taken aback by the strength of the scowl. Jane Wood had never displayed that kind of venom in the year he’d been here.
“Jane, how are you?” he asked, taking out his wallet to pay for what she was ringing in.
“I was fine.” Blunt and to the point. Jane wasn’t known for her gushing personality, but such overt rudeness was unusual, even for her. Her only movement was to shove up the sleeves of her plaid shirt, and to dump Peta’s purchases into a plastic grocery bag.
With her head down, Peta muttered out her thanks and grabbed her newly purchased personal items. She was gone from the store before Lawson could pocket his wallet.
Out in the wind and sunshine, with his curiosity burning, he showed her to his Jeep. It was all he could do to keep his questions to himself.
Was the police officer right in suspecting this woman of murder? Her behavior told Lawson something different, but mild manners were no guarantee of innocence and people here, it seemed, knew a different Peta Donald. One who, if he was reading the hatred in Jane correctly right now, could have easily murdered the man Lawson had been seeking to bring to justice.
Peta sighed when they reached the lighthouse cottage minutes later. Up on the open meadow, the wind had free reign, bending the few black spruce and jack pine that had broken free of the forest into twisted elements from a Group of Seven painting. The slanted layers of exposed cliff beyond the retired lighthouse and its derelict companion pulled the eye down to the precarious path Lawson’s Jeep bumped along.
She cringed, looking away from the high cliffs. She hated heights. And this place was too solitary for her after years of living in Canada’s biggest city. No longer a part of this world, and now, returning here, she could see that the island didn’t want her anymore, either.
But Danny had asked her to come back, and yes, a part of her had also hoped to somehow set things right with the people she’d hurt. Maybe she could still do that, fear of heights notwithstanding.
“Like I said—” Lawson was saying beside her as he eased up the neglected driveway toward the cottage “—the place isn’t in the best of shape.” They’d skimmed the cliff’s edge, where the sea had stolen land from the shoulder of the lane. Peta turned deliberately away from the view.
“But I put sheets and blankets in plastic containers. And the bed is okay,” he added.
“Don’t worry about that. It’ll be fine.” She’d lived in near squalor shortly after she left home the last time. Her parents were long gone from her life; her aunt Linda had died shortly after receiving that final check before Peta had turned eighteen.
With no direction, no money and Danny deeply involved with Gary Marcano—her former boyfriend had morphed into someone she didn’t want to know—Peta knew that she had to leave Northwind.
After that rough year, she’d finally turned to God. He’d led her back to where she was supposed to be.
Throwing off the memories, she followed Lawson up the short grade to the cottage. Though run-down, it still reflected the essence of its former self, a delightful story-and-a-half cottage with weathered clapboards and tiny windows peeking from the roof. The back annex had started to sag, and several windows were broken and boarded up. A rosebush, probably planted by some long-dead lighthouse keeper’s wife, had begun its assault on the seaward walls, while weeds invaded the flag-stone walkway. Overhead, a gliding seagull cried sharply.
Lawson unlocked the door and after pushing it open, stood back to allow her to enter first.
Immediately, suspicion rose in her. Men didn’t open doors for her. She was hardly attractive enough and certainly not old enough to warrant such special treatment. Unless, of course, handcuffs limited her. Which they had, years ago.
“It’s safe to live in,” Lawson said quietly. “I was up here the other day, and cleaned it up, in fact.”
She pierced him with a sharp look and stepped inside. Did he think she was afraid of spiders or something? They entered the kitchen, and, as he’d said, it was quite clean. Better than Danny’s place.
Lawson gave her a quick tour, suggesting the most suitable bedroom upstairs, which, regrettably, looked out at the cliff, and showed her how to use the tricky shower he had yet to repair.
“But there’s no food here,” he said, returning them to the kitchen. “So will you let me take you out for a bite to eat?”
“Sure.” Despite her easy agreement, she knew what would follow. He’d ask her why people slapped NO VACANCY signs on windows when she walked by and why the officer had automatically assumed she was guilty after hearing about her past.
Oh, well, sometimes you had to sing for your supper.
After she set her new items on the kitchen counter, they left. Lawson locked the door, took the key off his chain and gave it to her. She untied her leather necklace and slipped the key on to dangle beside a small, crudely carved wooden cross. Then the whole thing went back down under her blouse again. “I feel like a latchkey kid.”
He smiled. “Just do your homework, and the only television you’re allowed to watch is PBS.”
She laughed back. “When I was growing up, we could only get one station and it wasn’t PBS. In fact, for a while, my aunt Linda didn’t bother with a TV.”
They returned to town. And as the Jeep barreled straight into the village, she realized the stupid mistake she’d made.
The island had only one café. Suddenly, all the old fears and memories swept back over her. The handcuffs, the shame and the terrible sense that no one cared.
Oh, yes, the café was the last place on the island she wanted to be.
THREE
They found a table in the back, deliberately ignoring the two curious strangers parked by the window. Spying the large duffel bag with a TV station logo between them, Peta knew the man and the woman were reporters.
The small café had been redecorated sometime in the last ten years. Gone were the plastic tablecloths and brown wallpaper in that dated eighties style. Instead, the place had adopted a whale-watching theme, with old-fashioned spyglasses and framed newspaper articles hanging on the pale blue walls.
Who was responsible for this? Not too many islanders would appreciate the touristy feel. And she had yet to see any obvious tourists. Reporters didn’t count.
Was this place still owned by Trudy Bell? Sitting down, Peta glanced around hesitantly. The sun that had been streaming in the long, six-paned windows suddenly dipped behind a cloud. The door to the kitchen swung open, and a waitress trudged out.
She held her breath. Trudy’s longtime employee, Ellie, now made a beeline straight for them, and her expression wasn’t welcoming.
She held her menus tight to her sturdy frame as she spoke to Lawson. “We’ve got a good clientele here, Mr. Mills. Trudy’s already told me not to serve the likes of your guest.”
Peta shut her eyes as the heat surged into her face. Of course Trudy would think that way, after the vandalism.
Lawson stood slowly. “In
