Deep Secrets. Beverly Long
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the size where four could squeeze in to have breakfast, with four wrought-iron chairs with padded seats. Also a forest green sofa, a couple of overstuffed chairs, and a big wooden coffee table, the kind with drawers underneath. It had rained a couple of days when M.A. had been here and she’d said the board games and cards that she’d found in the coffee table had been a lifesaver.
Trish unpacked her sack, putting the few groceries away in the cupboard. She pulled out Duke’s water and food dishes and filled both. He immediately started eating.
It probably wasn’t a bad idea. She’d had nothing since lunch, more than twelve hours earlier. She made herself a peanut butter and banana sandwich and poured a glass of water from the faucet. There was a roll of paper towels in a holder next to the sink. She pulled one off and wrapped it around her sandwich. Then she went onto the porch, sat on the sofa and ate.
It had been the right decision to come. She could feel it. Both her body and mind needed rest. Then she could face what had happened tonight.
She’d always figured that Rafe would have liked Milo. Would have appreciated the man’s cooking ability, liked his dry sense of humor and been satisfied that he’d kept a watchful eye on Trish and Summer. Not that Ravesville was dangerous.
But it had been earlier tonight. She’d thought it couldn’t get worse than when Summer’s little girl had been kidnapped, along with her ex-husband. But she’d been wrong.
Murder.
She wadded up the paper towel around the quarter of the sandwich she hadn’t eaten. Then got up, found the garbage container under the sink and tossed it away. Then she took her suitcase into the bedroom and opened it. Pajama pants and a tank were near the top and she quickly undressed and pulled them on.
Duke plopped down in the doorway, and she realized that without a door she’d probably be awakened the next morning, not by a hind-end knock, but rather by a lick in the face. “Maybe you should go outside again. You drank a lot of water.”
His ears perked up.
“Let me get your leash,” she said. She hadn’t taken more than three steps when she heard a noise.
She listened. It had sounded like a car door. Not right outside but not far away, either.
Just one door.
At almost three in the morning.
“Could you hold it until morning?” she asked, absently rubbing the fur on Duke’s back. She knew the dog was confused. He was starting to push up against her leg.
Maybe it was somebody else who was simply arriving at their cottage very late.
There was probably a very reasonable explanation for the noise.
She moved away from the door and Duke came with her. But instead of returning to her bedroom, she went back to the porch, detouring through the kitchen to get her shoulder bag. She pulled out her gun and sat on the sofa with her legs curled up underneath her.
This was crazy. Not counting the nine months that she’d lived with Rafe, she’d lived by herself since she was eighteen. Almost twenty years. She was independent. Certainly not someone who got spooked easily.
She’d also never had someone’s blood on her knees before.
She listened carefully, didn’t hear anything else. Minutes went by. She was almost ready to relax when she heard a noise outside the back door. Footsteps on what had to be the back steps that M.A. had described. The hair on Duke’s back stood up and she could see his teeth.
And then the knob on the back door started to turn.
She raised her gun.
The locked door held. And the next sound she heard was a sharp knock.
She was surprised she heard it since her heart was beating so loudly. She didn’t move. Duke continued his low growl.
“It’s Bernie Wilberts. Is that you, Miss Roper?”
She almost dropped her gun. She managed to stuff it under the sofa cushion. Then she grabbed Duke’s collar and hung on tight.
She recognized the voice. It was the man that she’d talked to on the telephone about renting the cottage.
She unlocked the door and opened it just inches. A man, his body lean and tall, with a few lines on his tanned face, stood on the back porch. He had a flashlight but it was pointed down toward the ground. He looked interested, but not terribly alarmed that he’d encountered someone in a cottage that was supposed to be empty.
“Hi,” she said. “Yes, I’m Trish Wright-Roper. I arrived early.”
“I saw the car and figured that was the case. And then I saw the light, so I figured I better check.”
She opened the door a little wider. “You’re out late, Mr. Wilberts. I was going to call you but I didn’t want to interrupt your sleep.”
“Call me Bernie,” he said. “I wasn’t even Mr. Wilberts when I was in the corporate world. Anyway, best fishing is in the middle of the night.”
That made her think about Milo and what had sent her scrambling to the cottage. He’d caught his last bass. She felt a pain in her chest and wondered when it would get easier. “Of course,” she said.
By now, Duke had squirmed his way around her legs and poked his nose out the door.
“That’s a fine-looking dog,” Bernie said.
“He was just about to go out,” she said. “Duke, sit.” The dog, who normally obeyed really well, continued to pull forward, and she knew that she was about to lose her grip.
“Watch out,” she said.
Duke flew past Bernie, almost knocking the man off the back steps. Oh, good grief, she thought, stepping out after him. Her bare feet hit the back step. There was just enough room for her and Bernie. “Sorry about that,” she said.
She could hear Duke, thrashing around, but couldn’t see him. It was very dark outside. “May I?” she said, pointing at Bernie’s flashlight.
“Of course,” he said.
She shone the light around and caught a glimpse of Duke. He was circling a log. “Get busy, Duke,” she called out, her voice soft, aware that even though there weren’t any close neighbors, sound carried at night.
“Looks as if he could hold his own against the coyotes,” Bernie said.
That didn’t scare her. She’d had coyotes in her backyard for years. But even so, she hoped the dog had the good sense to come back in. She didn’t relish looking for him in the dark.
Duke came bounding back onto the steps and she stepped back inside. “Well, I’ll be going, then,” Bernie said. “I’ll stop back at a more reasonable time tomorrow or the next day, and we can get acquainted.”
“Great,” she said. “I’ll be interested in learning about the best fishing spots.”
She watched the man walk down the steps and around the corner of the cottage, presumably toward a car that he’d parked somewhere nearby. She shut and locked the door.
She turned and looked at Duke. “Well, that was exciting,” she said.
He barked once in response.
She turned off the light on the porch. “We made the right decision, Duke,” she said. “We needed this.”
* * *
BERNIE WILBERTS DIALED the number that he knew by heart. “She’s there,” he said. “Early.”
“Why?”
“How the hell should I know?” He hated this. He really