Deadly Homecoming

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“I just need some rest,” she added. “And since I can’t prove my alibi, I should start looking for a lawyer tomorrow.”

That was his cue to leave. She looked too tired to care anyway. He grabbed the doorknob and pulled, forcing his feet to move him out of the way, and out of any temptation to comfort her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He left her, but not the property. At the point closest to the cliff, he stopped the car, and climbed out. Night had fallen, and the fog was now seeping in, though not enough to obscure his view of the cottage. He could see Peta move from room to room, closing curtains, but leaving the lights on. He glanced down at the cliff. It was getting perilously close to the narrow driveway.

The only evidence of Peta’s fall lay in the crushed grass and the clumps of yanked-up weeds, both visible in his Jeep’s headlights. Off to one side sat a short, sturdy log, and beside it, the sleeve of crackers he’d given Peta. He stooped to pick them up, unable to ignore the signs of leftover panic.

There was no way she could have gone into Danny’s gazebo. And no way she’d be foolish enough to leave all that evidence around.

Which meant someone was framing her for murder.

Upstairs in the bedroom, with her eyes closed, Peta shut out the view of the bay, and the line of trees beyond the cottage that stood judgmentally silent, reminding her of all the things she and Danny had done. She hated the memories of the pain she’d caused the people here.

And she felt a sharp pang of loss at Danny’s death, something she hadn’t expected. Danny and she hadn’t parted on good terms, the argument something petty and long forgotten. Though they’d made up several months later, the hard feelings had lingered between them. Now, a sense of regret swept over her.

Once notified, Danny’s cousins would probably come. She could barely remember them. They lived somewhere around Fredericton. One had joined the military and was posted at the nearby base. She didn’t even remember which side of the family they were from.

With tightly closed eyes, she recalled her unique view of the tree line, courtesy of her fall. In the time she’d been gone, a few maples and oaks had grown up. It would be pretty in the fall. And this lawn, more a meadow this time of year, had defied the cool temps and blossomed. Daisies and devil’s paintbrush danced in her mind’s eye, as if trying to calm her leftover terror.

Northwind was the perfect place for photographers and painters. Strangely, though, this small island had never attracted artsy types. The locals had refused to cultivate an openness to that kind of tourist. Why, Peta never knew. The whole island was scenic and pleasant, even with the fog rolling in on cool mornings. Photographers would love it here, but the locals preferred their island to remain quiet and unspoiled.

On the bedside table, the phone rang. She turned and stared at it. Who would be calling her at this hour? And who even knew she was staying here? To be honest, she hadn’t expected the phone to be hooked up. It had to be for Lawson, as he’d already rented this cottage.

The third ring rattled through her and she reached out to grab it.

“Hello?”

A pause. “You gotta leave the island.”

“Who is this?”

Another creepy pause. Her voice rose. “Who is this?”

“Drugs are bad, Peta. Look what happened.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There are bad things here.”

She tried to focus on the voice, but it was plain, accentless to her ear, slow and deliberate. And though she thought the speaker was male, she wasn’t entirely sure. “You mean the murder? Did you kill Danny?”

“No!”

“How do I know that? Why are you warning me?”

No answer.

“Why are you trying to frame me?”

“I’m not! I saw you fall.” The person let out a squeaky noise. Was this a man? “Those cliffs are bad for you. For everyone.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a pensive pause. Finally, the caller spoke again. “Drugs are bad, rifles are bad. Danny’s bad.”

“This is crazy. You should tell the police if you know something about Danny’s death.”

The tone changed. The voice deepened. “‘Some things are better left in civilians’ hands.’”

Her blood chilled, leaving an icy hand to clutch her stomach. The whole mood switched from concern to something more sinister. Determined to ignore the melodramatic change, she snapped, “Who are you? What’s your name?”

“I can’t tell you no more! Just go.”

The line went dead. She immediately hit the call return buttons, but a canned recording told her that the number wasn’t available.

There was something else, too, something in his—or her—words, bad grammar aside. Whoever it was, one thing was certain. She’d heard that voice before. But where?

Heart thumping, she set down the phone. Should she call the police, tell them what this person had just said? Would they even believe her? Getting this call now seemed a bit too convenient.

Immediately, she thought of Lawson. But what could he do to help her? Did she even want his help?

She did. If he’d opened his arms to her tonight, she’d have walked right into them. There seemed to be a connection growing between them, some kind of odd, indefinable bond, despite the short time they’d known each other.

But that didn’t mean she should call him, no matter how much she wanted to prove her innocence.

Her head starting to pound, she knew what she really needed was to crawl into bed, shut her eyes and pray that she woke tomorrow morning ready to tackle the situation God had just dumped on her.

Peta was surprised to find Lawson at the police station the next day. She’d been up early, just after dawn, a bit too early by her personal standards, but with only light curtains draped across the small bedroom window, she was awake as soon as the sun rose.

Lawson stood when she was directed down the short corridor toward Constable Long’s office. Their gazes locked and she swallowed. Why was he here?

“How did you sleep?” he asked when she reached him.

“Better than I expected. I’m no worse for wear now. Why are you here?”

He frowned and wet his lips. “I need to talk to Constable Long. You mentioned that you’re afraid of heights. The gazebo is very close to the cliff, almost to the point of falling into the bay.”

She gasped. “I hadn’t thought of that. But do you honestly think Constable Long would believe you?”

“Is there anyone in Toronto who can verify your fear?”

She’d kept her fear tucked away. The company that hired her was always looking for excuses to downsize, and a fear of heights like the ones in the plant would be grounds enough.

The closeness of the buildings in the city actually kept her acrophobic feelings at bay. Plus, she liked her solitude. It had been her best friend for a long time. Now, though…She shook her head. “Not really.”

He looked grim. “Still, he needs to know.”

She shut her eyes. “Danny must have known his killer.” She shivered. “I can still see him in my mind. The way he looked in the gazebo. There didn’t seem to be a struggle.”

“Try not to dwell on that.”

She glanced around. “But I know what the islanders are thinking. Being poisoned—if that’s how he died—doesn’t feel like a violent crime, and women prefer to kill in less messy ways.” She turned to him. “But I didn’t do it.”

She gauged his reaction. He didn’t appear to be afraid of her. And yet, he seemed determined to keep his distance.

As if to confirm her observation, he folded his arms tightly and stepped back. “So what brought you here today?”

“I needed to find out when I can have my knapsack back. I have no clothes, no money. Surely they’re done with it.”

“Didn’t Constable Long tell you he’d drop it by?”

She glanced around at the busy station. The glass entrance doors opened onto the back parking lot, which was packed now with patrol cars. A couple of police officers she assumed were from the mainland stood talking to people whose faces were old, but familiar. She turned back to Lawson. “I want to prove that I’m not guilty. I want them to know I’m willing to cooperate.”

I want to show you that I’m innocent.

Peta couldn’t say that. Even acknowledging that she’d thought it was ridiculous. Lawson was living on this island, taking some kind of self-imposed downtime. He’d chosen Northwind. Enough reason to steer clear of him.

Still, did he believe she was innocent? Her heart beat fast at the thought.

“Hey!”

They turned. Peta watched as Tom Kimbly, who operated the hardware store now that his father had retired, hurried down toward Lawson. “Yes?”

Tom glanced down at her. Peta felt the ice in his look hit her, and turned away. It had been Tom’s old car she’d vandalized once, on a stupid dare.

She’d been so immature, so foolish and fighting so much in her life. She should just offer her apologies to Tom and, after all these years, somehow start to rebuild those bridges she had burned.

Tom turned his back on her and faced Lawson. “What brings you here?”

“I need to see Constable Long.”

Kimbly took his arm. “Lawson, you’re a good guy. Don’t be getting strung along by her stories, all right?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I heard you left the café on accounts of her, and I can tell you, she’s not worth it. She’s bad news.”

Lawson’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t judge people by what others say, Tom. And I would have thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

The man looked uncomfortable. Then, obviously feeling foolish, Tom said, “Everyone knows she was involved in Danny’s murder. The police here wouldn’t suspect her if they didn’t have a good reason.”

Peta turned and walked away, choosing to ignore the man rather than confront him. If Lawson said anything more to Tom, she didn’t hear it. She spotted Constable Long walking toward her, and straightened her shoulders.

“Nope, I ain’t seen him in a long time. I can’t tell you no more.”

Peta stopped and spun. Those words. Who had spoken them? At the end of the hall, Lawson stood frowning at her. Tom Kimbly had already left the building. Through the glass doors beyond, she could see him hurrying around the corner, probably to return to his store.

All the offices and rooms were filled, with the extra police taking statements from every adult on the island, it seemed. Some doors were open, some closed, but all the conversations penetrated the thin walls.

“He was bad, he was.”

That voice, again. Now she was sure it was a man. Peta pivoted. Where did it come from?

“What’s wrong?”

She looked up as Lawson approached. “That voice! The same as last night. Whoever warned me off the island is here in the building!”

FIVE

“What are you talking about?” Lawson shook his head, not following her words. “Who called you last night?”

Peta took his arm and led him to one side of the narrow corridor. She held her forefinger to her mouth, and cocked her head as if listening.

What was going on? He felt himself tense up, and knew she had done the same. Her fingers were digging into his arm.

Then, as suddenly as she had dragged him to one side, she sagged and relaxed.

“What’s going on, Peta? Somebody called last night? What did they say?”

She rubbed her right temple. “Last night, after you left, I got a phone call. He told me to get off the island.”

“What exactly did he say?”

She repeated the conversation, and how confusing it seemed to her. “I couldn’t guess if it was a man or a woman, but the person is in this building right now. I just heard the same voice! It was very distinct.”

Lawson scanned the interior of the station. Like most tiny police stations, there were only a few offices, but the extra rooms and cubicles were now packed with people. Half the population of the island was here being questioned, it seemed, and with several officers from the mainland, the whole place was a beehive of activity. He’d seen Pastor Martin in one room a minute ago, and the doctor in another, plus Jane from the grocery store. Her voice was gravelly enough to pass as a man’s.

But she was hardly the type to warn Peta off the island.

With a firm grip on Peta’s arm, he captured her attention. “You said the caller mentioned drugs. Danny was involved with drugs with Marcano, so that can’t be a coincidence. You have to tell Constable Long.”

“Tell me what?”

They both turned. Constable Long stood there, calm and curious, papers in his hands and a frown on his craggy, middle-aged face.

“I need to talk to you,” Peta said, rubbing her temples again. “I need my belongings, and I just want to say that if you want to interrogate me again, I’m only too happy to oblige. I can’t prove that I only just arrived on this island, but I know that I didn’t kill Danny.”