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This woman had baggage. She was a widow with a troubled daughter. Most scary of all, she brought out feelings in him he couldn’t understand, let alone name.
And she had the power to write him a check for several hundred thousand dollars. He couldn’t forget that.
MAUREEN WAS SO ENGROSSED in her conversation with Jake that at first she didn’t notice the man by the window staring at her. When she gave a casual glance to the side and their gazes connected, she felt a fissure of distaste, and a sense of having seen him somewhere before.
He was tall, in his late fifties, and looked like a golfer, with his overly tanned skin, cotton pants and short-sleeved T-shirt with a collar. Caught staring, he wasn’t at all abashed. Just nodded and grinned. Smug. Arrogant. She turned her back and waited a moment before asking.
“Who’s that man? Sitting by himself at the window…”
“That’s our mayor,” Jake said. “Max Strongman. Surely Dylan and Cathleen have told you about him.”
“Oh!” She took a second look and was relieved that he wasn’t watching her anymore. “Yes, of course. I think we met once, many years ago.” She lowered her voice. “Dylan believes Max put James up to killing Rose.”
“So do I,” Jake said frankly. “James came out for a week of heli-skiing two winters ago. While no coward, I wouldn’t call him a deep thinker. He’s the kind of man easily influenced by those around him.”
“Do you feel he was behind Jilly Beckett’s murder, too?”
“That’s trickier, although I wouldn’t put that past him, either. Both he and his father seem to have a vendetta against Dylan.”
“Which makes sense,” Maureen pointed out, “when you consider Dylan has always been their only real obstacle to the McLean property.”
“And all the money from the oil wells and future property development,” Jake agreed. “No doubt they’d love to see him behind bars. I think Jilly’s death was supposed to be a setup for Dylan. At any rate, it stopped the protest that might have delayed their oil deal.”
Maureen tried another taste of the bagel. It was good, but she didn’t care for the cream cheese slathered on top. Mention of Jilly reminded her of Linda, who was rarely out of her thoughts these days. One day soon she had to call her….
“I was at Jilly’s father’s funeral last week.” She had no idea what had prompted her to tell Jake. But he leaned forward with apparent interest.
“Yeah, I read about Beckett. Very sad.”
“I have this strange feeling that we haven’t yet uncovered the truth about the night Jilly was killed, and there may be more lives lost because of it.” Maureen paused, wondering whether Jake had any clue what she meant, or if he was nodding to be polite.
“I feel the same way. When I see Max Strongman walking the streets of this town, living off the gravy from his dead wife’s oil wells, well, I tell you, it just doesn’t sit right.”
“Even before you told me his name, I had this antipathy toward him.”
“That proves you have good instincts.”
Maureen knew she did, and for that reason she almost always went with her gut feeling when it was strong. As it was about Jake Hartman.
That was why, despite the potential problems with this heli-skiing business, she’d decided to go ahead with the deal. It would take most of Rod’s insurance proceeds, but if the returns were as good as expected, the risk would be well worth it.
Her only hesitation came from the prospect of working with Jake. It concerned her that as a supposedly mature man he was still devoting his life to the toys and games that belonged to youth.
Just like Rod.
Ah, but she wasn’t marrying Jake, was she. Merely going into partnership with him. It didn’t matter that he was so damn attractive. Or that he seemed to have an uncanny ability to read her mind.
“Cathleen tells me you’re considering moving to Canmore?”
“Considering,” she emphasized. “If I can sell my place in Calgary, work out a deal with my partners at the law firm, find the right place to buy here in Canmore.” She smiled ruefully at all the uncertainties yet to be faced.
“Do you have a real estate agent looking for you?”
“Yes. My sisters have hooked me up with Beth Gibson. She used to run a catering business, but I understand she’s been in real estate for several years now and is one of the top selling agents in town.”
“As well as being an alderwoman on town council,” Jake said. “She’s quite an amazing person, all right.”
Maureen’s cell phone on the table rang. With an apologetic shrug, she turned it off after checking the display to see who had called.
“I guess we’d better get our papers signed,” he said. “If you don’t have any more questions.”
Maureen picked up his one-pager, which she’d already scanned, then handed it to him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of bringing my own agreement.”
He seemed apprehensive as she unsnapped her briefcase, and his eyes definitely widened as she pulled out the twenty-five-page document she’d drafted at home on her laptop last night.
“Why don’t you have your lawyer check through this before you sign,” she suggested. “Initial any changes you’d like to make, and I’ll consider them.”
Jake took a few seconds to absorb all this. “And the money?”
“As soon as I receive the signed contract, I’ll transfer the funds directly to your bank.” She stood, whisking up her briefcase and the phone. “Nice to meet you, Jake.”
“You haven’t touched your coffee.”
“I don’t drink regular coffee. For future reference, I prefer lattes. Double espresso and skim milk.”
After a brief pause, Jake responded mildly, “I’ll make note of that.”
Had he thought her rude? “It’s just that I can’t take coffee without milk anymore.”
“Stomach problems?”
She didn’t answer, annoyed once more that she’d let their conversation turn too personal.
“Or maybe just too much tension in your life? You know, moving to Canmore would definitely help you with that.”
Somehow Jake’s eyes seemed to be saying more than his words. As if he wanted her to make the move, for his own personal reasons. For a moment she felt a buzz of uncertainty.
This was what she’d been worried about. This undercurrent between them…almost as if…
But no. It couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be.
“Goodbye, Jake,” she said firmly. It was past time for this meeting to end.
CHAPTER FOUR
MOVING INTO CATHLEEN AND Dylan’s B and B even temporarily seemed a terrible imposition. Unfortunately, Maureen didn’t have much choice. Since that first meeting with Jake two weeks ago, fate had pushed her to Canmore. Maureen felt like a reluctant swimmer asked to jump off the diving board at the deep end of the pool.
Seconds after parking her BMW next to her sister’s Jeep, Maureen was lugging the top suitcase from the trunk, while Holly ran inside the B and B to announce their arrival. Maureen took the opportunity to grab a few breaths of fresh air. Any second now, chaos would erupt again….
The madness had begun with a phone call she’d placed shortly after signing the agreement with Jake, to a real estate company in Calgary about listing her home. It just so happened that the agent had a buyer willing to pay top dollar for immediate possession. Given twenty-four hours to think about it, Maureen had talked to Holly and her teachers.
Holly claimed not to care what Maureen did. The teachers considered a change might be in her daughter’s best interest.
That had left dealing with her partners about leaving the firm. Here again she’d met with less resistance than she’d expected. They’d been very open-minded about a year’s leave of absence. Of course, she would have to finish up a few cases personally. But by and large, the other partners were willing to take on her clients, including that new case in Edmonton.
Now she was more unfettered than she’d been since Holly was born—and scared to death about it. What was she going to do with her time? Certainly not spend it all with her daughter, as Kelly had suggested. On the drive up, Holly had barely spoken. Their relationship was getting worse with every passing day, it seemed.
At the sound of the screen door opening, Maureen braced herself.
“You made it!” Cathleen burst through the door and came barreling toward her. She was wearing jeans, a white shirt and brown boots, her dark hair a tumble of waves framing her wonderfully expressive face. “Oh, Maureen, this is going to be such fun!”
“I’m not sure Canmore is big enough for the two of us, let alone this house of yours.” Maureen gave her sister a tight hug and a peck on the cheek. “But we do appreciate your hospitality, that’s for sure.”
“Don’t be silly. The lodge is huge. We have lots of room. Here’s Dylan. He was working on the books, so don’t mind if he’s grumpy.”
“You’re the one who gets crotchety doing the books, darlin’. Not me.” Dylan stepped off the porch, toward the car. “Hey, Maureen. Let me get those for you.” He took a suitcase in each hand, then glanced back at his wife. “Which rooms?”
“Teddy Bear for Holly,” she said. “Which would you like, Maureen?”
“The Three Sisters room. If it’s free.” Located at the front of the second story, the suite had a big bay window with a view of the triple-peaked mountain that the Shannon girls liked to pretend had been named for them.
“All the rooms are empty this week,” Cathleen said. “It’s still a little early in the season.”
“Well, hopefully we’ll be out of here before summer,” Maureen said. She felt bad about taking up two rooms as it was, especially as both Cathleen and Dylan had refused to accept payment for this stay.
“I’m not trying to get rid of you, understand, but the cutest town house just went on the market. Beth Gibson phoned this morning, and Kelly and I want to show you later. Come inside and let’s have a coffee. Poppy’s been baking.”
Poppy was always baking. Poppy was their grandmother on the paternal side of the family, but none of them had known about her until she’d arrived on Cathleen’s doorstep last summer. The redheaded seventy-year-old had claimed she was a cookbook author who needed a place to stay and work on her latest project.
Not once had any of the Shannon girls suspected that this woman was in fact the mother of their vagabond father, who’d deserted their family shortly after Kelly’s birth.
Once Poppy had admitted her true relationship to them, she’d provided the girls with the missing pieces of the puzzle. Apparently, after leaving his family, their father had returned home to the Maritimes and never mentioned his wife and three daughters. Only after his death in a car accident had Poppy discovered the truth.
She’d found it easy to track her three granddaughters to Alberta, but hadn’t risked contacting them directly, worried that negative feelings for their father might make them unreceptive to other members from that side of the family. So she’d booked into Cathleen’s bed-and-breakfast as a guest, to see how things went from there.
Frankly, Maureen wasn’t all that impressed with the subterfuge. But her sisters had taken to their new grandmother unreservedly, to the extent that the elder woman was now an integral part of their lives. Poppy had been managing the kitchen at the B and B since the first day she moved in. And now she baby-sat Billy and Amanda on the afternoons that Kelly had to work and Mick was at the paper.
Poppy was pulling butter tarts from the oven just as Maureen stepped into the kitchen. Holly was at the large oak table, a glass of milk already in front of her. Poppy glanced up from the hot tray with a welcoming smile.
“It’s so good to see you, Maureen. My, but you’re thin.”
“And it looks like you have just the remedy.” Maureen accepted Poppy’s kiss without reciprocating. Scents of vanilla and toasted pecans emanated from the small baked pastries. “Cath, how do you keep your figure with this woman’s cooking to tempt you all the time?”
“Oh, we believe in lots of vigorous physical activity around here.” Dylan came up from behind with the suitcases. He winked at Cathleen, whose suddenly pink cheeks told the whole story.
Maureen laughed, then helped herself to a mug. She poured it half full of coffee, topped it with milk, then stuck it in the microwave for forty seconds.
“Can I ride Cascade every day now that we live here?” Holly asked her aunt.
“You bet, kiddo. She’ll love the extra attention.”
Maureen noticed a beautiful white cat peeking out from under Cathleen’s chair. She bent to the floor.
“Hey, pretty kitty. Who are you?”
“Oh, Crystal was Dylan’s mother’s cat,” Cathleen explained. “He found her out on the street the day of his mother’s funeral.”
“Max kicked her out? Oh, you poor baby.”
Coaxed from her hiding place, Crystal allowed Maureen to scratch her under the chin before scurrying from the room.
Three beeps from the microwave announced that Maureen’s coffee with milk was hot. She cupped the mug in her hands, then stood to one side as Holly chatted happily with Poppy and Cathleen. It was great to see her daughter so animated. So she could be happy. When the right people were around.
Unlike many girls her age, Holly still didn’t care much about fashion or her looks. She wore her blond hair short, hadn’t asked to pierce her ears and still chose clothing with comfort in mind. Today she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and thick gray socks.
Maureen supposed she was a bit of a tomboy, as Kelly had been at that age. Which Rod had definitely encouraged Holly to be.
Another sip of coffee went down like sulfuric acid. The pit of her stomach felt like a witch’s cauldron today. Must be the anxiety of the move…wondering whether or not she’d made the right decision. Maureen tossed the remaining contents of the mug down the drain and poured herself water, instead.
“I’ve put out plates and forks because the tarts are still so warm,” Poppy said, serving Holly first. Maureen noticed that Holly didn’t slide away when Poppy put a hand round her shoulders. “You’ll be starting at the Laurence Grassi Middle School, will you?”
Holly nodded. “I guess.”
Dylan had come downstairs from depositing their luggage. Maureen noticed him trying to catch her eye, his expression unusually serious.
“What’s up, Dylan?”
“I was wondering if you went to Conrad Beckett’s funeral,” he said. “Cathleen and I debated whether or not to attend. In the final analysis we decided against it.”
She understood his dilemma. He wouldn’t want to stir up old memories of Jilly’s murder. “I did go. Linda looked pretty rough.”
Guilt nudged as she recalled her good intentions of phoning before the move. But she hadn’t had five minutes to spare in the past two weeks.
“Do you think we’ll ever know who killed Jilly?” Holly asked.
“Knowing and proving are two different things, kiddo.” Dylan ruffled the curls on Holly’s head, then straddled the chair next to hers. Again, Maureen noted how her daughter didn’t seem to mind being touched, this time by her uncle.
How long would it take, she wondered, until everyone living in this house realized how much her own daughter despised and avoided her? Then one of her little secrets would be out….
That competent, capable Maureen was a lousy mother.
HOLLY LOVED HER NEW BEDROOM. It was a little young for a twelve-year-old, but she didn’t care. Each teddy bear in the room had its own personality. She’d named many of them on previous stays. Now she took Stanley off one of the shelves and propped him on the bed next to her.
“Hey there, Stanley. Want to know something? You and I are going to figure out who murdered Jilly Beckett.” All great detectives had a sidekick, right? Sherlock had Watson. Poirot had Hastings. She would have Stanley.
The bear stared back at her. She imagined him nodding his approval. Yes. I think I can work with you.
She pulled her backpack up from the floor and dug out the detecting kit her parents had bought for her eighth birthday. She’d told them she was going to be a detective when she grew up. They—especially her mother—thought it was just a phase, but it wasn’t. She was serious, and Jilly’s murder was the perfect opportunity to prove it.
