Season of Secrets (11 page)

She hadn't realized how much she wanted to find the man. The disappointment was like a blow to the stomach.

Well, his equipment was there, so surely he was around somewhere. “Mr. Carr?” Her voice echoed emptily. No one answered.

She stepped back onto the path outside the Biblical Garden, looking in both directions. Nothing. Still, he hadn't come past her. She'd go on. He wouldn't have left the hoe and wheelbarrow there if he'd quit for the day.

The path led on to the maze. Magnolia's designer had modeled his maze on the one at Hampton Court, but instead of boxwood, it was planted with hundreds of camellias. She walked toward it, captivated as always by the sight.

She stood for a moment, feasting her senses on the delicate blossoms and the dark leaves of the holly bushes that were interspersed with the camellias.

“Mr. Carr?” she called again. No reason to believe he'd gone into the maze. He was probably hiding out somewhere, though, perhaps having an illegal cigarette. “Mr. Carr?” She called again, starting into the maze. The blossoms surrounded her, closing into what had always seemed a magical place.

Christmas camellias, she called them as a child, thinking everyone had camellias blooming for Christmas. She stopped. Was that a step she heard?

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Again there was no answer, but something brushed against the far side of the bushes on her right.

She froze, apprehension sending chills snaking down her spine. She opened her mouth to call out and then closed it. If someone was there, he hadn't responded to her previous calls. Instinct told her he wouldn't answer this time.

She ought to feel angry. She didn't. She felt afraid.

No point in standing here, waiting and wondering. She'd go back to the ticket booth, find out where Jasper checked out when he left for the day, and wait for him there.

That was a sensible, practical solution. So why did she feel compelled to creep away like a thief? She took a careful step back from the hedge of camellias, then another. Her breath was soft and shallow as if even breathing might draw too much attention to herself.

I'm being silly, Lord. Or am I? Please, surround me with Your protection.

She reached the entrance to the maze and took a deep breath. It was going to be all right. It was.

She walked quickly along the outside of the maze, breath still coming too quickly. Foolish, to let herself be spooked by being alone here. She wouldn't let her wayward imagination ruin a place she'd always loved.

A few more steps and she'd reached the corner. She'd just go back—

A blur of movement from the corner of her eye, an arm, a sleeve, someone grasping her, a hand over her mouth. She tried to scream, but the hand was choking off her voice. She struggled, kicking at him, trying to swing her handbag at him. Struggle, fight, don't give in—

“Ms. Westlake, please. Please, don't scream. I won't hurt you.”

Please, Lord, please, Lord.

“I won't hurt you, I won't. I just want to talk.” He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears, and somehow that seemed to get through the fear.

She twisted around to see his face. Jasper Carr? No. It was the man she'd last seen trying to get into the house. Leonard Hassert.

She pushed away the fear. Fear led to panic, and panic would do no good.

“Please, Ms. Westlake.” His voice was trembling, and she realized his hands were trembling, too. “Just don't scream, all right? I'm going to take my hand away.”

He moved a step back. She took a breath, the air sweet. Her muscles shook with the effort it took not to run.

“What do you want?” Her voice rasped on the words.

“Not to hurt you,” he stammered. “Not that. Please, you have to believe me.”

“You picked an odd way to convince me of that.”
Give me the right words to handle him, Father.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I thought you wouldn't see me if I came to your house, so I followed you.”

He was certainly right to be cautious. She'd call the police at the sight of him. He looked so pitiful, standing there with tears in his eyes, that her fear ebbed away.

“All right, I'm here now.” She clenched her handbag tightly. “Say what you have to say.”

“I have to talk to him—Mr. Devlin. I know he doesn't want to see me. I thought maybe you could talk to him for me. Get him to see me.”

She took another step back, and he made no move to stop her. She slipped her hand into her purse, relieved when her fingers closed over her cell phone.

“I'm doing this all wrong.” He rubbed his forehead, looking and sounding like a petulant child. “I think about it, but then I don't know what to do.”

“Why do you want to talk to Mr. Devlin?” Impossible to go on being afraid of someone who looked so hangdog.

“I wronged him.”

“What do you mean?” Her heart jolted. Maybe she'd been too quick to think him harmless. Was he talking about Annabel's death?

“I wronged him,” he said again. “I have to tell him.
I have to make amends.” He reached in his pocket, and she tensed. But his hand came out with a small white card. “He can reach me here. Please, please—”

His voice broke. He turned away, tears spilling over, and lurched into a shambling run down the path and out of sight.

“I
think it would be best if you and Court went over to your house.” Marc said the words without any real expectation that Dinah would listen to him.

Sure enough, she shook her head. “I'm staying here.” She planted her hand on the hall table, as if to anchor herself. “If Court would like to go keep Aunt Kate company this evening, I'm sure she'd appreciate it.”

“No way.” Court flushed slightly. “I mean, I like her a lot, but if Dad's going to entertain a murderer, I'm not leaving.”

“I doubt very much that Hassert is coming here to confess to murder.”

But what was driving the man? His behavior had been odd to the point of dangerous, first trying to force his way into the house and then accosting Dinah that way at Magnolia Gardens. Marc was reminded yet again of her recklessness.

“You shouldn't have gone out there after Jasper Carr alone. It was too dangerous.”

Dinah's chin lifted at the implication that she
couldn't take care of herself. “I didn't even find Carr. And I've told you, Tracey gave me that information in confidence. I shouldn't have told you at all, but after what happened with Hassert, I didn't have much choice.” She glared at him as if it was his fault.

“You were alone, that's the point. Hassert was obviously following you—” He stopped, because if he thought of how the man had frightened Dinah, he'd be more inclined to punch him than to listen to him.

“If it hadn't been there, it would have been someplace else.” She shrugged her shoulders eloquently. “I can't stay inside the house all the time. I won't change my life because of Hassert or anyone else.”

“Well, I've agreed to see him. I hope that will end it.” He glanced at the grandfather clock. It was nearly eight. “He should arrive soon. I'll hear him out, and then I'll make it clear to him that if he comes near any of us again, he'll be back in jail.”

Dinah nodded. “That would do it for any sensible person. Hassert hasn't impressed me as being especially sensible so far.”

She'd put her finger on the heart of what bothered him, of the thing that had his stomach churning when he thought of the man being too close to Dinah and Court.

“That's been his pattern, as far as I can tell.” He had to speak coolly, rationally, even though what he wanted to do was pick her up and carry her bodily out of the house. “He acts on the impulse of the moment and regrets it afterward. I looked up his case again before we came south. He's not a career criminal.”

“Let's hope he doesn't plan to start.”

The doorbell rang, and Dinah jerked. In spite of her determined facade, she was nervous.

Without thinking about it, he caught her hand to reassure her. The simple gesture set up a longing to hold her that was anything but simple. He let go as if he'd touched something hot. You're not going to do that, remember?

Dinah looked away from him and grabbed Court's arm. “We'll be in the family room with the door ajar, listening. If we hear anything odd, we're calling the police.”

“If I had a baseball bat—” Court began.

Dinah pulled him toward the family room. “No baseball bats. Your father can take care of himself.”

Did she really think that? She was afraid, but he wasn't sure whether that fear was for him or Court or herself.

Maybe it didn't matter. The point was it existed, and he'd exposed Dinah to that by coming here and forcing her to choose sides.

He shoved his concerns about Dinah to the back of his mind as he approached the door. He'd have to worry about Dinah later. Right now he needed to focus on dealing with Leonard Hassert.

He yanked the door open with such force that Hassert looked startled. He tried to arrange a less-forbidding expression on his face. If he hoped to get anything out of the man, it would be best not to scare him.

“Hassert. I understand you want to talk with me.”

“Yes—yes, sir, I do.” He was practically stammering. “May I come inside?”

He took a step back, holding the door open even though his instinct was to slam it in the man's face. “Come in.” He nodded to the study door. “In there.”

Following Hassert to the study, he watched the way he walked, the way his hands moved, the way he held his head—all the things he would notice in a courtroom when a defendant took the stand. Hassert was afraid, that was certain. He also gave the impression of being embarrassed, hands fidgeting, eyes not meeting his.

Obedient to the promise he'd given Court and Dinah, he left the door ajar. He just hoped they had sense enough not to act prematurely and ruin things.

He nodded to the chair he'd placed in the pool of light from the desk lamp. “Have a seat.” The chair behind the desk he'd reserved for himself. It gave him a nice wide expanse of solid mahogany between him and Hassert.

Not that that would help if the man were armed. Well, a person had to take a few chances if he were to accomplish anything.

“You've gone to plenty of trouble to see me.” His fingers tightened on a paper knife, and he forced them to relax. “Let's hear what you have to say.”

Hassert flushed, the color brightening his pale complexion for a moment, then fading. “I'm sorry. I told Ms. Westlake I was sorry, too. I didn't mean to scare her.”

Relaxation wasn't working. “What did you think would happen when you lunged out from behind a bush and grabbed her? Of course she was frightened. She could have you arrested for assault.”

Hassert paled again at the threat. Obviously he didn't want to go inside again. “I said I was sorry.”

“You acted on impulse, just like you did when you attacked that man in the bar. You jumped out and grabbed Ms. Westlake without thinking of the consequences.”

“I didn't mean anything.” He hung his head like a sulky child. “I just had to get you to talk to me. I know I did it all wrong.” He looked up, and Marc saw that his pale blue eyes were filled with tears. “I'm sorry. I had to see you. I had to tell you how sorry I am.”

He planted his hands, palms down, on the desk surface. “You mean you're sorry for killing my wife.”

“No!” Hassert's voice soared, and Marc could only hope Dinah wouldn't be inspired to call the police. “No, I didn't do that. I couldn't do anything like that. You have to believe me!”

“Why?” He kept his voice cold. “Why would I believe you? You told Ms. Westlake you'd wronged me. That's the biggest wrong anyone ever did me.”

“You don't understand.” Hassert slumped in the chair, and it was hard to believe he'd be brave enough to raise his hand to anyone. “All my life I've had the same trouble. I've given in to anger or fear and done the wrong thing. I always told myself I couldn't help it.”

“You threatened me when you were convicted. How do I know you didn't follow through on that threat and come after my wife?”

Panic flared in the man's eyes. Marc tensed. Maybe he'd pushed too hard.

“I didn't do anything to her. I had an alibi. The police checked it.”

“Alibis can be faked.” He'd thought that all along, but looking at Hassert, his conviction was seeping away. Hassert didn't look or act as if he had that particular sin on his conscience. It had been a long time since he'd practiced criminal law, but the instincts were still there.

“I don't know how to convince you, but I didn't.” He shook his head, seeming to shrink in the chair.

“Then why did you say you wronged me? Why were you so eager to see me?”

Hassert's hands twisted together in his lap. What would Dinah say about his body language? She had to be expert at reading that, to do the job she did. Not that he was going to let her get anywhere near Hassert to find out.

“I threatened you. You were doing justice, and I threatened you.” Hassert shook his head, seeming on the verge of tears. “When I was in prison, I finally had to face the truth about myself. All the excuses fell away, and the Lord made me see that I was a miserable sinner. But He forgave me.” Hassert looked up, smiling through his tears. “I knew I had to try and right the wrongs I'd done. I wasn't able to find you, to tell you that, until you came back to Charleston.”

He let out a long breath. Was this for real? It certainly sounded that way. “You went about it the wrong way. You know that, don't you?”

“I know. I'm sorry. I never meant to scare anyone. I just really needed to see you, so I could ask for your forgiveness.” He leaned forward, face intent, and
gripped the edge of the desk. “Please. I can understand if you don't want to, but please forgive me. I was wrong. I have to ask for your forgiveness.”

He didn't want to give it. That was the rock-bottom truth. The man had haunted his dreams for years.

But he'd always trusted his instincts, and they were telling him that Hassert hadn't had anything to do with Annabel's death.

And if someone asked for forgiveness, what else could he do?
Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trepass against us
. It would be hard to go on praying that if he couldn't forgive.

His throat was so tight he wasn't sure he could speak. He stood, taking his time, studying the man who rose when he did and stood there with pleading on his face.

“I forgive you.” He cleared his throat and held up his hand before the man could speak. “But I want your word that you won't approach my family again, and that includes Ms. Westlake. This closes the books between us. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Relief flooding his face, Hassert wrung his hand. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

Marc nodded. He ought to feel relieved. But as he showed Hassert to the door, he could only think one thing. This meant that Annabel's killer was still out there, somewhere. Watching. Waiting.

 

“How soon is it going to start?” Court, impatient as he always seemed to be, leaned forward in the back seat, staring out at the Cooper River, serene in the dusk.

“The boats start moving at five o'clock, but it'll take them a while to get downriver this far.”

Court had found the Christmas Parade of Boats on the Internet, and he'd been fully prepared for nonstop nagging to get his father to agree to come. Dinah had been mildly surprised to be invited, since Marc seemed to be making a point of avoiding her, especially after the incident with Hassert. He had, she suspected, decided that he was going to protect her from her association with him, whether she wanted his protection or not.

“Are you sure Waterfront Park is the best place to watch?” Court fidgeted.

“We're sure,” Marc said firmly. “Why don't you get out and walk around?”

“Instead of bugging you?” Court grinned. “Okay.”

“Stay where I can see you,” Marc warned.

“Chill, Dad.” Court got out, grinning, and walked off toward the water.

Now it seemed Marc's turn to be jittery. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The problem was that he was alone with her. He didn't want to be.

She struggled for the right words. How to do what she'd intended to do the next time she was alone with him? She had to do something to restore a normal relationship with Marc. They couldn't go on this way.

Her fault, she supposed. She'd let him see too clearly that she had feelings for him, and now he was torn between warning her off and protecting her.

“Maybe we ought to get out.” Marc reached for the door handle.

“Wait a second.” She took a steadying breath. If she let him get out now, she'd probably never muster up the courage to do it. “I need to talk with you.”

He gave her a polite, noncommittal look. “Of course.”

Her heart winced. He looked at her as if she were a stranger.

“I was a little surprised that you invited me tonight.”

He blinked. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Let's not pretend, Marc.” It took an effort to keep her voice even. “We need to clear the air between us. You've been shutting me out.”

He didn't deny it. “This has turned more difficult than I expected. I don't want to expose you to any more episodes like the one with Hassert.”

“The situation with Hassert is cleared up.”

“That doesn't mean something else won't go wrong.” His jaw set with characteristic stubbornness. “I can't protect you all the time.”

“I don't want you to protect me.” Shouting at him would probably do no good, although she was tempted. “I'm all grown up, Marc. You have to stop thinking of me as a child.”

His eyes seemed to darken. “I don't. Maybe that's part of the problem.”

She caught back a gasp. That was more honesty than she'd expected. Or wanted. But maybe that was what was needed, that they be honest about their relationship.

“Something happened between us the other night—connection, attraction—I'm not sure what it was.” She said the words slowly, feeling her way. “I
didn't intend to bring that up. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”