THE RAIN had started.
Livvy poured herself a brandy and moved to the parlor’s front window. When a storm blew in off the sea, it was a sight to behold.
The kind of storm coming in on the tail of a hurricane wasn’t so romantic, but this kind, the plain old storm that built up as a result of the changing season or maybe simply as heaven’s way of showing off, tugged at Livvy’s senses. She felt oddly alive as the thunder rolled and the flash of light in the distance followed at its own leisurely pace. The surface of the water grew restless, reacting to the brewing natural phenomenon.
Though she was completely alone in the inn on this jagged thrust of earth where the land met the sea, she didn’t feel lonely just now. The atmosphere felt charged with energy. The house stood tall and strong against the wind. Livvy felt protected within these massive walls.
“Now there’s an ironic thought,” she mused out loud.
Two days ago she’d been certain she would never feel safe here again. Maybe the old inn was trying to comfort her. After all, she’d spent her life savings to restore it. And now she had nowhere else to go.
If whoever killed Beverly intended Livvy harm, what could she do? Run? Leave behind all she’d invested in the inn? She’d had to walk away from one life, she wasn’t doing that again. Fear was not going to send her running…not ever again. Not ever again. She had to be strong…couldn’t let the terror get a grip on her.
An ache sliced through her. There was no way she could leave this inn. She was a part of it now. She felt as if she’d always been here.
No matter what the chief or anyone else thought, Livvy had recently concluded that fate had brought her here to rescue this grand old place. To rescue this place as her doctor, that detective and two loyal friends had rescued her three years ago.
She downed her brandy and poured another, wincing at the liquor’s burn, then surveyed the room, proud of how well it had turned out. All summer long her guests had been awed by the renovations she had done. Of course, she couldn’t take credit for the more intricate work, that had been Christopher’s doing. Cleaning and painting had been the extent of her contributions. But she wasn’t ashamed of her part. Those things had been every bit as necessary.
She thought of Ralph’s reaction to this morning’s vandalism, and her chest squeezed painfully. It was difficult not to understand how he must feel. Part of her wanted to be angry that his comment had sounded so disloyal, but the other, more rational side recognized that he was only human. Who wouldn’t think just exactly what he had?
She’d considered the same herself. Maybe reopening the inn had been a mistake.
But it was done. There was no undoing it. Closing up now wouldn’t bring Beverly back.
The brandy went down a little more smoothly this time. Knowing she shouldn’t, Livvy poured another and decided to take a nice, long soak in the tub.
She turned out the lights and checked the front door, then slowly, sipping the brandy perhaps more for courage than she would have liked to admit, she checked the rest of the exterior doors downstairs. Except for one. That room was still cordoned off with the yellow tape, and the chief had reaffirmed his orders that very morning that no one was to go inside.
Holding her breath, Livvy did ensure that the door leading from the corridor into that room was secured. She breathed easy once more when she found it locked tight.
Taking her time, she climbed the stairs, noting that with the help of the brandy her old injury scarcely ached as she made the arduous journey.
Turning her thoughts to more pleasant subjects, she hoped she would be able to proceed with the painting and carpeting of the east wing soon. With that behind her as well as the courtyard renovations, the property would be fully restored. From that point forward she would only have to worry about normal maintenance. If her busy seasons went well, perhaps she could start to put a little something away for a rainy day.
She laughed at the pun. It was a rainy day and outside the money she’d set aside for the new carpeting and fountain restoration as well as minimal operating expenses until the Christmas season arrived, she was pretty much broke.
Livvy filled the deep, claw-footed tub with steaming water. Her bathroom was the largest in the house and romantically decorated, except for the safety bar she’d had installed for helping herself out of the tub. She tried not to use it, however there were times when it was essential. But she wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself.
She was alive. In celebration of that wondrous fact she lit the candles that sat here and there in the room. Some scented, some not, but all providing the desired cozy illumination.
With a couple of big fluffy towels nearby, she eased into the tub. The hot, steamy water closed in around her, immediately relaxing weary muscles. Once she’d settled back to soak, she finished off her brandy and set the little glass next to her shampoo on the antique table she’d chosen as a kind of tubside service center. Steam wafted up around her, wound around the soft glow of the candles.
With that peaceful image on her mind, she shut her eyes and told herself to close out all other thought. Just relax. Let go of the worries. The sounds of the storm rumbled outside. The rain splattering relentlessly. Wind whining and moaning, punctuated from time to time by the grumble of thunder. Once in a while a stark bolt of lightning would brighten the dimly lit room, a vivid contrast to the faint glow of the candles.
The brandy had calmed her so thoroughly that she might have a tough time staying awake through the bath. The sweet aroma of roses and lilacs scented the air. This serene place out on a cliff’s serrated edge was what she’d sought…what she’d longed for when she’d been searching for a place to start fresh. Solitude broken only by the interesting and diverse guests of her summer and Christmas seasons. Being her own boss, forging her own destiny.
A new beginning in something as close to paradise as she could find. This remote New England spot had been it. Far away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the world. A place deeply infused with the past. And the inn. She smiled. God, it had been everything she’d wanted. Beautiful in a rugged sort of way. Brimming with mystique and history.
The only thing she hadn’t found was true love.
Livvy’s eyes popped open on that thought. She hadn’t been looking for love. How could she possibly ever trust herself or anyone else to recognize the real thing?
She couldn’t.
Her mind immediately conjured Chase Fraley’s handsome face, defying her conclusion.
She sighed softly, her body instantly heating on the inside at the mere thought of him.
Knowing full well she shouldn’t, she allowed her eyes to close once more and the finer details of Chase to invade her senses. The nice fit of his uniform. He was tall, broad-shouldered. Strong. The sandy color of his hair gave him the all-American-boy look, as did the vivid blue of his eyes.
But that strength and that beauty could morph into something else, something evil, she knew firsthand.
Chase Fraley wasn’t James Hamilton, a part of her protested. He’d been protecting her from the chief’s wrath the last couple of days. Had put himself directly in line for the full brunt of that wrath.
That spoke highly of him.
Made her want to know him better.
Could she let herself feel that way? Really feel that way? The attraction was there, but she was so afraid to trust herself.
But she had needs.
For the first time in too many years to remember, she recognized those needs. She wanted to be touched.
She allowed, just for a moment, her mind to float…permitted the powerful feelings of desire that Chase elicited to take over.
She remembered the feel of his strong fingers when he’d touched her…the sound of his deep voice. The caring way he looked at her.
She wasn’t blind, she’d seen the longing in his eyes. He had feelings for her that went beyond professional concern.
A new reality invaded the soft thoughts. Livvy blinked, her glorious state of relaxation shifting into tension.
What she’d seen in Chase’s eyes couldn’t have been desire for her, she argued. She was ugly, plain. Hadn’t James told her that often enough? She jerked at the rush of memories that spilled into her mind. His ranting that he couldn’t even remember why he’d noticed her. And now there were the hideous scars left from the numerous surgeries after that plunge down the stairs.
Her hand drifted down to her thigh. No man would want a woman so grossly marked. She traced the thick ridges of healed flesh. Chase surely had noticed the limp. Her inability to walk long distances or to jog had forced her to attempt to stay in good physical condition by other means, but she hadn’t been very successful. Her body had lost its look of youth and firmness.
Chase was muscular. His body was no doubt perfect. A startling jolt shook her at the thought of him naked. Her breath caught sharply at the intensity of it. Her hand went to her throat, trailed down to her breasts, which were stinging with their own urgent need.
Perhaps her breasts were her one saving grace. Fairly large and still reasonably firm. She pulled her hand away. Why did she even bother worrying about such nonsense? She could never let him get close. She knew that with absolute certainty. To torture herself with such foolish notions was ridiculous.
Abruptly, Livvy sat up and listened.
Goose bumps rushed over her skin in spite of the warm water.
What the hell…?
Music. She could hear music.
She pushed herself out of the water, using the safety bar for assistance.
Quickly dabbing off her wet skin, she tried to make out where the sound was coming from…what the melody was. She hadn’t turned on the light in the bathroom since she’d lit the candles. Had the power blinked off and then on? Sometimes the television came on of its own accord when that happened. A radio maybe?
She slipped on her robe, cinched the belt tight at her waist and padded into her bedroom. The music was a little louder now.
She opened the door and eased out into the upstairs hall.
Classical music.
Mozart.
Fear froze in Livvy’s veins.
She recognized the piece.
James’s favorite.
Livvy didn’t know how long she stood there, paralyzed with terror. She had to move. Had to determine the source of the music.
Had to run, another part of her brain urged.
She hurried to the staircase. Hesitated there, staring through the consuming darkness below. She flipped the wall switch. The entry hall flooded with light.
The music seemed to be coming from the parlor.
“Just a coincidence,” she murmured. The radio probably came on from the power surge. Just happened to be playing that song.
Couldn’t be anything else.
She choked out a sound that was supposed to be a laugh.
Any second now the deejay would break into the music and announce the current time or an update on the weather.
Calm down.
Calm down and go to the parlor.
Turn off the radio.
Everything is fine.
Livvy descended the stairs cautiously. With each step she reminded herself that it had to be a coincidence. A joke played by fate to shake her.
She reached the parlor doorway. Felt along the wall for the switch. Table lamps around the room lit instantly, chasing away the darkness. Air she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding rushed past her lips in a surge of relief.
Okay, it’s okay.
The crescendo of the music rose higher and higher as she moved determinedly toward the built-in bookcases where her CD player/radio combination sat on one of the many shelves.
She licked her lips and reached toward the power button.
Her hand halted midway to her destination. A frown wrinkled her brow.
It wasn’t the radio.
The CD player.
Her entire body went numb with renewed fear as she pressed the stop button, then eject. The tray holding the CD slid outward. Her fingers closed around the shiny disc and lifted it out of the tray.
A collection of Mozart.
The disc fell to the floor.
Livvy stared down at it.
Not possible.
She’d given away all of his belongings. She’d kept nothing. Not even a single photograph.
A blast of cold air whipped down the entry hall. The sound of breaking glass jerked her from terror’s grip long enough to prod her in that direction.
The flowers lay on the floor. The elegant vase she kept on the side table shattered, pieces lying around like glittering slivers of ice. She must have overfilled it with the long-stemmed arrangement. Left it off balance, she reasoned.
The wind lifted the hem of her robe, making her shiver.
As if time had lapsed into slow motion, Livvy turned toward the front door. It stood wide open. Wind and rain blasted into the house.
Another sound rose above that of the wind.
Livvy’s gaze swung toward the corridor waiting to be renovated. Weeping. Loud…forlorn. Her heart launched into her throat.
“No.” The single word squeezed out of her on a sob of anguish.
Livvy bolted for the door. She grabbed her keys from the hook on the wall as she passed and ran out of the house.
The wind pushed against her. The rain blinded her but she didn’t stop. Kept going. Had to reach her car. A stab of pain pierced her thigh. She cried out and her legs buckled and she went down in a tangled heap in the damp grass.
Get up! Get up!
She struggled to her feet. Scrambled forward. Not far now, she told herself.
Reaching her car, her fingers curled on the driver’s side door latch…jerked. Nothing. It was locked. She swore…fumbled…finally succeeded in pressing the unlock button on the remote in her hand.
She flung the door open and lunged behind the steering wheel. She shoved the key into the ignition. Hurry! A voice deep in her brain kept screaming at her to hurry. Her heart pounded so hard she could hardly breathe. Her fingers trembled so violently she had to squeeze them together a moment before she could summon the strength to turn the ignition.
The engine started on the first try. Thank God! Thank God! She threw the car into reverse and stomped on the accelerator. The sudden backward motion propelled her forward, almost slamming her forehead against the steering wheel.
Struggling for control, she moved the gearshift into drive and took off in the direction of town. “Get hold of yourself,” she muttered. She would be in town in no time. All she had to do was to calm down and keep the vehicle out of the ditch.
The engine stalled. She pounded the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. “No!” She patted the accelerator but the engine died. “Damn it.” She twisted the ignition over and over but it wouldn’t start.
“What the—?”
Her gaze settled on the fuel gauge.
Empty.
But she’d filled it up just two days ago. Hadn’t driven anywhere since. She remembered distinctly…
The grit and determination she’d used to force her damaged body to relearn how to walk suddenly solidified. The terror twisting inside her abruptly vanished, fury took its place.
Livvy shoved the car door open and climbed out into the driving rain. She stared back at the inn with its ominous turrets jutting skyward.
This was her home. By God, no one was going to drive her out of it. And that was exactly what was happening here.
She marched back to the house, each step ratcheting up her outrage another notch. Whoever was doing this wasn’t going to get away with it. He—or she—had to be a coward to do this kind of thing without showing his face.
She was not a coward. She refused to be a victim again. Not ever again.
Livvy stalked into the entry hall and slammed the door behind her.
She leaned against it for a moment and listened. The storm outside still howled, the rain pelted down insistently. But inside, it was as quiet as a tomb.
The idea that some coward had done this to her and then scampered away to hide only made her more furious.
She skirted the broken glass and went in search of the necessary implements to clean up the mess.
With the glass and flowers in the trash and the water mopped up, she went through every single room in the house, upstairs and down.
She even opened the off-limits room. She didn’t go inside, but she did scrutinize the exterior doors from her position across the room. They were locked. With that room secured once more, she headed back to the parlor. She retrieved the CD and studied it a moment.
She didn’t use the CD player often. Couldn’t even remember when she had played it last. One of her guests over the summer could have left this CD in the player. If the electricity blinked as she’d suspected, the CD player could have turned on as a result of the ensuing power surge.
Livvy laughed wryly, stared down at her damp robe. She was an idiot. Had let her imagination get the better of her.
This house was old. It wasn’t impossible that she’d believed she’d closed and locked the front door securely, but actually hadn’t pushed it into place quite hard enough. The wind could have done the rest. As far as the weeping went, she didn’t know quite what to make of that, but if it was a ghost, she wasn’t afraid of ghosts. It was people who killed people.
She trudged into the kitchen, tossed the CD into the trash and put the kettle on. She could definitely use a cup of hot tea to soothe her seriously frayed nerves. More brandy was out of the question. The liquor may very well have fueled her imagination.
While the water heated she would dry off again and drag on some soft flannel pajamas. She intended to relax tonight, one way or another.
She started for the door but hesitated. Damn. She hadn’t gone shopping this week with all the excitement—if one could call murder exciting. Was she out of tea? This morning she hadn’t seen anything but coffee in the cupboard. When there were no guests at the inn, she didn’t bother with inventory and stocking so meticulously.
No point in heating the water if she didn’t have any tea. Annoyed that she might not be able to savor her favorite blend, she tromped over to the cupboard.
She swung open the doors and her breath evaporated in her lungs.
A large tin of imported tea stared back at her.
Livvy swallowed hard. Assam Indian tea.
Had Edna decided to take the shopping upon herself since Livvy hadn’t gotten around to it?
But Livvy hated Assam tea. It wouldn’t have been on her list. She didn’t even stock it for her guests. It had to be special ordered…had Edna or Clara ordered it?
No…no…that couldn’t be right.
Her hand shaking, she reached for the canister. She lifted it from the cupboard and her heart bucked mercilessly. Another can sat behind that one. Then another.
This wasn’t right. She hated Assam tea.
James had loved it. He had insisted that Americans didn’t know good tea. Livvy remembered the first time she’d placed his special order and gotten the wrong blend…she flinched at the recollection of the explosion of rage he’d showered on her.
This just couldn’t be…
No one else knew about before…about what she’d been through. Who would order James’s tea?
Livvy stood in the middle of her kitchen…suddenly afraid to move. Afraid to scream.
Impossible. No one knew. No one.
It had to be him…