Chapter Seven

“Back up!” David’s shout penetrated the crowd, and he shouldered through to put himself between them and Leigh.

“Aw, we’re just havin’ a bit o’ fun,” one of the drunken men muttered.

“She’s a right nice ‘un,” another said.

“Nice? This is gold.” Greg Alistar, a reporter with the Crow’s Nest Gazette, loosed a maniacal laugh. Or did David only imagine it?

Someone hollered something about beer, and the crowd dispersed, the newspaperman vanishing into the night before David could stop him. Beer. A decade of the Eighteenth Amendment hadn’t changed a thing. Wisconsin beer companies made ice cream or some other product, but they also sold hops and make-your-own-beer kits. And pharmacies sold medicinal beer. Though these men must have access to a more prolific stash.

He felt Leigh sink to her knees behind him, dousing his anger. He set his hand on her shoulder and squatted beside her. She didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, an evolution of emotion charged across her countenance until she slowly raised her chin, determination replacing all the others.

“I have to go,” she whispered, her gaze over his shoulder.

“It’s okay, I’ll walk you home.” He clasped her elbow to help her to her feet but froze as she kept muttering as if he weren’t there.

“If I leave now, I can make it to the next county by morning.”

“Next county?” A stone dropped into David’s stomach.

“No money left.” She stood without his help. “I’ll only be able to go as far as my tank will hold out.”

“Tank?” Her motorcycle?

“Then I’ll ditch the bike and—”

“Leigh!” He didn’t mean to shout at her, but she was talking nonsense.

Red climbed her cheeks as she looked up at David as if seeing him for the first time. Had she not realized she spoke aloud? No matter. Those men had scared her. He’d do his best to keep his voice calm and focus on helping her.

“You’re safe, Leigh. We’ll go back to my grandmother’s house.”

“He took my picture.” Her hazel eyes sparkled with tears in the gas lamplight. “I can’t be found.”

“Hey, hey.” David tightened his grip on her shoulders. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll figure this out together.”

“You don’t understand. I …”

“Come here.” He pulled her into his arms. Couldn’t help himself. She looked so broken, so in need of someone to care. Tears dripped onto his shirt as her body shuddered against him. Fierce protectiveness battled his usual calm propriety. He rested his chin on her head. “Tell me what’s scared you so badly. Let me help.”

Suddenly, she pulled away, her eyes darting like a cornered rabbit’s.

He clasped her hand, and she didn’t move. “You don’t need to tell me, but my uncle can help. Before you do anything rash, please, at least talk to him.”

She met his gaze, the trust in her eyes hooking his heart. “Can we go now?”

“Absolutely.” In that moment, he’d have escorted her halfway around the world.

“What’s this?” Detective O’Connor answered his door carrying a lamp and wearing jeans and an old green flannel shirt, looking to Adaleigh like a scruffy lumberjack straight out of the Northwoods. He raised his chin to look at her and David through the spectacles perched on his nose. Samson poked his nose past his master’s legs.

“Should we or the mosquitoes come inside?” David said, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back as if ready to catch her if she turned to run.

Detective O’Connor stuffed his spectacles into his shirt pocket as he raised a bushy eyebrow. “Come in. Coffee’s hot.” He left David to close the door.

Adaleigh stood in the entry, her thoughts jumping like popping corn. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. Until she felt David shift closer and she opened her eyes. He gave a concerned smile, but stayed quiet as he led her to an old couch next to the fiery hole of a burning fireplace. Across from the sofa stood two upholstered chairs, and between was a coffee table made of a slice of sanded tree trunk.

David left her there, and she used the time to take in the rest of the small house. On the other side of the room was a woodstove—where David talked with his uncle—an icebox, a pump sink, a small table, and only two straight-back chairs. A narrow door behind her must be the door to his sleeping quarters. There were no decorations to speak of, just the knotted wood of the walls and ceiling. Not one inkling of a feminine touch appeared in the woodsy place. Had the man never married?

Despite its lack of femininity, the house had a warmth about it, like the house was an extension of the great fir trees that filled his yard and lined the drive. He lived off an old, narrow, winding road, only seven minutes from town—she had counted each minute since David retrieved his grandmother’s Chevrolet—but with no neighbors that she could detect in the dark.

David sat next to her, sliding a cup along the coffee table until it was within her reach. Detective O’Connor settled himself in one of the chairs. He stretched out his legs and seemed to be studying Adaleigh. Her hands had stopped shaking, so she reached for her mug. This house definitely had a settling quality. The mantel clock ticked. Samson licked his paws, grunted, then rolled over on the hearthrug.

Finally, she broke the silence, repeating what she’d told David. “I need to leave.”

“But your coffee …” Detective O’Connor met her gaze, daring her to be completely forthcoming.

“I mean Crow’s Nest.”

“I know.” Detective O’Connor slurped his coffee. “David told me what happened while he poured your coffee.”

“Then you know why I’ve got to leave tonight.”

He raised a long, bony finger. “First, tell me the real reason you left home. Why is having your picture in our little newspaper so bad?”

“I can’t be found.” The panicked feeling returned, and she set the mug down with a slight clatter.

“By whom?”

Nothing seemed to faze the man. Drat him.

Out of the corner of her eye, Adaleigh could see David’s face. His kindness, interest, and concern. Just like on the boardwalk. She could still feel his strong arms around her. The impropriety of him holding her in sight of anyone who walked by couldn’t shake the comfort it gave her. She took a deep breath. “You won’t tell anyone?”

“My badge is over there somewhere.” He waved generally toward the kitchen, and she took him to mean he wasn’t listening to her story as a policeman.

David shifted to the edge of the sofa, gripping his mug with both hands, his attention fully on her.

“It’s about my sister. I need to stay away from Ashley.” Adaleigh could tell them that much without getting her in trouble, right?

Detective O’Connor laughed outright, nearly spilling his coffee and sending a spike of hurt through her middle. She should have kept her mouth shut.

“Start from the beginning, ma’am.” Detective O’Connor’s laughter subsided, but the creases by his eyes didn’t go away.

Adaleigh glanced at David, who now wore a suitably serious, if somewhat confused, expression. Whatever Detective O’Connor found amusing, at least David wanted to know. He deserved to know.

She picked up her coffee mug again, needing the security of holding something. “It started on commencement day at university.” If she told them everything, she’d have to say the words she’d been avoiding since then.

“Go on,” Detective O’Connor said.

Adaleigh looked at David before continuing. He nodded his reassurance.

“My parents …” She couldn’t. The words caught somewhere between her stomach and her mouth. She couldn’t say what happened to them, not yet. Saying it made it real. She didn’t want it to be real. Surely, these two men didn’t need to know everything.

Detective O’Connor cleared his throat.

Adaleigh straightened her shoulders. She could do this. As long as she switched the angle of her story. Even still, she avoided both men’s eyes. “My sister has always been jealous of me, but we’ve managed to live in the same house, which wasn’t hard considering we had suites all to ourselves.”

“Suites?” David interrupted this time.

“Big house.” Adaleigh shrugged. She had to stay focused. “After my commencement, my sister … she …”

How does a girl actually say the words, she tried to kill me?

She’d overcome her sister’s jealousy before. Ashley was who she was, and Adaleigh would make the best of it. If that meant running away and beginning again as a penniless stranger in a new place, then so be it. What did it matter that she left home and family? Then the heartache could stay there in the past.

Except, if Ashley found her … Adaleigh shuddered.

Detective O’Connor let out a big puff of air. “Just say it. How’d she hurt you?”

“What?” The word was out of Adaleigh’s mouth before she could stop it.

“Who hurt you?” David seemed as shocked as Adaleigh felt.

“Your sister.” Detective O’Connor leaned his elbows on his knees, his eyes narrowed as though he could see her soul. “Knife, wasn’t it?”

“H-How did you know?”

“Your reaction at the crime scene.” Detective O’Connor flipped his hand. “You’re not squeamish—you saved a kid from drowning. But a reminder of nearly being murdered will cause the strongest individual to swoon.”

Strongest? Tears jumped to Adaleigh’s eyes. No one had ever called her emotionally strong before. Rebellious, stubborn, willful … emotional, reactionary …

Detective O’Connor steepled his fingers. “Now you’re running away from her because you think the next time you see her, she’ll do the job right.”

Her body went cold. Then a little jitter started at the top of her spine and worked its way down, like a chunk of snow slipping underneath one’s coat on a winter’s day.

“Leigh, is he right?” David, already on the edge of the sofa, leaned closer, as if his presence could offer her security.

Adaleigh nodded.

“Why didn’t you report your sister?” Consternation colored David’s voice.

“It’s not worth it.” She stared at the fire, suddenly exhausted, all fight gone. She just wanted to curl up next to Samson and fall asleep. Maybe when she woke up, it would all be over.

“Adaleigh!” Detective O’Connor’s voice, sharp and accompanied by a snap in front of her face, brought her to attention. As it did David. “The adrenaline is wearing off. You can tell us more later. For now, you need to sleep.”

“But the picture in the newspaper?”

Detective O’Connor smiled as he crouched on one knee in front of her and took her hands in his scraggly ones, handing her mug to David. “People may not have believed you before, but they do now. No more running. We’re going to get to the bottom of this so you can go home.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“I’m a policeman, remember? It’s kinda in the job description.”

Adaleigh’s laugh came out more like a cough. “You said you left your badge in the kitchen.”

Detective O’Connor grunted as he pushed himself to sit on the edge of the tree table. “I knew you didn’t murder anyone, so it didn’t matter. Now let’s get you back to my sister’s house so you can get a good night’s sleep. I’ll have a good long talk with that reporter in the morning. You’ll be safe until then, I promise.”

Grandma met David and Leigh at the front door. She took Leigh’s face in her hands, ran her eyes over her expression, and nodded. “David, take her upstairs while I make her a cup of tea.”

“But—” He didn’t want to leave her, but he wouldn’t ruin her reputation by being in the attic room alone with her.

Mrs. Martins turned on her heels down the hallway. “You will do exactly what I asked.”

Leigh patted his arm. “It’ll be fine.”

David held in his protest. She sagged, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. Funny thing with fear, once it ebbed, a person wanted to curl up in a ball somewhere safe in order to weather the storm. He knew that from experience. He also knew that once Leigh regained her strength, her fight would roar back like a tidal wave.

They reached the foot of the stairs leading to the third floor, and David slowed, reluctant to let go of her. “I wish there was something I could do or say to make things better.”

“You’re a good man, David.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you for caring for me tonight.”

He stuffed his free hand into his pocket to keep from wrapping her in another embrace. “Is it strange that it feels like we’ve known each other a lot longer than a couple days?”

“Is that all? Seems like much longer after all we’ve been through.”

“I have tea.” Grandma’s voice came from the end of the hallway. David and Leigh stepped apart as she appeared with a tray containing a teapot and two cups.

“Let me carry that.” David took it from her and led the way up to Leigh’s attic room.

“Put it on the bed and git. I’ll stay with Leigh.” Grandma’s voice followed him. “After a fright, I find a cup of tea calms the nerves and helps one sleep. As does a bit of company.”

David set the tray on the bed and backed toward the door as Grandma escorted Leigh across the room.

“I’m a bit embarrassed that I reacted so strongly.” Leigh tucked her legs under her as she sat on the bed. Her shoulders sagged and she wrapped one arm around her middle as she slipped a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Mercy, how was he supposed to leave the room? “Did Detective O’Connor tell you what happened, Mrs. Martins?”

“He didn’t need to. When he called as David drove you home, he only told me to greet you at the door.” Grandma poured tea into a cup with a large daisy on the front and handed it to Leigh before pouring tea for herself in the second cup. “I knew as soon as we met, there was more going on with you, and it seems to have caught up to you. When you’re ready, I’d like to hear about it.”

“I—”

She wagged a finger. “Not now. Tomorrow. After you’ve slept.”

Leigh glanced between David and his grandma, her cup resting in her lap. “Are you sure it’s safe to stay here? I don’t want to put anyone in danger.”

“Dearie, there are a lot of frightful things in the world.” Grandma sipped her tea. “We cannot live in constant fear. We put up reasonable safeguards and trust the good Lord with the rest.”

Leigh frowned.

David drew a breath to underscore what Grandma said, but she kept speaking. “I’m an old woman, Leigh. I’ve learned that we cannot worry about what we cannot control or we’ll go mad, surrounded only by our self-made fortresses.”

“What’s worse than knowing someone wants to kill you?” Leigh’s words were more of a desperate cry and it pierced David’s heart.

Grandma set her cup down beside the pot with a slight rattle. “Do not fear, child, we will be vigilant, so you are safe to sleep.”

Emotion clogged David’s throat. How often had his grandmother said those same words to him after his mother died?

Leigh sniffed as she set her full cup beside Grandma’s. “Thank you for taking me in.”

“It does my heart good to help a bright young woman like you.” Grandma tucked the tray against her hip as she pulled down the blankets—David’s cue to leave. “You give me hope, and in the midst of pain, I must hope.”

As David quietly closed the door, he heard Leigh ask, “Why does Detective O’Connor want to help me?”

“Oh, I suppose you remind him of someone.”

A frown twitched David’s brows downward. Who would that be?

Tuesday, June 3

The next morning, David hated leaving the house without first checking on Leigh, but he left too early, especially this week, and he couldn’t be late.

Now he sat on the rocking Tuna Mann, a thermos of coffee beside him, mending hooks along the trotlines, and trying not to think of the mysterious woman he wanted to protect. His uncle had called her Adaleigh last night. A beautiful name and it fit her better than Leigh. It also made sense that she didn’t want anyone to know her real name, not after the story she told.

Adaleigh. He ran her name through his mind again.

The sun rose before the bow, leaving the stern cloaked in the shadow of the wheelhouse. David lowered his flatcap as he watched the shoreline recede. Leigh—Adaleigh—said she liked mornings. Because of their hope.

God, help her wake to that hope when she opens her eyes. Show her the new mercies You give her each new morning. Let her know of Your great faithfulness.

“David, your name is, right?” The new man, Weber, plopped down next to him. A stout man who lumbered as he crossed the bobbing deck.

David didn’t have the energy for idle gossip or irritating greenhorns. “Whatcha need?”

“Teach me what’s you’re doing. I’m here to learn.”

The man might talk a lot, but what a nice change to actually have a little willing help about the boat. “Alrighty then, here’s what you do …”

Just as David, Detective O’Connor, and Mrs. Martins promised, Adaleigh woke the next morning alive and well in the bed on the third floor of Mrs. Martins’s house. Light streamed in the east window like a warm hug. She snuggled under the quilt. The details of all that followed the photographer's ambush were a little fuzzy, but she knew she owed her current state to David.

Her heart panged. He had seen the raw side of her. Sirlands did not reveal that type of information to anyone, especially someone of a different gender. It wasn’t proper. It wasn’t refined. Adaleigh sighed, recalling the safety of David’s arms again. Who was she to ever follow those rules, anyway? It wasn’t in her blood.

But… What if David doesn’t like me now?

Adaleigh sat straight up in bed. What in grasshoppers did she just say? No way would she ever think such a girlish thought if she were operating in her right mind. Those words had to be some other voice talking because the whole wishy-washy female thing wasn’t her. And, God help her, it never would be.

She tossed back the covers. They were coarser than she was used to, but they kept her warm, so what did it matter? People mattered. Yet a few-day friendship was just an acquaintance. It couldn’t mean anything, and she wouldn’t tell him any more about herself.

Right.

Adaleigh flopped back on her pillow. The man had managed to get into her head the first moment she met him, when he pulled her out of the water as panic threatened to drown her, and that made the decision to leave even harder.

Reality said to run. Logic said to draw danger away from such a nice family. Then why did her heart not want to listen? Why was she willing to risk sacrificing her safety—and theirs—to stay? Did finding a home, a family, really mean that much to her?

What did she even know about this family? They seemed as broken as her own. The dad was arrested for murder, for heaven’s sake. Yet Mrs. Martins took her in without question. Detective O’Connor looked out for her. And David cared about her.

Was she willing to give that up? Maybe the events of the past few weeks had her more vulnerable than usual, but having a friend right now meant more than she wanted to admit. In the light of day, the terror of last night seemed but a shadow. Detective O’Connor was right—decisions like this were best made in sunlight.

She let her thoughts coalesce as she dressed. It came down to whether Detective O’Connor convinced the reporter to not print her picture. Then she could decide if she would stay in Crow’s Nest.

First step in place, Adaleigh peered out the east window. Was David’s boat already out on that sparkling water? Seemed like a good fishing day. Not only was the sun shining brightly, but the air appeared fresh and the sky cloud-free. Seagulls floated over the water. A sailboat headed out of the harbor. Even the gloomiest night will wear on to a morning, Stowe said in Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

The nagging thought that had played in her mind while she dressed rose more strongly. At first, she hadn’t lent much credence to it, but what if it had merit?

What if Detective O’Connor was right and Ashley just wanted to scare her and wouldn’t track her down to kingdom come? What if the safest place for Adaleigh was right here in Crow’s Nest, where she could live with a good family?

What if he was wrong?

Leaving that nerve-wracking train of thought behind, she made her way downstairs to find Detective O’Connor himself sitting at the kitchen table and sipping his coffee. Samson raised his head from his paws at her arrival.

“Mornin’.” Detective O’Connor nodded as she walked over.

Samson stretched, then stood, his head at her hand. Adaleigh scratched behind his ear.

“Well?” It was the best prompt she could verbalize before her morning coffee.

Detective O’Connor’s eye twitched. He took a slurp. Adaleigh waited.

“Marie is at the church for Amy’s burial, so you’ll have to make your own.”

Burial. She hated the thought and never wanted to attend another. Not after having to survive burying her parents. “Why aren’t you there?”

“Because I’m here. Now get yourself breakfast while you’re at it.”

Detective O’Connor and his cryptic answers. She was not awake enough to deal with any of this. She fumbled in the kitchen for a good two minutes before she got a new pot brewing on the stove and bread in the oven. Then she pulled out the chair across from the detective.

Detective O’Connor smiled from under that mustache. “Take a breath. Wake up.”

Adaleigh rested folded hands on the table.

He chuckled. “This afternoon, I’ve arranged for you to join me as Alistar interviews Lizzy and Mark Hitchens.”

Hitchens? Matt’s parents? “Why?”

“Matt is fully recovered, and his parents insist on meeting you. They’re the type of people who get what they want.”

That type of family did not intimidate her. Her parents were that type of couple. “I didn’t save the child because I wanted praise,” Adaleigh said. “There is no need to meet them. I—”

“I know.” Detective O’Connor stopped her. “But without you, their little boy may have died. You should meet them.”

Heat rose in her face, and her lungs tightened. “So much for hiding out. My sister is going to find me. You said you’d help, but meeting this family is only going to make it worse.”

Detective O’Connor set down his mug to give her his full attention. “The reporter agreed to keep your picture out of the paper in return for this exclusive. Meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Hitchens gives the added benefit of keeping Matt’s near-drowning in its proper place. In other words, not blown out of proportion.”

“And being a murder witness?”

“I warned the reporter to keep that off the record.” Detective O’Connor paused.

Adaleigh suspected he had much more to say on the subject, but she wasn’t prepared to drag it out of him. Not this early in the morning, anyway. “As a witness, could I leave town?”

“Let’s not worry about that right now.”

Adaleigh rose to get her coffee. “I promise I’m not making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“I know. You’re scared. But work with me to package your story. You’re the heroine who saved Matt Hitchens, not a witness to a murder. With that framework, attention on you should blow over after the interview. Then the focus will turn to the murder investigation, not you. You’ll be safe here until then.” He tapped the table to make her look at him. “There’s one road in and one road out of Crow’s Nest, and everyone here recognizes a stranger. If your sister shows up, we will both hear her coming.”

Adaleigh nodded, digesting this information. Rhetoric was a powerful tool. Done right and it could shape a narrative. If the people of Crow’s Nest associated her with being Matt’s rescuer, then they wouldn’t necessarily connect her with the ongoing investigation, which should keep her in a good light, a protective light. She blew out a breath. This could work.

“Good.” Detective O’Connor smiled and resumed relaxing with his coffee. “Interview is at three this afternoon.”

Interview? The word finally snapped into place. This wasn’t about her or the reporter. Adaleigh returned to the table with her coffee. “You’re using this as an opportunity to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Hitchens about Amy. She was their babysitter. This so-called interview is just a ruse, isn’t it?”

Detective O’Connor’s mustache twitched.

“Why do you want me—and worse, a reporter—present while you interrogate them about Amy?”

“You are too smart for your own good.” Detective O’Connor took another sip. “Don’t I smell your toast burning?”

Adaleigh rolled her eyes but hopped up to rescue her bread. “Could David’s dad have killed Amy?”

“I can’t talk about the case,” Detective O’Connor said. “But I will say that Frank has caused Marie heartache most of his adult life. He’s her only child.”

“Do you think he’s innocent?”

“Marie is convinced.”

“Are you?”

Detective O’Connor turned to face her straight on. “I’m never convinced of anything until there is proof.”

Adaleigh frowned. Now she understood why David was so anxious to find out the truth for himself. Getting any details out of Detective O’Connor took every ounce of her rhetorical and psychological abilities, and she still couldn’t manage to come away with any significant information.

She buttered her toast and switched tacks. “How about telling me about the Hitchens family?”

Detective O’Connor looked at her sideways, as if he knew she was aiming at more than information about the family whose boy she saved. “Mark is a successful businessman. Lizzy is active in the community. They have two kids, Matthew and Sarah.”

She waited for more, but Detective O’Connor changed the subject. She’d just have to pay close attention this afternoon at his “interview.” Maybe she’d learn something to help David, seeing that he’d helped her so much already.