Deadly Homecoming

FOUR

Peta grappled with the roots and tendrils of the wild roses that clung to the edge of the island, her fear of sliding farther overcoming the painful jabs of the thorns digging into her hands.

Her foot, pedaling against the cliff face, found a rock, and she pushed hard on it, easing the agony on her hands. She threw out her right hand and met a long section of weeds. Her other foot scraped dirt and loose rocks until she’d gained another foothold.

Heart pounding, and forcing herself not to look down again, she stabilized her hold and clung to the edge. A gull, misinterpreting her actions for an offer of food, swooped close to her. She didn’t need to be reminded of how high she was above the waves and water. She looked anyway, hating the self-punishment.

A gust ripped past her, trying to peel her from the cliff. Releasing the rose branch, she swung out her left hand and punctured the soft soil above with her fingers. She found cold but compliant sod, and pulled herself up a few more inches. With her foot, she scraped out another foothold and lifted herself farther. She let go of the weeds she’d grabbed wildly with her right hand and found a small log. She tossed it to one side, and then locked on to a spindly bayberry plant. Thankfully, its roots held tight.

Finally, she was able to swing her leg over the edge.

Once on the flat of the cliff, she rolled away, onto the grocery bag of food Lawson had given her. Slumped over it, she shut her eyes and waited for the cold horror within her to run its course.

Eventually, she breathed. Thank you, Lord. Thank you so much.

Several long minutes later, she rose, every muscle still quivering. Daylight was fading now and the rotating beacon of the new lighthouse sliced through her vision.

She grabbed her donated groceries and limped toward the cottage, her one shoe full of dirt, her opposite knee sore from scraping the cliff, and her whole front filthy.

Inside, she locked the door and slumped against it.

Hers could easily have been the next death on Northwind.

Gary Marcano. Lawson had had to fight to contain his reaction when Peta had uttered that name.

Gary Marcano was his number-one suspect. Marcano was known to police as a drug dealer and as a member of organized crime. Born in New England, but raised in Canada, Marcano had been acquitted once of second-degree murder, then became a person of interest in several disappearances, including those of Lawson’s parents, his brother and his brother’s family. But with no evidence and no bodies, the police could do nothing.

And now he had proof that Danny Culmore worked for him.

But Culmore was dead. And the police officer thought Peta had killed him. Where did that leave him?

Mouth tight, Lawson gathered up the dishes and began to clean up. He’d sat in his kitchen with night approaching long enough.

Peta felt guilty about introducing Danny to Marcano. She should, a voice inside him spat out. Look what happened. My family is gone, probably dead. Marcano and Danny Culmore were most likely the ones responsible. Would this have happened if they’d never met?

Forget that question. This wasn’t fair to Peta.

Did she make it back to the cottage okay? She’d said she needed the walk, but with guilt eating at her and the town not wanting her back—

Ignoring the dishes, he grabbed a jacket and headed out. He would just drive up to the cottage, and if the lights were on there, he’d leave.

His heart leaped a few minutes later, when he saw the cottage blanketed in darkness. He jumped out and banged on the door. Almost immediately, Peta threw it open.

Startled, he stepped over the threshold. Only then did he notice her dirty front. “I thought I would check to see if you got home okay. What happened?”

She stared at him for a moment, then flicked out her hand in disbelief. “I fell off the cliff! Only by the grace of God did I manage to hang on and climb back up.”

Cold shock sluiced through Lawson. He should have insisted on driving her to the cottage. “Are you all right?”

“A bit scraped up, but otherwise okay. I didn’t fall far.”

“The cliff is getting closer to the driveway with every rain. This time next year, the driveway will have to be relocated.” He studied her. “It gave you quite a scare.”

Peta stood stiffly. “I, um,” she began, still shaking. “I’m a bit scared of heights. Well, more than a bit. I get dizzy, my heart races, and, well, this time, I fell over. I should have walked through the woods.”

“You’re acrophobic?”

She nodded. “I live on the ground floor of a tall apartment building, and I can’t even look up at it without getting dizzy.”

He stepped closer to her, feeling her vulnerable beauty like a sheer curtain whirling around her. Her eyes, dark now with relief and fear and something else, locked on to his.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to stay here. Even on the ferry trip over here, I was white-knuckled all the way. I can’t even look out at the sea sometimes.”

He wanted to pull her into a warm embrace, like the ones the little old ladies in his church back home give when someone just needs a good hug. Should he? Would she take it in the spirit it was being offered?

And what spirit would that be? a part of him wondered.

Shocked by his inner question, he stepped back, hitting the kitchen door with his heel.

She turned away, as if unaware of his thoughts. “It’s this whole day. Looking out Danny’s bedroom window and seeing him down there must have triggered this. I’m usually not this bad. I—I just don’t like going near the edge of the cliff.” She visibly shivered. “I get all dizzy.”

He frowned. If this were so, how could she stand being in the gazebo, perched on a cliff, where Danny Culmore had been murdered? She wouldn’t have even stepped into it, let alone been able to commit murder in it.

Peta had begun to speak again. “Maybe this is some kind of rebounding emotion from being accused of murder.” She paused. “Do you think I’m guilty?”

Did he? Could she have even walked into Danny’s gazebo, with it now clinging to the edge of the cliff? Another good storm and it would fall into the bay. And yet, what about the past she shared with Danny? And her reputation?

He shrugged. “No, but look at the evidence. The innkeeper on the mainland says you were only there the night before last. To exonerate you, the police will have to find the ferry operator, but haven’t yet, and your prescription bottle had the same pills found in Culmore’s mouth. And you said two people saw you, but it doesn’t look like they’re agreeing with you.”

She looked hurt as she folded her arms. “There’s got to be some rational explanation for all that. Lawson, I didn’t kill Danny. I swear it!”

That was the first time anyone here, except the pastor, had called on him for anything. He’d been on the island for nearly a year and in that time had taken the position of deacon at the church. To everyone, he’d come to de-stress, and he hadn’t offered anything more than that, nor had the islanders asked anything more from him.

Now Peta was looking at him with a raw cry for help. She was a desperate, vulnerable woman. And a beautiful one at that. He couldn’t desert her, but it was going to be hard to help her and keep his objectivity. She’d known both Danny Culmore and Gary Marcano.

He ignored the thought. “I’m sorry you’ve had a scare. Do you think you need to go to the clinic? Maybe get something to help you sleep?”

She shook her head. “I’m exhausted. I don’t think I’ll have trouble falling asleep.”

“But you’re alone up here. Want me to camp out on the couch?”

She eyed him silently, her gray eyes darkening again. He knew it was a bit foolish to offer to stay the night. Until a few hours ago, she hadn’t even known he’d existed. Of course she wouldn’t allow him to stay.

Finally, she shook her head. “I’ll be okay. I just won’t look out at the water.” She ran her hand through her shoulder-length hair, messing it in such a way that he wanted to smooth it out. But reaching across and touching her wouldn’t exactly engender trust, and he was beginning to see that she didn’t have any reason to trust anyone here.

“I just need some rest,” she added. “And since I can’t prove my alibi, I should start looking for a lawyer tomorrow.”

That was his cue to leave. She looked too tired to care anyway. He grabbed the doorknob and pulled, forcing his feet to move him out of the way, and out of any temptation to comfort her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He left her, but not the property. At the point closest to the cliff, he stopped the car, and climbed out. Night had fallen, and the fog was now seeping in, though not enough to obscure his view of the cottage. He could see Peta move from room to room, closing curtains, but leaving the lights on. He glanced down at the cliff. It was getting perilously close to the narrow driveway.

The only evidence of Peta’s fall lay in the crushed grass and the clumps of yanked-up weeds, both visible in his Jeep’s headlights. Off to one side sat a short, sturdy log, and beside it, the sleeve of crackers he’d given Peta. He stooped to pick them up, unable to ignore the signs of leftover panic.

There was no way she could have gone into Danny’s gazebo. And no way she’d be foolish enough to leave all that evidence around.

Which meant someone was framing her for murder.

Upstairs in the bedroom, with her eyes closed, Peta shut out the view of the bay, and the line of trees beyond the cottage that stood judgmentally silent, reminding her of all the things she and Danny had done. She hated the memories of the pain she’d caused the people here.

And she felt a sharp pang of loss at Danny’s death, something she hadn’t expected. Danny and she hadn’t parted on good terms, the argument something petty and long forgotten. Though they’d made up several months later, the hard feelings had lingered between them. Now, a sense of regret swept over her.

Once notified, Danny’s cousins would probably come. She could barely remember them. They lived somewhere around Fredericton. One had joined the military and was posted at the nearby base. She didn’t even remember which side of the family they were from.

With tightly closed eyes, she recalled her unique view of the tree line, courtesy of her fall. In the time she’d been gone, a few maples and oaks had grown up. It would be pretty in the fall. And this lawn, more a meadow this time of year, had defied the cool temps and blossomed. Daisies and devil’s paintbrush danced in her mind’s eye, as if trying to calm her leftover terror.

Northwind was the perfect place for photographers and painters. Strangely, though, this small island had never attracted artsy types. The locals had refused to cultivate an openness to that kind of tourist. Why, Peta never knew. The whole island was scenic and pleasant, even with the fog rolling in on cool mornings. Photographers would love it here, but the locals preferred their island to remain quiet and unspoiled.

On the bedside table, the phone rang. She turned and stared at it. Who would be calling her at this hour? And who even knew she was staying here? To be honest, she hadn’t expected the phone to be hooked up. It had to be for Lawson, as he’d already rented this cottage.

The third ring rattled through her and she reached out to grab it.

“Hello?”

A pause. “You gotta leave the island.”

“Who is this?”

Another creepy pause. Her voice rose. “Who is this?”

“Drugs are bad, Peta. Look what happened.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There are bad things here.”

She tried to focus on the voice, but it was plain, accentless to her ear, slow and deliberate. And though she thought the speaker was male, she wasn’t entirely sure. “You mean the murder? Did you kill Danny?”

“No!”

“How do I know that? Why are you warning me?”

No answer.

“Why are you trying to frame me?”

“I’m not! I saw you fall.” The person let out a squeaky noise. Was this a man? “Those cliffs are bad for you. For everyone.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a pensive pause. Finally, the caller spoke again. “Drugs are bad, rifles are bad. Danny’s bad.”

“This is crazy. You should tell the police if you know something about Danny’s death.”

The tone changed. The voice deepened. “‘Some things are better left in civilians’ hands.’”

Her blood chilled, leaving an icy hand to clutch her stomach. The whole mood switched from concern to something more sinister. Determined to ignore the melodramatic change, she snapped, “Who are you? What’s your name?”

“I can’t tell you no more! Just go.”

The line went dead. She immediately hit the call return buttons, but a canned recording told her that the number wasn’t available.

There was something else, too, something in his—or her—words, bad grammar aside. Whoever it was, one thing was certain. She’d heard that voice before. But where?

Heart thumping, she set down the phone. Should she call the police, tell them what this person had just said? Would they even believe her? Getting this call now seemed a bit too convenient.

Immediately, she thought of Lawson. But what could he do to help her? Did she even want his help?

She did. If he’d opened his arms to her tonight, she’d have walked right into them. There seemed to be a connection growing between them, some kind of odd, indefinable bond, despite the short time they’d known each other.

But that didn’t mean she should call him, no matter how much she wanted to prove her innocence.

Her head starting to pound, she knew what she really needed was to crawl into bed, shut her eyes and pray that she woke tomorrow morning ready to tackle the situation God had just dumped on her.

Peta was surprised to find Lawson at the police station the next day. She’d been up early, just after dawn, a bit too early by her personal standards, but with only light curtains draped across the small bedroom window, she was awake as soon as the sun rose.

Lawson stood when she was directed down the short corridor toward Constable Long’s office. Their gazes locked and she swallowed. Why was he here?

“How did you sleep?” he asked when she reached him.

“Better than I expected. I’m no worse for wear now. Why are you here?”

He frowned and wet his lips. “I need to talk to Constable Long. You mentioned that you’re afraid of heights. The gazebo is very close to the cliff, almost to the point of falling into the bay.”

She gasped. “I hadn’t thought of that. But do you honestly think Constable Long would believe you?”

“Is there anyone in Toronto who can verify your fear?”

She’d kept her fear tucked away. The company that hired her was always looking for excuses to downsize, and a fear of heights like the ones in the plant would be grounds enough.

The closeness of the buildings in the city actually kept her acrophobic feelings at bay. Plus, she liked her solitude. It had been her best friend for a long time. Now, though…She shook her head. “Not really.”

He looked grim. “Still, he needs to know.”

She shut her eyes. “Danny must have known his killer.” She shivered. “I can still see him in my mind. The way he looked in the gazebo. There didn’t seem to be a struggle.”

“Try not to dwell on that.”

She glanced around. “But I know what the islanders are thinking. Being poisoned—if that’s how he died—doesn’t feel like a violent crime, and women prefer to kill in less messy ways.” She turned to him. “But I didn’t do it.”

She gauged his reaction. He didn’t appear to be afraid of her. And yet, he seemed determined to keep his distance.

As if to confirm her observation, he folded his arms tightly and stepped back. “So what brought you here today?”

“I needed to find out when I can have my knapsack back. I have no clothes, no money. Surely they’re done with it.”

“Didn’t Constable Long tell you he’d drop it by?”

She glanced around at the busy station. The glass entrance doors opened onto the back parking lot, which was packed now with patrol cars. A couple of police officers she assumed were from the mainland stood talking to people whose faces were old, but familiar. She turned back to Lawson. “I want to prove that I’m not guilty. I want them to know I’m willing to cooperate.”

I want to show you that I’m innocent.

Peta couldn’t say that. Even acknowledging that she’d thought it was ridiculous. Lawson was living on this island, taking some kind of self-imposed downtime. He’d chosen Northwind. Enough reason to steer clear of him.

Still, did he believe she was innocent? Her heart beat fast at the thought.

“Hey!”

They turned. Peta watched as Tom Kimbly, who operated the hardware store now that his father had retired, hurried down toward Lawson. “Yes?”

Tom glanced down at her. Peta felt the ice in his look hit her, and turned away. It had been Tom’s old car she’d vandalized once, on a stupid dare.

She’d been so immature, so foolish and fighting so much in her life. She should just offer her apologies to Tom and, after all these years, somehow start to rebuild those bridges she had burned.

Tom turned his back on her and faced Lawson. “What brings you here?”

“I need to see Constable Long.”