Chapter 10

The song was still in her head as she took the steps to the second floor of the old Devlin house two at a time. How could that man have known that “My Girl” was one of her all-time favorite songs, guaranteed to turn her knees to water every time?

August had left on the small lamp next to India’s bed, and its low-watt bulb cast a faint and eerie glow into the hall. India closed the bedroom door behind her with a concentrated hush, not wanting to awaken August or Corri. It was after eleven, and the house lay in what passes for silence in an old house, with its mix of the occasional creaking pipe and the settling of old floorboards. The branch of a maple tree grazed against the window and made a slight rubbing sound. All else was quiet.

Rummaging in her suitcase, India found a nightshirt and set off for the bathroom at the end of the hall, the farthest from where her aunt and Corri lay sleeping. She wanted a quick shower to rinse the salt from the heavy marsh air from her arms and her hair. Then she would sit up in bed and make notes of all the information she had learned tonight. As the hot water pelted her skin, she began to compile a short list of possible suspects. Manning, certainly, needed to be talked to. Hatfield, possibly. And there were still some who thought that Kenny Kerns belonged at the top of that list.

It was no secret that Kenny has a trigger-quick temper, she reminded herself as she turned off the hot water and stepped onto the nubby dark green bath mat that lay across the cool white tile. She pulled two towels from the rack and wrapped one around her head before wrapping the other around her body. Drying her legs and her feet, she opened the door quietly, releasing steam and heavy warm air into the cool of the hallway.

Kenny may have been hotheaded, but she’d never heard of him being violent. Had the thought of Darla marrying Ry pushed him over the line? Indy grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed where she’d left it. As she did so, something rolled past her feet. She jumped back in surprise, then bent down to pick up a small round black vinyl disc.

Funny, she hadn’t noticed it earlier.

She turned the 45 RPM record over and looked at the label. An old Jackson Five hit.

Corri must have been going through Ry’s record collection and for some reason picked this one out to play and forgotten to put it back.

India shrugged and placed it on the desk, then returned to the bathroom to towel-dry her hair. There was a lot to think about tonight. Starting with the man out beyond the marshes who was very slowly beginning to turn her inside out. She certainly hadn’t planned for it to happen, but Nick Enright was simply too much to ignore. Too kind. Too thoughtful.

Too adorable.

Too much man.

That was the bottom line here. How much longer could she pretend that Nick was nothing more than her brother’s best friend? Kissing him tonight had certainly made it abundantly clear that he was not a man to walk away from. Indy tried to recall the last time a man had taken her breath away with his kisses, or had lit a spark so deep inside her that it seemed the glow had found and warmed her very core. She wasn’t sure that she had ever felt what she’d felt when Nick Enright had begun to nibble on her lower lip, but she sure as hell hoped she’d get to feel it again.

India hung the damp towel over a metal bar, then turned off the bathroom light and slipped back across the hall to her room. Too tired now, her written list of suspects and other pertinent information would have to wait until tomorrow. Turning off the light, she tried to settle in for the night but was distracted by the images running at full tilt behind her eyes.

Nick as he looked when she arrived at his cabin, his easy smile and soft eyes watching, welcoming her. Almost as if he’d been waiting for her. As if he’d wished her there.

Corri’s pert little face, watching India from across the dinner table, studying the way Indy had absentmindedly stirred her iced tea before mimicking the motions.

Darla’s efforts to start her own business, encouraged by Ry to take her incredible baked goods on the road, so to speak, and begin to market her craft.

Ry’s plans to renovate the Light, to provide a space for Darla to have a home for the business she had always dreamed of.

India bit her lip and stared at the ceiling. She owed it to both of them—her brother and her best friend—to try her best to make that happen. It had obviously been important to Ry that he give Darla this freedom. She, India, could do no less. How to make that happen from Paloma? The weekends were short enough as it was, with trials coming up and Corri to think about. And Nick.

India turned over and punched her pillow. Life was complicated enough right now, she told herself sternly, without getting tangled up with Nick Enright.

She could have laughed out loud. If she wasn’t well on her way to tangling with him, what exactly would she call it? Her fingers traced the path his lips had made along the side of her face. She could almost feel his tongue teasing at the corners of her mouth.

Yeah, that was tangling, all right.

With a sigh, India threw back the covers and stood up in the cool of the night. Grabbing a fuzzy blue mohair afghan from a nearby chair, she wrapped it around her shoulders and eased onto the window seat that her father, years earlier, had built for her with his own hands. She smiled at the memory of her white-haired, scholarly father, his glasses perched upon his nose as he meticulously measured the space beneath the window and drew a corresponding diagram upon a sheet of blue-lined notebook paper. He had approached the project as he researched points of law, all his tools lined up ahead of time, in order of their anticipated usage. India had never before nor after seen her father work with his hands to cut wood and hammer it into place. He had done it for her, and he had felt that had been enough to prove he could—if he wanted to. He had simply never wanted to again.

India had spent so many hours curled up just so, she mused. Weeping over school-girl crushes or planning her career. For years she had sent her prayers off, heaven bound, from this very spot. And for years she had come to this very window to look out at the night, when the nightmares came and refused to give her peace.

India shivered and shook her head as if to clear it. With a sigh of exasperation, she pulled the afghan more closely around her and sank back against the wall, alone with the night and with her thoughts.

“What do you think, Indy?” Darla passed a small white plate upon which sat a plump, fragrant muffin into India’s waiting hands.

“I think it smells incredible.” India lifted the plate to her nose for a closer whiff. “What kind is this one?”

“Raisin pumpkin. And these,” she said, removing a muffin tin from the oven and placing it upon a rack on the counter, “are raspberry cream.”

“Heaven!” India all but swooned. “Sheer heaven. Don’t wrap them all up. I may eat one of those too.”

“Wow. A two-muffin morning. You must have heavy doings on your mind.” Darla tucked a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear and watched Indy’s face for subtle changes, those little telltale signs of trouble or stress. There, there it was. Barely imperceptible, but to one who knew India as well as Darla did, the shadow that had crossed Indy’s face was unmistakable.

India shrugged and reached for the butter dish.

“How’s your new case going?” Darla tried to sound casual.

“Umm, okay. I think we have enough to get a conviction.”

“When does that trial start?”

“Two more weeks.” India nibbled at the edge of the muffin. It was dribbly with butter and tasted the way an early fall morning should taste. “Dar, I love these. These are my favorites.”

“I thought the strawberry cheesecake were your favorites.”

“Them too.” India licked crumbs off her fingers.

“Then what about the chocolate mocha?”

“Umm, right. Those.”

Darla laughed. “I wish you’d come home more often, Indy. I need your enthusiasm.”

“Oh, come on, Dar. I can’t believe that you’d need anyone to tell you that you bake like no one else. I’ll bet there’d be an endless stream of volunteers to taste-test your experiments.”

“Yeah, but I need that Devlin palate to do it right.” Darla sat down and rested her chin in her hand. “I miss Ry, Indy. I miss him more and more, not less and less.”

“Me too.” India sat her coffee mug down quietly on the table.

“We had the best plans, Indy. We had it all worked out. We were getting the Light all fixed up, repaired and painted and restored. We were going to do a sort of cafe in the two rooms downstairs, just simple fare that would be appropriate for a little morning munch or an afternoon tea. It was going to be so much fun. It was Ry’s idea that I sell my muffins and breads and stuff. He had a great advertising campaign all worked out and a marketing strategy.” Darla sighed and shook her head.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about all that. I think we should proceed just as you and Ry had planned.”

“It won’t be the same.”

“Of course it won’t be the same. Dar, nothing will ever be the same again. But that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t follow through with it. We both know that Ry would have wanted you to do this. That he did want you to have this. We’ll just finish the job ourselves. It may take a little longer, but I want to do it. I want the Light restored, Dar, if for no other reason than because Ry wanted it restored. That was his dream, and we will do it for him.” India closed a hand over Darla’s, which were clasped as if in prayer before her on the table.

“India, are you sure you don’t want to think this over? This was not an inexpensive project.”

“What’s to think over?” India shrugged. “It’s Devlin trust money, anyway. Ry’s and mine. I can’t think of a better way to spend it.”

“Would you want to see the plans Ry had drawn up?”

“Sure.” India nodded enthusiastically. “There’s no time like the present.”

“I’ll be right back.” Darla stood up, her shoulders still sagging from the weight of her sadness.

“We’ll fix it, Ry,” India whispered aloud as she poured herself another cup of coffee. “I can’t bring you back, but maybe I can help bring the life back into Darla’s eyes. Maybe we can get her business going so that she can support herself and the kids and maybe someday she’ll even be happy again. Maybe, with your help, we can make it happen for her.”

“Here’s Ry’s briefcase.” Darla swung the black leather satchel onto the kitchen table and unsnapped the closure. She opened the lid and swung it around so that it stood open to India’s scrutiny.

Inside lay folders, dark brown heavy cardboard secured with black elastic to keep the contents in. Each was named, the inch-high letters printed in Ry’s neat hand, in black felt-tipped pen. India’s fingers walked through the stack, scrolling the files.

Her brother had been meticulous in his research into the restoration of the Light. One file held paint chips and paint charts from several manufacturers of historic colors. India smiled. It was exactly Ry’s style to try to match both the exterior and interior shades as closely as possible.

Another file held a diagram of the massive fireplace that stood between the two main rooms of the Light’s first floor, as well as detailed photographs of every aspect of the structure. Several business cards of masons who specialized in brick restoration were paper-clipped to one side of the folder. A hand-printed list of books relating to historic fireplaces was included in the file, as were Ry’s sketches of how he saw the rooms once the renovations had been completed.

Ry’s optimism, his plans for his life with Darla lay before India’s eyes in the thin, penciled lines hastily sketched upon white construction paper. It pulled at her heart, which she had thought to be beyond breaking any further. In Ry’s hand, the rooms had become beautiful again in their simplicity, with small round tables and mismatched wooden chairs. Those same windows, which had not, to her knowledge, been opened in more than a hundred years, stood open to the sun and the soft salty breezes off the bay. She saw the Light through her brother’s eyes and knew that it was all exactly right, exactly the way it should be. The way it had to be.

India slid the sketches back into the folder and replaced the elastic before carefully opening the next folder. Ry’s plans for the Light itself. Restored and opened for small tours, from spring through November. Another folder held his budget for the projects. Darla had not exaggerated. Ry was preparing to spend a lot of money on the restoration and to start up Darla’s business. India tapped her fingers on the table as she studied the figures. More than she had thought. Mentally she shrugged, knowing Darla was watching her face. It was Ry’s money, his portion of the trust. If that’s how he had wanted to spend it, that’s how it would be.

“Was anyone working with Ry on this?” India asked Darla.

“Just me.” Darla sat blotting soft tears from her face. “And sometimes Nick.”

A flicker crossed India’s face at the mention of Nick’s name, a fact that was not lost upon Darla.

“Maybe we should ask him to help us,” Darla suggested.

“I think Nick has his own work to do.”

“Oh, I don’t know. He likes a nice diversion now and again. And he’s been working on that thesis for quite some time, you know. He can’t spend all his time working. And besides, Ry trusted him. They were like two sides of the same coin sometimes,” Darla said softly, then smiled and added, “Sort of like the way you and I are, Indy. Nick and Ry were best friends in the truest sense. They liked and respected each other. They helped each other. I do not know what I would do without Nick, Indy.”

India looked up at her friend, questioning without meaning to.

“He just always seems to know when one of us is hurting. He stops at August’s several times a week, did you know? He has tea with her in the afternoon sometimes. He stops here to see if I need help getting my orders out. To see if Jack wants to throw a ball around or go down to the beach and talk. He never stays too long and he never asks anything from anyone. He’s just there and lends a hand and then goes about his business. Like he’s taken us all under his wing and watches out for us.”

“He seems to be a very good man.” India measured her words carefully.

“A very good man,” Darla repeated evenly, then after a moment’s silence between the two of them, she burst out laughing.

“India, Nick Enright is a hunk. He is sexy, he is smart. He is thoughtful. He is fun to be around. You are probably the only woman in Devlin’s Light who has ever described him simply as a very good man. Now, I do not recall you ever having been totally blind as far as handsome men are concerned. So stop being so coy. Would you please admit that you are interested in the man as something more than a source of information?”

“I’m interested in the man as something more than a source of information,” India repeated.

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“I guess I feel awkward,” India said, searching for words.

“Why should you feel awkward?”

“Well, on the one hand, it feels odd to be lusting after anyone at the same time that I still feel as if I’m grieving over Ry. And on the other hand, there just seems to be so much going on right now, and I don’t feel capable of handling it all.”

“The lust and grief we’ll deal with in a minute.” Darla pushed the briefcase aside and sat back down at the table. “Right now I want you to tell me what you think you can’t handle.”

“My job and Corrie. Paloma and Devlin’s Light. Ruthless prosecutor totally focused on her job and dedicated, parent figure-guardian to a darling little girl who needs and totally deserves a dedicated and loving parental figure.” India leaned back against her chair, turning her head partway in Darla’s direction. “It’s as if I have two separate lives and I don’t know how to make them work together.”

“Maybe they can’t work together, not as things are now,” Darla said tentatively. “Maybe you need to make some changes if it’s all going to work.”

“I can’t make any changes right now. I have cases to finish up. I have—”

“I know, bad guys to put away, dragons to slay.” India had gotten up and was now pacing slightly. To Darla, she looked like a spring ready to pop out of control.

“India, how many dragons before it’s all put to rest?” Darla asked softly.

“Dar, please …”

“Indy, you know and I know that the best thing, the most obvious solution is for you to come back to Devlin’s Light. You can raise Corri here and still work—you know you’ll be able to find a job without any problem at all.”

“I keep thinking about everything I’ve done over the past few years. The cases I tried. The people I’ve worked with. The life I tried to make for myself away from Devlin’s Light.” India leaned back in her chair and fixed her gaze on a spot on the ceiling. “All I wanted to do was to be a really good prosecutor.”

“And that’s exactly what you are, Indy. Everyone in Devlin’s Light has followed your career, and we’re all proud of you. If that is all you want from your life—to have done your job well—then you have already succeeded.” Darla stood up and rubbed India’s shoulders. “I just think that maybe you’ve had a taste of something else, and maybe just doing your job isn’t going to be enough for you now. Sorta like that old song: ‘How ya gonna keep ’em down on the farm, after they’ve seen Paree?’”

India laughed.

“You want to know what I think?” Darla asked.

“I am not certain that I do, but I am certain that you will tell me.”

“I think that in spite of yourself, in spite of everything that has happened over the years, I think your heart is in Devlin’s Light. And I think you’ll never be truly happy anywhere else.”

India dismissed Darla’s comments with a wave of her hand. “What makes you think I’m not happy in Paloma?”

“Oh, well, if working sixteen-hour days seven days a week makes you happy,” Darla said, folding her arms across her chest, “and if looking into the souls of the lowest, the sickest members of society makes you happy, then I guess you must be one happy girl. Can you tell me you are, in fact, one happy girl?”

Before India could open her mouth, Darla said, “Don’t bother trying to con me, India, because I have known you too well for too long. And it might surprise you to know that your brother felt the same way I do.”

“Well, he was wrong and so are you. I have a good life in Paloma.”

“What do you do, besides work?”

“I belong to a book-discussion group.”

“When was the last time you went? What was the last book they discussed? Let me guess. It was something like The Barn Burners, right?” Darla named a bestseller from almost two years ago, and India laughed in spite of her best efforts not to.

“Actually, it was. But it wasn’t that long ago.”

“What else?” Darla gestured for India to continue.

“Well, I still go to the gym and box.”

“Last time?”

“Two months ago.”

“Well, that beats the book club.” Darla grinned, then leaned forward and asked slyly, “But when was your last really hot date?”

“About six months ago,” India admitted.

“Not that Ron guy, the guy from your office?” Darla’s eyes widened in horror.

India nodded her head somewhat sheepishly.

“Well, there you are!” Darla told her triumphantly. “You name one man you’ve met in Paloma who is, pound for pound, dollar for dollar, a better prospect than Nick En-right. And he’s right here, India. Right in your own back yard.”

“You make it sound as if he’s pining away for me,” India scoffed.

“Who’s to say he isn’t?”

“This is silly. Nick doesn’t need to pine after any woman.” India stood up to put distance between herself and Darla. “He is handsome and sexy and smart and—”

She stopped and looked at Darla.

“And everything else you said he was. And no,” she said more softly, “there is no one in Paloma quite like Nick.”

“I’ll bet there’s no one anywhere quite like Nick,” Darla said. “He’s one of a kind. Like Ry was. And I can tell you with absolute certainty that there will never be anyone quite like him again.”

They shared a silence, deep but not uncomfortable, till Darla spoke up. “I really loved Ry with all my heart. I would give anything—anything—to have just a little more time with him. To hear his voice. Touch him. Laugh with him. It hurts me more than I can say to know that that whole part of my life is done forever.”

“You don’t think you’ll ever find anyone else?”

“Could anyone fill Ry’s shoes?” Darla smiled a crooked half smile. “No, sweetie, I can’t imagine that there could be anyone else. Ry was the love of my life. Anything else would just be pretending. I spent enough years pretending when I was married to Kenny. I have my kids, and I have my work. And I have my memories.”

“Memories may not be enough as time passes. Ry’s only been gone a few months, Dar. Things can change.”

“I don’t know that I can believe that things could ever change that much. But you,” she said, wagging a finger at India, “you have it all still ahead of you. If the chance is there for that kind of love, take it and cherish it for as long as you have it. If I’ve learned anything over the past few years, it’s that life can be very fickle. If you know what you want, India, go after it with everything you’ve got.”

“Maybe I don’t know for sure what I want.”

“Well, I sure hope that Nick is still around by the time you make up your mind, sweetie.” Darla shook her head slowly. “And before someone else comes along and swoops him up.”

India tried to make light of it, but the thought of Nick kissing someone else—of him making her dessert, of him bringing her a birthday cake or mowing her lawn—taunted her all the way back to Darien Road.

Darla’s Strawberry Cheesecake Muffins
(makes 12 muffins)

Preheat oven to 400°

Generously butter muffin tin and set aside.

Cheese filling:

3 oz cream cheese, softened

1 tablespoon sour cream

2 tablespoons sugar

1/8 teaspoon vanilla

3 tablespoons best-quality strawberry jam

Muffins:

1 1/2 cups sifted all purpose flour

2 tablespoons double-acting baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup sugar

1 egg

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

1/2 cup milk

1 tablespoon sugar for sprinkling over muffin tops.

Beat together the first 4 ingredients of the cheese filling until smooth and creamy. Swirl in the jam and set aside.

Sift together the flour, baking powder, sugar, salt and sugar in a large mixing bowl. In another mixing bowl, lightly beat the egg with a whisk or fork. Mix in melted butter, then milk. Stir in the cheese mixture just to combine. Add the liquid ingredients to the dry and fold with a rubber spatula just enough to moisten the flour mix.

Spoon into the muffin pan, filling two-thirds full. Bake 25-30 minutes until golden brown. Cool in the pan for 2-3 minutes and remove from pan.