Deadly Reckoning

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She planted her red-lipsticked lips on his mouth, smacking loudly. “You know you don’t mean that.” She peered around him at Kayla.

Several inches shorter than Jillian, Kayla stood in a peasant blouse and faded broomstick skirt, feeling as if she blended in with the woodwork next to the more glamorous blonde in her sleek business attire.

“Who’ve you got here?” The blonde held out her hand, her brows lifting delicately.

“Jillian, Kayla Davies. Kayla, Jillian Taylor.”

“What a pleasant surprise.” Jillian’s lips turned upward in a genuine smile. “Kayla, darling. I stopped by to check on you, but you’d flown the coop. I hope you found everything all right.”

Gabe frowned. “You two know each other?”

Jillian hugged Kayla and stood with her arm around Kayla’s waist.

Kayla forced a smile to her lips, still shaken by the necklace she’d found in her car and the stab of something smarting like jealousy over Jillian and Gabe’s friendly greeting. “Jillian rented the lighthouse cottage to me.”

“We’ve exchanged a number of phone calls and emails, but this is the first time we’ve actually met face-to-face.” Jillian hugged her again. “It’s a pleasure.” Her smile faded. “I hope you aren’t put off by the news this morning. That poor girl, murdered in our town.” Her brows dipped low. “But don’t you worry. Gabe, here, will find her killer before you know it, won’t you, Gabe?”

“I’m working on it.” Gabe shoved the handkerchief with the necklace into his pocket, his solemn gaze seeking Kayla’s. “I promise to do the best I can to bring him in.”

“Please do, I just don’t feel safe anymore.” Jillian wrapped her slim arms around her middle and shivered.

A lean, black, shiny sedan pulled into the driveway and parked between Kayla’s and Jillian’s vehicles. A man dressed in tailored slacks and a polo shirt climbed out.

“Lawrence, honey. My directions got you here just fine, didn’t they?” Jillian strode toward the man and held out her hand. “Did you check out those properties I listed for you?”

The man climbed the porch steps and took Jillian’s outstretched hand. “I did. I think the one overlooking the bay shows promise. I’m just not certain it has enough acreage.” His gaze slid to Gabe and Kayla, his smile spreading across his face. He nodded at Gabe. “Lawrence Wilson.”

“Mr. Wilson,” Gabe acknowledged the latest arrival and turned to Kayla. “This is Kayla Davies, Cape Churn’s newest resident.”

“She’s renting the lighthouse cottage I showed you a few days ago.” Jillian hooked her arm through Lawrence’s and pulled him toward the front door. “I smell Molly’s famous clam chowder, let’s go inside. We can talk there.”

Molly was placing a basket of dinner rolls on the table when they entered the dining room. “Oh, good. Dinner’s ready.”

Kayla hung back while the older couple staying at the B and B found seats together. Lawrence Wilson held a chair for Jillian, and Dakota entered, headset still plugged in.

Gabe made a motion with his hand and shook his head at his son.

Dakota frowned, but yanked the earpieces out and slouched into a chair.

Gabe held a chair for Kayla and then sat beside her.

Molly took a seat at the end of the table and smiled at her guests. “If you all don’t mind, I’d like to take a moment to say a prayer for the unfortunate girl who lost her life last night.”

All heads bowed. Kayla closed her eyes, her fingers clenched around the napkin in her lap.

“Dear Lord, please look out for the young woman whose life was needlessly taken. Help her family through their grief. And Lord, please help the authorities bring the man who committed this heinous crime to swift justice. Amen.”

As everyone started talking at once, reaching for food and passing platters, Gabe leaned close to Kayla. “We’ll get him.”

Kayla stared up into his eyes. “Before he hurts someone else?” she whispered.

“We’ll do our best.” He reached over and squeezed her hand, then let go as someone passed the basket of rolls to him. “Try these. My sister makes the best honey-yeast rolls on the coast.”

Kayla took a deep breath and a roll. She needed something to do with her hands other than twisting them in her lap. And she needed nourishment for her baby.

She could still feel the warmth of Gabe’s fingers on hers. But Gabe couldn’t always be there to chase away her fears. Kayla had to deal with them alone.

Molly ladled chowder into a bowl and passed it down the table “So, Kayla, where are you from?”

Kayla placed the bowl of creamy, steaming chowder in front of her, the aroma stirring her hunger to life. “Seattle.”

“Are you here just for the summer or do you plan to make Cape Churn your home?”

Kayla smiled. “I’m keeping an open mind.” She really didn’t want to raise her child in Seattle. Especially not without Tony. No, if she was going to have this child on her own, she’d need the perfect home for the two of them.

“What happened last night isn’t making Cape Churn your number-one choice, is it?” Dakota muttered, the first words he’d spoken since taking a seat at the table.

Kayla stared down at her hands in her lap. “I’m so sorry for that girl and her family.”

“You think murder and crime is restricted to cities,” Mr. Johnson commented, “but it’s not.” He slathered butter on his roll and bit into it. “Mmm. These are the best dinner rolls I’ve had in a long time.

“Thanks.” Molly tucked her napkin in her lap and reached for one.

Jillian smiled across the table at Kayla. “I’m curious, Kayla. How did you find Cape Churn, and specifically, our little real-estate office?”

Glad the topic had moved off the murder, Kayla answered, “I received a brochure in the mail from your off ice.”

Jillian’s brows rose. “Really? Hmm. I don’t recall mailing any to Seattle recently. I had planned on doing a mass mailing next week.” She shrugged. “Someone must have been reading my mind, and I’m glad they did.”

“What is it you do, Ms. Davies?” Lawrence Wilson lifted a spoonful of chowder to his lips, concentrating on the soup, his gaze never rising to meet hers.

An introvert at heart, Kayla shifted in her seat, aware that all other eyes around the table were directed toward her. “I paint.”

“Kayla Davies.” Molly’s brows dipped. “Seems like I know that name from somewhere. I’ve been chewing on it, but can’t recall.”

“She’s only the hottest artist in Seattle right now. Heck, probably in the States,” Jillian gushed.

“No, that’s not it.” Molly’s eyes widened. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure you’re fabulous, but that’s not where I heard your name. I think it was on the news recently.”

Mrs. Johnson’s eyes widened. “That’s right. Weren’t you attacked in Seattle a couple weeks ago? It was all over the papers and on television. After an art exhibit or something?”

Kayla’s face burned and she tried to think of something to say that didn’t sound flippant. All she wanted was for the subject to drop. She’d come to Cape Churn to forget and move on.

“Sure would like more of that chowder,” Gabe said, breaking the silence. He handed his empty bowl to Molly. “Saw a vehicle head out to the Stratford mansion. Is Stratford back in town?”

Kayla let go of the breath she’d been holding and tried to relax, grateful that Gabe had deflected attention from her. From beneath her lashes, she darted a glance across the table at Lawrence Wilson.

He’d been staring at her, but as soon as she looked up, his gaze dropped.

A chill cooled the air around Kayla.

Wilson turned to Jillian and asked for the salt and pepper, breaking the tension that perhaps only Kayla felt.

“Nora Taggert said Stratford ordered takeout for two yesterday.” Jillian dabbed chowder from her lips. “Wonder who he brought back with him.”

“In all the years I’ve lived in Cape Churn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him bring someone back to the mansion.” Molly poured wine into her glass and set the bottle on the table. “He’s such a loner.”

Jillian nodded. “Doesn’t stay long when he comes. Hard to get to know a man who’s never around.”

Gabe agreed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Stratford. “How long has he been back?”

“Who knows?” Jillian shrugged. “Nora’s mention is the first I’d heard. He hasn’t been out and about except to walk along the cliff.”

“Never was one to live at the mansion for very long. And when he’s there, he doesn’t come out. The man’s a recluse, if ever there was one.” Molly nodded toward Kayla. “He lives on the crag closest to the lighthouse.”

“You should see his place.” Jillian leaned forward. “It’s the biggest house around and practically empty. His grandfather left it to him when he died. As far as I know, Andrew Stratford only comes here to check on the upkeep. Such a shame. I bet I could get a good price for the property.”

“Any idea where Stratford lives when he’s not at the mansion?” Gabe asked.

Jillian shrugged. “No. He has a service come out from Portland to tend the property and a full-time caretaker we only see on occasion purchasing supplies.”

Kayla wondered where Gabe was going with his questions about Stratford. An image of a solitary figure and a silvery-white blur flashed across her thoughts. “Does Mr. Stratford have a dog?”

Molly’s brows pinched. “No, that would be Frank Mortimer. Walks his dog along the cliff’s edge now and then near sundown. Doesn’t like people much.”

The man had been walking along the cliff around the same time the group of young people had gone down to the beach below the lighthouse. Chances were, he’d seen them from where he was. “Does Mr. Mortimer leave town much?”

“Hard to say. We really don’t see him coming and going. If he does, it’s at night when no one is watching.”