“As a matter of fact,” Marion said, “she came in here late one afternoon about two days before she was killed. Wanted to see Doc.”
Joanna tried not to show a reaction to that information. “And did she see him?”
“Well, I was about to send her in when we got a call about one of the boys on the high school baseball team hurting his leg sliding into second. Doc grabbed his bag and started out, and when Caroline tried to speak to him, he brushed her off.” Marion frowned slightly. “Come to think of it, she followed him out to the parking lot, still trying to talk to him.”
Joanna thought of Becket lying about having seen Caroline and wondered if it was because he knew something he hadn’t told about her death. Maybe; he’d done the postmortem, after all. Then again, maybe he lied simply because he was yet another man haunted by guilt because Caroline had come to him for help in the last days of her life and he had turned away from her.
“Did she seem upset?” Joanna asked the receptionist.
Marion pursed her lips. “A bit agitated, let’s say.”
“But you have no idea why?”
“None.”
Joanna nodded. “Okay, thanks, Marion.”
“Helpful?”
“God knows. But more pieces for the puzzle anyway.” Joanna glanced back down the hall toward Becket’s office and could have sworn she caught a glimpse of movement, as if, standing in the doorway, he had drawn quickly back out of sight when she had turned her head.
How much had he heard?
“Good luck with the puzzle,” Marion said, already turning back to her work.
“Thanks. See you.” Joanna left the clinic and walked back toward Main Street to get her car. It was beginning to get dark and there was a chill in the air. Bits of information—“snippets”—and speculation were going round and round in her head, making no sense to her at all. What she needed to do was go back to The Inn, have supper and a long, hot bath, and try to think logically about all she had learned today.
When she reached Main Street, Joanna paused, looking around at a town that seemed so peaceful on this late afternoon in October. Griffin’s Blazer was parked at the Sheriff’s Department, so presumably he was still in his office. Mrs. Chandler was locking up the library. Lyssa and Dylan stood in front of City Hall talking, both carrying briefcases, and as Joanna watched, they went their separate ways to their cars. Most of the stores in town were still open and would remain so until six or seven, according to individual habit. There were a few people on the sidewalks, going in or coming out of stores, no one in a hurry about it.
Just a peaceful little town. Except that three people had died violently here since spring. Except that too many of the town’s citizens had gazed at Joanna through shuttered eyes, because they either disliked strangers, disliked her questions, or had something to hide.
Just a peaceful little town. Except that something was wrong here.
With a sigh, she tried to shrug off the uneasiness that wouldn’t leave her alone. Nothing was making much sense to her right now; it was time to call a halt for the day.
Joanna needed to pick up a few things before returning to the hotel, so she walked to the drugstore. In the ten or fifteen minutes she was in the store, she spoke casually to several people, and by the time she came out she felt doubtful about Cain Barlow’s future standing in this town. Virtually everyone, it seemed, felt sure that he’d had something to do with Amber’s death, and Joanna was convinced that unless Griffin was able to prove conclusively that someone else had been responsible, or that her death had been a tragic accident, then suspicion would hang over Cain’s head like a black cloud.
Joanna didn’t want to believe Cain had killed that girl, even by accident, but she didn’t know if there was anything she could do about the question—except to keep on as she had been, asking questions and trying to understand Caroline.
When she left the drugstore, Joanna walked to her car, which she’d left parked at the end of town farthest from The Inn. She fished in the front pocket of her jeans for the keys, then got in and started the car, automatically fastening her seatbelt even though the drive to her hotel would be fairly brief. Since the car was parked on a slight incline, she didn’t have to touch the accelerator to back out onto Main Street; she just put the car in reverse and kept her foot on the brake.
Even before her accident, Joanna had been a careful driver; these days, she was even more careful. It wasn’t her habit to drive fast under any circumstances, and she never floored the accelerator. But when she put the rental car into drive and pressed lightly on the accelerator, it went all the way to the floor.
And stuck.
In those first seconds, Joanna tried to get the pedal unstuck by punching at it with her foot, at the same time trying to watch for pedestrians and other cars as the rental car picked up speed through downtown Cliffside. Everything was passing in a blur, her ears were filled with the roar of the laboring engine, and all Joanna could think of was what would happen if she made it past The Inn and Scott McKenna’s property south of town.
She had seen the maps. Just as it did north of town, the coast highway ran right along the edge of the cliffs farther south, with only a guardrail to stop a car from going over. It hadn’t stopped Caroline’s car.
It wouldn’t stop this one, either.
Joanna didn’t dare take her eyes off the road even long enough to check the speedometer, but she knew she had to be going over fifty when she passed the park at the south end of town.
She’d tried the brake, but other than producing a godawful noise it didn’t seem to slow the car, and though she tried to shift down into neutral, the gearshift refused to budge. She wasn’t sure, but had the vague idea that if she tried to turn off the ignition while the car was in gear and moving at such speed, it would be like hitting a wall. And despite her seatbelt and the car’s airbag, that was something she didn’t want to chance except as a last resort.
She passed the turnoff to The Inn just as she heard a siren; either Griffin or one of his deputies was behind her and catching up rapidly. Joanna didn’t spare a glance into the rearview mirror, because the coast highway was beginning to wind as it continued past the McKenna property, and it required all her attention just to keep the car on the road.
Then, ahead and on the left side of the highway, she saw a pasture dotted with numerous old-fashioned haystacks. Joanna didn’t know if the hay would provide enough resistance to even slow the car, but she did know that her chances were better in that pasture than they would be on the coast road.
The barbwire fence provided little resistance, one post sheering off and the strands of wire snapping as her car hurtled off the road and into the pasture. Joanna felt the car begin to slide as it hit ground still saturated from the weekend rains, and she fought the steering wheel in the desperate attempt to guide it toward the first of the haystacks.
The car hit the small mountain of hay, shuddered, and barely slowed as it plowed through. She continued to fight the steering wheel, aiming for the next haystack. But the car fishtailed, hitting the hay broadside and then going into a spin. The rear end of the car grazed another haystack, the spinning slowed, and then the fourth haystack, finally, provided enough resistance.
The car hit it, again broadside, and shuddered violently. The engine screamed, then died abruptly as the car rocked to a stop. Immediately, hay covered the windshield and windows, and Joanna found herself in the dark.
With exquisite precision, she reached for the key and turned off the ignition. Then she folded her hands in her lap and just sat there listening to her heart pound against her ribs and looking down at the steering wheel, where the airbag remained snugly out of sight.
She was dimly aware of sounds, and then light suddenly as the hay was pushed away from the driver’s side of the car. Her door was wrenched open.
“Joanna? Are you all right?”
Griffin’s voice was harsh, and the face she looked up into as grim as she’d ever seen it. She wanted t
o reassure him, to say she was fine, shaken but not hurt at all. But what came out of her mouth, calmly, was what was echoing in her mind.
“That’s the third time.”
“I’m all right, I told you that.” Joanna managed a smile as Becket frowned at her. “Really.”
“So it seems,” he said, laying aside the stethoscope but still frowning a little. “But you’ve just been through a hell of a shock, Joanna. When the adrenaline wears off, you’re going to feel it. I’d rather keep you here in the clinic overnight, just for observation.”
“No, thanks.”
“Look, at the very least, you’re going to be sore as hell by morning, after the way that car jerked you around. If you stay here, we’ll at least be able to make you more comfortable.”
Joanna shook her head. “No offense, Doc, but I hate hospital beds. I’ll be fine.”
Becket looked toward the door of the examining room. “Griff, will you try to talk some sense into her, please?”
He hadn’t said a word during the entire examination—and hardly a word before that—but now Griffin said very quietly, “He’s right, Joanna. You should let them keep an eye on you tonight.”
Joanna didn’t want to appear obstinate, but no way was she going to spend the night in the clinic, not when she felt perfectly all right. It occurred to her that her calm was a touch unreal, and that she would undoubtedly feel shaky once it wore off, but if she was going to fall apart, she preferred to do so alone rather than under observation.
She looked at Becket and said, “Thanks, but I’d rather go back to the hotel. If I have any problems, I’ll call you. Good enough?”
“I guess it’ll have to be.” He smiled wryly. “But take my advice, at least. You’re going to be shaky sometime in the next hour or so. If you eat something hot, it’ll help. So will soaking in a hot bath for a while. And then take things easy. Okay?”
“That I’ll do.”
“Good.” He touched her shoulder lightly, then turned away from her and headed for the door. “How’s her car, Griff?”
“Totaled,” Griffin answered. “And Bill Cook’s pasture is in pretty bad shape.”
Becket shook his head slightly, but left the room without saying anything else.
Joanna slid down off the examining table. “If my insurance doesn’t cover it, I’ll pay the damages,” she said, peculiarly anxious that Griffin know that.
“Don’t be an idiot. Nobody gives a damn about the pasture.” His voice was a little rough.
“It seemed my only choice,” she said, still anxious. “The pasture or the cliffs. I really didn’t want to chance the cliffs.”
Griffin pushed himself away from the doorjamb and came into the small room. His face was hard, his dark eyes very intent. When he reached Joanna, he took his hands out of the pockets of his jacket and put them on her shoulders. Without a word, he bent his head and kissed her.
It took Joanna so much by surprise that she didn’t get the chance to brace herself—not that it would have helped, probably. The warm, hard touch of his mouth felt instantly right to her, necessary in some way she couldn’t explain to herself but could only feel. As if she’d been looking for something desperately important for a long, long time, and had found it unexpectedly when she had stopped looking for it.
His hands left her shoulders to cradle her head, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones, and she felt herself lean into him with a need beyond reason. Her body responded like some delicate musical instrument to the hand it knew best, to the touch that could coax from it only the purest notes. As if she had been designed, made, only for him. And the certainty of that was something she felt as strongly as the compulsion that had brought her here to Cliffside.
Griffin seemed to feel it as well. There was nothing tentative about his kiss, nothing uncertain, nothing preliminary; it was every bit as unequivocal as the sexual act itself. Possession, pure and simple. And Joanna realized that if there had ever been a question about whether this would happen, there wasn’t one now.
He finally ended the kiss, a faint, hoarse sound escaping him when his lips reluctantly left hers. Instead of letting her go, he wrapped both arms around her and just held her. She felt his heart thudding hard and fast, wondered if her own had leaped into that same wild rhythm, and slid her arms around his lean waist. It felt good to be held that way, just simply good, and she wasn’t tempted to protest or pull away.
“Oh—excuse me. I just wanted to give Joanna my beeper number in case she needs me tonight.”
“You have rotten timing, Doc,” Griffin said calmly. He kept an arm around Joanna’s shoulders as he turned toward the door.
Never easily embarrassed herself, Joanna accepted the card Becket held out to her with murmured thanks. She still had an arm around Griffin’s waist and was vaguely surprised at herself for not letting go of him.
“I am sorry,” Becket repeated, looking at Griffin with a slight smile.
“Forget it.” Griffin guided Joanna out the door and down the hall, with Becket following behind them as far as the receptionist’s desk.
“I’ll have that tox screen for you tomorrow,” he reminded Griffin. “It’ll be negative, I bet, but at least we’ll know for sure.”
“Okay, thanks, Doc.”
They left the clinic and walked to where Griffin had left his Blazer parked near the doors. It had gotten dark, but the lot was well lit and they were able to see their way clearly. Griffin opened the passenger door for Joanna, and she climbed in. He was about to shut the door when they saw a Sheriff’s Department car pull into the lot.
“I’ll be right back,” he told Joanna, before shutting the door and going to talk to his deputy.
In less than five minutes, he was back, getting into the driver’s side and starting the Blazer’s engine. “You’re staying at my place tonight,” he said.
She was a little startled, both by what was clearly a command and by the harsh tone of his voice, but all she said was, “I’ll be fine at the hotel.”
Griffin put the Blazer in gear, but kept his foot on the brake, half turning in the seat to look at her. “Doc said you needed somebody to keep an eye on you tonight, and that somebody is going to be me.”
“Griffin—”
“Joanna, listen to me.” His voice was low now, but still rough. “The accelerator on your car didn’t just stick, and the airbag didn’t just fail to deploy. The accelerator was jammed and the entire electrical system was screwed up. Do you understand? It was tampered with. Joanna, somebody tried to kill you.”
OWNED ONE of the cottages that were spaced along the cliffs between The Inn and the northern end of town. Since it was dark when they arrived, Joanna couldn’t get a good idea of how the place looked, and had to assume it was like the others she had seen—relatively small but very well built and attractive, and situated very close to the edge of the cliffs.
She listened to the surf pounding the rocks while he unlocked the door, then followed him inside the cottage. He turned on several lights immediately, and she looked around with interest. They had come in through the kitchen, which, along with the dining area and living room, made up one large and airy space. The kitchen was neat and cheery with its bright color scheme; the small glass-topped dining table boasted woven place mats also in vivid colors; and the living room furniture was the big, overstuffed kind most men would find comfortable, with neutral colors and plenty of pillows scattered around.
Doors led off each side of the dining area, presumably to bedrooms and bathrooms. There was a rock fireplace in one corner of the living room, and the remainder of that wall—the sea wall, so to speak—consisted of big glass windows and an atrium door opening out onto what Joanna assumed was a deck or patio. The windows were veiled at the moment by draperies made up of some lightweight material in a neutral sand color. In the corner opposite the fireplace was a compact entertainment center with TV and stereo.
Joanna thought the place had probably been professionally decorated
at some point in its past, but time had worn down the sharp edges of exactitude and had left pleasantness and comfort behind.
“Nice,” she said to Griffin.
He sent her a fleeting smile as he hung his jacket on a rack by the door, but the dark eyes were still grim and Joanna knew he was still thinking about the knowledge that someone had tampered with her car. She was a bit numb herself, unwilling to think very much about that, at least for now.
Griffin left the greatroom, and a minute or so later she heard water running in a bathtub. He came back to her, and before she could say anything, he said, “I know you think you’re fine, but Doc was right about the shock and about how sore you’ll probably be in the morning. Even if you don’t agree with either of us, humor us, okay?”
She managed a smile. “Okay.”
He nodded, matter-of-fact. “I’ve put a pair of pajamas in the bathroom for you; they’ll swallow you whole, but the pants have a drawstring waist, so you should be able to manage. And while you soak the kinks out, I’ll see what I can do in the kitchen. How do you feel about omelettes?”
“I love them,” she said. “But you don’t have to—”
Griffin turned her toward the doorway leading to the bathroom and gave her a little push. “Go. And take your time.”
Joanna went. She found herself in a short hallway, with a bathroom on one side and a bedroom on the other. Griffin’s bedroom, she decided after a brief glance into it. Not only because he’d apparently gotten the pajamas there, but also because the lamplit room just looked like him somehow. Neat and uncluttered, with solid dark oak furniture and a quilt on the big bed instead of a bedspread.
She went into the bathroom, which was also neat, and found that the decorator had used a huge, old-fashioned claw-footed tub to make the most of space in the small room. The tub was filling with hot water and it looked wonderful.
Joanna closed the door and began undressing even before she noticed the dark blue flannel pajamas folded on the vanity. They looked warm and comfortable but weren’t exactly sexy, and given her druthers, she would certainly have picked something else—especially after that kiss at the clinic. But she hadn’t even thought to suggest that they make a brief side trip to The Inn so that she could pick up a few of her things, and she doubted it would do much good to suggest it now.