Chapter Eighteen

David steeled himself against the emotions flooding him as Adaleigh cowered against the rough bark of the pine tree. It’d been torture to watch her battle whatever horrid image had her in its grip, but when she jerked away from his touch, it gutted him. He blinked away the tears that smarted his eyes and made sure to speak calmly but firmly, hoping to break through her panic-induced haze. “You’re safe, Adaleigh. No one will harm you.”

She breathed rapidly, as if afraid the air would disappear.

“You’re safe,” David repeated and tentatively clasped her hands. Touch could help ground her, but his touch had caused the attack in the first place. “Breathe in. Breathe out. With me. Nice and slow. In. Out. That’s it.”

He pressed his fingers to her wrist, felt her heart rate slow as her breathing evened. Thank you, God. “There, some color is returning.” He brushed hair out of her eyes.

Adaleigh leaned her head back against the tree trunk, revealing the bruise on her neck. “The ground is hard.”

He forced a smile past the concern he knew was etched in his face. Couldn’t hold it. “You’re shaking. Let me get you my coat from the car.”

Before he could jump up, Adaleigh grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave.”

Never. As long as she’d let him stay, he’d never leave. He slid closer to her. “I won’t go anywhere.”

She leaned into his warmth, and he carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Slowly, quietly, the story emerged. From Mark Hitchens’s greeting her when she went to meet with his wife, to seeing the young lady he was with, to his physical threat. Then later to her meeting Spelding, to his story about waiting for Amy, to his warning.

When the words finally stopped, Adaleigh rested her head on David’s shoulder, and he tightened his hold, fighting the fury he felt on her behalf. How could these men use their strength to harm instead of protect?

“Thank you for telling me,” he whispered.

Crickets chirped as silence settled between them. Then Adaleigh asked, “Why haven’t you suggested I’d be better off in an asylum?”

David frowned. “What do you mean?”

She lifted her head and raised her eyebrows. Right. That’s where many ended up when battling their demons.

He cupped her face in his hand. “I’m going to insist we tell my uncle because you were physically attacked and threatened today.”

She flinched, but he held her steady.

“As for the idea of insanity … Adaleigh. You do not belong in an asylum. You need family and friends around you who will …” love you. “Now, no more talk of asylums. I am here for you. Whatever you need.” He ran his thumb over her cheek.

She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. “Okay. I trust you, David.”

He lowered his head and pressed a light, chaste kiss to her lips. “I trust you, too.”

Saturday, June 7

The next morning, Adaleigh awoke feeling as though she’d been in a boxing ring. In the past, when she didn’t have to get up on a cloudy day, she would have continued lounging in bed, likely with a book, but it was Jam Day, and she’d promised to help. Besides, she wanted to see if David was home—she pressed her fingers to her lips, the gentle kiss he placed there like healing oil to her heart.

Telling David, who’d then helped her tell his uncle about Mr. Hitchens and Mr. Spelding and the threats … well, what should have terrified her, felt freeing. She had people fighting alongside her now, and the fact that she no longer needed to carry her burdens alone had lifted a weight from her shoulders.

Remembering the stains on Mrs. Martins’s hands after working with the strawberries, she put on her dirtier dress, then went downstairs. Her hostess was in her robe, sipping coffee and reading a book at the kitchen table. Adaleigh hesitated in the middle of the family room, .

The older woman spotted her and smiled. “How are you feeling this morning, dear?”

“Rested and much better. At least I will after I’ve had my coffee.”

Mrs. Martins put aside her book. Her Bible.

“I’ve interrupted you.”

“Nonsense. Get your coffee and come sit. You look refreshed. Did you enjoy your outing with David?” A twinkle danced in her eyes.

“The water was gorgeous.” But she preferred to keep her time on the water with him close and not share, so she said, “Tell me about the strawberries. What all are we doing today?”

“Why, making jam, of course.” Mrs. Martins spoke brightly. “Although I always have to make a pie, too. Did you know strawberries are actually a member of the rose family?”

“No, I didn’t. Very interesting. And I’ve never made—” A low rumble of thunder interrupted her.

Mrs. Martins pushed away from the table and moved aside the curtain to peer out the window over the sink. Adaleigh followed. Rain pattered the glass. The older woman’s reflection revealed a furrowed brow and down-turned mouth.

The same concern then darted to Adaleigh’s midsection. “Is David out fishing?”

“Probably.” Mrs. Martins turned away, but her worry stayed. “He’s at the docks by three or four in the morning during the summer. Perhaps they have returned by now.”

“Or maybe they didn’t go out at all?”

Mrs. Martins shook her head. “It all depends on the water.”

David had been doing this long enough that he knew when to return, right? Why risk their lives for a couple fish or a couple dollars? What unnerved her most, however, was how much she wanted David to return safely. It threatened to steal her breath.

Mrs. Martins rested her aging hand on Adaleigh’s shoulder. “He’s a good lad. He’ll call to tell us he is safe as soon as he can. Give me a few minutes to get dressed, and we can start the strawberries.”

Adaleigh had poured and finished her coffee and washed her cup by the time Mrs. Martins returned.

She tossed Adaleigh a faded blue apron. “Once that’s on, climb on a chair and bring down that pot.” She pointed to the top of the refrigerator. The pot she wanted was a type of stock pot Adaleigh remembered their family cook using when she stuck her head into the kitchen.

Mrs. Martins tied on her own fire-engine-red apron. “Fill it three-quarters of the way with water, then set it on the stove. I’ll get wood to get it hot enough to boil that much water.”

Adaleigh obeyed. After Mrs. Martins stoked the stove, she set glass jars and lids inside the pot. Then she handed Adaleigh a potato masher and a large bowl filled with five pounds of strawberries and told her to, quote, “mash ’em up good.”

Five pounds of strawberries sounded like a lot, and it was. Adaleigh stood at the table and mashed until her forearm hurt. Then she switched hands and kept mashing. Somehow, it let her think while keeping any residual panic at bay. Or maybe her mind simply lingered on the kiss.

“You want all the chunks out, or we’ll have chunks in the jam,” Mrs. Martins explained as she fed the stove another log. A crack of thunder followed her words, and she frowned.

David hadn’t called yet. Adaleigh’s anxiety multiplied. His commercial fishing boat was larger than the one they’d been on last night, but he still took it far from land, in open water where a storm could … She focused on mashing.

Once the strawberries were the consistency Mrs. Martins preferred, the older woman handed her a new bowl. “Six more pounds, dear.”

Adaleigh stared at her.

Her face wrinkled into a smile. “We have to make enough to last year round.”

In a small bowl, Mrs. Martins combined sugar and this powder she called pectin. Then she mixed it into the mashed strawberries. Looking like a chemist, she used tongs to remove the jars from the stockpot. Then, using a ladle, she filled the jars, wiped them down, and put them back into the boiling water.

“That’s it?” Adaleigh asked. “That doesn’t seem so hard.” Mashing aside.

“I did a lot of the work the other day when I cleaned all the—”

“Strawberries?” Samantha wandered down the stairs, wearing a summery pink dress. “Kyle will be here around lunch.”

“Why’s he coming?” Patrick bounded down the stairs.

“None of your business.” Samantha plopped herself at the table.

“Fine. I’ll be home later!” Patrick headed for the front door.

“Wear a raincoat, young man!” Mrs. Martins called after him. “Samantha, help yourself to breakfast.”

All fell silent, except for the bubbling water and the pounding rain. Every few moments, it seemed, Mrs. Martins would glance outside. Adaleigh knew she was thinking about David. Adaleigh was doing the same, starting at every rumble of distant thunder. Surely, he wasn’t still on the water. But a conscientious man like him would have called by now if he was back on land. So, where was he?

David caught his balance as the Tuna Mann rode up one wave and down the other side. Rain and spray soaked him through despite his slicker. He swiped the wet off his face and sent a glare toward the wheelhouse where Captain Mann drove the boat.

He hadn’t slept last night, his mind churning over what Adaleigh had told him, then dipping as he remembered the feel of her lips. David finally understood the allure of mutiny. Getting struck by lightning wasn’t worth a few dollars, let alone losing his life and leaving Adaleigh behind.

“Don’t you dare take in those lines.” Captain Mann shouted from the door of the wheelhouse. “The fish will be biting in droves in this storm.”

The man was plumb crazy!

David stumbled, losing his hat over the side of the boat. And just like that, all the emotion he’d been bottling to deal with later rose up in David’s chest. He was through being nice. Through sacrificing for everyone else. He wanted to get back to Adaleigh. Alive.

“Martins!” Captain Mann swore like the proverbial sailor. Thunder punctuated his words.

“Fire me, then.” David shouted at his captain as he cut the lines loose. “I told you this storm was too dangerous to go out in. I warned you about it yesterday. We had ample time to change our plans. Take us back to the harbor, or I will.”

Captain Mann’s splutter ended in an oomph when Randell charged past him to lean over the side of the boat, losing his breakfast. The boat rocked on another wave, and David dove for the man’s belt before he could go overboard.

“We’re calling in our position and heading in.” David stared down his boss.

Thankfully, Mann didn’t deck him when he reached for the radio. He just yanked the receiver out of his hand. “I’m still the captain. I’ll call it in.”

David stepped aside. Thunder gave a deafening crack, and Mann mashed the button. The radio was dead.

A knock at the door interrupted their silent work. Adaleigh rolled her wrists to ease the soreness in her arms. Whiteness crept into Mrs. Martins' face, and even Samantha sat at attention.

“Grandma?” Samantha looked from Mrs. Martins to the door, a quiver in her voice.

“I’ll answer it.” She wiped her hands on her apron, and they shook too.

Adaleigh left her masher to follow Mrs. Martins and Samantha to the door. Why would a visitor cause such a reaction?

Mrs. Martins opened the front door. “Hello?”

Buck Wilson stood solemnly on the porch, hands clasped in front of him. “Pardon me, Mrs. Martins.”

“David?” When she barely whispered the word, blood pounded in Adaleigh’s ears. This was how the community shared news of a fishing accident.

He pulled his wet fedora from his head, dripping water puddled at his feet. “We can’t raise the Tuna Mann, ma’am.”

Adaleigh’s breath caught. Did that mean what she thought it meant?

Samantha clutched her grandmother’s arm. “They’re still … out there?”

Buck gave a slow nod that felt more like a punch to the stomach. The memory of Adaleigh’s professor pulling her out of the commencement line came back to her in a rush. Standing beneath an aged oak, she’d learned her parents were gone. Her world had been tipped on end, but it was also the moment that started her on the path that led her here, to this family. To David and his kindness.

“Don’t lose hope,” Buck was saying, a hand wrapped around Mrs. Martins’s, his expression earnest. “We didn’t get a distress signal from them, either, and just because we haven’t gotten them on the radio doesn’t mean they’re in trouble.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Martins murmured, but she didn’t sound convinced.

“C’mon Grandma.” Samantha tugged her arm. “Let’s finish the jam while we wait for David to come home.”

Buck stepped back, rolling the brim of his hat. “I promise to keep you informed.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wilson.” Mrs. Martins allowed Samantha to lead her back toward the kitchen.

A muscle in Buck’s jaw bobbed before he turned to Adaleigh. “Miss Sirland, a word?” Buck waved her outside. He half sat on the porch railing, his black suit coat dangling open, revealing a wet light-blue shirt. Rain sprinkled his rounded shoulders, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“What does it mean that you can’t raise them on the radio?” Adaleigh clutched her arms around her middle, chilled despite the humidity.

“We don’t know.” Lines marred his chiseled features. “This is the part of the job I like least.”

Adaleigh nodded. “Why did the captain take out the boat if bad weather was coming in?”

Buck blew out a breath. “Captain Mann strongly supports the police’s investigation into the Conglomerate. He’s not my biggest fan.”

“What does that have to do with the weather?”

“He is under the impression we don’t have their best interest at heart.” Buck rubbed his chin. “He thinks that if we urge boats to stay in harbor, it’s because we don’t want them making money.”

“You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

Buck’s shoulders sagged. “You seem like you have a good head for business, so you can understand that running a business is more complicated than Mr. Mann makes it appear. But …” he straightened, stuffing one hand into his pocket, the other tapped his hat on his leg … “I wanted to speak to you privately regarding our conversation the other day. Since the police and I are not on good terms, would you pass along a piece of information to Detective O’Connor?”

“What about Chief Sebastian?” Not that Adaleigh wanted to tell him anything.

“He’s a bumbling idiot. Anyone asking around can see Frank Martins has the least motive for the situation.”

What a relief to hear someone else say it. “You believe he’s innocent, too?”

“I didn’t say he couldn’t have done it, just that there are other people with more to lose.”

“Like Joe Spelding?”

“Joe.” A shadow passed over Buck’s face. “Joe has made a few missteps in his first days here.”

Adaleigh bit back a humorless laugh. “Just a few?”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “You too?”

“He didn’t like me talking with you.” She rubbed her arm and also thought of Mindy.

Another strange expression passed over Buck’s features, but was gone before she could interpret it. “You, Miss Sirland, have caused quite the stir in Crow’s Nest.”

“That was the opposite of my intentions.” Adaleigh took a settling breath. “What did you want me to tell Detective O’Connor?”

A thunderclap shook the porch, and Adaleigh couldn’t stop the yelp that leapt from her lips. Buck jumped, one hand going to his empty hip, the other stretched out toward her as if he could shield her from harm. A blast of wind swirled a sheet of rain through the porch, drenching Buck. He muttered something unrepeatable and tried to shake out his sleeves. The drowned-rat look made his suit coat appear three times too large for him. Not nearly as appealing as the sharply dressed man Adaleigh first met.

“Just tell the good detective to come see me at headquarters,” Buck said. “I’ll return with more information on the Tuna Mann as soon as I can.”

Another roll of thunder followed Adaleigh as she hurried inside. Mrs. Martins was removing the filled jam jars from the stockpot and replacing them with empty ones. Samantha shifted from foot to foot.

As soon as the filled jars lined the counter, Mrs. Martins grabbed the ear cone off the phone box on the wall. “I’m calling David’s office.”

Samantha and Adaleigh exchanged worried looks as Mrs. Martins spoke with the operator.

“No answer.” Mrs. Martins tapped the ear cone against her other hand, then asked the operator to connect her with Detective O’Connor.

Lightning gave a deafening crack right outside the door. Rain pounded the house, and Adaleigh didn’t like the pit developing deep in her stomach. She focused on breathing in, then out, praying panic wouldn’t take root.

“Grandma?” Samantha pointed out the kitchen window. Past the white sheets of rain, a large branch of the tree next door hung by its bark. It waved in the wind. The right gust and it would be free to crash into anything, including the house.

“Michael isn’t answering, either,” Mrs. Martins said as she hung up. “And we could lose the telephone or electric lines any moment.”

That’s when Adaleigh realized the tree branch could be the least of their worries. The clouds were taking on a bumpy, swirling look that made the pit in her stomach turn into a boulder. Thunder rumbled like an earthquake, and another swift gust of wind rattled the window. Samantha stepped back.

“I don’t like this.” Mrs. Martins untied her apron. “I’ll rummage for candles.”

Thunder rumbled alongside another knocking at the door.

“That has to be Kyle.” Samantha nearly skidded down the hall like Samson had done the other day. Mrs. Martins followed her slowly. Likely, she wanted to be sure there was no news before she began her search for candles. Adaleigh trailed at a distance.

A very soggy Kyle closed the front door behind himself. Not as tall as David, but definitely more lean, he had an easy smile, and a freckled face. Water dripped down his shaggy strawberry-blond hair, his flat cap a soggy roll in his hand.

“I don’t have news.” Kyle hugged Samantha, wet clothes and all. “Wish I did.”

“Samantha, dear, get Kyle a blanket so he won’t be chilled.” Mrs. Martins disappeared into her bedroom.

Samantha opened her mouth, and Adaleigh expected a complaint to come out, but Kyle beat her to it.

“I’m fine, Sam. Water doesn’t hurt anyone.” He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. A slender rope hung around his neck, something weighing it down hidden under his collar. Thunder rumbled again, and the clouds looked even more agitated.

“Samantha, call around to tell Patrick to come home.” Mrs. Martins reappeared with a handful of candles. “Let’s finish up the strawberries before the power goes out. We need to keep our minds busy.”

She stoked the oven, and Adaleigh returned to mashing strawberries, though her heart wasn’t in it. She kept glancing at the rain battering the patio window and hoping David wasn’t outside in the middle of it. The storm intensified, and she craned her neck to spot the tree branch in the neighbor’s yard. It hadn’t fallen … yet.

“So you’re the new lass?” Kyle laid the now-damp towel across the back of a chair, the hint of a brogue lacing his tone.

“How do you know Samantha?” Adaleigh asked, reminding herself why he’d come. Perhaps the conversation would distract her from David’s plight.

Kyle glanced over at Samantha. “We’ve been friends since we were wee ones.”

“Samantha said you are also a friend of Sean’s?” Adaleigh could’ve used more tact, but concern made her impatient. “It must be hard to watch your friend lose his girlfriend.”

Kyle’s innate cheerfulness faded. “He and I have been friends since before I can remember. Sean adored Amy, but Amy was crazy. He and I never fought about lasses before her.”

“As in, got upset at each other?” A gust of wind slammed into the house, and Adaleigh shot a glance toward the tree branch. Still couldn’t see it.

“Knock-out fight.” Kyle frowned. “He couldn’t see that Amy was using him, and when a knock to the head couldn’t do it, I let him be. He’s pig-headed. Once an idea gets lodged, nothing is going to shake it.”

“Kyle, do you know anyone else who might be mad that Sean was seeing Amy?”

“I mean, just ’cause we’re not in school anymore doesn’t mean all the lads weren’t still jealous,” Kyle said. “But why kill Amy, not Sean?”

Good point. “What about Sean? Anyone want to get even with him?”

“Enough to kill Amy? That’s drastic.”

Another good point. Adaleigh glanced at Mrs. Martins. What would she be thinking about this line of questioning? She screwed lids on the jars and added them to her growing collection, unlit candles ready on the counter beside them.

“There are the other boyfriends,” Kyle said, more to Samantha than Adaleigh. “Sean denied it, but yeah, she’d go out with someone else, then come back to Sean as if he was her lifeline. Anyway, I’d think they’d kill Sean, not Amy.”

“Not necessar—” Adaleigh’s words were cut short as thunder cracked right outside the house. A burst of wind followed. Then a tree branch sailed through the back door, breaking it wide open.