Island of Deceit (8 page)

“What's he doing feeling your legs?” Harper asked.

Trent had jumped, too. He let out a long breath. He was no longer massaging her legs. “Evening, Sheriff.”

“Harper, you scared the shit out of me,” Barbara scolded, clutching a hand to her chest.

“What's he doing feeling up your legs?” Harper was steamed. As long as he'd fantasized about caressing Barbara, not just her legs, but all over, and another young man had his hands up her leg…he saw red.

“You can continue, Trent,” Barbara said, but Trent didn't move.

Barbara sighed. “I'm hiring Trent to help in the shop. Not that I need to explain, but he's giving me a pedicure,” she said patiently. But the way her eyes were sparkling at him, he could tell she did not like explaining herself.

“He feels your legs like that during a pedicure?”

“He's not
feeling
my legs, he's massaging them. And so did Vicky when she gave pedicures.”

“Well, you already know his skills. He doesn't need to be feeling you up anymore.”

“Yes, sir,” Trent said.

Barbara rolled her eyes. “He's not feel…What are you doing here?”

“I saw your lights on and your car outside. You don't usually work this late. Of course I was concerned.”

“Thank you, but I'm okay.” Trent was beginning to pack up his things. “What do you think you're doing?”

“I thought…”

“You haven't finished my pedicure. I don't see any polish on my toenails.”

“Barbara…” Harper started.

“This is business and you will not interfere.” They weren't even dating and he was becoming possessive already? This didn't bode well for the future.

He looked as if he wanted to argue. Barbara could tell by the play of muscles on his face, but with the look on
her
face, he obviously changed his mind.

“I'll wait and see you to your car.” Harper pulled a chair where he had a clear view, much too close to Trent. The poor guy was nervous. Barbara could have whopped Harper upside the head for being so ridiculous.

“You know, Trent can see me to the car.”

“I'm off duty,” Harper said. “Got nothing but time on my hands.” Sure he did. With a murder on the island, he had nothing to do? Barbara elected not to call him on it.

“If you have to stay, give Trent room to breathe,” Barbara snapped. When Harper didn't move, she said, “Move your chair three feet to the side. He has to be able to move. I want a proper pedicure.”

Trent wiped the cream off Barbara's legs, smoothed lotion on them, and got to work completing her pedicure.

Harper sat right there, in the way, because he'd scooted his chair back no more than a couple of inches.

Trent quickly painted her toenails and slid sandals on her feet. He switched the heat lamp off without suggesting she put her feet under it to speed the drying process. He really was nervous about Harper.

When Trent was finished, Barbara said, “You can start working Wednesday next week.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Trent helped her clean up and the three of them left.

“You headed home?” Harper asked as he walked her to her car.

“First I'm going to stop by the night deposit box at the bank.” Trent had already left. “Harper, don't interfere with my work again.”

“I wasn't….”

“Yes, you were. I wouldn't dare interfere with your police investigations, and I'm not having you meddling in my work, either.”

“Can you blame me?” he asked defensively and full of outrage. The coat he wore made him look even larger and the frown was enough to send a lesser woman scurrying. But Barbara had spent a career working with men with overblown egos. She wasn't easily intimidated.

“I know how you like young men.”

Barbara gaped at him, incredulous. “Trent's in his twenties, for God's sake.”

“And how old is Andrew? He might be in his thirties, but he has the mindset of a teenager.”

“Andrew isn't twenty years younger than me.”

“At least ten years younger.”

“This is ludicrous. I can't believe I'm discussing age with you. Especially when men date women twenty, thirty years younger. I'm through with this ridiculous conversation. I'm having second thoughts about even having breakfast with you.” Barbara unlocked her car door with the remote. Springing tight with anger, Harper opened her door and she slid into her seat. He marched to his own county-issued sedan.

Barbara was seriously considering canceling the breakfast. She wasn't going to let him snoop into her life or dictate what she could or couldn't do.

And then it hit her.
He's jealous.
Her mouth curved into an unconscious smile.
Unbelievable.

 

True to his word, Harper saw Barbara home. He parked behind her car. She expected him to get out and come inside, but he didn't. As soon as she closed the door behind her, he backed out of the driveway. Through the window, she'd watched his taillights as they disappeared down the road.

In her bedroom, Barbara rummaged in the closet for a long, comfortable knit dress she often wore at home, then went to the kitchen. She chose leftover steak and prepared a salad.

After she showered, she noticed a message on her answering machine. Liane had returned her call.

“Any more robberies?” Liane asked. Barbara had told her about it the night before.

“I am so angry with myself. I should have just loaned him the money. If my plans had worked out, I would have gotten it all back.”

“Your temper always gets the best of you, especially when you're tired. It's a wonder he only got a broken arm when he hit you.”

“I was thinking about poor Sarah Rhodes. That Elliot killed her so that Minerva could take her job. I just lost it. And on top of that, Andrew had the nerve to whack me on my backside.”

“The corpse isn't necessarily that young woman.”

“Yes, it is. It was on the news.”

“Do you have a contingency plan?” Liane asked.

“Elliot has been staying rather close to home. I'm still walking every day near Lambert's house. Minerva's advances are getting more forward. She's all touchy-feely. She rubs Lambert's arm or hand when she talks to him—always seated close beside him. Feeling his thigh. They kissed this morning.”

It just sickened Barbara that people with no heart would take advantage of the elderly, especially ones without family close by to care for them. It was a form of elder abuse.

Barbara gave Liane the address. “Think you can find out something about him? See if he has family.”

“I'll do my best. What do you plan to do with the information?” she asked.

“I'll contact his relatives and let them know what's going on. I just might have to go to the authorities, but just like in Philly, they can't make an arrest until they can prove something, or suspect Minerva or Elliot actually committed a crime. Proving it is very difficult. And they have a way of disappearing before the authorities get to them. I want to get that money.”

“You don't need it.”

“Not for me, but for others they've scammed. Most of those women were left destitute. If they've scammed five people in the last couple of years, think of the number of lives they've destroyed. Somebody has to put a stop to it.”

“Okay. I'll get back to you as soon as I find some information.”

“I thought I'd be back in New York by Thanksgiving, Christmas at the latest. And now…”

“Maybe I'll spend Thanksgiving with you.”

“Oh, Liane, thanks. I have plenty of space.”

 

When Trent left the salon, he went to the bar and ordered a whiskey neat. The last thing he needed was some country sheriff getting up in his face over his girlfriend. The old man didn't have to worry. Trent wasn't attracted to Barbara. He was using her.

A woman sidled up next to him. She was smaller than Barbara, but not by much.

“Hey,” she said, and ordered herself a martini.

Trent started to ignore her, but he should be polite to the locals. He nodded.

“This is one dry place,” she said. “You're new here.”

“Just got here,” Trent said. “How about you?”

“Been here a while. All the action's in Norfolk, but can't go there every night.”

Trent chuckled.

“My name's Sonya.” She extended a hand.

“Trent.” Trent took hers in his for a brief shake.

“Well, hi, Trent. Nice name.”

She wasn't Trent's type, and the conversation wasn't exactly enlivening, but he settled back to enjoy a few minutes with her anyway. If the sheriff thought he was interested in someone else, then he'd leave him alone about Barbara.

 

Sonya Davies stayed long enough for Trent to pay for a couple of her drinks before she left. She was sick of staying in her room. Her housemate was helping someone fashion a bowl, a replica of the pre-1600s. Why, Sonya didn't know. They were always doing something strange.

Boyd should be getting off the ferry soon. She bid Trent good-bye and went outside to call Boyd.

Boyd Xavier was a good cover. She liked this island. The artist colony was isolated with new artists coming and going all the time. The islanders didn't pay much attention to them. The workers at the colony didn't ask a whole lot of questions if you were talented, and Sonya was talented.

She introduced Boyd as her husband. She didn't have to worry about Elliot hearing about a Sonya. She was supposed to be in the Bahamas. They were fools if they thought she was going to let them get away with keeping all the money and live on the piddling Elliot dolled out. She'd told Elliot about Dorsey, and what did he give her? Another job in the Bahamas. And he expected her to bring him the money from that, too.

Did she look like Andrew? Did she look like some woman he could lead around by the nose? She already had the money, and she wasn't turning over shit to him. It wasn't nearly as much as he'd gotten from Dorsey. But she was going to remedy that.

Harper picked Barbara up a few minutes before seven-thirty. He was captivated by her purposeful stride. She moved as if her life was full of meaning and she meant to get every drop of satisfaction out of it. When she passed him on the way to the car, he caught a whiff of delicate perfume and inhaled a deep breath of pleasure.

What a fine note to start the morning on.

He got her door, making sure to move close for another whiff, but she whisked herself inside and closed the door quickly, nearly catching his fingers. He strolled around to the other side and slid in beside her. He was finally going out on a date with her.

“I wish I could spend the day with you, but I have to go in to work,” Harper said.

“I understand that.”

Harper nodded. “So what will you do for the rest of the day?”

Barbara sighed. “I missed the Founder's Day meeting, so Mrs. Claxton volunteered me for research on the Rochester family. I have the dubious task of gathering information for the celebration in May. I wish I had my bat and Andrew before me now. I'd break his other arm. That lady must have it in for me.”

“She's accepted you,” Harper said around a grin. It was good to know he wasn't the only person who irritated her. “She wouldn't put you in charge of things if she felt you weren't capable.”

Barbara groaned.

“You could always tell her you're too busy,” Harper said, knowing very well nobody turned down Naomi Claxton's requests.

“Why are we just sitting here?”

“You haven't buckled your seatbelt. And I'm enjoying your company.”

Barbara made a production of buckling in, and he started the engine and drove slowly to the B&B. The place was packed. They were lucky enough to grab a table as a group was leaving.

The B&B's owner, Gabrielle Long Price, Naomi Claxton's granddaughter, approached them with menus. She'd taken over the management of the B&B when her great aunt, Anna, couldn't run it any longer. In the end, Anna had left it to her when she died. “Can I get you coffee?” she asked.

“Do you serve mocha?” Barbara asked.

“After a fashion. If you don't like our blend, I'll fix something else. Topped with whipped cream?”

“You're killing me, but, yes, thank you.”

“Make that two,” Harper said. “Bring a couple of juices with it. Orange okay with you, Barbara?”

“Sure.”

When Gabrielle left their table to take orders from other customers, Barbara and Harper scanned the menu. “See anything you like?” Harper asked her.

“It's been a while since I've eaten here. But I remember everything being delicious.”

“The omelets are great. Maybe some French toast or pancakes to go with it. They serve it with maple syrup and whipped cream.”

Barbara was trying to be good, but Harper wasn't making it easy.

When Gabrielle returned with their drinks, they gave their orders. Harper leaned back in his seat, surveying the faces around them. Many were familiar, some were strangers. He spotted Trent. The murder occurred long before he arrived or Harper would have questioned him.

He'd already interviewed Lambert Hughes, but he wanted to interview the older man again without the presence of his new housekeeper. Harper sighed. He was going to give himself an hour to spend with Barbara before he returned to work mode.

She was pretty in her black slacks and vivid green top. She wore just a little makeup, but it looked just right, not overdone. She sipped her mocha and wiped the whipped cream mustache away.

“Good?” Harper asked.

“Perfect.”

He was glad she wasn't one of those women who nagged him about being afraid to eat for fear of gaining an ounce or munched on salads when they went to dinner. He enjoyed food and preferred a wide-ranging conversation, rather than one that dealt with her gaining ten pounds by just inhaling the scent of a cinnamon roll.

“So tell me about yourself, Barbara? Why did you settle in our town?”

“My grandmother wanted to move back here. She even had the house renovated,” she said. “Unfortunately, just before she was ready to move, she died. I visited the island and fell in love with it.” When lying, stay as closely to the truth as possible, she thought.

“Where're you from?” he asked.

“Manhattan.”

“Nobody's from Manhattan.”

“I am.”

Harper leaned forward, took her hand in his. “Now, why is it I believe you've left out a lot in this abridged version?”

She shrugged. “I haven't. I'm rather plain and uncomplicated.”

Harper rubbed the back of her hand. “There's nothing uncomplicated about you.”

“Tell me about yourself,” Barbara said, wanting to shift the focus.

“My father was career Navy. His last tour was Norfolk. I graduated from high school here, got a football scholarship and messed up my knee. I finished college, worked in the Baltimore PD for a while, and became a detective before I returned here to run for sheriff.”

“I have a feeling you've left out a lot in that abridged version. So where are your parents?”

“They retired to North Carolina. Raleigh. They both grew up there.”

“Any siblings?”

“A brother and a sister. Both live near my parents.”

“Any nieces or nephews?” Barbara sipped her mocha. It was fabulous.

“Two of each. You?”

“I'm an only child. And I have no children. You have to try this. It's fabulous.”

He sipped his mocha and pronounced it delicious. “Ever been married?”

“It didn't last long,” she muttered, annoyed with all the questions. “You like getting the facts up front, don't you? I feel like I'm in an interrogation room.”

An easy smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Do you have anything to hide?”

Barbara regarded him with amusement. Going out with Harper was absolutely foolish. She reached over and stroked his hand. “I'm sure you have your ways of convincing me to divulge all my secrets.”

Harper inhaled a quick breath before his hand came down on hers purposefully. Kissing the back of it, his gaze never left her eyes. It was a slow, lingering kiss, and she felt his tongue stroke her just before he let her go, forcing her to admit how much she wanted him. Was he that slow and thorough in lovemaking?

“There are some secrets worth exploring,” he said softly, his voice stroking her in the middle of the crowded dining room. She shivered as goose bumps sprinkled her arms. Nervously, she ran her hand through her hair.

“Ha…Have you ever married, Harper?” God, he was turning her into a babbling idiot. An easy smile played at the corner of his mouth. He knew very well the effect he was having on her.

“Once, when I lived in Baltimore. It lasted about two years.”

“So you're pretty much set in your ways by now.”

Harper smiled. “Don't worry. I'm adaptable,” he said. “And house broken, too.”

A waiter appeared with their food, giving Barbara a chance to catch her breath. She ordered the ham-and-cheese omelet with a blueberry muffin and fresh fruit.

Harper ordered the French toast and omelet. He poured syrup on his French toast and topped it with the whipped cream. He cut a piece and held the fork out to Barbara. “Try this.”

Barbara closed her mouth around the food. “Oh my gosh. I've died and gone to heaven.”

“Told you it was good.”

She glanced around. Many townspeople were here, but visitors were present, too. They more than likely stayed at the B&B. One slim woman across from her was dressed in tight designer jeans and a sweater. She was eating fruit and drinking a glass of bottled water. Sometimes Barbara wished she could be satisfied with a meager meal, but she'd long ago stopped beating herself up for lack of control.

“Why aren't you eating?” Harper asked.

She picked up her fork. “I'm eating.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Don't let that skinny woman ruin your appetite. I'm going to enjoy my food. Every mouthful.”

Barbara realized she was being silly. She was acting like those stupid commercials. Everyone wasn't the same. Wasn't built the same. Americans were going crazy with weight. Sure there were health issues. Bulimia and anorexia were eating disorders, too, weren't they? But the tube wasn't filled with commercials exploiting those issues.

People had issues in all sizes. Women more so than men. They spent too much time worrying if their butts were too big or too small. Plastic surgeons were making a mint with breast implants, tummy and thigh tucks, eye lid and chin tucks. Whether we liked it or not, we were all going to get old if we were blessed to live long enough, and pressing out all the wrinkles wasn't going to change that.

Barbara always exercised and tried not to overeat—too much. But she could damn near starve herself and still wouldn't be a Paris Hilton or Beyoncé look-alike. And she didn't hate herself. Those women were the worst.
Ooh, my thighs are too big. I hate myself.
So she was going to stop acting stupid. She began to eat and enjoy her food.

“How are you progressing on Sarah's murder investigation?” she asked. “Can you talk about it?”

“We're working a few angles,” he said, his face tightening. “You mind if we don't talk about the case? I want to enjoy some time with you before I go to work. All of us have to work overtime on this case and the budget is tight.”

“I understand,” Barbara said.

She liked him. From their past encounters, she knew he cared about his job. He wasn't just putting in time until retirement.

She wished she could divulge the information she knew, but they had nothing on the Stones. He'd indulge her but wouldn't take her seriously, no more than the Philly police had done.

Besides, one breakfast didn't entitle him to her life's history or alleviate her caution of men. What did she really know about him? Not nearly enough to trust him with her secrets. And she couldn't tell him about her plans to rob the thieves. Even if he took her seriously, she'd get thrown into jail for robbery while they moved on to their next victim.

He leaned close to feed her another forkful of French toast, and the sweet taste of the food mingled with the subtle scent of his woodsy cologne. He was a handsome man.

And he didn't seem to mind living in a fishbowl. Many eyes were watching their movements. To heck with it. Barbara fed him some of her omelet and he smiled. He had a nice smile. Barbara was glad she came to breakfast with him.

They discussed current events, everything from how Obama was doing to Condoleezza Rice. When they were halfway through breakfast, Harper's cell phone rang.

“Not now,” he said as he retrieved it from his pocket and answered it. Barbara watched him closely as he listened intently. When he disconnected, he said, “I'm sorry, babe, but I've got to go.” He dug into his pocket for his wallet. “I'm going to leave enough for you to get a cab home.”

“Don't worry about it. I can get home. And I'll take care of the bill. Just go.”

“One of the problems with dating a sheriff in a small town. I'm never completely off duty.” He wiped his mouth and stood. “But I invited you to breakfast and I'll pay for it.”

“We'll be happy to drop her off,” Lisa said from behind Barbara.

“Thanks.” Harper tossed bills on the table; then he kissed Barbara, startling her and probably everybody else in the room, before he strolled out with long, quick steps. Barbara watched him leave. Lord, that man knew how to make the most of a few seconds.

She wondered what was so urgent.

“Mind if we join you?” Lisa asked. “It's pretty busy in here.” People were standing around waiting to be seated. Lisa was here with her sister, Vanetta.

“I don't mind at all,” Barbara said. “How are you, Vanetta?”

“I'm fine.” Vanetta's husband had been murdered on Labor Day weekend along with the manicurist who'd worked in Barbara's shop.

“I didn't expect this place to be so busy this weekend,” Lisa said. “We had a small convention all week. Some important people from a corporation up north. Some of their families are joining them today and they're staying over for the weekend.”

“It is a nice little vacation spot,” Barbara agreed.

“Did Harper mention anything about Sarah Rhodes?” Lisa asked.

“Not yet.”

“Does he have any ideas who did it?”

“I don't know. What have you heard?” Barbara asked to steer the conversation away from Harper.

“Not much.”

Barbara noticed Vanetta was agitated. The pain of her husband's murder was still fresh.

Instead of her usual ponytail, Lisa wore her hair down around her shoulders for a change. “You've got the day off?” she asked. Lisa was one of the cleaning women at the B&B.

“Thank God.”

“I've been trying to convince Lisa to start her own cleaning service,” Vanetta said.

Lisa groaned and glanced toward the ceiling. “Don't start that again. I don't have a head for business, much less the money.”

“I could teach you what you need to know. And I have the money to back you,” Vanetta said. “I'd like to help you, Lisa.”

“I can't start out owing money. I'll always be playing catch-up. If I decide to take that step, I want to do it on my own.”

“Lisa, what do I have to spend money on? If nothing else, Matthew left me very well off. The house is paid for. I get an income from the businesses.”

“Usually our greatest limitation is our own fear,” Barbara offered. “Good cleaning services are always in need. Why don't you write up a business plan, even if you don't actually go through with it? It will give you some idea of what you'd be getting into. Start with cost of supplies and getting bonded, things like that. How would you train your cleaning staff? Where would you set up shop? How would you get the word to customers?”