Dangerous Inheritance
She drove into the restaurant lot and found a spot to park close to his car. He stood beside it waiting for her. Today he bore little resemblance to the hard, suspicious policeman he’d been last night. Tall, broad shoulders filling his uniform, he had the kind of rugged good looks she liked in a man. His grin lit up his face.
Her lips moved in an answering smile that was a little more spontaneous than she intended. She jerked herself up short, clamping down on her emotions. No matter how good-looking Nick Baldwin was, the last thing she needed was to get involved with a policeman. At least not until she learned more about this town...and Nick.
* * *
Nick held the restaurant door open for Macy, noticing the way the sun struck glowing bronze highlights in her hair. She was even more beautiful than he’d realized, and she wasn’t angry or nervous the way she’d been last night. Maybe it had just been stress from driving in an unfamiliar place after dark with a storm threatening, and then being harassed by a stranger.
He reached for a menu, wondering why she was here. He didn’t know anything about this woman, but for some reason he was interested in her, and it had nothing to do with the way she looked, or that vulnerable expression she wore some of the time. Or at least that’s what he wanted to believe.
As a matter of fact, he really couldn’t explain why he spent so much time thinking about her. Maybe he should back off a little until he found out more about what was going on. He needed to remain professional, concentrate on her reason for being here, instead of thinking of her as a woman who needed his help.
The waitress took their order: eggs and sausage for him, cheese omelet and a cup of peach yogurt for her. Nick smiled in approval. He liked a woman with a good appetite. He leaned back and studied Macy. She had the same copper-colored hair and green eyes as her deceased mother, judging from the pictures he’d found of Megan Douglas in his research last night on the internet. There hadn’t been much, just a couple of articles about the trial. Not a lot of help.
But regardless of how good she looked, he couldn’t let those sea-green eyes and that dusting of freckles across her nose distract him from the job at hand—learning why Macy Douglas was in Walnut Grove and what she hoped to accomplish. He didn’t believe she just decided all at once to visit. Something had brought her here, and he wanted to know what. He had a personal interest in this now since his father might have had a hand in sending her dad to prison.
Before he could speak, she put down her fork and gave him a straight look. “Tell me the truth—how did you manage to get to that house so fast last night? I’d only been there for a few minutes before you grabbed me. And why were you parked around the corner instead of in the driveway?”
So all right, maybe she wasn’t as calm as she appeared to be, and apparently she hadn’t forgiven him for his part in what had happened. He searched for the right words. Until he knew why she was here, he wasn’t about to discuss police business with her.
“Like I said, I got a call that you’d pulled into the drive and I was nearby. I drove past just as you stopped. Since I didn’t know who you were or why you were there, I just went around the block and parked, then walked the rest of the way.”
She looked thoughtful. “I see. You said there had been attempted break-ins. What were they looking for, and why didn’t they succeed?”
He took a sip of coffee so hot it burned his tongue, trying to decide how to answer. “I don’t know what they’re looking for. As for why they didn’t succeed, people were used to watching to see if Opal was all right or if she needed anything.”
She gave him a skeptical glance. “Go on.”
He shrugged, hoping to appease her without giving away too much. “Opal had an alarm system installed a couple of years ago. That went off once recently, scaring the burglar away and alerting her neighbors. And people are quick to call in if they see anything suspicious. It’s a good neighborhood. They watch out for each other.”
Whoever was trying to break in had damaged the alarm system so it didn’t work anymore, which was one reason the police were keeping an eye on the place, and why the neighbors were on high alert. Someone was determined to get inside Opal Lassiter’s house. It was common knowledge she didn’t keep anything of value at home, so there had to be another reason for the recent attempts to break in, and he wondered whether it might tie into the sudden appearance of Macy Douglas. Like the robber knew she was coming and wanted to find something before she got there.
He wondered how many people had expected Macy Douglas to show up in town. Sam knew. So how did he find out?
Macy picked up her glass of water and sipped. “Too bad they didn’t have a system like that in place when my mother was killed.”
Nick caught the bitterness in her voice and understood it completely. Compassion surged through him for this woman who had lost so much. “Things are different today, I guess. More people, more crime. But the police were convinced they had the killer. There was evidence to back up that decision.”
Macy gave him a stern look, as if daring him to dispute her words. “The police were wrong. My father wasn’t a killer. He was a good, decent man who was sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. And he died there.”
Nick stared at her, caught by the conviction in her voice. So that was what she believed. Maybe Sam was right. Her coming could stir up trouble they might not be able to control. Start talk like that and people would line up taking sides.
“Do you have any proof of what you’re saying?”
“No, but I’m going to find it, even if I have to turn this town on its ear.”
Judging from the green fire burning in her eyes, he figured she just might do that. According to Sam, passions still ran high over what had happened back then, but most of what he’d heard had been about the election. A woman had been killed. Surely that should have been everyone’s first concern. Had the murder of Megan Douglas gotten lost in the uproar over a failed election? Some people seemed to lose what little sense they had when it came to politics.
Nick glanced at his watch, hating to end this conversation, but they had to go.
“Are you through? If you are, we need to leave. It’s almost time for you to meet with Sam.”
He dropped some bills on the table, enough to pay for breakfast and provide a tip, and followed her outside. “I’ll lead the way. It’s just a short distance from here.”
Macy didn’t look happy, but she nodded and got in her car, and he did the same.
He wasn’t sure what Sam had in mind, but whatever it was, he intended to keep an eye on Macy Douglas. Judging from the mood she was in, there was no telling what kind of trouble she might stir up.
Nick parked in front of the police station and waited for Macy to join him. Their conversation in the restaurant had been puzzling. He guessed it was normal for her to hope her father wasn’t guilty, but she had sounded so sure. Did she have evidence of some kind that led her to believe in his innocence? If she did, where had she found it, and why had it surfaced after all these years?
They entered the building, and Nick led her into the police chief’s office and at Sam’s instruction, took a chair against the wall.
Macy sat down across the desk from Sam, looking a little intimidated. Most people felt nervous at being summoned to a police station, whether or not they had done anything wrong. And here he was sitting behind her, as if he was blocking her from leaving. He guessed he could understand how she felt.
Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on the desktop. Medium height, carrying about ten pounds more than he needed, and his hair thinning on top, he didn’t look as intimidating as he had last night. Nick hoped that would help Macy relax.
The police chief eyed her intently. “You had a rough welcome to Walnut Grove. I hope it goes better from here on out.”
“Thank you.”
He waited, staring at her as if he wanted more. “How long are you planning to stay?”
Nick had a hunch she probably didn’t want to answer Sam’s question.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to my grandmother’s lawyer yet, and I haven’t had a chance to inspect the house. Depending on what I learn, I might be here for an extended visit.”
Sam nodded, his expression and tone of voice sending a clear message that he wasn’t happy with her answer, or with her presence in Walnut Grove. “What do you know about your mother’s death?”
Macy looked like she didn’t want to answer that, either, and Nick wanted to jump in and ask a few questions of his own, but this was Sam’s show, so he made an effort to keep quiet.
After taking a deep breath, she said, “Just that she was murdered in that house. I was very young and my grandmother Douglas never talked about it, but she was convinced my father was innocent.”
Sam pressed his lips together as if she had just confirmed what he suspected. When he spoke, his voice was stern, almost condemning. “This is a quiet little place. Oh, we have crime, but nothing like murder, as a general rule. What happened hurt the town and I’d hate to see it all stirred up again.”
Macy bristled as if she was getting a little of her spunk back. “I believe it hurt my family more than it hurt the town. And if stirring things up again—as you put it—can clear my father’s name and bring my mother’s killer to justice, then that’s the way it has to be.”
“Your parents are both dead. Nothing you can do now will help them. But ripping this town apart over something that happened years ago can do a lot of damage. I won’t allow that to happen.”
She stood, apparently ready to leave whether he liked it or not. “I have no intention of damaging anything or anyone, but I will do everything in my power to find out what happened to my family and who was responsible. I’ll be living in my grandmother’s house until I learn the truth.”
Sam shoved his chair back and got to his feet. “You may be putting yourself in danger. Have you thought of that?”
“Of course I’ve thought about it, and since you’ve made it clear I can’t expect any help from the police, it looks like I’m on my own.”
She gripped the back of the chair. “Let me ask you something. You say someone is trying to break into my grandmother’s house. What do you think they hope to find? And what do you plan to do about it?”
She whirled and stalked out before he could answer, not even glancing at Nick to see how he took her confrontation with his boss.
He watched Macy stride from the room before glancing across the desk at Sam. “What was that all about?”
Sam shrugged. “That woman is trouble. The sooner she leaves town, the better.”
“If she owns a house in Walnut Grove, I’d say she has a right to be here.”
“She’s up to something and I don’t want this department mixed up in it. You stay away from everything connected to Macy Douglas if you know what’s good for you.”
He walked out of the office, leaving Nick to stare after him. He had to be kidding.
First Sam hinted the police might have been involved in something dirty back when Megan Douglas was murdered. Then he ordered him to just drop it, stay away from the woman who was stirring things up? Regardless of how Sam felt, Nick would keep an eye on Macy Douglas. Someone had to, and it looked like it was up to him.
THREE
Macy drove to the motel, paid her bill and loaded her suitcase in the car. The meeting with the attorney had just been more of the same behavior she’d experienced from Sam Halston—she needed to sell the house and leave town.
She’d learned a couple of things, though. Her grandmother hadn’t left her the house. Her parents had left it to her. Opal Lassiter moved into the house where her daughter had died when her own husband, distraught over Megan’s death, committed suicide and left her bankrupt. Apparently she’d done well because she’d left Macy a good-size sum of money. Something she could definitely use. According to the attorney Opal had worked in the bank, she’d moved up to a good position and she had been thrifty. She’d also been a quiet woman, keeping to herself a lot of the time. Church and friends had been her only social activities.
Raleigh Benson had given Macy all the keys to the house he had in his file. She already had one to the front door, but she didn’t want other keys out there for someone else to use. Another thing bothered her. Why would a grandmother who made no effort to stay in touch be so generous at her death? It didn’t make sense.
She reached the house without any trouble but found Nick Baldwin and his police car parked in her driveway. What was he doing here? Did he intend to stop her from moving in? There must be something in that house they didn’t want her to see. Well, she’d find it in spite of them. She might be outnumbered, but she wouldn’t give up without a fight.
Macy got out of the car and waited for Nick to join her. Had Sam sent him to check on her? She wouldn’t put it past him.
“What are you doing here?”
The smile stayed in place, but there was something watchful about his eyes. “I thought you might need some help moving in.”
“I don’t have all that much and I can manage just fine.” He had to have a reason for showing up at just the right time to help. No, not just showing up. He was waiting for her. Which made her a little uneasy, considering the way she’d already been treated that day.
He shrugged, still looking pleasant. “I thought you might feel more comfortable if you had someone with you when you went inside. I won’t get in your way, just be along to keep you company in case you need anything.”
And she was supposed to believe this? “Does Sam know you’re here?”
The grin faded, but if she’d struck a nerve it didn’t show. He shook his head. “No, this is something I’m doing on my own. I just thought it might help if you didn’t have to do this alone.”
Okay, she hated to admit it, and wasn’t going to admit it to him, but she had been dreading going inside again. Afraid of what she might find or how she would feel. It would be easier to have someone with her, and it was nice of him to think of it—if he was telling the truth. And if he wasn’t, she’d deal with it later.
Right now she felt better just to have him standing beside her, strong and dependable. Macy shook her head. Dependable? What was she thinking? She didn’t know him well enough to be sure of that. She held up the key ring, steeling herself to face the inevitable. “All right, let’s go.”
The storm had left a scattering of budding leaves and broken twigs covering the walk. They crunched underfoot as she strode toward the house, hearing him stepping along behind her. Seen in daylight, the house was still imposing. Two stories high plus an attic, cream-colored with light blue and beige trim, a wide porch and a corner turret, classic Queen Anne. Beautiful, but not exactly cozy. Scary might be a better word. She swallowed the lump in her throat and fumbled with the key ring the lawyer had given her.
Nick reached over and took it from her. “I’d guess this is the one you need.” He inserted it in the lock.
Macy motioned for him to go first, not sure she was ready. She followed, nerves prickling. The entry hall had a hardwood floor and a long mahogany table against one wall, with a wide gold-framed mirror hanging behind it, elegant, but cold. Macy walked slowly through to enter the living room. It looked different in the daylight.
Gold brocade armchairs with high backs flanked the fireplace. A crystal chandelier with a cluster of white candle-like lights hung overhead. An alcove held a matching gold sofa with a scattering of ivory and darker gold pillows. The air smelled musty, as if the house hadn’t been aired for some time. Judging from the muted rumble of the furnace, the heat was still on.
The furniture wasn’t new, so she assumed it had been here when her parents were alive. At least she hoped it had. Maybe it would jog her memory in some way. She moved farther into the room, nerves keyed to the max, almost forgetting to breathe while waiting for something to spark a recollection.
Nothing.
Macy swallowed her disappointment. What had she expected? That everything would immediately fall into place? When had her life ever been that easy? She walked over to stand in front of the white fireplace with a marble mantel holding several pictures of people she probably should know.
She waited for a hint of recognition. Nothing happened. She turned to Nick. “Is one of these my mother? Would you know?”
He gave her a curious look, and pointed to a photograph of a woman laughing at the camera. She had the same red hair as Macy and now that she really looked, there was a resemblance in the planes of her face, the curve of her lips. Not an exact replica, but there could be no denying the similarities.
“You don’t know what she looked like?” Nick asked.
She wasn’t sure how he would take it or if he would even believe her, but it was time to tell the truth. “I don’t remember her. I don’t remember my father, either, or even remember living in this house. The first seven years of my life are a total blank.”
Macy watched him trying to take this in. It probably sounded like something she’d made up, but let him try living with it, try realizing that a part of him was missing. That he didn’t know what exactly, just the gap in his life. See how he felt then.
“You don’t remember anything?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
She hadn’t expected him to understand, so why was she disappointed by his reaction? Why would she care if he believed her or not? His belief or disbelief had nothing to do with the truth.
“I have dissociative amnesia. According to my doctor it happens when a person blocks out certain information usually caused by stress from something a person has witnessed. My memory begins when I woke up in the hospital with Grandma Mattie sitting by my bedside. I have no recollection of ever being in this house. I’m hoping living here will help restore what I’ve lost.”
If not, at least she would know she’d tried. But if she could recall the events of the night her mother died, perhaps she could remember the face of the killer, and it would not be her father. It would take strong, irrevocable proof to make her believe otherwise.
Nick still looked uncertain, as if not sure what to think about everything she’d just said. “Let me get this straight. You don’t remember anything about living in this house. You don’t even remember your parents? Is that what you’re saying?”
She gave the collection of photos on the mantel a second look before answering. “That’s right. I don’t remember anything about them. And I don’t remember the grandmother who lived here. She was never a part of my life after I moved to Oklahoma. I didn’t know anything about her until I got a call from her lawyer.”
He nodded, as if in some way he understood, but he couldn’t. Not really. No one could unless they had lived it. She barely even understood it herself. But according to what she’d learned, she’d been born here, had lived here with her parents the first seven years of her life. Been attacked and left for dead the night her mother was murdered. Add that to the fact that all memories of her parents were gone, as if they had never existed. Then tell her she had no right to dig around in the past. She had every right, whether Sam Halston and Raleigh Benson liked it or not.
Or Nick Baldwin, either, for that matter.
Macy reached for the picture of her mother, and something rustled at the back of her mind. Laughter, soft arms holding her close. Almost as soon as the image came, it vanished, leaving her aching for more.
Her mother.
She wanted her mother.
The house had waited for her, large, empty and filled with secrets. Macy suddenly had an overwhelming desire to leave—get out of this place.
Resolutely, she gripped the mantel with both hands, fighting down the billowing wave of fear threatening to submerge her.
God, where are you? Help me. I can’t do this on my own.
Gradually the feelings subsided, leaving her in some semblance of control. She took a couple of shaky steps toward the next room. Nick followed, not saying anything, but she was aware of the way he watched her, as if expecting her to fall apart. Well, she almost had, and she was sure there were other shocks waiting for her in this house. She had to expect that. Would she be strong enough to do this?
Only with Your help, God.
Next was the dining room. A long walnut table surrounded by high-backed wooden chairs caught her eye. A matching sideboard sat along one wall with mounted pictures depicting the four seasons arranged above it. Beautiful furnishings, but nothing here spoke to her. Macy moved on, walking through the downstairs.
She ended up in the entry hall again and turned toward the staircase. Nick stopped her. “From what you’ve said, you probably don’t remember, but you were found here at the foot of the stairs. You’d been knocked unconscious. At first the police thought you were dead, but when they discovered you were breathing they rushed you to the hospital in an ambulance.”
Macy grasped the newel post with both hands. She’d been found here? Why couldn’t she remember?
“Where was my mother?”
“She was lying in front of the living-room fireplace.”
“How did she die?” She forced the words out through lips gone numb with shock.
Nick placed his hand over hers, his expression compassionate. She fought an urge to lean against him, draw courage from him.
“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked.
She drew a harsh breath that was almost a sob. “I have to know. After all these years, I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. I need to know everything.”
He drew her away from the stairs. “Let’s sit down for a minute. This is going to be hard for you.”
She let him lead her into the living room and sank into the chair he indicated. He sat across from her, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His gaze locked with hers, and she caught her breath at the concern reflected there.
After a minute he started speaking. “She’d been hit repeatedly with the fireplace poker. They found it beside you, and believe you were struck with it, too.”
Macy bowed her head, hands tightly clasped in her lap. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she furiously wiped them away. Beaten to death? Her mother? In this room? And she couldn’t remember. Even now, after what he’d said, she had a picture in her mind of what it could have been like, but she knew it wasn’t real, just a manufactured image. Not a memory.
Nick caught her hands, holding them in his. “Macy, look at me. It was a long time ago. You were just a child. It has nothing to do with you now.”
She raised her head to stare at him, tears blurring her vision. “It has everything to do with me. She was my mother. My mother was killed here, and I can’t even remember her. It’s like I’ve betrayed her in some way. Betrayed them both. My father died in prison and I can’t give the police the name of the person who destroyed my parents.”
* * *
Nick knelt beside Macy, aching to help her, and knowing he couldn’t. No one could. All he could do was kneel here and watch her suffer. He couldn’t share her grief and feelings of guilt, but he could understand her need. Whatever it took, he was going to do everything possible to help her learn the truth—if it was available after all these years. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he was a stranger and he was afraid that would upset her even more. Better to wait and just be here if she needed him.
After a long time she raised her head. “I need to go through the rest of the house. Will you go with me?”
“I’ll be glad to.” He helped her to her feet and continued holding her hand. To reassure her.