sister,” she pointed out, her mind scurrying busily. How had he identified her with Jason so quickly? She’d never even been to Laurel Ridge before. She had gone straight to Philadelphia when she’d heard the news of Jason’s death. “That’s why our names are different.”
He inclined his head at that obvious statement, but his eyes never left hers. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The phrase sounded a little stilted, but Kate thought she detected real regret in his voice, and she warmed toward him before she reminded herself who he was.
“Thank you.” She hesitated, but curiosity was stronger than her desire to keep the man at arm’s length. “How did you know who I am? Or is it your practice to run a background check on everyone who comes to Laurel Ridge?”
Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to take offense at that, although his face didn’t relax. “I didn’t have to. I recognized you from—” he hesitated, his straight brows drawing down “—from the funeral.”
She was probably gaping at him. Kate gave herself a mental shake. “You were at my brother’s funeral? Why?”
“He died in my town.” The words were clipped. “Call it a courtesy.”
“You didn’t speak to me.”
“Under the circumstances, I thought it was better not to. I figured you and your father didn’t need the reminder of what happened.”
“Stepfather,” she corrected automatically. “You mean your assumption that Jason was just another druggie who’d overdosed in your town.”
He stiffened. “It wasn’t a question of assuming anything. The postmortem confirmed the cause of his death.”
She wanted to protest that Jason had been clean for nearly three years before he died, but told herself bitterly that it was hardly likely a cop would be convinced by her opinion. Not when Jason’s own father hadn’t been.
Kate rubbed her arms, chilled by the vivid reminder. Jason had looked so young by the time she’d been able to see his body at the viewing. With every care and stress wiped from his face, he might have been a sleeping child again.
When she didn’t speak, Whiting frowned at her with a look of frustration. “Weren’t you satisfied with the coroner’s findings? Is that it?”
“No.” She could hear the reluctance in her voice. She’d like to argue, but she couldn’t. Jason had died of a combination of powerful prescription painkillers and alcohol. It was only too likely. But it didn’t answer the important question. It didn’t tell her why.
“Ms. Beaumont?” Whiting’s voice had gentled, and he reached toward her tentatively. “I’m sorry. I wish it had been different.”
He sounded convincing, but she wasn’t going to take anything at face value here.
“Yes.” Different. If she’d come before, if she’d known or even guessed... But there was no point in going down that road again.
“When I spoke to you earlier, at the cemetery—” he paused “—did you want to see the place? Is that why you’re here in Laurel Ridge?”
Whiting was bound to ask that question, of course. And she’d have to answer him, but she wasn’t about to trust him with the real reason she was here. He would, inevitably, be on the side of his town, his people.
“I’m taking some time off before I start looking for a new job.” That, at least, was more or less true. The Baltimore paper that had employed her suffered, as most print papers did, from dwindling circulation. They’d resorted to what they euphemistically called retrenchment. “My stepfather passed away recently, so I don’t have any other family left. I wanted to spend a little time in the last place my brother lived.”
That might sound morbid, but it was the best she could do in terms of an explanation.
“I see.” Whiting was studying her face, as if measuring exactly how much he believed her. “I’m sorry about your stepfather.”
She nodded, accepting the sympathy wordlessly. He would, she supposed, expect her to regret Tom Reilley’s death, and she didn’t have anything to say that was likely to make sense to a man like Whiting. Another cop, another man with hard edges and no tolerance for someone who didn’t live by his rules.
He took a step back, and Kate felt as if she could breathe again.
“I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for here.”
Her gaze flew to his face, but he apparently didn’t mean anything specific by the words. He was just attempting to console. He couldn’t possibly have any idea what she was really looking for in Laurel Ridge.
I want to know why. I want to know what happened to my little brother in your town that led to him taking his own life.
SINCE HER IDENTITY was already known to Chief Whiting, Kate didn’t see much point in being less than open with the owner of the bed-and-breakfast. She paused on the sidewalk, taking in the white-frame building, its welcoming porch lined with pots of yellow-and-burgundy chrysanthemums. Jason had mentioned Mrs. Anderson in one of his infrequent phone calls last summer, and Kate had formed the impression from his words of a bustling busybody, intent on knowing all about her guests and everyone else in town.
Well, the woman wouldn’t have to pry if Kate was up-front with her—relatively speaking, at least. And if Mrs. Anderson spread the word about Kate’s presence, it might pave the way to conversations with people who had known him. Of course, Mac Whiting might already be talking about her. She grimaced, not sure she wanted to know what he thought.
The front door stood hospitably open. Kate rang the bell once and stepped inside, onto a braided rug bright against wide, gleaming oak floorboards. An archway on one side of the hall led into a sunny living room—or maybe parlor was a better word, given the Victorian settees, marble-topped tables and grandfather clock. To her left, a drop-leaf table apparently did duty as a reception desk, and a heavily carved staircase wound upward behind it.
No doubt alerted by the bell, a woman emerged from a swinging door that must lead to the back of the ground floor—probably the kitchen and private area. Plump and graying, the woman had a beaming smile for her visitor.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I’m Grace Anderson. Passing through, are you? Were you looking for a room for the night?” She hurried to flip open an old-fashioned register on the table, sounding hopeful.
“Actually, I’d like to stay for a bit longer than that.” She paused, oddly reluctant to take the plunge now that she was here. “I’m Kate Beaumont. Jason Reilley was my brother.”
“Oh, my dear.” The smiling expression crumpled, and Mrs. Anderson’s eyes filled with tears. She came around the table, holding both hands out to Kate. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
The woman’s obvious distress pierced Kate’s armor, and she fought back her own tears. “Thank you.” Her voice was husky, and she cleared her throat. “Jason spoke of your kindness.”
Actually, Jason had seemed
