Charmed. Leona Karr
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it! Her nerves were threadbare enough without giving in to morbid fantasies. The housekeeper probably had a pragmatic reason for putting her in this room. After all, it was across the hall from the one Lorrie had occupied and close to the workroom. That made sense—didn’t it? Maybe, but from the moment Mrs. Mertz had opened the door, it was obvious to Ashley that her presence wasn’t welcome.
BRAD WAS on the wharf when the returning fleet of fishing boats pulled into the harbor after a full day’s run. The air was redolent with the smells of fish as tired crews began unloading their catch for the day’s tally.
After asking around, Brad had learned that Sloane had gone out with Old Man Whitkins, who had trouble keeping any kind of a permanent crew because of the pittance he paid. The crusty old codger had to depend on unreliable help like Sloane, who signed on when he needed drinking money.
Whitkins’s old boat was one of the last to come into view. Brad saw Sloane sitting on the deck, his feet propped up on a lobster cage while he smoked a cigarette. He heard Whitkins yelling at him to cast the bowlines as the fishing vessel prepared to dock.
Brad decided to wait until Sloane had finished unloading the boat before he approached him. He didn’t want to cheat Whitkins out of any work he was paying the man to do. As soon as Sloane headed toward the pub with his wages in his hand, Brad fell into step with him.
“Looks like you had a good day’s catch,” Brad commented.
“How in the hell would you know?” Sloane growled. “When’s the last time you put your hands into a smelly lobster trap?”
“I deal in other kinds of smelly business,” Brad answered as he put a detaining hand on Sloane’s arm. “I have some questions that need answering. Either here or at the office. What’s your choice?”
Sloane’s body stiffened and Brad was prepared to block a sudden uppercut and land one of his own, if need be. Sloane seemed to read Brad’s readiness.
“What the hell is this about?”
“Lorrie Davis.”
A slight flush deepened Sloane’s suntanned face. “That city bitch. What about her?”
“I hear you made some unwelcome advances and she brushed you off.”
Sloane cursed. “She had her nose too high in the air to see a good thing. No wonder she ended up missing.”
“Did you have anything to do with that?”
“Hell, no!”
“Where were you the day she went missing?”
“On Whitkins’s boat. I’ve been out every day this week with the old buzzard. He wouldn’t pay me until our run today. You can’t pin this one on me, copper.” Sloane smirked. “I hear you’ve got her sister in tow. How’s that working out for you?”
Brad controlled an urge to spread Sloane’s sneer all over his face and settled for giving him a rough shove backwards. “I’ll be checking out your alibi. Don’t leave the island. I’d hate to have the mainland police detain you in one of their cozy cells while I do some very, very slow paperwork.”
Sloane answered with foul-mouthed muttering as he stalked away and disappeared into the crowd of rough men pouring into the saloon, ready for some strong drink and loud talk.
Brad silently swore. Whitkins would undoubtedly confirm that Sloane had been out with him since early morning the day of Lorrie’s assault. He wished he had better news for Ashley. He braced himself to tell her they were still on square one with no leads as to who had wanted to kill her sister.
AFTER A SHOWER and a change of clothes, Ashley made her way down to the family parlor just before dinner time. She chose a navy daytime dress of woven Georgette and added her knit jacket for warmth. Now that she knew she was going to be staying on the island for at least a couple of weeks, she’d need to do some shopping in Portland for some weatherwise clothes.
She made several false choices in the maze of corridors before she found the right stairway down to the first floor and the family sitting room. Ellen was there, chatting away with a young man who sat on the sofa beside her, a drink in his hand.
At Ashley’s appearance, he quickly set down his drink and rose to his feet as his gaze traveled over her.
“This must be Ashley Davis,” he said before Ellen had a chance to introduce them.
“And this is my nephew, Kent,” Ellen said quickly, smiling broadly. “He pops in now and again to say hello.”
“Nice to meet you, Kent,” Ashley responded politely, trying to ignore a sudden dislike for the smiling, deeply tanned Kent. She judged him to be in his late twenties. Tightly stretched knit pants and a shirt hugged his muscular forearms and thighs, and he had an indolent air about him. “Do you live on the island, Kent?”
“Nope. Just passing by.”
“A friend of Kent’s has a yacht he brings up from Long Island,” Ellen explained. “They have a great time with young people partying on the different islands. Sometimes he spends a few days with me.” She added wistfully, “When he and Pamela were growing up, he was here a lot.”
Ashley eased down into a chair opposite the sofa. “I just learned about Pamela’s tragedy. I understand I have her room.”
“I guess Mrs. Mertz thought you’d want to be close to the workroom, like your sister,” Ellen offered.
“Hey, that’s good news that they found her,” Kent said, resuming his seat. “Do they know what happened?”
“Not yet,” Ashley answered evenly. “Had you met Lorrie, Kent?”
Ellen answered before he could. “Oh, yes, they had a couple of nice chats. Kent was telling her about some of the good times he and Pamela had growing up together. She was only a baby when my sister, Samantha, was killed in an automobile accident. Jonathan needed help raising her, so I came to live with the family.” Her voice faltered. “Pamela was like my very own.”
Ashley was ashamed of herself for wanting more details, but the weird way she’d been drawn into the tragedy made it seem very real to her. “An accidental death, was it?”
“Hell, yes,” Kent swore. “Pam wouldn’t take her own life. She was in a snit over the blowup she and Timothy had and got careless. Timothy stomped off and left her. He was with us on the yacht all night. Didn’t hear about her overdose until morning.” He stood up. “I need another drink.”
Ellen glanced at her watch. “There isn’t time, Kent. You can have wine with dinner. We’ll be eating in the family dining room. I understand that Paul Fontaine is going to join us.”
Kent groaned. “Deliver me! I’ll grab something from the kitchen to eat on my way out.”
Ellen looked disappointed but didn’t argue. He stood there waiting as she reached into her sweater pocket, took out an envelope and handed it to him.
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