The small clapboard cottage where Kate Mason grew up sat squarely in the middle of their blueberry barrens just off Highway 1, about fifteen miles north of Summer Harbor. Seeing the cottage always made her happy. The placement of its windows and shutters made the house, painted two shades of blue, seem to smile a welcome. The wild blueberries in this area weren’t planted. They’d sprung up where God intended them.
She parked her yellow Volkswagen in front of the house. “So far so good. No sign of Mom’s car.”
Her friend Shelley McDonald twisted a red lock of hair around her finger, a sure sign she was nervous. “What if she comes back early?”
“You’ve been a teacher too long. I hear the stress in your voice at the thought of breaking any rules. It’s not like you’re about to get caught cutting class. It shouldn’t take us more than two hours to install the new closet, and I don’t expect her back until dinnertime. Uncle Paul promised to keep her gone at least until then.”
Shelley opened her door. “It feels like we’re breaking and entering.”
“A surprise isn’t a crime. Surprises are good.”
“This sounds like a big job. Are you sure you’re up to it? You look a little pale today.”
“I’m fine. You worry too much.” Kate stepped out of the car and inhaled the sweet aroma of blueberry blossoms. The tiny white flowers covered the wild bushes as far as the eye could see. She opened the trunk and retrieved the tools she’d need. She’d built the same closet in her own cottage on the other side of the barrens, and her mother had mentioned she’d love one in her room. It was going to make the perfect birthday present. She’d rest later tonight from the exertion.
Shelley joined her at the rear of the car. “Need me to carry anything?”
“I’ve got it.” If only people would quit asking her how she felt. She’d gotten used to those anxious gazes from everyone who knew about her condition, but it got wearing at times. She was fine for now. She hadn’t even had an incidence of fainting or rapid heartbeat in a while.
Kate handed her a ring of keys and several boxes of screws and nails. “You can get the door. It’s the key with a dot of blue nail polish on it.” She latched the tool belt around her waist, then picked up a box of closet racks and shelves. “We’ll get these in and come back for the rest.”
Shelley laughed. “You look like you could be on a home improvement show.” She turned and surveyed the house. “Looks like it’s just been painted. I bet you did that too, didn’t you?” She mounted the steps to the low-slung porch, decorated with white spindles and corbels.
Kate followed her. “Actually, Uncle Paul did it, and I supervised.”
Shelley unlocked the door and shoved it open. “You ever regret dropping out of college to help out with the blueberry farm? You’d have made a terrific designer. You have such a great eye.”
“Sometimes. But I still get to decorate for fun.” They both knew the blueberry farm wasn’t the real reason she had dropped out of college. Her diagnosis had changed everything.
Kate stepped inside and glanced around. The wood floors gleamed, and she smelled the lemony scent of furniture polish.
Shelley dropped the keys on the entry table, a walnut antique with a marble top. “Wicked cunning. I love blue and yellow decor. Where you want these screws?”
Kate pointed. “Mom’s room.” She led the way down the hall to the last room on the left. Her arms were about to break by the time she reached the bedroom. She stacked the closet items on the area rug so they wouldn’t scratch the wood floor.
Her mother’s room was the most recently redecorated. Kate had chosen crisp white and tan bedding that complimented blue-gray walls. The picture of the barrens in their full autumn glory added a bright splash of red to the elegant room with its white beachy furniture.
Kate opened the door to the walk-in closet. “Let’s get started hauling stuff out of here.”
The aroma of cedar and perfume wafted over her. If she closed her eyes, she could remember hiding here with her imaginary friend, Rachel. They’d stifle their giggles as Mom called for them. Mom had worn White Linen for as long as Kate could remember. She ran her fingertips over the smooth surface of her mother’s silk blouses. Maybe it was time to get rid of some things too. Mom hadn’t worn anything this glamorous in ages.
In a few minutes, clothing lay in mounds on the bed, and the women had moved on to carrying out shoes and miscellaneous boxes. Reaching on her tiptoes, Kate tugged at one last box nestled in the back corner. She finally managed to nudge it to where she could grab it better, but as she pulled it down, she lost her grip and the box fell on its top, spilling the contents onto the oak floor. It was a mishmash of pictures and mementos. And her favorite doll when she was a kid, Miss Edith.
“Fudge!” Kate knelt to put everything back. She laid her doll aside. “I’m taking her home. I forgot she was here.” Her fingers paused over a familiar face.
She studied the old picture. Her father had been so handsome. His blond hair and striking blue eyes made him look like a surfer. She must have been around four here, and he was in his twenties. The adoration on her face as she’d looked up at him made her heart clench.
Shelley peered over her shoulder. “Is that you with your dad?”
“Yes.”
“You never talk about him. Did he die?”
The pain in Kate’s chest intensified as she shook her head. “He and my mom were never married. He did have a wife, though. I was about twelve the last time I saw him. I have this crazy collection of pictures of him in my closet at home. Once I called his office, but I got chicken and hung up. Which I guess is good because Mom would’ve been furious. She forbade me to contact him.”
Shelley put her hand on Kate’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Katie. That has to really hurt. Why didn’t your mom want you to contact him? You’re still his daughter. He owes you something.”
“He bought Mom the blueberry barrens. I guess it was his payoff to get rid of us. Mom has this fear that if we ever break his edict about no contact, he will take it all away.”
“I guess you wait until he contacts you, then. I bet he will.”
Kate put the picture in the box and closed the lid. “Maybe someday.”
The way her heart tried to beat out of her chest was from this reminder and not a symptom of her disease. But when her head spun, she stayed seated and pretended to look at other things in the closet. She’d be fine.
Claire shifted in the chair in her sitting room at the hotel while her mother hovered nearby with a plate of fresh veggies, warm bread, and hummus. The aroma of fresh sourdough bread filled the room. Her stomach revolted at the thought of food. With the pain med humming through her veins, Claire forced herself to take a deep breath, then another. She shook her head when her mother tried to set the plate on her lap.
“You haven’t eaten since breakfast, Claire Nicole, and it’s after five.”
Claire forced herself to accept the small plate, though she couldn’t bring herself to take a bite yet. “I’m fine, Mom. I just need to rest. And, Dad, could you open the door? I need some fresh air.” She’d never sleep with them fussing over her. There had to be some way to get them out of her room.
Her dad pulled open the drapes and opened the French doors to the balcony. The sea breeze rushed in and cleared Claire’s head. When he turned, his expression was grim. “Someone tried to kill you today, Claire. And someone hit you over the head yesterday. You have to have some idea of why. What have you gotten yourself into? Have you offended anyone at work?”
The condemnation in his voice tightened her gut, but she lifted her chin and glared at him. “I hardly think it’s my fault, Dad. I never even got a good look at him, though Luke says he was wearing camo. I wondered if he was poaching and thought I’d seen him and would turn him in.”
She knew she was grasping at straws. Why commit murder over a little thing like poaching? “I have to wonder if it’s the same guy who pushed Jenny off the cliff. He was wearing camo hunting clothes too.”
Her father frowned and dropped into one of the chairs by the balcony door. “And what were you doing with that Luke Rocco? A man with his background is just interested in your money.”
Her father’s favorite tactic was misdirection. He didn’t have any idea of the kind man Luke really was. “You’re only upset because he told me something you’d hoped I’d never find out. You should have told me yourself.” When her father’s lids flickered, she knew her barb had struck home. “When do we meet with Ric to talk about the merger?”
Ric Castillo had arrived, but Claire hadn’t seen him yet. She winced as she reached for her case. “I have the balance sheet and our income and expenses for the past ten years. Even I was surprised at how much our bottom line has improved. With the Castillo name and fortune behind us, we’ll be in a position to rival Cessna.”
The hard line of her dad’s jaw eased, and he smiled. “I like the way you think. Our first meeting is tomorrow. With the time change from Madrid, Ric wanted to rest up and be fresh for our discussion.”
She glanced at the door. “I’m really tired. I think I’ll go to bed early. The meds are making me sleepy.”
Her mother rose. “I’ll check in on you before I go to bed.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll be sleeping. If I need you, I’ll call your cell phone.” Claire tried to ignore the hurt in her mother’s eyes, but a prickle of guilt made her reach out and grasp her mother’s hand as she turned toward the door. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just a little grouchy.”
Her mother’s eyelids flickered, but she reached down and brushed a kiss across Claire’s cheek. Her Hermès perfume made Claire’s eyes water, and she pulled away as soon as she could. When the door shut behind them, she heaved herself up, ignoring the tightness in her back and chest. She’d be lucky if she could move tomorrow.
Opening the closet, she lifted out the satchel containing her paint supplies. Even the slight weight made her wince, but she pulled out the small canvas and propped it on the table against the vase. With her brush in hand, she closed her eyes and tried to remember the man’s face she’d seen so briefly before he struck her yesterday. She’d been sure it was the same man she painted over and over again, but what if her terror had clouded her thoughts?
Dipping her brush in the green watercolor, she began to paint. An hour later she studied the image. The man’s blue eyes had cruel lines around them, and his mouth held tight-lipped anger. Was this Jenny’s killer or some remnant of her constant nightmares?