Deadly Homecoming. Barbara Phinney
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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