Libby craned her neck to take in the village of Hope Beach. The main street, Oyster Road, ran straight through to the harbor. Small shops lined the road and displayed wares ranging from beads to beach gear to driftwood furniture. Alec drove the truck past a restaurant with tables on a terrace. There was an ice-cream shop and a coffee shop across the street.
It was a town unlike anything she’d ever seen. She almost felt like she had stepped into a movie about a beach town in the fifties. There were very few cars but a lot of bicycles. So quaint and charming. What a wonderful place to grow up. Live oaks lined the sidewalks, and the street itself was cobblestone. The shop fronts were mostly clapboard. Libby loved it already.
She eyed a Victorian home with decorative siding in the gables. “Why isn’t this place on the historic registry? It’s like stepping back in time.”
“You sound like an expert or something,” Alec said.
She stared up at the fretwork on the next house. “I’m an archaeological historian. I work in historic preservation. Some of these places are real treasures.”
She glanced back at the man beside her. Alec was a handsome guy, about six-two with sun-streaked brown hair. His blue eyes were startling in his tanned face, and his muscular frame was from either hauling in nets or working out.
He parked in front of a clapboard house that appeared to be freshly painted. “It’s expensive to renovate out here. Material has to be ferried over, and workmen are at a premium. So most make do with what they have or what they can accomplish by themselves.”
She continued to stare at the buildings. “That’s why they’re still intact, then. In college I did my thesis on historic homes in Charleston. I compared contemporary photos that I’d taken to historic pictures I found in the archives. I wanted to show the progress over the years. What I set out to prove was that, historically, homes in Charleston were owned by folks who were too poor to paint but too proud to whitewash. So those places stayed the same.”
He nodded. “You might be right about that. Happened here for sure.”
She got out of the truck and shut the door behind her. “Why hasn’t the charm been destroyed by tourism?”
“Your father gets the credit for that. He owned most of the town, and he refused to sell to outsiders. Some called him a genius and others said he blocked progress.”
A rustic sign proclaimed the building to be that of Horace Whittaker, Attorney-at-Law. The place had so much gingerbread in the gables and on the porch that it looked like a fairytale cottage. She followed Alec through the entry and into the foyer, which was surprisingly dim. A young woman in jeans sat behind the counter.
Alec glanced around. “Hi, Mindy. Why are you sitting in here with no lights?”
She rolled her eyes. “Horace forgot to pay the electric bill again. And his bill at the dive shop. That man is so forgetful.”
Or so irresponsible. Libby was quite familiar with irresponsibility. Her mother always wanted to play and let the bills take care of themselves. Except they never did.
“They’re supposed to turn it on any minute. I don’t mind.” Mindy held up a romance novel. “I get to read instead of work. At least I have a window.” The woman’s eyes were sparkling. “You hear about the hurricane? The first one missed us but there’s another heading this way.”
Alec shrugged. “It’s only a category 1. We’ll be fine. Listen, is Horace busy?”
The secretary shook her head and picked up the phone. “Horace, Alec is here with a lady to see you.” She listened a moment, then replaced the receiver. “You can go on back.”
Libby saw the speculation in the woman’s eyes. “I’m Libby Holladay.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “I’m Mindy Jackson. I met your business partner.” She put down her book. “I got into so much trouble for telling her Horace was looking for you. He hates to appear incompetent. I was just trying to help though.” She tipped her head and stared. “You look a lot like Vanessa.”
“So Nicole said.”
Mindy winced. “I heard on the radio this morning about her kidnapping. You’re the friend who saw the men take her via the cam?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Well, welcome to Hope Island, Ms. Holladay. I’m sorry about your friend. Hopefully the sheriff will find her soon.”
Libby tensed at the doubt in the secretary’s voice. “I’m sure they will,” she said. “Did Nicole mention what she’d been doing? Did she seem afraid of anyone?”
Mindy shook her head. “She came in to have Horace help her with some paperwork. But she seemed more interested in the inheritance when she heard about it.” She pointed down the hall. “You know the way to his office, Alec.” Her tone dismissed them, and she stuck her nose back in her book.
Libby followed Alec down the wide hall. The woodwork was quarter-sawn oak and appeared to be original. The plaster walls were painted an accurate period gray-green. She was sure there were original hardwood floors under the carpet. Alec pushed open a door at the end of the hall, and she glimpsed a man in his fifties behind a massive cherry desk. He looked like Burl Ives with his round face and belly and his pointed beard.
When he spoke, even his voice had that rich Ives timbre. “Alec, can’t say I was expecting to see you in need of an attorney.” His gaze went to Libby. “Or is it your friend in need of my help?” He rose and extended his hand. “Horace Whittaker.”
She put her hand in his. It was warm. “Libby Holladay.”
His fingers tightened on hers. His white brows rose. He pointed to the overstuffed leather chairs. “Have a seat. Let me save my work. I’m updating my website and I don’t want to lose it.”
Libby sat. “You saw my friend two days ago, Mr. Whittaker?”
He nodded. “Call me Horace. It was rather embarrassing that my secretary was so unprofessional.” He smiled. “Still, it allowed me to finally track you down.”
“You’d had trouble?”
He nodded. “The last address Ray had for you was in Indiana. Your friend said you’re in Virginia Beach now?”
“Yes. For the past year.” Libby leaned forward. “About my father . . .”
Horace’s round head bobbed. “Ray. The town misses him already. He was a great philanthropist, always contributing to those in need. You would have passed the school on the way in. The playground equipment was bought by your father. He’s been a driving force in the village for the past twenty-five years.”
A lump formed in Libby’s throat and she blinked rapidly, determined not to let these men see the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. If he was so generous to everyone else, why had he ignored her all these years?
Horace wheeled his chair around. “In addition to the old letters, Ray gave me a package for you. It’s in my safe.” He leaned over a safe behind him, twirled the dial a few times, then popped it open. He reached inside, then shut and locked it again. “Here we are.” He held out an irregularly shaped envelope. When she took it, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a shoe box. “Here are the letters.”
“What’s in this?” She felt the package and couldn’t tell what it contained.
“I have no idea. He gave it to me shortly before he died and asked me to put it away.”
Libby tucked the envelope into her large bag and put the box of letters on the floor beside it. She wasn’t ready to read anything from her father in front of spectators. “Thank you.” She leaned forward. “What about my father’s second family? They all live here?”
The attorney nodded. “His sister, Pearl, too. She’s the town postmistress. She moved into the big house to take care of him before he died.”
“What did he die from?” she asked.
“He had a heart attack a year ago and went downhill afterward. He knew his time was short, so he transferred all of his cash to a trust fund for Brent and Vanessa.”
“Do my siblings know that I’ve inherited something?”
“I just informed them last week. Brent was on a trip to England, so I delayed the reading of Ray’s will until he got back.” Horace nodded. “He’s a young hothead, and he demanded that we break the bequest. I told him he didn’t have any legal grounds.”
She didn’t want to admit to herself that her brother’s objection hurt. “Is the inheritance so valuable?”
The attorney retrieved a file from his drawer and slid it across the desk to her. “The entire west side of the island as well as an old inn is all yours. Now, it’s not as valuable as if it were on the mainland, because progress has passed us by for now. But if tourists ever start flocking here, it could be worth a lot of money. Even in its current state, it’s valuable.”
She flipped open the folder. The first page was a photograph of a lovely Georgian hotel with porches and balconies. The second was of sand dunes and rolling whitecaps. “My siblings also have an inheritance? A trust fund, you said?”
“Oh yes, they’re well taken care of. They each have more than a million dollars in the bank.” He steepled his fingers together. “You really should draw up a will. The property is worth well over a million dollars,” Horace said. “More if progress ever finds us.”
No more money worries for her stepbrother. And that lovely old house she was in yesterday could be hers. She could create a foundation to help preserve the neighborhood. “I think I’d like to set up a foundation after it’s sold,” she said slowly. “For historic preservation.” She sat back in her chair and exhaled. “I suppose I’ll need a will too.”
“I can draft something simple for you,” Horace offered. “So you have something in place for starters.”
“That would be nice. Thank you. I can’t even think straight right now. I just want to find Nicole. The rest can wait.”
Wind-tossed sand stung Libby’s cheeks and arms as she stood on the boardwalk staring out to sea. Gulls swooped low over the water, and a crab scuttled across the wet sand. A few clouds floated on an impossibly blue sky. It should have been paradise.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said, then shivered. “And so deserted. This is the spot. I recognize the lifesaving station.” She pointed to the lone building, a low-slung clapboard structure with a hole in the roof. “You say this belongs to me?”
Alec gestured to the west. “Not the station. That belongs to the town. Just over the hill is Tidewater Inn. You own this stretch clear to the inlet.”
“Nicole was here to finalize the purchase of the station. We’re going to restore it as a museum for the island.” She scanned the area and saw what she was looking for. “There’s the cam.” It was mounted on one of the posts. She walked directly to it and stopped a few feet away. “Whoever you are, if you have my friend, please don’t hurt her,” she said. “Her name is Nicole.”
Alec’s eyes were warm with sympathy when she turned toward him and brushed moisture from her cheeks. “I thought they might be watching. They say an attacker usually goes back to the scene of the crime. And professionals say friends and investigators should try to personalize the victim.”
Alec stood with his hands in the pockets of his denim shorts. “It’s possible someone’s watching. A plea doesn’t hurt.” He pointed to the final landing before the sand. “Her cell phone was found there. Her rental car was parked along the road with the keys in the ignition.”
She winced. “I saw one of the men toss the phone. Would his prints be on it? And what about her hat? I saw it fall off.”
“I’m sure Tom is checking that out. I’ll do what I can to find her,” he promised. “The first thing we have to figure out is where she was staying. My cousin may know.” He pulled out his phone and placed a call. “Hey, Tom, I’m with Libby Holladay. Have you found out where Nicole Ingram was staying?”
His voice faded to a drone as she stepped away and stared down the deserted beach. Not a house was in sight of where she stood. No wonder the men had taken Nicole from this location. Gooseflesh pebbled her arms at the thought of what they might be doing to her friend. She swallowed down the wave of nausea that rose in her throat. She had to find Nicole. The most likely reason she was taken was too horrible to contemplate, so she considered whether there might be another reason. Nicole had been poking around about Libby’s inheritance. Could there be any connection?
Libby took off her sandals and dug her toes into the warm sand. The sound of the surf washed over her in a rhythm that would have been soothing in other circumstances. Carrying her shoes, she stepped back to find out what Alec had learned. He was just finishing his call.
“Uh-huh. Okay. I’ll tell her, thanks.” He dropped the phone back into his pocket. “She was staying at the small inn you own. Tom was just about to head out there. We can meet him there and see what is in her room.”
Libby glanced around one final time, but there was still nothing pointing her to Nicole’s whereabouts. This search was already beginning to feel hopeless.