“And if the people around here go on making you feel peculiar?”
“Then I’ll spend all my time staring at the scenery or reading peacefully on the veranda at The Inn.”
He wondered if he’d ever get used to her voice and that lazy accent. It was oddly pleasing, but startled him every time she spoke. “Is your life back in Atlanta so hectic?”
Her eyes lit with amusement, and her lips curved in that brief, just slightly crooked smile that was nothing like Caroline. “As a matter of fact, my life is pretty tame. I work in a private library.”
He nodded, trying to look as if he hadn’t already known that. “So why the need for peace and quiet?”
“Oh … maybe it’s not so much that as just a change of scene. And it’s so noisy in a big city.” She shrugged again.
Griffin wished he believed her, but his cop’s instincts were telling him that Joanna’s reasons for being here were hardly as simple as the need for a change of scene. There was nothing he could pinpoint, no obvious indication that she was hiding something, but he was certain she was. Despite the little he had been told about her blameless life, he was certain that it was no coincidence Joanna had come to Cliffside. She had a reason for being here, and he had the unhappy idea that he wouldn’t like it when he found out what it was.
“You’re staring at me,” she murmured.
He shifted his gaze to his coffee, realizing only then that he hadn’t even tasted it yet. “Sorry.”
“So, tell me about Caroline.”
It caught him completely off guard, and when he looked quickly at Joanna, he knew she had intended to do just that. “Didn’t you find out all about her at the library?” he asked stiffly.
“Oh, I found out a few things. That she was on a lot of committees. That she was highly respected in this town. That she was intent on improving the quality of medical care here. That she was a concerned parent, involved in her daughter’s school.”
“And all that isn’t enough for you?”
Joanna shook her head very slightly. “None of it tells me who Caroline was, not really. I still have a lot of questions about her. What did she do with her life besides serve on committees and paint scenery for the school play? Did that fulfill her? Did she have hobbies, interests? Did she like animals? What about music, art—did she like those things? Did she love her husband? Was she happy?”
Griffin drew a breath. “Why ask me?”
“Because you won’t go to pieces talking about her,” Joanna said quietly. “That’s what you said, isn’t it?”
Goddammit. “I can’t answer your questions,” he told her.
“Can’t—or won’t?” Then she shook her head a little before he could decide how to answer, and said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t push. It looks like you’ve got another nosy person in your town, doesn’t it?”
Griffin frowned at her. “Joanna, I meant what I told you at the library. Don’t go around town asking questions about Caroline. There are too many people you could hurt.”
“Is that an order from the sheriff?”
He couldn’t read very much in her expression, but he had the distinct feeling that he had made her mad. “No, it’s a request from me.”
She inclined her head slightly. “Noted. And now, I think I’d better head back to the hotel. Thank you for the coffee.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said.
Joanna didn’t offer to shake hands with him outside the cafe when they parted company; she merely said, “See you around,” and strolled off down the street toward the library and her car.
Griffin stood there for a moment looking after her, until it occurred to him that every patron in the cafe, as well as Liz, was watching him watch Joanna. He was tempted to turn around and glare at everybody, but finally just walked away in the opposite direction so that he could tell Ralph Thompson he couldn’t have those extra parking spaces he wanted.
Fifteen minutes later, having listened patiently, until Thompson finally ran out of breath, to a diatribe on the consummate arrogance and utter ignorance of the town council, Griffin walked back to the Sheriff’s Department. Joanna’s car was no longer parked in front of the library, so he could only assume she had returned to The Inn.
He retreated to his office without speaking to anyone and closed the door behind him, fighting the impulse to lock it. He took off his jacket and hung it on its peg, then sat down at his desk and unlocked the top drawer. Inside were a few confidential files, but he didn’t reach for any of them. Instead, he pulled out a piece of pale blue notepaper. It was folded once, the crease worn because he’d opened and closed it so many times. He opened it now, and read the rounded, almost childish handwriting with the ease of someone who had long ago memorized the message.
Griffin,
I must see you. Meet me at the old barn at noon.
Caroline
He closed the note and returned it to his desk drawer, then leaned back in his chair and stared out the window.
It was raining again.
“Damn this rain,” Scott McKenna said.
“You live in Oregon,” Holly reminded him. “It rains a lot here.”
“Too much. I should go back to San Francisco.”
“Where it doesn’t rain at all, of course. And where there are earthquakes to boot. Besides, you’ve lived here for twelve years. Your roots are here.”
“Are they?”
Holly looked up from the keyboard and watched him for a moment. He was standing at the window of his study, gazing out at the drenched garden beside his house. He was a strikingly handsome man, with dark hair and hooded gray eyes, and there was something remote in the very way he stood. He always looked alone, she thought, even in a crowd. It was something she had noticed about him from the first day they’d met.
“Well, the majority of your money’s here anyway,” she told him. “You have to run things.”
He turned his head and looked at her, that direct, measuring stare that no longer unnerved her. “You could handle most of it alone,” he said.
“What, you mean the stores, the greenhouse, the lumber mill, and the new wing for the clinic, to say nothing of The Inn? News for you, boss—I don’t want to handle it all.”
Scott smiled slightly. “I know. But you could.”
“Yeah, right.” She finished entering figures from her clipboard into the computer on his desk, and said, “Okay, that’s everything, I think. All the estimates and bids, the materials lists, including the list from the medical supplier. Cost of grading, even landscaping.”
“Thank you, Holly.”
“No problem. I don’t mind, Scott, really.” She might have said more, but the door opened just then and Scott’s daughter looked in. As always these days, Regan was solemn, her dark blue eyes large and unreadable.
“What is it, Regan?” Scott asked a bit abruptly.
“Mrs. Ames says I can stay up tonight and watch all of that movie if you say it’s all right.” Her voice was flat, without expression.
Scott didn’t ask what movie, he merely nodded. “It’s fine.”
Without another word, Regan departed as suddenly as she had arrived.
Holly sat back in his desk chair and looked at her employer. He was gazing out the window once again, his aloof expression daring her to comment. Never one to refuse a dare, Holly said, “Does the housekeeper always supervise Regan after Mrs. Porter goes home?”
“She doesn’t need much supervision,” Scott replied coolly. “She’s an independent child, you know that.”
“Independent, sure. She also lost her mother three months ago. Have you talked to her?”
“What would you have me say to her?”
Holly gave a helpless shrug even though he wasn’t looking at her. “I don’t know. All I do know is that she adored Caroline—and I’ve never seen her grieve for her mother. Not the day it happened, not at Caroline’s funeral, not anytime since. Has she cried at all?”
Scott didn’t answer immediately, but
finally said, “I don’t know.”
“Scott—”
“Holly, I can’t change my nature just because I’ve suddenly become a single parent. Regan was close to Caroline, but never to me. I’ll do everything I can for the child, but I can’t take Caroline’s place.”
She had known him for eight years, but looking at him now, Holly had no idea what—if anything—he was feeling. He had always been somewhat remote with his daughter, but hardly more so than he was with most other people; perhaps it was his nature.
“I know it’s none of my business, Scott, but I can’t help being concerned. If you don’t reach out to Regan now and help her get past Caroline’s death, I think you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” She got up from the desk, adding briskly, “And that’s my meddling for the day. I’m going home.”
“Drive carefully.”
“Yes. I will.” She went as far as the door, then paused and looked back at him. “Good night, Scott.”
Still gazing out the window, Scott asked, “Does that arrogant artist of yours know how lucky he is?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded slightly, as if her answer didn’t surprise him. “Good night, Holly.”
She went out, quietly closing the door behind her, leaving Scott alone.
Joanna slipped the last sheet of paper into Caroline’s file and leaned back against the pillows banked behind her, frowning. There was still precious little information in the file, not nearly enough to do more than sketch in a life. No color, no … texture. That was it, she decided; so far, she couldn’t really feel the texture in Caroline’s life.
In three hours, Joanna had managed to scan years’ worth of Cliffside’s weekly newspaper, so she had more information than she’d arrived here with—but as she’d said to the sheriff, none of it told her who Caroline had really been.
A wealthy woman, yes—in her own right as well as married to a wealthy man. A woman who had supported a long list of charities, most of them in the areas of medical research and treatment, probably because a younger brother had died of an incurable disease when Caroline was a teenager. A woman who had seemingly been at ease speaking in public. A woman who was known for her sense of style and who wore dresses more often than pants, at least publicly.
Facts … behind which lay only speculation.
Actually, Joanna had discovered far more about Caroline’s character in casual conversation than by reading a recitation of facts in the newspaper. The clerk in the drugstore, for instance, had told her not only that Caroline smoked pretty heavily, but also that it was a nervous habit and that “she bit her nails, too, poor thing.”
The clerk had boasted long, beautifully manicured nails, so her pity was easily understood. Joanna lifted her own hands and studied them, taking note of the neat, medium-length nails, only one ragged thumbnail evidence of her recent nibbling. Aunt Sarah had been quite definite in her ideas of how a young lady should present herself, and those had included well-kept hands and no nervous mannerisms.
Another difference between Joanna and Caroline? Caroline had apparently been nervous, at least in some ways, and Joanna had never been that. Except that for the first time in her life, she had caught herself chewing on her nails in Atlanta during the search for Cliffside and Caroline. An odd coincidence? Or something more eerie?
She shivered unconsciously and let her hands fall. Was it possible, she asked herself, to absorb another person’s mannerisms? A person one had never met? No, surely not. Just as it wasn’t possible to establish some kind of psychic connection with another person just because both of you “died” the same day. It defied logic and common sense.
Yet here she was.
She shook her head, forcing herself to stop thinking about elusive things and to concentrate on the facts she had gathered.
The guy at the gas station, once he’d stopped staring at her, had offered the information that Mrs. McKenna had been a real safe driver, everybody knew that, and it had been a real shock when she’d been killed driving so fast. Some said the car must have had something wrong with it, but he knew for a fact it had been okay, because his boss and the sheriff had practically used a magnifying glass to go over what was left of the wreck, and they hadn’t found a thing wrong, not a thing. So she must have just lost control, that was what his boss and the sheriff thought. And wasn’t it a shame, the whole town thought so ….
And the girl working in The Inn’s gift shop had, in the middle of a long, involved description of her last visit to the town’s clinic, mentioned that Mrs. McKenna had had terrible allergies and had to see the doctor often, especially during the spring and early summer. Of course, she always went straight in to the doctor while others signed in and waited, but nobody minded, truly, because she was so nice, and besides, it was she who had persuaded her husband to open the pharmacy next door, where they kept prices down, so everybody benefited ….
Lesson: Instead of asking questions, just talk to people.
It was something Aunt Sarah had taught Joanna, this inward acknowledgment of the lessons learned in everyday life. She had firmly believed that more could be learned from just observing life than any school had ever taught, and she had convinced Joanna it was true.
So … Caroline had had at least two nervous habits—smoking and biting her nails. A safe driver apparently driving a safe car in good working order, she had wrecked that car driving too fast on a slippery road. And she had suffered from allergies, the condition serious enough that over-the-counter remedies had apparently been ineffective.
A bit of texture. Not much, but some.
And to that, Joanna could add a few insights she had picked up since arriving in Cliffside. Caroline had been a good mother, devoted enough to have a playful carousel horse installed in one of her own favorite places. And if Regan’s comments were anything to go by, it seemed obvious that Caroline had been the more loving of the two parents.
Regan … Joanna felt very uneasy about her. She missed her mother so desperately, and even though she had seemed to accept that Joanna was completely different in almost every way, the similarity of feature might well be enough to cause her to form an attachment. And even if a bond of that sort helped Regan now, it was bound to cause her pain when Joanna left.
Part of Joanna wanted to avoid the child for that very reason. But another part of her wanted to reach out to Regan, because she felt sure Regan hadn’t even begun to deal with her mother’s death. And because there was something in that sad little girl, some worry or knowledge, that tugged desperately at Joanna. She wanted to hold the child, to soothe and protect her.
Protect her…
How do you know when a grown-up is afraid?
“Caroline died in a car wreck,” Joanna heard herself say aloud in a very firm, matter-of-fact voice. “There was nothing wrong with the car. It was just a tragic accident.”
I have bad dreams when I’m scared. Mama did, too, I think. She had a lot of bad dreams last summer. Before the car accident.
“And Regan is just an unhappy, grieving little girl trying to understand why she lost her mother. Trying to find a reason it happened. Trying to make sense out of something so utterly senseless.”
…the sheriff had practically used a magnifying glass to go over what was left of the wreck ….
“He was just being thorough, that’s all. Just trying to find out what had caused her to lose control of the car, because he knew she wasn’t a reckless driver. Not because he suspected anything other than an accident—and if I keep talking to myself like this, especially out loud, somebody’s going to lock me up.”
The sheriff, probably. He’d be happy to, she thought. More than happy to. She hadn’t decided whether he simply didn’t trust her or had another reason, but he definitely did not want her roaming around town asking questions about Caroline.
Why? Because he was protecting the sensibilities of the people in his town—or because there was something he didn’t want her to find out? What if
there was something to find out, something damning? He was the sheriff, after all; he’d know all the details of the “accident” more completely than anyone else. So maybe there had been something suspicious about Caroline’s death, some evidence that it had not been an accident after all. Maybe even evidence of deliberate murder. And maybe the sheriff had kept that to himself because … because of what? Why would the respected sheriff of a small coastal town hide evidence of murder? Because he’d been involved in it himself? Because he was protecting someone else who had?
Joanna slid down on the bed and groaned softly. God, this was ridiculous! She had come three thousand miles to find out about a dead woman, and now she was driving herself nuts imagining that there might have been something deliberate about Caroline’s accident when there wasn’t so much as a hint that that was so. It was worse than ridiculous, it was … crazy.
Joanna had never been quick to judge, yet here she was eyeing this town and everyone in it with distinct suspicion. And why? Because she had a recurring nightmare filled with fear? Because she was convinced beyond all reason that Caroline had somehow reached out to her and needed her help? Because Regan, in her terrible, contained grief, reminded Joanna of the little girl she had been one hot June when her world had changed forever ….
She closed her eyes, feeling tired. It was barely ten o’clock and far too early for bed, but the day behind her seemed unusually long and filled with unfamiliar, uneasy emotions. And unsettling encounters. Regan. Griffin. A little girl almost paralyzed with grief, and a hard man with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. What color were they? She hadn’t been able to tell.
He saw Caroline when he looked at her, just as everyone else had, Joanna knew that. But he also saw … something else. Maybe, she thought, maybe he saw a little bit of Joanna there as well ….
She was walking along the cliffs toward the gazebo, staying out of the woods because the woods weren’t safe. Behind her she kept hearing a gull cry, and finally she looked back over her shoulder, and she saw a girl with long blond hair leap off the cliffs as if trying to fly. She wanted to cry out a warning, but it was too late, the girl was soaring out and down … and down.…And standing on the cliffs where the girl had been was a man, his back to her, and he started to turn, and she was so terribly afraid….