The constant rhythm of it was like a heartbeat. Like a clock ticking. It seemed to thud in her head and beat against her nerves until she longed for silence just so she could think without all the bits and pieces of information and speculation in her head chasing themselves in baffling circles.
Who could have tampered with her car? Doc hadn’t been happy with her questions and certainly hadn’t been forthcoming with information, but would he have tried to kill her? Adam Harrison had shared his information about Caroline without hesitation, so why would he have gone after her? She supposed he could have had second thoughts later, but still, would those second thoughts have driven him to a murder attempt? And even if Lyssa Maitland had stared after her with a peculiar expression on her face, did that even mean anything?
In addition, lots of people had been in town during the several hours Joanna’s car had been parked there, and she had talked to most of them about Caroline at one time or another. Many had been guarded or evasive; some had talked easily and openly. No one had seemed dangerous or threatening, as far as Joanna was concerned. But fact and fiction were filled with villains who smiled disarmingly, so how could anyone really know what might lie behind a smiling face?
It could have been anyone. Anyone could have tampered with the car—and unseen.
The town of Cliffside—how was that for a list of suspects?
The problem, Joanna decided as she walked along, was that it was all too easy to imagine any number of people as having a motive, simply because the reason of “protecting a secret” was just too damned vague and opened up too many possibilities. Most people had secrets of one kind or another, but which secrets were important enough to kill for? Surely there weren’t many of those in this small town. Surely.
But even if there were few, it didn’t narrow the field, because Joanna didn’t know what she was looking for. Unless and until she discovered why Caroline had been so uneasy and possibly frightened before she was killed, she didn’t have a clue as to the one secret that really mattered.
The gazebo came into view as Joanna came to that conclusion, and she stopped there on the edge of the woods. Regan was in the gazebo, sitting on the carousel horse and gazing out to sea, her small face still, as unexpressive as her father’s always seemed to be.
You’re why I’m here.
It was crystal clear in Joanna’s mind, and she was only surprised she hadn’t realized it long before she had. She was here because of Regan. That’s why the dream had brought her here, because Regan needed her help.
Don’t let her be alone.
Was it a plea from Caroline, placed in Joanna’s mind somehow during that instant when both had been in a state of virtual death? Had Caroline cried out for help for her daughter across three thousand miles and death’s own void, her terror and desperation in that moment so strong that she had somehow been able to connect with Joanna’s subconscious and hurl at her a jumble of impressions and fears?
The subconscious, Joanna knew, dealt with problems in its own unique way. It processed information in ways that were frequently abstract, even surreal. Dream images, for instance, might sometimes be meant literally, but more often were symbolic. Yet in Joanna’s dream, most of the images at least existed literally, which indicated they had some literal meaning.
The ocean crashing, of course, and Caroline’s house were certainly real. The painting had been real. The carousel horse. The roses had been real enough, leading Joanna to the greenhouse where Caroline’s rose lived and where her former lover could impart his information. The clock ticking felt very much like time passing—or running out.
But a paper airplane? That image remained a puzzle.
The child crying had to be Regan.
The one person in Caroline’s life to whom she had been utterly devoted had been Regan, and it made sense that her concern for her child might be the last desperate thoughts in a mother’s mind as death struck—especially if that death was violent and the mother knew her child was threatened.
But by what? Why did Regan need Joanna’s help? Because she grieved so for her mother? No, surely the dream would not be filled with such terror if that had been Caroline’s main concern. Because she was in danger? Because whatever had so frightened Caroline somehow touched or threatened Regan’s safety? That made more sense, at least as much as any of this did. It even lent weight to the admittedly far-fetched idea that some part of Caroline had survived the moment of death to reach out to Joanna; few things in existence were as powerful and all-consuming as a mother’s love for her child, and danger to that child would enable most mothers to reach far beyond their normal limits if necessary in the driving need to protect.
Don’t let her be alone.
But had she meant that literally, that Joanna shouldn’t leave Regan physically? Was the little girl in actual physical danger? Or had Caroline meant that her daughter needed an advocate to balance the remoteness of her father?
“Oh, hell, now what do I do?” Joanna muttered to herself, knowing only that she had to do something.
She hadn’t spoken very loudly, but Regan turned her head just then, and her small face lightened instantly. Her lips curved in a smile of singular charm, and she said, “Joanna,” with obvious pleasure.
“Hi, Regan.” Joanna crossed the clearing to the gazebo and stepped inside it, leaning against the railing beside the carousel horse. “How have you been?”
Regan hunched her shoulders slightly, a faint smile remaining. “Okay. I—I got into Daddy’s car yesterday and sat there for a while.”
Quite a step for a child terrified of cars. Joanna smiled at her. “I’m glad. It was a brave thing to do, facing your fear. Your mother would be very proud of you.”
“You’re the first one I’ve told,” Regan confessed.
“Not your father?”
“No. He wouldn’t care.”
Joanna hesitated. “Regan, I hardly know your father, but I’m sure he would care.”
“He doesn’t care about anybody. Mama said so.”
“Did she—say that to you?”
Regan frowned a little. “No. I heard her say it to Daddy.”
Gently, Joanna said, “Regan, I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but sometimes grown-ups say things to each other that aren’t necessarily true. Especially when they’re angry. Maybe your mama and daddy didn’t get along very well, but that doesn’t mean either one of them didn’t care about you.”
Regan’s frown deepened. “Mama wasn’t yelling at Daddy when she said that.”
“Did she ever yell when she was mad?”
“No.”
“Then she could have been mad at him when she said that, couldn’t she? Even though she didn’t yell?”
Regan hunched her shoulders. “I guess so.”
“Did she ever tell you that your daddy didn’t care about anyone?”
“No.”
Joanna smiled at her. “Look, Regan, all I’m saying is that things you overhear don’t always mean what you think they do. Your daddy’s probably the kind of man who doesn’t show what he’s feeling, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel. And just because your mama might have been mad at him doesn’t mean you have to be too.”
After a moment, Regan said diffidently, “Is that why I want to yell at him all the time, Joanna? Because I’m mad at him? Because I wish … he had died instead of Mama?”
Joanna wasn’t shocked by the question, but the pity she felt for Caroline’s child tightened her throat and made it difficult for her to speak. “Honey, I think what you really wish is that there hadn’t been an accident at all. You don’t wish your daddy dead, you just want your mama back. And since you know you can’t have her back, you have to get mad at somebody. He’s your daddy—he should have protected your mama, that’s what you feel, isn’t it? He should have kept the accident from happening.”
Regan nodded mutely, her dark eyes shimmering with tears.
“I know that. I felt the same way about my
daddy when their boat sank. For a long time, I blamed him, because there was no one else to blame. But, Regan, my daddy did the best he could to save my mama. And your daddy would have done his best if he had been there. But he wasn’t there. He was miles away at your house, and he didn’t know she’d be in trouble. How could he save her? How could he even help her?”
After a long moment, Regan said, “I’m still mad at him, Joanna.”
“I know, honey. But try to think about it, to understand that it wasn’t his fault she was killed. In time, I think you won’t be quite as mad at him. In time, none of it will hurt so much.”
“It won’t? Really?” There was a world of bewildered pain in that childish voice, and it nearly broke Joanna’s heart.
“I promise you. You’ll never stop missing your mama, but in time it won’t hurt so much to miss her.”
“You still miss your mama and daddy?”
Joanna nodded. “Very much. But it doesn’t hurt now. I’ll always feel sad, and always wish they could be here with me, but I don’t cry myself to sleep anymore.”
“I do that,” Regan murmured. “Every night.”
“It’s good to cry, honey. It helps take away the pain.”
Regan nodded and fell silent again, watching her own hands running up and down the shiny chrome pole in front of the carousel horse’s saddle. Then she turned her head suddenly, and her face was very serious. “Your car wrecked yesterday, didn’t it?”
Though she was glad of the change of subject, Joanna was a little startled; adult gossip she had come to expect, but with Regan so cut off from town … “How on earth did you hear that?”
“I heard Mrs. Porter telling Mrs. Ames about it this morning,” Regan replied, listing her teacher and the housekeeper respectively. “You—you didn’t get hurt, Joanna?”
“What do you think?” Joanna lifted her hands in a look-at-me gesture, smiling.
Regan’s face remained grave for a moment as she studied Joanna carefully, but then she nodded and smiled. “You look okay. I’m glad.”
“Me too. It wasn’t really so bad, you know. I just had to drive into a pasture and knock over a few haystacks.”
“I’m glad Mr. Cook didn’t have his horses in there,” Regan remarked.
“You and me both,” Joanna responded with some feeling. She studied the little girl for a moment, trying to decide how best to proceed. She still felt very reluctant to question Regan about her mother, but she honestly didn’t know where else to go for information. Scott, she supposed—but there was certainly no indication that he’d be willing to talk about his wife.
Still, that lonely house was also a part of Joanna’s dream, and it could easily mean more than a simple indication of where Caroline had lived and Regan lived now.
“Joanna?”
She blinked, then smiled. “Sorry. My mind wandered.”
“Mama said this was a good place to think,” Regan said, turning her gaze back out to sea. “She’d come out here when she wanted to be alone. Do you think … she’s still here, Joanna? That she’s watching over me?”
“I don’t know if she’s here,” Joanna replied honestly. “But I’m certain she’s watching over you, Regan. She loved you very much.”
They both heard the distant sound of a bell ringing just then, and before Regan could speak, Joanna said, “Do you mind if I walk back to the house with you? I’d like to talk to your daddy, if he’s home.”
“He’s home,” Regan said.
Griffin wouldn’t like this, Joanna was sure. Scott McKenna was a suspect on his list, and he would doubtless raise hell when he found out that Joanna had talked to the man—alone, she hoped. Joanna was a bit uneasy about the situation herself, given the fact that it was at least possible Scott had tried to kill her the day before.
But she was still convinced that she could find out the truth about Caroline, and she had to talk to Scott if she had any hope of doing that. Of them all, he must have known his wife the best, whether or not he had loved her. He had lived with her for more than ten years, and the habits and routine of daily life had to reveal the true character of any person.
Joanna and Regan walked side by side through the small stand of woods separating Caroline’s gazebo from the big house, and as they neared it, Joanna tried to decide what she would say to Scott.
Did you love your wife?
Did you cause your wife’s death?
Did you try to kill me?
She was still uncertain when they walked across the immaculately landscaped yard and climbed the steps onto the porch. Regan led the way through the front door and into a lovely but formal foyer, then down a hallway to the left of the stairs.
“His office is this way,” she said over her shoulder to Joanna. “Dylan’s office is at the end of the hall, but I think he’s in town. And Lyssa only comes here sometimes. So Daddy’s by himself right now. I’ll take you before I go back to Mrs. Porter.”
Joanna didn’t object. Though she did feel a bit rueful when Regan opened the door of her father’s office and announced without preamble, “Joanna’s here to see you.”
Alone in the room, Scott rose from behind his desk and looked at Joanna with his usual impassivity. “Joanna. Come in.”
Said the spider to the fly.
It was the way she should have felt, but for some reason Joanna’s concern about being here faded. She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t even begin to understand it, but she felt absolutely no threat from Scott.
“I’ll see you later, Joanna,” Regan said, looking up at her.
“You bet.” Joanna watched the little girl turn away without another word for her father and disappear down the hall. She closed the office door and walked across to one of the visitor’s chairs in front of Scott’s big desk. The room didn’t surprise her very much. It was neat and organized and very masculine, with expensive leather-bound books lining the shelves and a gleaming wood floor. The desk was uncluttered.
“Do you think it’s wise to see so much of Regan?” he asked.
“Do you care?” she shot back.
Scott actually looked taken aback for a brief instant, but then he shrugged and said something Joanna would rather not have heard. “Touché. Sit down, Joanna.”
How can he not care about that little girl? Joanna simply couldn’t comprehend it. She sat down and watched him do the same, wondering if she had even a hope of understanding this remote man.
“What can I do for you?” he asked politely.
Burning her bridges, Joanna said, “You can talk to me about Caroline.”
Scott leaned back in his chair and gazed at her, seemingly as unsurprised by the request as he had been by her sudden appearance in his house. “Would you mind explaining your excessive interest in my wife?”
“I don’t think it is excessive,” Joanna replied. “I was interested at first because I look so much like her.”
“At first. What about now?”
“Now…” Joanna shook her head. “I can’t explain; I’d probably sound crazy to you if I tried.”
“Try anyway,” he invited.
Joanna hesitated, trying to weigh the danger of confiding too much to this man against the import of the information he might possibly provide. Beyond the risk she ran of confiding in precisely the wrong person—the murderer, for instance—the problem was that Joanna had no idea if Scott could or would tell her anything of value. At the same time, he had to be a good source of information about Caroline, and it was clear he wasn’t about to talk without knowing her reasons.
Griffin was definitely not going to like this.
“Were you in town yesterday afternoon?” she asked him.
Scott lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “No. Why?”
“You were here?”
“No, I was in Portland.” His tone was one of infinite patience. “A law firm there handles my legal affairs, and there were documents to go over. I didn’t get back here until last night around seven. And I repeat, why?”
br /> An alibi Joanna assumed could have been easily disproven if not true. And though he could have hired someone to do his dirty work, Joanna didn’t think it likely that he had. “Someone tampered with my car,” she said. “The accelerator jammed, and I couldn’t stop it. Went right through the middle of town like a bat out of hell. If I hadn’t been able to steer the car into a pasture and into a few haystacks, I probably would have been killed.”
Both his brows went up this time. “And you suspect me? Joanna, aside from the fact that I can’t imagine why I would try to hurt you, I don’t know the first thing about cars beyond how to drive them.”
“I see.”
“It couldn’t have been a simple mechanical failure?”
Joanna hesitated again, mentally apologized to Griffin (not that it would do any good), and said, “We’re sure it was tampered with. Which means somebody tried to kill me. And because of that, there’s a chance that Amber Wade was killed Sunday night because she was mistaken for me. From behind, we looked enough alike to make that a logical possibility, and so far there doesn’t seem to be a reason anyone would have wanted to kill her.”
He frowned slightly. “Have you been making enemies here?”
“All I’ve been doing is asking questions about Caroline.”
Scott’s frown deepened. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Caroline’s death may not have been the accident it appeared. Something was going on in her life that last week or so, something that made her uneasy, that frightened her.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been piecing it together since I got here. Talking to people. Asking questions. So far, I haven’t been able to figure out what was going on, but I know something was.” She paused, then asked, “Did her mood seem different to you before she was killed?”