“Hey! Anyone home?”

It had been a decade since she was here, and yet the furniture was the same, the pictures the same, the same layer of dust everywhere. At the top of the stairs, she turned. Danny was probably still sleeping off some pre-birthday celebration.

“Danny? Wake up!”

She peeked in. With a grimace at the empty, unkempt room, she walked to the large window that overlooked the backyard and bay. Below there stood a glass-enclosed gazebo, a battered relic from the sixties, now at the very end of the eroding backyard, and looking as if it might topple over the cliff at any moment.

She didn’t like being this high up, seeing this much wide-openness, but she couldn’t shut her eyes.

Because down below, Danny lay on the floor of the gazebo, his unnatural pose and glazed stare telling her a horrible truth.

Her ex-boyfriend was very dead.

BARBARA PHINNEY

has lived in four countries in her life and never gets tired of traveling. But nowadays, you’ll find her in her rural New Brunswick home writing or planning some volunteer event for her church or her children’s school. The small town in which she lives provides much fodder for her stories, and she’s often threatening her friends and family that they’ll find a place in one of her books. Barbara has had six books published, five with Harlequin Books, and finds the Bible to be her greatest source of inspiration. She feels it has the widest variety of people, and every one of them made mistakes, yet God loved them all. That amazes her.

She would love to hear from her readers, either through her Web site, www.barbaraphinney.com or through the editor at Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, U.S.A.

Deadly Homecoming
Barbara Phinney

Bless those who persecute you;

bless and do not curse.

—Romans 12:14

Dedicated to my family and my friends.

Thank you, all of you. You’re the best!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Northwind Island punctured the fog bank ahead. At the back of the motorboat, Peta Donald bounced on the slick wooden seat, gritting her teeth to ride out the short bumpy trip into the Bay of Fundy.

Coming home was going to kill her.

But she couldn’t turn around now. Besides, Danny had called her, quite out of the blue, and asked her to come to his thirtieth birthday party. Not many ex-girlfriends got such an invitation.

And, well, after what she’d done to Danny, she had to come.

The open ferry hit another cold wave, and she cringed in anticipation of the hard bump. Salt water sprayed her, stinging her eyes and chilling her more than the early July day should.

“Sorry,” the operator tossed over his shoulder. Peta swiped her face, knowing there was really nothing he could do. The choppy sea wouldn’t calm just because she was on it.

By now, she could make out the wharf and some bold herring gulls searching for a free lunch. At five miles in length, Northwind Island was too small for anything but one village and one wharf. Sustained years ago by the dulse and herring industries, and now by its retirees, the island still looked the same. The trees had thickened, but the steeple of the island’s only church still pierced the misty skyline.

Hopefully, she’d have time for Sunday service. Though it was Tuesday, Danny’s birthday wasn’t until Friday, and she’d be leaving Sunday afternoon. She should be able to manage it, and Danny wouldn’t care one way or the other.

He hadn’t talked to her in a year. Then, after all that silence, he’d called with his invitation. “I’m turning thirty. You’ve got to come and help me celebrate.”

Reluctance had washed over her. “I’m hardly welcome on Northwind.”

“Don’t sweat it, girl. They hate everything here.”

“Then why are you still there?”

Peta had felt Danny’s heavy silence all the way to her Toronto apartment. “It’s my parents’ house,” he’d finally said. “I didn’t want to leave it. Not to these people.”

Leave it? Peta had wondered what he’d meant by that comment, but said nothing. Instead, she’d changed the subject.

“Did you quit working for Gary Marcano?” She’d really hoped so, even after all this time. Guilt had a long memory. She should never have introduced the two men. Marcano was dangerous and manipulative, but she hadn’t realized that until after the introduction.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

No, he wasn’t, she’d suspected, but she hadn’t felt like pushing the issue over the phone.

“Come on, Peta, girl. It’s only for a few days. And I’ve even started to learn about this island’s history. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve found out. I want you to come. I want to see you again.”

Danny had a way of coaxing. There was something in his voice and she hated what she knew would follow.

“You owe me,” he’d added.

She grimaced. If it weren’t for the guilt still eating at her, she’d tell him, no, thanks. But he’d remind her of how she’d introduced him to Marcano, and of how badly that had turned out.

Not much of a man, a little voice within her whispered. Danny should stop blaming her. She’d warned him that Marcano was no good a long time ago.

So why am I still letting Danny blame me?

Lord, do you want me to go home? To minister to Danny?

She’d sighed into the phone, waiting for an answer to her questions. Only long-distance silence lingered.

“Hey, Peta, come down and visit me. Take a few days off work for once. You owe me, remember?”

“Danny, don’t you think it’s about time you took responsibility for yourself?”

He’d ignored her question. “This is my over-the-hill birthday. You gotta come. Besides, you’re worried about me, right? Come and see how well I’m doing.”

Danny was intuitive enough to know that deep down, because she was now a Christian, she wanted to set things right with the people she’d hurt long ago.

“Come to my birthday party, Peta,” he’d coaxed. “You can ease that guilty conscience of yours.”

That last comment had cemented it.

Another wave knocked her back to the present. A minute later, the boat reached the public wharf.

The driver sideswiped one of the tires that lined the wharf, the impact shoving her against the hull of the boat. Grateful the horrible ride was over, she thanked the old man as he helped her out. At least she now knew why he’d asked for his money in advance. Hefting her knapsack onto her shoulder, Peta climbed the road that led to the village. The strap dug through her light jacket and blouse.

The café and the hardware store had been given face-lifts, she noticed, but not the grocery store, or all the simple clapboard houses.

At the crossroads, she turned right. Two people on the cracked sidewalk halted their conversation as she passed. Old Doc Garvey and Jane Wood, the crusty grocery store owner, both glared in shock and disbelief as she stepped out onto the empty street to circumvent them.

They recognized her, and had long memories, too, it seemed. Lord, was I wrong to come here?

Above the noise of the constant wind, which helped to drive the tides into the bay, Peta heard the boat’s engine rev up and then grow fainter again. It was clear that the ferry operator had no plans to stay on the island.

The next house on the bay side, set apart from the rest, was Danny’s. Looking a bit neglected and lifeless, the two-story could have used new siding, windows and some extra-strength weed killer. Odd that Danny should want to stay here. He hadn’t cared for the quiet life when they’d been young. And if he’d changed his mind since, then why not fix the house up?

Bushes rustled to her left and she snapped her head over. A branch shook in one small spot like an accusing finger wagging at her, and a shiver raced up her spine.

Abruptly, a cat jumped from the bush, and dashed away. Peta released a sigh. Coming back here was creeping her out.

Having climbed up the broken step onto the porch, she rapped on the front door. No answer. In typical small-town fashion, she pushed it open and called out Danny’s name.

Still quiet. Peta fought the cold sensation crawling within her as she dumped her knapsack on the chair beside the door, and walked down the familiar hall to the kitchen.

Empty. “Hey! Anyone home?” It had been a decade since she was last here and yet the furniture was the same, the pictures the same, the same layer of dust everywhere, like some kind of unreal time warp.

Hastily, she returned to the front hall and yelled up the stairs. “Wake up, Danny. It’s past noon! Get out of bed.”

Never mind why he might be sleeping the day away, Peta told herself as she grabbed her knapsack and climbed wearily up the stairs. But Danny was never an early riser and she doubted he’d awaken early to greet her. He’d just expect her to be his alarm clock.

At the top of the stairs, she turned, pausing long enough to toss her knapsack onto the spare room’s bed. Danny would have taken over the master bedroom now that his parents were gone. He was probably still sleeping off some prebirthday celebration.

The master bedroom’s door stood ajar.

“Danny? Wake up!”

She peeked in. With a grimace at the empty, unkempt room, she walked to the large window that overlooked the backyard and the bay. Steeling herself against the vast vertigo-inducing view, she spied the motorboat disappearing into the mist. Below, there stood the glass-enclosed gazebo, a battered relic from the sixties, now at the very end of the eroding backyard, and looking as if it might topple over the cliff at any moment.

She didn’t like being this high up, seeing this much wide-openness, but she couldn’t shut her eyes.

Because down below, Danny lay on the floor of the gazebo, his unnatural pose and glazed stare telling her a horrible truth.

Her ex-boyfriend was very dead.

The man in front of Peta handed her a disposable mug of steaming tea. Looking at him, she muttered out a short thank-you. He then sat down on the chipped concrete step beside her, obviously taking her manners as an invitation to join her. The police officer who had answered her 911 call had asked her to leave the house, so she’d deposited her shaking frame on the broken step that began the walkway up to the porch.

“Drink it. You’re frozen.”

She obeyed the man, then sipped the hot liquid before saying, “I live in Toronto. We’re in the middle of a heat wave right now. I’d forgotten that Northwind never gets a decent summer. Honestly, it’s July 1st already. It should be warmer than this.”

The man beside her chuckled and Peta stared at him. Who was he? He’d appeared shortly after the police and yet had, at some time, walked down the street to buy a cup of hot tea from the café. And while the officer and Doc Garvey went into the house, this man had stayed with her. To keep an eye on her?

He was tall, towering over her even as they shared the step. His long, jeans-clad legs stretched out before him. The sun-streaked tips of his walnut hair danced in the wind. The little wave in his hair added a contrary merriness to his somber expression. He was clean-shaven, handsome even. But his gold and green eyes carried something older and sadder. Empathy for her?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I don’t know who you are.”

“Lawson Mills. I’m a deacon at the church here. The police called me just to help out. But I’m the one who should be offering apologies. I’m sorry your friend is dead.”

Peta acknowledged the condolences with a short nod. And appreciated that the police officer hadn’t decided to keep her in the back of his patrol car. She’d been in police cars enough times as a youth. Enough to last a lifetime.

“The officer told me you said you’d come for your friend’s birthday?” Lawson asked.

“Yes.” Though Peta couldn’t remember what she’d said to the constable. All that lingered in her mind was the image of Danny. She shivered, trying to push that image from her head—with no luck. She took another shaky sip of the hot drink.

The officer emerged from the backyard, talking on his phone. She spied him ringing off as he walked up the gravel driveway toward her. This must be quite an anomaly for the local police force. Surely Northwind had little crime now that she’d moved away. Regardless, hers had been petty kid stuff, nothing like murder.

The police would come from Saint Stephen or Saint John, two bigger urban centers. Though Northwind Island, stuck out in the Gulf of Maine, was closer to the U.S. shore, it was Canadian. The RCMP would come, as would the media.

And the islanders wouldn’t like that. Not one bit.

The wind had no effect on the officer’s short, gray hair as he looked down on them grimly. Lawson frowned, then stood. Peta found herself thankful that he towered over the officer. It was almost like having an ally.

And she needed an ally, especially here.

“Eventually, we’ll have to go to the station so you can give a statement, Miss Donald,” the policeman said. “And you’ll have to stay on the island until we’re done with the investigation. But you can’t stay in the house like you’ve been doing.”

Peta stood, then stepped up on the concrete tread to meet the officer at eye level. “I only just got here, Constable—” she glanced at his name tag “—Long. But sure, I guess I can find a room at the B & B.”

That local inn had a name, the Wild Rose, but everyone just referred to it as the B & B. She was hoping it had a new owner who didn’t know her.

The officer eyed her suspiciously. “My partner is on her way. But it’ll be a while before I can leave this property, so why don’t we start your statement now?”

So there was another police officer here. Given the islanders’ quirky behavior, she was surprised they’d even have two officers. These people discouraged tourists, and, if she remembered correctly, had even opposed a new wharf fifteen years ago because it might bring “troublesome mainlanders.”

Peta started her statement, disjointedly giving the details of where she’d spent last night and when she’d left the mainland, all her words tasting slightly bitter, even with the hot sweet tea on her tongue.

She shut her eyes. The image of Danny still lingered in her mind. He’d aged more than she’d expected. A hard life of partying?

Oh, Lord, take that image away. Why have You imprinted it in my mind?

She’d been living in Toronto, working at an indoor construction company. She’d seen injuries, even fatal ones.

Again, as she rattled off her address in Toronto, Peta wondered why Danny had invited her. Was it really to help him celebrate his big 3-0? Because he had so few friends here? Because he knew he might die?

With another warning not to leave the island, and a receipt for her knapsack, which she’d left in the house, Peta was ordered off the property. And the officer returned to his phone.

“No place to go?” Lawson asked as she found herself dismissed at the end of the short driveway.

Feeling foolish, she shrugged. “I guess I could go down to the B & B, but I don’t even have my wallet. I’ll have to pay later, if I’m allowed to.” With that, she started walking toward the village center.

Lawson fell in step beside her. Having lifted the fog, the wind now blew hard in their faces. She could hear it hum the power lines above. “You said you’re here to celebrate Danny Culmore’s thirtieth birthday.”

They passed the café before she answered, “We’re old school friends, and he asked me to come back this one time, so I did.”

He shook his head, his eyes unreadable in the bright, cool day. “You must have been special to him.”

Was she? He hadn’t spoken much to her these past few years. Peta stole a glance at the man beside her. She wanted to ask him what he was doing on the island, but held back. Ten years in Toronto had taught her not to even look people in the eye anymore. She lived in a community of strangers, all as foreign to her as she was to them. It was better to mind her own business. That way, everyone else did the same.

They’d reached the B & B. It was still the image of what it had been years ago, with huge, unruly wild rosebushes guarding its perimeter, and wind-bent trees shading one side of the large house. The wooden sign out front still rattled in the constant breeze, and, as in years before, Kathleen McPherson still sat in the front-room window, glaring out at the world from below her VACANCY sign.

Peta shook her head. It was sad to see Auntie Kay hadn’t changed her bitter outlook on life.

A car growled behind them, and Peta turned. Constable Long brought his patrol car to a halt, then got out.

“Miss Donald? Can I have a word with you?”

She shot a glance at Lawson, then walked to the front of the car. “What’s wrong?”

He peeled off his sunglasses and squinted against the sun and wind. “I’d like to take you to the station to ask you a few questions.”

She shook her head. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Ask me here.”

Lifting his eyebrows, he shrugged. “How long did you say you’d been here on the island?”

“I just got here around lunch, about fifteen minutes before I called 911. Why?”

“It looks like you’ve been here for longer. Your belongings are scattered all over the spare room. Where did you say you stayed on the mainland?”

“An inn called the Lilac Cottage. I got there yesterday morning and left around eleven this morning. I’d decided to stay there because I was tired from driving. I have the receipt in my knapsack.”

He pulled out a zippered plastic bag. In it lay a handwritten receipt. “The date on this says you left yesterday. I called the inn and the woman confirmed that you’d spent one night, but had checked out yesterday, not this morning.”

Peta hadn’t read the receipt. She’d simply shoved it into her bag. Frowning, she shook her head. “That’s not possible. I just arrived here. Ask the guy who owns the blue boat called the Island Fairy. He brought me here today.”

The officer flipped open his notepad and scribbled down the names. “I’ve been told that none of the ferry boats have come in today. And I’m told that you used to live here. You dated the deceased, didn’t you?”

“Yes, in high school. What difference does that make?”

“You split up with him under angry circumstances, I’m told.”

The locals did have long memories. “True, but we settled that dispute a few months later. We were kids.”

“You left here ten years ago and swore you’d never return.”

“I was young and angry. But I did come back, because Danny asked me to come to his birthday.”

“Anyone else see you?”

She paused. “Doc Garvey and Jane Wood saw me. Ask them.” Though with their obvious disapproval of her appearance, would they help her out, or want to see her off the island, as soon as possible?

“Anyone else invited?”

Peta wasn’t sure. She hadn’t received a formal invitation, just the phone call. That had always been Danny’s style. With a frustrated shrug, she felt the blood surge into her face. This was stupid and confusing, and not making an ounce of sense. “I don’t have all the answers. All I know is that I arrived here today because Danny asked me to come.”

“Don’t you find it odd that a man would ask his old girlfriend back?” the officer asked.

“This is a small community, and I was also his friend.” She frowned at the officer. “What are you saying, Constable?”

The constable walked to his patrol car, then returned carrying a paper bag. “Miss Donald, is this your medication?”

He pulled out a prescription bottle. Peta took it, and peered through the clear plastic at a few round tablets. She frowned. “This is my prescription bottle, but these aren’t my pills. Mine are small yellow ones. These are white.”

“These were the ones found in this bottle, Miss Donald. In Danny’s house.”

She handed him back the bottle. “I sometimes get migraines so I carry pills to ease the pain. But these aren’t my pills.”

“Do you know what kind of pills these are?”

“I’m an accounting officer, not a pharmacist. They look like small aspirins.”

“These are a type of hypnotic drug commonly known as the date rape drug, or ‘roofies.’ Several were found in Danny’s mouth. The autopsy will show if he ingested any, but he appears to have exhibited the outward symptoms that this medication, when mixed with liquor, causes. And when mixed with alcohol, this drug can kill a person. Did you know that this drug is illegal in this country?”

“I can imagine! But you can see on the bottle that the medication I take is for migraines!”

The officer said nothing, but she knew what he was thinking. She could have replaced the medication with something more dangerous and offered it to Danny if he complained of a headache.

She slumped against the patrol car, battling fear and nausea. There seemed to be proof she’d been here for a least a night, and there seemed to be proof that she had given Danny a drug that would have at least rendered him unconscious, maybe even killed him.

Constable Long’s expression turned dark. “I’d like to take you into custody, Miss Donald, to hold you for questioning in the murder of Daniel Culmore, but I have only one cell and it’s got a drunk in it right now. So I’m forced to wait until backup from the mainland arrives before we can make a decision on formally charging you.”

“You want to charge me? I didn’t kill Danny!”

“I’ve also instructed all boat owners to lock their watercraft so you can’t leave,” Long continued, as if she hadn’t interrupted him. “And wherever you find lodging, I’ll need the address immediately.”

He actually thought she’d killed Danny? Peta glanced wildly around, catching sight of Kathleen McPherson flipping the sign in her window to read NO VACANCY.

Mercy, she’d recognized Peta, after all these years.

And after all these years, this island was trapping her again. Not as a troubled youth forced to live with a long-dead aunt who cared for nothing but the support check.

No, this time, the island wanted her for murder.

TWO

A few feet away, Lawson watched Peta pale as she stared at the officer. “Are you arresting me?” she finally managed to say with a catch in her throat.

Coolness lingered in Long’s expression. “No, Miss Donald, but this evidence isn’t confirming your story.”

Lawson took in the scene and felt for Peta. He hadn’t had much to do with the law here in Canada, unlike back home in Boston. Here, the business that brought him to this island was his own, and the fewer people who knew it, the better. Especially the police.

However, Lawson regretted not having cultivated a better relationship with Constable Long. The officer was trying to gauge Peta’s reaction. Right now, her reaction was very typical. She was outraged, shocked and, yes, scared.

Lawson quickly held up his hand to get the officer’s attention. “What you’re saying is that Miss Donald can’t leave the island, and as you can see—” he pointed to the NO VACANCY sign that had, with disturbing suddenness, appeared “—there is no room at the inn, nor in the only cell you have. So why not call the mainland police to come get her?”

The officer colored slightly.

He’s bluffing, Lawson thought. “In the meantime, I have a solution. I just rented the lighthouse cottage at the cliff. It’s a bit run-down, but it’s okay to stay in.”

“I thought you were staying up Fishing Weir Road,” Long said.

Lawson kept his expression deliberately cool. “Just a change of scenery. The lighthouse and cottage are unused right now, and come as a rented set, so to speak. The owner’s too old to do anything with them, so I thought I’d move. But Peta can stay there for a few nights. I’ve still got the house I’m renting right now.” He decided not to add that the place he had right now belonged to Danny Culmore.

He felt Peta’s stare settle on him. “That old lighthouse is still standing? It was abandoned years ago.”

“It’s a good piece of local history. The point I’m making, though, is that you need a place to stay and I’m offering the cottage. I really don’t think there’s any other place available.”

“But is it okay for you to stay at that other house?”

“The owner won’t mind.” Peta didn’t need to know anything more than that. Not right now, anyway.

She bit her lip and blinked. “Thanks.”

He cringed inwardly as he watched how her situation was affecting her. She wasn’t welcome. She was scared. And she looked like a caged animal.

The officer nodded. Just then, a call came over his radio and he turned away to answer it quietly. Lawson caught only a few garbled words, like media, boat, two hours.

Peta stepped toward the officer when he finished the short call. “I can’t explain the receipt, Officer, but I’d like to have my knapsack back. Surely you’re done with it by now?”

“I’ll make sure it’s delivered to you as soon as it’s released. But considering these—” he held up the bagged receipt and bottle “—I can’t guarantee when that will be.”

Shoulders sagging, she moved away from the patrol car as Long climbed back in. Lawson watched him do a U-turn in the middle of the deserted street and return to Danny’s house. A heavy sigh escaped Peta as she dropped down on the nearest bench, a few feet from where they’d been standing. She looked up at him, her expression hollow. “You didn’t have to offer the lighthouse cottage, but thank you. It was very kind.”

He found himself blinking at her direct stare. “It’s no big deal. But the place does need some work.”

“That’s okay. You saw Danny’s house and I was willing to stay there. I was just surprised that the spare bed was made. Danny was never very neat.”

Lawson sat down beside her. “The officer thought you’d been there at least overnight. He probably thought you were being a good guest and made the bed.”

Peta shook her head. She had wide, innocent eyes, the color of the bay. Her hair was cropped, messy, thanks to the wind. Its color seemed to be both caramel and coffee.

“I’d make the bed, but not pick up my things? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Lawson wanted to ask why her belongings were scattered to start with, but she said, “I just got here. I knocked on Danny’s front door. When he didn’t answer, I went in. The place looked exactly the way it had looked years ago. I’d spent enough time there to remember. There was no one downstairs, so I went upstairs. I knew Danny liked to sleep in. He…well, he partied a lot, so I figured he was sleeping it off, but he wasn’t. I looked out the master-bedroom window and that’s when I saw him.”

“But your stuff was all over the place.”

Peta frowned, then lit up. “It was! I knew right away that he was dead and went looking for a phone. I couldn’t find one upstairs, so I grabbed my cell phone out of my bag. I was panicking. I threw everything out of my knapsack before I found it. Stuff got scattered.

“I dialed 911, and for some reason, got Maine’s emergency instead. I must have accidentally connected to a U.S. cell. As soon as I realized that, I shut the phone and tore downstairs. I found the landline in the kitchen.”

“Where else did you go?”

She shot him an odd look. Was she thinking he was a cop? The thought made him smile wryly. That was hardly the case. “I raced through the house looking for the phone,” she answered. “I must have gone everywhere.” She drilled him with a hard stare. “But I just got there! Once the police find that ferry operator, he’ll tell them that he just brought me over.”

“What about the woman at the inn who puts you there two nights ago?”

Peta shook her head, too swiftly for his liking. “I don’t know why she’s saying that.” She ran her hands through her hair and let out a strangled noise. “This is crazy! I just arrived, I just found Danny dead and suddenly I’m the prime suspect? Do you think I would report his death if I’d killed him? I’d have left the island with that ferry operator and I’d be on my way back to Toronto by now. And I wouldn’t have left any evidence behind!”

“Who thinks straight when they’re killing someone?”

As soon as the question left his mouth, he knew who would. Gary Marcano, the man who he was certain had made his family disappear. And who would think straight when hiding the bodies?

Danny Culmore, as he and his investigator had begun to suspect?

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.”

A pause. “A change. The cottage has a lot of history.”

His answer didn’t make much sense to her. But something in it hinted that she shouldn’t push the issue. Instead, she asked, “What brought you to Northwind, anyway?”

Another distinct pause. “My parents died and I needed to de-stress.”

The answer was curt and brief. And a little too pat, she thought. There was clearly more to it, but she dropped the subject. She liked her privacy and would return the same courtesy.

Lawson shut off the engine. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make us some sandwiches. I can even give you some food to hold you over until you get to the store.”

“Thanks.” It was hardly his responsibility, but she appreciated the gesture. Lawson was being very kind to her. Too kind, almost, but after what happened at the café, she wasn’t about to bite the hand willing to feed her.

Her pastor often said that to allow someone to minister to you was as good as ministering to others. Accepting help was a part of glorifying God.

Who felt rather far away right now.

Inside the house, she glanced around. Spartan, almost, with little furniture. Next to the dining room table stood a desk, on which a laptop sat closed, and papers lay scattered in an arc around it. In a far corner was a large metal detector. Beachcombing, to de-stress, or was it for something else? Beyond was the living room, also sparsely furnished with just a couch, a chair and a side table.

After starting a pot of coffee, Lawson set everything needed for sandwiches on the dining room table. Peta, hungrier than she realized, made herself a large sandwich. They ate in silence, the only sound the coffee as it percolated and dripped into its pot.

“You know I’m going to ask why everyone on this island hates you,” he said mildly after finishing half his sandwich.

“What happened to Christian discretion?”

He smiled briefly. “Did I show any of that at the café?”

True, he didn’t. She eyed him cautiously. Then, knowing he may as well learn the truth from her, she began.

“I was the bad kid growing up,” she started. “My parents split early on, and I went to live with my mother, but I was young and unruly, and she couldn’t handle me. By the time I was six, my mother had dumped me back on the island with her older sister.”

“You were born here?”

She nodded. “As was my mother, right in the clinic beside the B & B. In fact, the lady who owns the inn is my oldest aunt, Aunt Kathleen. But blood isn’t always thicker than water when you’re a troublemaker and a financial burden.”

“Children are never a burden.”

That was nice to hear, but he didn’t know the whole story. “I came back to live with Aunt Linda, who never married and I know why. She was cold and nasty and told everyone that she only kept me because my mother paid her. So I grew up knowing that I wasn’t loved.” She tilted her head slightly at his own cautious expression. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I can’t believe that your whole childhood was miserable.”

“There were some okay moments. I hung out with Danny, and we had fun at first. But he was wild, too, and I was mad at everyone. So we ended up becoming the island’s troublemakers. If anyone criticized us, we’d do our best to get back at them. My aunt would punish me, and I’d fight back. One day, the Family Services—that’s what I think it was called back then—came to talk to her, but she said she wasn’t going to let me go, because I meant too much to her.”

“So she did care for you.”

Peta laughed and shook her head. “Not quite. I heard her telling Aunt Kathleen afterward that she’d just said that because she’d asked my mother for more money, and my mother had agreed.”

Lawson took a sip from his mug, a slight frown pressing his brows together. He looked comforting sitting there, his dark blue shirt open at the neck, and the sleeves rolled up to just below the elbows. Like someone she could trust.

She cleared her throat. “In all fairness, I wasn’t the easiest kid to raise. I defied everyone. I set fires to brush, I vandalized buildings, and did tons of rotten stuff. Even to Danny.”

Lawson’s hand froze as he was setting down his mug. “Wasn’t he your friend?”

“Kids aren’t always nice, Lawson. I did stupid things.”

“Like what?”

She looked away. Should she even be mentioning this? Would it affect her defense, if she needed one? Would Lawson go straight to the police with what she was about to say? For the first time, she thought about getting a lawyer. Why hadn’t she considered that before now?

She sighed. “I went over on the mainland for the weekend once when I was sixteen. Danny followed me and we headed into Saint John for the evening. Being a port city, we figured we’d see some action. I’d met some kids there the year before when Aunt Linda went to a funeral and I had to spend time with my mom. I dragged Danny down to their place, and introduced them to him. He was looking for a job by then, and this older guy was there and just happened to be looking for someone to work for him.”

“What kind of work?”

Wetting her lips, she set down her sandwich. “Selling drugs, doing odd jobs, scaring people who didn’t pay what they owed him. Stuff like that. Danny was husky enough for the work.” It hurt to admit, even after all these years, that she’d been the one who had gotten Danny mixed up with drug dealers.

“Drugs?” Lawson straightened. “You should tell the police that. It could be important to the investigation.”

She shrugged. “It was a long time ago, and Danny said he’d quit working for Gary. It was my fault, really. I had introduced the two.”

“Gary?” Lawson’s word was tight.

“Yes. Gary Marcano. I wish I’d never met him. Danny changed after he started working for him. He got cocky and ruder, and had too much money.”

She looked around at the sparse surroundings. “A year and a half later, Aunt Linda died and willed everything to Aunt Kathleen. I was left with nothing, so I just left. The islanders were glad to see me go.”

She stood, scraping the chair along the hardwood floor. All of a sudden, she hated that she’d told her sorry story to someone who was practically a perfect stranger, as much as she hated that the old fear of being abandoned could still grip her. “I should leave. Thanks for the food. I appreciate it.”

He rose. “Let me take you home.”

“No. I can walk. It’s still light out and I need the exercise. I’ll be fine, really.”

He tilted his head, gauging, she was sure, if she was really okay. “You’ve been through a lot today.”

Finding her old boyfriend dead, being accused of his murder and then being shunned by everyone? Oh, yeah, she’d been through a lot today. “That’s why I need to walk.” She grabbed the grocery bag with the foodstuffs he’d put together, and stuck out her hand. “Thank you. For everything.”

Lawson’s warm fingers wrapped around her small, cold hand. A comforting gesture. For the briefest moment, she wouldn’t have minded a hug from this man. Anything to remind her that she was…lovable.

Something that her Lord couldn’t provide for her right now.

She shook away the folly and yanked back her hand. She wasn’t there for any comfort. And a stranger, however handsome and helpful, wasn’t going to be her lifeline. Certainly not if he lived on this island.

The only sign of life on her way to the cottage was a couple of children coloring the sidewalk outside their home with sturdy sticks of chalk. They watched her with keen interest as she stepped onto the road so as not to disturb their masterpiece.

Beyond the clinic, the road bent right and headed past the church. Her driveway plunged into the trees at a narrow lane on the left. The land around the old lighthouse and its replacement was kept clear, but at the perimeter, thick trees cloaked the lane’s entrance.

Daylight was fading behind some distant clouds, so Peta quickened her step, knowing she hadn’t left any lights on in the cottage and not wanting to be near the edge of the cliffs at dark. She heard a soft, rustling noise to her right, and quickened her pace. Another stupid cat, no doubt trying to freak her out.

Sea and salt caught on her tongue, telling her she was near the cliff, and that the wind had picked up. The drive in here this afternoon had been breathtaking, literally, with the road skimming too perilously close to the cliff.

But now the way felt damp and lonely and her heart tripped up several beats. She hefted up her groceries. Don’t look down. Don’t look at the edge of the cliff.

She glanced that way just the same. Her knees gelled, then liquefied. Her breath stalled in her throat. So high up, it made her ears ring. A gust buffeted her and she pushed too hard against it—

And stumbled. Then, in a desperate attempt to regain her footing, she tumbled over the cliff.

FOUR

Peta grappled with the roots and tendrils of the wild roses that clung to the edge of the island, her fear of sliding farther overcoming the painful jabs of the thorns digging into her hands.

Her foot, pedaling against the cliff face, found a rock, and she pushed hard on it, easing the agony on her hands. She threw out her right hand and met a long section of weeds. Her other foot scraped dirt and loose rocks until she’d gained another foothold.

Heart pounding, and forcing herself not to look down again, she stabilized her hold and clung to the edge. A gull, misinterpreting her actions for an offer of food, swooped close to her. She didn’t need to be reminded of how high she was above the waves and water. She looked anyway, hating the self-punishment.

A gust ripped past her, trying to peel her from the cliff. Releasing the rose branch, she swung out her left hand and punctured the soft soil above with her fingers. She found cold but compliant sod, and pulled herself up a few more inches. With her foot, she scraped out another foothold and lifted herself farther. She let go of the weeds she’d grabbed wildly with her right hand and found a small log. She tossed it to one side, and then locked on to a spindly bayberry plant. Thankfully, its roots held tight.

Finally, she was able to swing her leg over the edge.

Once on the flat of the cliff, she rolled away, onto the grocery bag of food Lawson had given her. Slumped over it, she shut her eyes and waited for the cold horror within her to run its course.

Eventually, she breathed. Thank you, Lord. Thank you so much.

Several long minutes later, she rose, every muscle still quivering. Daylight was fading now and the rotating beacon of the new lighthouse sliced through her vision.

She grabbed her donated groceries and limped toward the cottage, her one shoe full of dirt, her opposite knee sore from scraping the cliff, and her whole front filthy.

Inside, she locked the door and slumped against it.

Hers could easily have been the next death on Northwind.

Gary Marcano. Lawson had had to fight to contain his reaction when Peta had uttered that name.

Gary Marcano was his number-one suspect. Marcano was known to police as a drug dealer and as a member of organized crime. Born in New England, but raised in Canada, Marcano had been acquitted once of second-degree murder, then became a person of interest in several disappearances, including those of Lawson’s parents, his brother and his brother’s family. But with no evidence and no bodies, the police could do nothing.

And now he had proof that Danny Culmore worked for him.

But Culmore was dead. And the police officer thought Peta had killed him. Where did that leave him?

Mouth tight, Lawson gathered up the dishes and began to clean up. He’d sat in his kitchen with night approaching long enough.

Peta felt guilty about introducing Danny to Marcano. She should, a voice inside him spat out. Look what happened. My family is gone, probably dead. Marcano and Danny Culmore were most likely the ones responsible. Would this have happened if they’d never met?

Forget that question. This wasn’t fair to Peta.

Did she make it back to the cottage okay? She’d said she needed the walk, but with guilt eating at her and the town not wanting her back—

Ignoring the dishes, he grabbed a jacket and headed out. He would just drive up to the cottage, and if the lights were on there, he’d leave.

His heart leaped a few minutes later, when he saw the cottage blanketed in darkness. He jumped out and banged on the door. Almost immediately, Peta threw it open.

Startled, he stepped over the threshold. Only then did he notice her dirty front. “I thought I would check to see if you got home okay. What happened?”

She stared at him for a moment, then flicked out her hand in disbelief. “I fell off the cliff! Only by the grace of God did I manage to hang on and climb back up.”

Cold shock sluiced through Lawson. He should have insisted on driving her to the cottage. “Are you all right?”

“A bit scraped up, but otherwise okay. I didn’t fall far.”

“The cliff is getting closer to the driveway with every rain. This time next year, the driveway will have to be relocated.” He studied her. “It gave you quite a scare.”

Peta stood stiffly. “I, um,” she began, still shaking. “I’m a bit scared of heights. Well, more than a bit. I get dizzy, my heart races, and, well, this time, I fell over. I should have walked through the woods.”

“You’re acrophobic?”

She nodded. “I live on the ground floor of a tall apartment building, and I can’t even look up at it without getting dizzy.”

He stepped closer to her, feeling her vulnerable beauty like a sheer curtain whirling around her. Her eyes, dark now with relief and fear and something else, locked on to his.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to stay here. Even on the ferry trip over here, I was white-knuckled all the way. I can’t even look out at the sea sometimes.”

He wanted to pull her into a warm embrace, like the ones the little old ladies in his church back home give when someone just needs a good hug. Should he? Would she take it in the spirit it was being offered?

And what spirit would that be? a part of him wondered.

Shocked by his inner question, he stepped back, hitting the kitchen door with his heel.

She turned away, as if unaware of his thoughts. “It’s this whole day. Looking out Danny’s bedroom window and seeing him down there must have triggered this. I’m usually not this bad. I—I just don’t like going near the edge of the cliff.” She visibly shivered. “I get all dizzy.”

He frowned. If this were so, how could she stand being in the gazebo, perched on a cliff, where Danny Culmore had been murdered? She wouldn’t have even stepped into it, let alone been able to commit murder in it.

Peta had begun to speak again. “Maybe this is some kind of rebounding emotion from being accused of murder.” She paused. “Do you think I’m guilty?”

Did he? Could she have even walked into Danny’s gazebo, with it now clinging to the edge of the cliff? Another good storm and it would fall into the bay. And yet, what about the past she shared with Danny? And her reputation?

He shrugged. “No, but look at the evidence. The innkeeper on the mainland says you were only there the night before last. To exonerate you, the police will have to find the ferry operator, but haven’t yet, and your prescription bottle had the same pills found in Culmore’s mouth. And you said two people saw you, but it doesn’t look like they’re agreeing with you.”

She looked hurt as she folded her arms. “There’s got to be some rational explanation for all that. Lawson, I didn’t kill Danny. I swear it!”

That was the first time anyone here, except the pastor, had called on him for anything. He’d been on the island for nearly a year and in that time had taken the position of deacon at the church. To everyone, he’d come to de-stress, and he hadn’t offered anything more than that, nor had the islanders asked anything more from him.

Now Peta was looking at him with a raw cry for help. She was a desperate, vulnerable woman. And a beautiful one at that. He couldn’t desert her, but it was going to be hard to help her and keep his objectivity. She’d known both Danny Culmore and Gary Marcano.

He ignored the thought. “I’m sorry you’ve had a scare. Do you think you need to go to the clinic? Maybe get something to help you sleep?”

She shook her head. “I’m exhausted. I don’t think I’ll have trouble falling asleep.”

“But you’re alone up here. Want me to camp out on the couch?”

She eyed him silently, her gray eyes darkening again. He knew it was a bit foolish to offer to stay the night. Until a few hours ago, she hadn’t even known he’d existed. Of course she wouldn’t allow him to stay.

Finally, she shook her head. “I’ll be okay. I just won’t look out at the water.” She ran her hand through her shoulder-length hair, messing it in such a way that he wanted to smooth it out. But reaching across and touching her wouldn’t exactly engender trust, and he was beginning to see that she didn’t have any reason to trust anyone here.

“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.”

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