Chapter Two

The detective’s large mastiff loped ahead of them, sniffing at fire hydrants and tree trunks. Detective O’Connor walked beside Adaleigh with easy strides, leading her over cracked roads that wove north of the boardwalk. She found she liked the quaint town of Crow’s Nest.

With the lure of a home-cooked dinner, the detective had managed to convince Adaleigh to at least go along to his sister’s house, a simple frame structure set back on a shady lot, as it turned out. He also said she had a spare room she’d let in exchange for light housework. Adaleigh’s stomach growled at the thought of food—the muffin hadn’t touched her hunger—and her muscles ached at the idea of a soft bed. She had no experience with housework, but how hard could it be for a few days? And surely, she could keep her guard up while obtaining much-needed rest and still be out of Crow’s Nest before her sister was any the wiser.

“Afternoon, Em.” Detective O’Connor beamed at the woman who answered the door.

Short, plump, and with a bob of silvery hair, Marie Martins did not look one bit like her brother. Except for the eyes. They both had those squinty, smiley eyes with creases at the corners. Unlike her brother, who had studied and interpreted Adaleigh, Mrs. Martins seemed to know everything from a simple glance.

Adaleigh recoiled at how exposed Mrs. Martins made her feel, but the older woman planted her hands on Adaleigh’s shoulders. “What have you brought me, Michael?”

“The girl needs a place to stay.”

“What’s your name, dearie?”

Adaleigh stammered.

“Leigh is new to town.” Detective O’Connor nodded, encouraging her to pick up the explanation. What story could she give them? How much of the truth did she want to share? She’d already lied to the detective about her name.

“Michael, be nice. She’ll tell us in her own time.”

The detective leaned closer to Adaleigh. “I told you my sister takes in everyone.”

Mrs. Martins harrumphed. “The Lord said to welcome the stranger, so I do what I can.”

Detective O’Connor rested his hands on his belt. “Like that one pickpocket who just needed a little guidance.”

The two stared at one another for a few moments, silent conversation passing between them, until Detective O’Connor grinned. Mrs. Martins gave a martyr’s sigh.

“Come with me.” She spun around and headed down the long hall. “We’re just about to have supper.”

“Why do you think we’re here?” Detective O’Connor called after her, winking at Adaleigh before following his sister.

Adaleigh entered the kitchen. Its beige, marbled linoleum separated it from the front room’s tan carpet, which peeked through a wide doorway. Cracked cupboards, a wood stove, an electric refrigerator, and a large sink with a hand pump surrounded the large wooden table on three sides. Two people stood near the table: a lanky man with a mop of blondish hair and scraggly whiskers and a fresh-faced woman holding the cone of the wall phone to her ear.

“Who’s she?” The woman glared at Adaleigh, voice full of annoyance, eerily reminding Adaleigh of her sister.

Samson moved underfoot, Mrs. Martins shooing him away as she put bowls full of food on the table.

“Leigh, meet my sister’s adult grandchildren.” Detective O’Connor pointed at each in turn. “Patrick and Samantha.”

Adaleigh nodded, apprehensive with all the eyes staring at her.

Samson let out a howl. Adaleigh barely contained the yelp that bubbled out of her throat. Detective O’Connor squinted at her as the dog raced toward the opening front door.

“Thank heavens.” Mrs. Martins placed a bowl of potatoes on the table. “I didn’t think he’d make it before the food got cold.”

“Grandma, it smells amazing!” A cheerful voice echoed down the hallway followed by the man who’d pulled her out of the lake this afternoon. He ran his fingers through short brown hair as his gaze landed on Adaleigh.

“Leigh, this is my other grandnephew, David Martins.” Detective O’Connor made formal introductions.

David—Mr. Martins felt too formal in her head—bowed slightly. “Happy to officially meet you, Miss Leigh. I’ll forgive my uncle for not allowing us the pleasure earlier.”

Adaleigh kicked herself into turning an unusually shy smile into a genuine one, especially when she met his gaze. She was struck by the kindness in his eyes, like his grandmother’s. A deep brown. A hint of sadness added to their depth, though humor flashed for a moment while he spoke. A few freckles attempted to peek from under the tan that covered his shaven face. And the faint whiff of water, sun, and fish reminded her of how easily he’d pulled her from the water.

“But what’s she doing here?“ Samantha replaced the receiver on the phone and flipped her bobbed black hair as she placed a well-emphasized whine in her words. It snapped Adaleigh’s attention away from David.

“Will you be staying with us?” David asked before he placed a kiss on his grandmother’s cheek en route to carry over the platter of fish before the older lady could do so. Lean and lithe, he moved easily, as if accustomed to being in the kitchen. Intriguing.

“Wait.” Patrick squinted at Adaleigh. “You match the description of the girl who saved Matt.”

Heat infused Adaleigh’s body. She hadn’t considered people would make note of her description. Wouldn’t that just make her sister’s day? She already had her Pinkerton boyfriend searching for her. A news article would lead him here in days.

“It was Amy’s fault, wasn’t it?” Samantha’s charcoal-lined eyes stared at her.

Adaleigh had to do a double-take to assure herself it wasn’t her sister standing there. Fear tightened every muscle in her body. She couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t bring danger to this family. She had to get out of Crow’s Nest. Now.

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Martins stirred something in a pot on the stove.

“What do you mean? This is exciting.” Patrick pushed past his sister, reaching for the house phone. “Wait until I tell—”

“Sit down!” Detective O’Connor growled, stopping Patrick—a grown man—in his tracks.

Warmth heated Adaleigh’s left arm, drawing her attention. David had materialized beside her and placed a hand on her arm as he watched her with a mixture of question and concern. He undoubtedly had the same disconcerting ability to read her that his uncle and grandmother had. Yet … he grounded her—perhaps because of his touch—more than either his uncle or grandmother had done. More than anyone in a long while.

“Patrick, that’s enough.” Mrs. Martins snapped a towel at her grandson. “You children need to learn to respect a person’s privacy. Leigh is our guest. She is not an exhibit, and my house is not a zoo. You treat her right. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Both bowed their heads.

“Even a hero needs to eat,” David whispered in Adaleigh’s ear as he nodded to a chair at the table. “Impressive rescue, by the way.”

The warmth rose to her hairline and her stomach grumbled as David held her chair. So much for leaving. She’d stay for dinner, then decide what to do. Food made for a clearer brain.

“Enough antics now. It’s suppertime.” Mrs. Martins set the last bowl—cooked carrots—on the table and settled at its head. David sat opposite her with Patrick to his left. Detective O’Connor took the chair beside Patrick, Samson underneath, and Samantha sat across from him so that Adaleigh found herself with Samantha on her right and David at her left.

After Mrs. Martins insisted upon saying grace, people dove into the food. Platters passed every which way. Empty plates were handed off, then returned, overflowing. Butter dish, salt, bread … all distributed in no certain order. It took Adaleigh a minute to catch on to the chaos. Actually, it took David handing her the breadbasket with a look that said, jump in before nothing’s left.

Baked fish, boiled potatoes, cooked carrots, fresh bread … everything smelled so delicious. It baffled her on where to begin. Fortunately, the manners that had been ingrained in her head for as long as she could remember kept her from shoveling the food into her mouth at an unladylike rate, no matter how much her stomach complained over how little she’d consumed over the past few weeks.

As Adaleigh took one purposeful bite after another, she watched the Martins family. Patrick ate and talked at the same time—all about Adaleigh’s rescue of young Matt, who had apparently suffered only a minor concussion. Samantha responded to his tale with eye rolls and dramatic sighs. David ate silently, his eyes on his plate, though sometimes he’d glance at Adaleigh with a smile timed well with one of Patrick’s outrageous comments, which kept her from fully panicking. Mrs. Martins and Detective O’Connor seemed to talk without saying a word, letting Patrick’s voice fill the silence, even though Adaleigh wished they would make him stop.

It was something like dinner at home the last several years. Mom and Dad would silently communicate from across the table. If Ashley was present, she would tell fabricated stories aimed to wound Adaleigh in their parents’ eyes, no matter what scolding, threatening, or cajoling Mom and Dad would do. Adaleigh limited herself to reporting on her day, then kept quiet. It wasn’t like it used to be. Nothing was like it used to be.

“Leigh?” It was Detective O’Connor. “Ah, you are with us.”

Adaleigh smiled, quickly tucking away her embarrassment.

“He just wanted the potatoes.” David winked at her, looking like what she imagined his uncle would have forty-odd years ago.

“Hey!” Patrick swatted at the potato bowl David held over his plate.

Mrs. Martin cast warm eyes on Adaleigh. “Now, tell us, dearie, what’s brought you to Crow’s Nest?”

What could she say? That, for the second time in her life, she was now penniless? Mrs. Martins would probably brush that aside. How about that her sister ran her off from the only home she knew? The dear lady would surely start to wonder about her then.

Thankfully, Detective O’Connor took the potatoes and redirected the conversation. “David, who was the man, about thirty, black suit, red tie, who came out of the Shanty after Leigh’s rescue? Saw him at the Wharfside.”

Adaleigh’s head turned. The Shanty? Captain Mann’s Fishing Shanty? The old building next to the restaurant Detective O’Connor had taken her to?

“Gave his name as Joe Spelding.” David rested his fork on his plate. “The hotshot made me feel like he deigned to step foot inside the Shanty.”

“Need you conduct business at the table, Michael?” Mrs. Martins snatched the potato bowl out of her brother’s hand. “Let our guest talk.”

Detective O’Connor’s mustache bobbed. Adaleigh ducked her chin.

“Spelding met with Captain Mann,” David said between swallows of water. “Then insisted on using our boat all next week.”

“You work too much,” Samantha mumbled around a bite of potatoes.

“Meeting up with friends.” Patrick pushed away from the table.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Mrs. Martins called after him, then shook her head. “He’s all grown up and I can’t manage him anymore. I’m afraid he’ll …” She stopped with a glance at David.

“Become like Dad?” David wiped his mouth with his napkin.

The silence stiffened like muscles held still too long.

Samantha broke it, scooting her chair back with a scrape. “I’m meeting friends, too. Don’t wait up.”

“Young lady!” Mrs. Martins called after her, but Samantha was gone.

Adaleigh’s wasn’t the only dysfunctional family.

Detective O’Connor leaned back in his chair and tossed Samson a crust of bread. “This is why I don’t come to supper, Em. You and I have a lovely time, but your grandchildren …”

“They’ll be the death of me, Michael.” Her face aged suddenly, making her appear closer to ninety than the seventy-some Adaleigh had guessed earlier.

“Regardless, the meal was delightful.” Detective O’Connor’s voice changed the mood in the room, as if the curtain closed and the play ended. “I’ve got to report bright and early tomorrow.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Adaleigh saw David shift. He looked as if he wanted to leave, too, but something kept him there.

“You also work too much.” Mrs. Martins glared at her brother.

He stretched and stood. Samson followed suit. “The Conglomerate has been making more serious power moves since the new kid kicked out old man Baxter. Buck is a cunning devil and a pain in the—the hindquarters. I don’t like it.”

“Do be careful, Michael.”

“You know I will.” He kissed her cheek. “David, let me know when you see more of that Spelding character.”

“Of course, Uncle Mike.”

“Leigh, you’re in good hands.” He patted his sister’s shoulders, then whistled for Samson to follow him out.

“Grandma, what can I do?” David stood.

“Be a lad and clean the table for me.” She unfolded herself from the chair rather slowly. “This old body can’t do what it used to. I’m going to bed. Leigh, will you be in need of anything? It is a struggle for me to climb the stairs much anymore, and with Samantha gone, I’m afraid David will have to show you to your room.”

“I’m sure it will all be lovely. Thank you.” Adaleigh half stood, then sat again, unsure what to do next, but needing to know the answer to one question. “Mrs. Martins, why let a stranger stay in your house?”

“You can tell a lot from someone by watching them.” Mrs. Martins smiled. “I think you need a safe place. A harbor to moor your boat for a while, if I may use the analogy.”

Adaleigh blinked away prickly tears.

“Ah, well, dearie, these old bones are done for today. David can see that you’re settled. But, if you ever need to talk, I’ve got two fine, listening ears.”

Mrs. Martins tottered down the hall, leaving Adaleigh alone with David.

David focused on peeling off whatever meat was left on the remaining salmon instead of letting his eyes wander to the stranger he’d pulled from the water only a few hours ago.

Melinda “Mindy” Zahn, a waitress at the Wharfside, was the only other woman he felt this comfortable around, but their friendship—and that’s all it had ever been—lacked the spark he felt around Leigh, which couldn’t be her real name. Who would name their daughter a boy’s name, for heaven’s sake? This Leigh seemed cloaked in a mystery he wanted to uncover. If only he’d gotten home early enough to wash up before supper. He hadn’t expected to see her again, let alone for his uncle to bring her home.

Leigh grabbed her empty plate and Samantha’s, setting hers on the countertop to use both hands to manage Samantha’s leftover food. The fish into the stockpot, the potatoes into a bowl for later. Still, David cringed at the amount of food his adult siblings wasted. As the primary breadwinner in the house during the recent economic downturn, he knew the cost of things all too well.

“Need help?” David asked, unsure how else to start a conversation with her.

Leigh must have been lost in her own thoughts, since she had stalled, potatoes half in the bowl. She seemed so self-contained, and his curiosity warred with her signals to leave her alone.

She glanced down. “Distracted, I guess,” she said, then finished emptying the plate.

He could sense a crack in her walls, or maybe he just wanted to hear her talk. Regardless, he tried again, adding in a teasing tone with the hopes it would help her open up. “So, other than being a beautiful lady who heroically rescues children, will you tell me about yourself?”

She pursed her lips, hazel eyes twinkling for the first time. “I do believe you’re a flirt.”

A flirt! A laugh exploded from his belly, warming his chest on the way out. How long had it been since he’d let out such a hearty laugh, let alone flirted with a girl?

“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping good tears from his eyes. “I’m just so rarely accused of being a flirt these days. Not at all, really. I guess I just didn’t expect to pull someone as pretty as you out of the lake.”

“See? You did it again. You’re incorrigible,” she said, but her tone seemed to say she liked that about him. In fact, was that a glimpse of a smile lifting the corner of her mouth before she turned to the table to gather two more plates? The pleasure filling his chest held an addictive quality that made him want to coax her smile out of hiding more than ever.

“So, how did you end up at our supper table?”

She bobbed her shoulders, still collecting utensils, without looking at him. “Your uncle insisted.”

“He’s like that, knows a good person when he sees one. Grandma, too. They read people.”

“Rather unnervingly so.”

David chuckled. She was right about that.

“What about you?” Finally, she turned to separate Patrick’s leftovers into their proper containers. “How did you end up here with your grandma? You and your siblings.”

That question. He hated answering it. But the way Leigh avoided his gaze as she worked told him she wouldn’t divulge more until he did. She circled the table, gathering utensils that she placed in the wash bucket. Each move was graceful and purposeful. She didn’t fit in a worn down town like Crow’s Nest, but her bravery at rescuing Matt, her discomfiture when he pulled her from the water, her willingness to stay here … his curiosity hadn’t been peaked this much in ages.

He lifted the fish carcass and dropped it into Grandma’s garden bucket. She’d use the bones in her garden. “Grandma adopted us while we were all still rather young.” He could have moved out when he finished school, gone on with his life, but Grandma needed him here. His family needed him. So he’d put his dreams on hold to be the provider his dad couldn’t be.

Leigh wrung out a dish rag. “No parents?”

“Mom died when I was twelve. Dad …” He shrugged. What else could he say?

“I don’t mean to pry.”

Of course she didn’t. She was diverting from herself. Knowing that didn’t make his own story any easier to tell. There was an awkward silence as they worked in tandem to place the rest of the dishes into the washbasin. He wrestled his emotions back into their box. He should be able to handle questions about his parents by now, but no, he had to make everyone uncomfortable with how the whole situation still affected him.

Enough. He didn’t need to burden her with his family’s troubles, even if she managed to get him to share more easily than other people. He wanted to know more about this beautiful stranger, and he might only get one night to do so. Memorial Day Night, no less.

“Have you seen much of Crow’s Nest?” David asked as he scrubbed the dirty dishes.

She grabbed a towel to dry them. “I only discovered your town this morning.”

She reached for another plate, her shoulder brushing his arm, wisps of her brown hair escaping her braid and catching on her sleeve. A feeling he barely recognized—longing, if he had to name it—skidded through him. He needed to tread carefully, for both their sakes, but his curiosity was too strong to ignore.

“To honor Memorial Day—after the parade and speeches this morning, the decorating of the gravestones this afternoon—the boats put on a nighttime light show. Captains hang lanterns from the prows and wheelhouses of their boats, illuminating the harbor, so it’s as if the wharf comes alive, celebrating life after a day of mourning. There’s music, dancing …”

“Sounds magical.”

He didn’t miss the wistfulness in her voice. “Come for a walk with me? I’ll show you.”

“Really?” She narrowed her eyes as she studied him, but was that a flicker of interest he detected?

“No obligations.” He held up his hand as if swearing on the Bible in a court of law. “I’ll have you back before ten. I do have to work in the morning.”

She stared at him a beat longer and his hope rose. Then she smiled. “I’d be delighted to join you. Thank you.”

He grinned. Perhaps he could finally get her talking.