guess. I didn’t notice.”

“You overlooked,” Hold corrected her. “Mort was a friend. You gave him the benefit of the doubt.”

She shrugged, one-shouldered, a quintessentially Maggie gesture. “You want to know if I’ve heard from Dex.”

“’Course you have.”

“And the case?” she said with a slight smile. “He’s doing background, checking financials.”

“That would be a big task on a family like the Stanhopes, and Alec Barclay can’t help,” Hold added, referring to Dex’s friend and one of the Stanhope family lawyers. It was Alec who’d hired Dex to start digging into Eugenia’s fate. “Lawyer-client privilege.”

“It’s a stupid profession that shelters criminals.”

“It’s a necessary facet of the legal system, Maggie, but you know that.”

“Dex is searching for motive. It would help if Alec could point him in the right direction.” She shrugged. “Dex is no fool. He knows where to look.”

“Resentment, greed,” Hold said. “Every one of the Stanhopes probably feels some level of both. The trick is finding out if one of them felt enough to commit murder.”

“Dex hasn’t met with anyone in the family yet,” Maggie said. “He knows Rose Stanhope hired him, but the whole family was on board with the decision, so being the one to reach out doesn’t exonerate her. She may have sent Dex to find any descendants with the intention of welcoming them to the family, or taking them out.”

Hold slid his hands into his pockets. “It’s a dilemma, but Dex will figure a way through it.”

Maggie’s eyes shifted to meet his, eyebrows lifted. “Okay. So now can we talk about what you really came out here to talk about?”

Hold grinned, rocked back on his heels. “That transparent, huh?”

Transparent? The man was glass, Maggie thought. Anyone could see he was wearing his heart on his sleeve—except maybe Hold himself. And Jessi. But only because each of them chose not to see it.

“You haven’t gone to much trouble to hide your interest in Jessi,” she said, “and since I’m her only family, I’ll ask you what your intentions are.”

“I don’t understand why I should have to decide where we’re going to end up before we’ve even had our first date.”

“Fair enough, but—”

“But she has a history. Everyone has a history, Maggie. It’s how you choose to handle it that matters.”

“Have you said that to her?”

“She’ll walk.”

“You’ve already got her on the run, Hold.” Maggie crossed her arms, cocked a hip. “Men love the chase, I get that. But pursuing Jessi isn’t exactly getting you what you want.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Try not to be a complication.”

“I just want to be there for her. Especially now.”

“I get that, too, but she doesn’t know you well enough to lean on you.”

“Doesn’t trust me, you mean.”

“Yeah, that’s another way to say it.”

Hold slipped his hands into his pockets, blew out a breath. Tugged the reins on his patience. “How am I supposed to earn her trust if we ignore each other?”

“I’m not saying you can’t talk to her,” Maggie said, “but you have to give her some room.”

“Let her come to me?”

“How about the two of you meet in the middle? Wouldn’t that be more satisfying, more meaningful?”

“What if she doesn’t budge?”

“Then it’s not meant to be, Hold. And you won’t have to wonder if she gave in because you wore her down.”

He mulled that in his slow southern way, then said, “It won’t be easy to stay away from her.”

“That’s how Jessi will know it’s about her, not the chase.”

The stiff wind from earlier had died off, replaced by a thick, salt-tinged mist rolling in off the ocean and covering the island in what felt like a wet blanket. A freezing cold wet blanket, Jessi thought, and pulled her coat tighter around herself as she walked through the village. She hooked a right at Meeker’s Antiques, and since it meant the ocean was at her back, at least the mist wasn’t wafting into her face anymore. She might have breathed a sigh of relief if not for her destination.

Which she refused to think about, because thinking about it made her long to turn around. And she couldn’t turn around.

So she continued down the narrow, cobbled lane lined with as wide a selection of houses as could be found anywhere. A quaint cottage squatted between a half-timbered Tudor and a single-story covered in faded redbrick. On the other side of the lane sat a pair of bungalows with little dormer windows and wide front porches.

The lane dead-ended at the driveway of a two-story, wood-sided saltbox, which had been retrofitted with an impressive—and completely misplaced—set of pseudo-Greek columns. The narrow lane picked up again on the other side of the house’s brief backyard. Jessi had always thought it apt that the place created a roadblock.

Joyce Proctor certainly lived up to that reputation. She opened the door, took one look at Jessi, and closed it in her face. No surprise.

Joyce believed Jessi had gotten herself pregnant on purpose, but rather than trapping Lance into marriage as intended, the idea of being a father had driven him away. In Joyce’s eyes, her son could do no wrong. Even when they’d been kids, whenever Lance got into trouble, Joyce found someone else to hold responsible, and so she’d raised a son who never took responsibility.

And this was about Benji, Jessi reminded herself as she knocked again, about raising
her
son the right way. When the door didn’t open, she lifted her voice, said, “Come on, Joyce,” knowing the woman was farming as much enjoyment as possible by standing on the other side or peeking through the window. Either way, she’d be in earshot. “I don’t have any way to get hold of Lance. If he wants to see Benji, you’re going to have to open the door.”

Joyce opened the door a stingy inch. “He’s got a cell phone.”

But in the shock of his sudden return, she’d neglected to get his number. “Is he here?”

“Well,” Joyce began.

“Mom.” The door opened wider, and Lance appeared beside his mother. “I’m glad you came by, Jessi.”

“That’s a matter of o—”

Lance put his hand on Joyce’s shoulder and she clamped her mouth shut, settling for a glare.

“Where’s Benji?” Lance wanted to know.

“Bobby Cassidy’s birthday party.”

Joyce snorted rudely. “Holding your son over my son’s head.”

“Mom, you should go inside.”

“No, I want her to stay.” Jessi looked Joyce square in the face. The woman knew exactly where Benji was; everyone on the island knew it was Bobby Cassidy’s birthday. She let it go, knowing it would gall Joyce all the more to be ignored. “I came here to set some ground rules. You should both hear them so there won’t be any misunderstandings down the road.”

“Rules? How dare you come to my house—”

“First,” Jessi continued, talking over Joyce, “there won’t be any unsupervised visits. I’ve told the school and Benji’s sitter. He doesn’t go anywhere with anyone without my permission.”

“I think I’m more than capable of—”

“Manipulating him?” Jessi said to Joyce. “Like you did at lunch last weekend, telling Benji his father was coming back but that I didn’t need to know.”

“Well, really; you’re putting it in an ugly light.”

“Telling my son to keep secrets from me is ugly. I realize you don’t care about betraying my trust, but you put Benji in a bad position.”

“And you never asked my son to keep secrets from me?”

So, they were going to have it out. And Lance, it seemed, was going to stand back and let his mother fight his battle. No surprise there. Well, she’d be damned if she backed down again. She’d been swallowing Joyce’s insults for eight long years, and she’d have gone on swallowing them.

But she wouldn’t gamble with Benji’s well-being.

“Lance was eighteen, not seven, and capable of making his own decisions.”

“Mistakes, you mean.”

“Benji is not a mistake.”

“Well, for Heaven’s sake,” Joyce snapped out. “If you’d stop twisting my words. But you’re determined to make me the villain.”

“How does it feel?”

“I came back to get to know my son,” Lance finally stepped in. “I thought the pair of you would be over this by now.”

“Lancelot—”

“I told you before, Mother, it wasn’t Jessi’s fault. We were young and in love and stupid.”

“You’re taking her side?” Joyce asked on a gasp.

“We’re all on the same side. Benji’s.”

Joyce worried at the strand of fake pearls she always wore, her face going sullen. “You left because of her.”

“I left because I needed to leave. If you want to blame someone, blame me.”

Jessi huffed out a slight, humorless laugh. “I don’t care if she holds onto that grudge ’til Hell freezes over, Lance.”

“Don’t swear at me.”

“I’ll say whatever I want, however I want, whenever I want. God knows you never hold your tongue.” She held up a hand when Joyce tried to interrupt. “The point is, I believe Benji should have the opportunity to get to know his father, but there are rules. Non-negotiable rules.

“Number one,” she began again, “No unsupervised visits. Benji won’t be having lunch with you for a while, Joyce.”

“You’ll keep me from my grandson?”

“You’re welcome to see him, as long as I or someone I
trust
is there as well.”

“Go on,” Lance said, putting a quelling hand on his mother’s arm.

“No discussing the past, at least not right away.”

“He’ll have questions.”

“Evade, Lance. You’re good at that.”

He nodded stiffly, and Jessi could see she’d insulted him. Even if he deserved it, it made her ashamed of herself, but she put it aside. Only Benji mattered.

“What else?” he asked.

“No bribery.”

“I brought him a gift.”

“You can give it to him, no strings. Don’t bad-mouth me,” she continued.

“But you get to say whatever you want,” Joyce muttered with a sniff.

“If that were the case, Benji wouldn’t want anything to do with his father.” Or his grandmother.

“You wouldn’t stoop to that,” Lance said. “I know that, Jessi.”

“I appreciate that, but it would be nice if we could both—all—” she amended, shooting Joyce a look, “take the high road. Benji is not a pawn.”

“There are courts.”

“And I’ll tell you what I told your son when he threw that at me, Joyce. No court in this world would grant custody to a father who walked out before his son was born, and has made no attempt to contact him since. And if you think I don’t have enough money to hire a lawyer, here’s a thought for you. Dex Keegan.”