Thursday
“THAT MUST BE Tait now.” Landon clicked open her seat belt. Moving Ciara’s belongings offered the perfect chance to question her parents about possible clues to the attack. And to see if they were as antagonistic as Ciara claimed.
Bobby had parked Roy’s pickup facing outward, truck bed aligned with the broad cobblestone walkway. The silver van reversing in from the street stopped beside them in the double driveway. Tait stepped out.
When she and Bobby joined him, Landon asked, “How’s Orran?”
Tait grimaced. “Doing better than Ciara. She was in a lot of pain when I dropped off the dog.”
“Maybe I should have gone to stay with her instead of coming to help load.” Except she’d wanted to investigate.
She followed Tait along the walk toward the house, her steps slower so she could take it in. Enclosed by a white wraparound veranda, the fairy-tale Victorian was half windows, half creamy yellow wooden shingles. Pristine white trim framed each glass rectangle, and a pale grey roof over the veranda drew the eye to the upper floors and their matching roof.
Fit for a princess. Landon could see Ciara living here.
In response to the doorbell’s faint Westminster chimes, the ornately carved wooden screen door opened. Landon and Bobby hurried onto the veranda as a blond man emerged.
Tait handled the introductions. Dressed for labour in a snug, soft-looking grey tee shirt and dark blue jeans, he matched the confident bearing that clung to Phil Kirkwood with his open-throated button-down dress shirt and casually held black coffee mug.
Landon tried to palm the creases from her cotton pants. A glimpse of her sneakers’ stained toes made her feel like she belonged at the servants’ entrance. With Bobby, whose shirt of the day was a moose in a biplane.
She followed the others into an immaculate hardwood-floored foyer. Their footsteps echoed on the stairs as Phil led them to an upper-floor corner room. Evening light filtered through the sheer curtains on both exterior walls, softening the impersonal effect of stacked two-foot-square boxes and a bare mattress in a four-poster bed.
Ciara could live in this house and avoid her parents for days. Why were they so bent on removing the last traces of her presence?
Phil stood with his back to a window, feet apart. “Whitney helped me with the boxes, but we left the bed for you men to disassemble.”
Tait heaved the mattress and box spring off onto their sides against the wall and bent to assess the wooden frame. “We’ll need tools.”
“There’s some in the truck.” Bobby ducked toward the stairs.
Landon approached the boxes. “Tait, is the van unlocked? I can start loading these.”
After she buckled a stack of boxes into his passenger seat, she started lining more against one side of the cargo area. On her next trip inside, Bobby and Tait were jockeying a solid oak bookcase on the stairs.
Listening to them grunt and gasp, she wandered the foyer, resting her spirit with the soft landscapes on the walls. Beyond a white-framed doorway, glossy dark wood shelving displayed crystal or blown glass sculptures. She drifted in for a closer look.
“Hello.” The soft word came from an adjoining room. A petite woman uncurled from the corner of a divan. She crossed the Persian carpet, one white hand outstretched. “You must be Ciara’s friend Landon. I’m her mother, Whitney. Thank you for helping her.”
Whitney’s chestnut hair hung in loose curls halfway to her waist. Her careful makeup couldn’t disguise an underlying pallor. With her lacy pink blouse over navy pants, she resembled a collector doll.
Landon clasped her hand lightly, introducing herself. “The heavy lifting you hear from the stairs is Bobby and Tait.”
“It’s so good of you to do this for her. We suggested she wait until she’s recovered from that dreadful fall, but you know Ciara. She can be stubborn.”
“She needs to be right now.”
It sounded like the bookcase had reached the main level. Time to fetch another box. But this was her opportunity.
“Mrs. Kirkwood—”
“Whitney.” Pink-glossed nails flashed in a dismissive gesture.
“Whitney, do you know anyone who’d want to harm Ciara? Someone did this, and she needs justice.”
The woman’s full lips trembled. “My daughter is strong. An achiever. She’s positive—not the sort to backstab or make enemies. I don’t know how anyone could try to hurt her.”
“There you are, darling. Has the commotion disturbed you?” Phil strolled in from the foyer.
She beamed at him. “It’s fine, dear. It’ll be good for Ciara to have her things again and fully leave the nest.”
Finding her attacker would be good for her too. Landon focused on Phil. “We were talking about the lack of suspects in Ciara’s fall.”
His nostrils pinched. “Ciara lives her own life. We weren’t informed she’d left her job to return to Lunenburg until it was a fait accompli.”
Landon’s breathing quickened. She forced her lungs to draw deep, to hold and exhale in a steady flow. His harsh response was not aimed at her. She’d heard frustration. Anger. Not control. Not abuse. Concentrating on each breath, she moved her gaze around the room. Anchoring to the reality of the setting.
Safe. She was safe. Feet planted on a glossy parquet floor. Surrounded by works of art and elegant furniture.
With Bobby and Tait for backup.
The sight of them in the doorway unfroze her spine.
She looked straight into Phil’s glare. “I understand you wouldn’t have information about Ciara’s current contacts, but what about her past? Do either of you remember any specific trouble from her childhood? She wasn’t always kind at school.”
His chin lifted until he was sighting along his nose. “Do you seriously suggest a long-ago grade school resentment could lead to attempted murder in the present?”
Whitney squealed and clapped long fingers to her mouth. Phil rushed to hold her. He stood, head bent, murmuring in her ear.
Without glancing toward Bobby and Tait, Landon drew on their support. “We can’t rule anything out, and family may be Ciara’s best hope of figuring out who this is. What if he tries again?”
Arm locked in place around his wife’s waist, Phil pointed toward the stairs. “This discussion is over. Finish the job and leave us in peace.”
Tears glistened in Whitney’s eyes. “Phil, I wish you’d hire an investigator.”
“The police are fully competent.” He tipped his face toward hers with a tender smile.
“Yes, dear, but they’re spread so thin. Especially with that shooting in Bridgewater. A girl who lived isn’t going to get much attention.”
“The investigators assure me they have a full complement of staff to handle these and the other cases. We need to trust them to do their jobs and not allow the events to distress us.” He stroked Whitney’s hair as if to smooth the furrows from her forehead. With an “Excuse us” to Landon, he shepherded his wife farther into the house.
Ciara hadn’t mentioned her mother’s fragility. Did she know?
Landon spun and hurried for the foyer. Whatever unintended harm she’d done, the best thing now was to finish loading and remove themselves from the scene.
Bobby and Tait lingered at the door. Tait cocked his head. “Wonder what that was about.”
“All I did was ask if they had any ideas about Ciara’s attacker. Somehow we have to find who’s behind this.” She jogged up the stairs.
A cluster of boxes remained in the bedroom. Tait scooped two into a stack against his chest and headed out.
Bobby’s touch stopped Landon as she reached for another. “Don’t worry about Ciara’s mom. It’s the attack that hurt her, not you.”
“Thank you.” She picked up the box.
He cut his gaze toward the stairs. “Tait. Is he a person of interest to Ciara?”
“For the crime?” What had Bobby seen that she hadn’t?
“Bad choice of words. Just…” He hefted a couple of boxes. “Cologne and fairly dressy casual clothes for a dirty job. Like he’s trying to make a good impression on her. Or her folks.”
“Or he likes to look good. But maybe. She’s skittish, though.”
Bobby snorted. “Huh. Never was with me.”
True. No matter how often they’d mentioned his girlfriend. “Was she serious, or just trying to make you uncomfortable?”
“Dunno. You didn’t tell her I’m single?”
“If she didn’t care before, she won’t now. How are you doing with it all?”
He peered at her around the edge of his boxes, beard stubble rasping against the cardboard. “Sounds like you assume I got dumped. Thanks for that.”
Tait burst through the doorway. “Let’s move. Ciara’s waiting.”
Bobby’s steady gaze fixed on Landon. Unreadable.
With a grunt, Tait gathered more boxes and left.
As he clomped down the stairs, Landon shifted the load in her arms. “From what you’ve said, I never thought Jessie appreciated you.”
Bobby took a step toward the door. “She’s not that bad. But ending it was my choice.”
“How’d she take it?”
“Not well.”
“Heartbreaker.”
He glanced back from the hallway. “Hearts weren’t involved on either side. We’ll both miss the convenience, that’s all.”
Landon followed him onto the stairs. “Is that why you decided to stay longer with Roy?”
“I couldn’t go back to the same town, the same church. With the same friends. It wouldn’t be right.”
Tait zipped inside as they reached the main floor. “Still one left? I’ll get it.”
Fifteen minutes later, they lumbered in a slow convoy through quiet streets toward the inn. Anna had offered to store everything in the barn until Ciara could decide what to keep and what to sell.
As they left town, Bobby cleared his throat. “Mad at me?”
“For what?”
“Breaking up with Jessie. Did I let her down or something?”
The truck jounced into a pothole. Bobby yelped and did a quick shoulder-check through the rear window. “Didn’t launch anything.”
They’d tied it all down, but he’d seemed nervous about the straps. He blew out a noisy breath. “In the tunnel, waiting to die, I thought about Gramp. My parents. Travers and his crew. Never once about Jessie. That told me I had to let go and give her a chance to find someone who’d really love her.”
Lacing her fingers in her lap, Landon traced a thumb along her opposite palm. “So that’s why you wouldn’t call about what happened. You had to see her in person.”
“Exactly. And the longer I waited, the more certain I was. Here is where I want to be.”
“I’m sure your parents were glad for the chance to see you and Roy.”
His fingers lifted on the steering wheel, curled, lifted again. “They were less than thrilled about me moving here. Short-term help for Gramp made their lives easier. But staying when he doesn’t need me…”
“What?”
“It may have been suggested I’ll lose myself in the backwater of a have-not province. Not the kind of success they’ve hoped I’d pursue.”
“But your writing—”
“Isn’t a real career, apparently. Not that working an IT help line was much better, but at least it came with a regular salary.” Turn indicator ticking, he slowed for the inn’s long driveway.
With both vehicles parked tail-in to the wide barn door, offloading was easy. When they finished, Landon surveyed the neat stacks along one wall. “We just emptied this. But it saves Ciara storage fees.”
Tait glanced around the interior. “So there’s a floor hatch for the old smuggler’s tunnel.”
While Bobby pointed out the concealed trapdoor, Landon retreated to the exit. “We could have used your advice in June when we were looking for lights and cameras.”
After they followed her onto the crushed gravel path, she clicked the padlock into place. “I know you and Orran deal with higher-end security, but could you give Ciara any shopping tips? Or don’t you think she needs anything in her apartment?”
Tait squinted toward the trees. “You think her attacker will be back?”
“Unless it was a random weirdo, won’t he try to finish what he started? She has a deadbolt, and it’s a secure-access building. But she’s there all alone.”
“I’ll talk to her. If she wants an off-the-shelf kit, I can set it up for her.” He strolled toward the van. “For now, I’ll collect the Little Terror and head home. She wasn’t in any shape to keep him long.”
Hand on the door latch, he stopped. “Come with me and see what I mean? I think she’s worse.”
“Let me tell Anna first.”
Landon tossed the basics into a canvas tote bag in case Ciara needed someone overnight, accepted a foil package of Anna’s lasagna to deliver, and headed out.
Bobby and Tait stood talking in the dusk. Bobby met her eyes. “I could come too. Then Tait doesn’t have to divert all the way out here to bring you home.”
Tait shrugged. “I don’t mind. No sense in us all going.”
Something in the angle of Bobby’s jaw said he wasn’t happy. Concerned, maybe. That she’d be uncomfortable alone with a virtual stranger? More likely concerned for Ciara’s health.
Landon smiled her reassurance. “I’ll text you once I see her.”
Truth told, she wasn’t all that comfortable with Tait. But he kept the conversation focused on Ciara as he drove. Landon couldn’t tell him much from past or present that might offer a lead to the attacker, but at least he took an interest in talking it through. The more people who cared, the better.
When they stepped into Ciara’s apartment, a single lamp lit the interior. Ciara sat on the couch with Moxie curled between her feet on the floor. She fluttered a weak wave. “Landon! I’m so glad you came. I can’t stay alone tonight.”
Landon passed Anna’s care package to Tait and hurried to the injured girl’s side.
Fiery red splotched Ciara’s cheeks, and her eyes shimmered. “It hurts so much.”
Moxie yipped as Landon sank onto the couch. She took Ciara’s hand, hot against her own, and glanced up at Tait.
Brows low, he shook his head.
Landon tucked the blanket around Ciara’s shoulders. “You have a fever, and the pain shouldn’t be this bad.”
“They should never have sent me home.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I can drive you to the hospital, or we can wait for an ambulance.” Tait was already fastening Moxie’s leash to the little dog’s sparkly collar. “The Boy was coming home with me tonight anyway. Want to ride with him in the van?”
With a watery sniffle, Ciara pushed away the blanket and plucked at her happy-face pyjama pants. “I can’t go like this.”
“Hospitals could use a bit of cheer.” Tait’s expression didn’t soften. “Let’s go.”