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Anger surged over him, and he fought it back with a gritty prayer. His family was gone. Gone and probably dead, because the police said they’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, witnessing the wrong thing. That was why he was here on Northwind.
To find them. To get justice for them.
Peta was staring at him. “I didn’t kill anyone. And I’ve never seen those pills in my bottle before.”
The gruesome thought of Danny’s death lingered and he shook it away. He’d never liked, or even been able to deal with, graphic imagery. Years ago, in college, his buddies called him a ready-made Christian because all he could handle in movies were the mild comedies.
“Sorry.”
He snapped his attention back to the present. “Why?”
“You looked like you were going to throw up. I know how you feel. Just seeing Danny dead. It was awful.” The ever-blowing wind caught the strands of her hair and plastered them to her face. When she ripped them away, he realized she’d shed a few furtive tears. “I should have done more. I know CPR, first aid. And yet, I took one look down at him and just panicked.”
“The doctor said there wasn’t anything anyone could have done. He even tried and failed,” Lawson said.
“It bothers you, though. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“I’ll live. I don’t like that kind of thing, that’s all. So gruesome.”
She was studying him. He felt the blood rise up his neck. She had a face that was not only beautiful, but also expressive, and yet lost. Peaceful, yet hurting. An intriguing mix.
As if she realized she was staring, as he was, she cleared her throat and stood. “I guess I should make my way up to the lighthouse cottage. I don’t know what to say to your offer, Lawson. It’s very generous.” She began to walk away.
“As the Lord expects us to be.”
She spun. “You’re a Christian?”
“Yes. Does that bother you?”
She smiled, letting out a soft chuckle at the same time. “No. A long time ago, I gave my life to Christ. I wasn’t expecting to find anyone like that here, that’s all.”
“Pastor Martin would be dismayed to hear that.”
“Is he the minister here? The locals—”
She stopped her words, leaving him to wonder what she was going to say. She was a local girl, had returned somewhat reluctantly, he suspected, and had almost reached the point of lashing out at those locals she’d left behind. Yet, she was a Christian, too. Again, her expressive face hinted at a complex woman.
He stood quickly, clearing his throat. “I’ll drive you up to it. My car’s down by the café.”
“Thank you. I should walk, but frankly, I don’t feel like it right now. As soon as I get my wallet back, I’ll pay you some rent.”
He shrugged. “Don’t worry about paying me. And don’t worry about your stuff, either. Let’s stop at the store so you can get whatever else you need. You probably won’t get your belongings back today.”
“Thanks. But for that stuff, I’ll definitely pay you back.”
“If you like.”
He led her down the short distance to the village center. Across the empty street from the café stood the small grocery store. Peta hesitated at the curb, wetting her lips and tucking a long twist of hair behind her ear. It blew free again, but this time she ignored it.
Then, catching his curiosity, she smiled briefly and strode across the street. She’d folded her arms, as if the light jacket and jeans she was wearing weren’t enough for the cool summer they were having. Before stepping off the curb, he glanced around. On the road in front of Danny’s house, a police car sat idling, the officer unfamiliar at this distance. Backup from the mainland? Coming up the wharf road were two newcomers with heavy black bags. Reporters. Even in Canada, they were easily recognizable.
He quickly set off after Peta.
Inside the store, she made her way swiftly down the aisles, not dawdling as he’d seen his mother do on so many occasions. She was the type to shop endlessly, enjoying the whole experience.
A sharp pang sliced through him.
Peta grabbed a toothbrush, a small tube of toothpaste, a cheap washcloth, a towel and a tiny bottle of body wash/shampoo. After that, she made her way to the counter—all business.
Rising from her battered stool behind the counter, the female clerk glared openly at her.
Even Lawson was 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 that case, Ellie, you won’t be serving me today, either.” He walked around to the back of Peta’s chair and pulled it out, with her still in it. “It’s a shame you only serve perfect people. I’ll be sure to recommend this place to the next one I meet.”
Her jaw sagging, Peta rose. Lawson’s hand gripped her elbow as he practically dragged her out of the quiet café. Even the reporters up front gaped at the scene.
Outside, he let her go. “We didn’t have to leave, you know,” she said quietly, though not wanting him to think she was ungrateful. “Ellie would have served us. Her bark is worse than her bite.”
“If she wants to act like a dog, then she shouldn’t be in the hospitality industry. I’ve worked all my life in a restaurant, at all levels, and believe me, you don’t turn customers away.”
He turned around, a questioning frown creasing his forehead as he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Are you for real?”
“I’m as real as you are,” he said.
“I mean, as a Christian. You just told off that woman. And basically called her a dog!”
He smiled briefly. “I think you did first. All I said was if she wanted to act like one she shouldn’t be working in a café. My family runs—ran—a restaurant for years. You don’t treat your patrons like that.” He shook his head. “Peta, being a Christian doesn’t mean you should be a doormat. Or allow injustice to stand.”
“But what you said—”
His jaw tightened. “Maybe I sounded a bit harsh to you, but that’s the way I feel.”
She thought of her congregation in Toronto, an ethnically mixed group of caring people. How would they react to hearing that she’d become a suspect in a murder? How would her minister react to what just happened in that café? He wouldn’t have taken it lightly, either. “You sound like my pastor. He recently said, if I remember correctly, ‘Resistance to tyranny is obedience to God.’”
“He was quoting Susan B. Anthony, an American activist,” Lawson said. “So where’s your church?”
“In Toronto. Downsview, actually, the north part of the city. The church I attend has a lot of immigrants, so my pastor finds himself battling intolerance from a lot of different angles. But what I meant was, so many Christians just try to maintain a strong, silent presence for the Lord. I’ve both admired and scoffed at that.” She blinked, amazed. “I always thought I was the one more likely to overturn the tables in the temple than just make a quiet statement.”
He tipped his head. “What makes you think you’re a disruptive person?”
She shrugged and kept on walking. “I used to be. Hence the shunning here.”
“People change.” They’d reached his Jeep, and for the first time, Peta noticed the mud and peat splashed onto the fenders. No one really needed a car on the island. Twice a week—Monday morning and Friday evening, if she remembered correctly—the car ferry came over for those who needed to head to or return from the mainland. Today was Tuesday. Would she see many cars this Friday night? Would she even be here then?
Lawson opened the passenger door for her. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Is there another restaurant?”
“No, so we may as well go back to my house.”
She climbed in and looked up at him as he still held the door. “You don’t have to feed me.”
“What kind of Christian would I be if I walked away from you now? Besides I’m hungry and you must be, too, because you didn’t buy any food at the store.”
A practical man—and a compassionate one—she decided. As she watched him open his door to climb in, she found herself glad that he’d stood up to Ellie.
But who was he? What had brought him here?
Once buckled in, he drove through the village, past Danny’s house and up a side street that led to the fishing weirs. In the time she’d been gone, a few homes had been built on the once-empty road. Years ago, Danny’s parents had owned all the land up this way. She and Danny and others used to head here on warm summer nights to party, and plan the trouble they’d eventually get into.
She hated those memories and the guilt they heaped on her now.
The driveway Lawson pulled into led to a modest, modern home. She liked the house immediately. Built of logs, it seemed to be more an appendage of its environment than a building. The rustic cabin swept down on the south-facing side, while keeping the north face tucked into the dense mix of spruce and pine.
She looked around. The house had no yard. It wasn’t as if, being new, the yard might still need to be landscaped. No, the house was deliberately nestled in the crowded woods that were still standing as they had for years. Odd that someone wouldn’t want even a small lawn.
She looked over at him. “Did you build this house?”
“No, I rent it.”
She frowned. “This was Danny’s folks’ land. Did you rent it from him?”
“Danny used it as income-generating property.”
She nodded. Danny preferred the easy life, leaving her to wonder once again why he’d remained on this sparsely populated island that had so little action. She turned to Lawson. “Why rent the lighthouse cottage, too? This place looks better.”
