CHASE WAITED in the darkness.
Eight p.m.
Benton Fraley entered the office, switching on the light as he closed the door behind him.
He blinked, seemingly startled when he noticed Chase sitting there.
“What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark, son?” he asked cautiously. Suspicion narrowed his keen gaze.
Chase tapped the two folders lying on the edge of Shirley’s desk. “Tell me what’s going on. Now.” He wanted to shake his uncle until he told him everything. A new wave of anguish washed over Chase when he thought of what Olivia Hamilton had lived through with her demented husband. He’d wondered about her slight limp…had speculated on her skittishness in his presence.
Now he knew. She’d been abused in the strongest sense of the word. Dear God. The medical reports indicated numerous past fractures that had healed without treatment. The plunge down a staircase had almost taken her life. She’d finally admitted to her doctor and friends that her husband had pushed her. But the psychological report had been the most horrifying of all. Repeated mental abuse to the point she now feared anything that reminded her of that life.
She’d come here, no doubt seeking a fresh start far away from her past, and look at what she’d inadvertently stumbled into. The unfairness of it made his chest constrict all over again. No one should have to suffer the way Olivia had.
The chief glanced at the files. “There are things you don’t know, Chase.”
Fury obliterated all other emotion in a flash. “Like what? That you didn’t even bother interviewing Beverly Bellamy’s friends and family, other than the parents? Or that forensics wasn’t scheduled to come back like you said?” He surged to his feet. “Why all the lies? I don’t understand.”
His uncle met his gaze, his blue eyes, the mark of the Fraleys, incredibly calm in light of Chase’s accusations. “Sit down and I’ll tell you everything.”
“You’ll tell me everything anyway,” Chase snapped, his hands at his waist, impatience pounding through his veins. Someone had murdered Beverly Bellamy. Olivia could be in danger, as well. He would have the truth.
“I’ve just spent the last two hours interviewing Edna Bradley.”
The statement took Chase aback. Olivia’s housekeeper? “For what purpose?”
The chief sighed wearily and dropped into a chair as if too exhausted to stand a moment longer. “I’ve been watching the inn. I knew something wasn’t right.” His gaze bore determinedly into Chase’s. “As soon as I had spoken to Beverly’s parents and ensured there were no skeletons rattling around in the girl’s closet, I felt certain the motivation revolved around the inn. So I’ve been doing a good bit of surveillance. Ralph Cook appeared to be coming and going at rather odd hours, not his usual eight-to-five shift.”
Chase shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re trying to lay this at Ralph Cook’s door. He wouldn’t—”
“You’re wrong, Chase,” his uncle interrupted. “Edna told me she’d noticed Olivia as well as Ralph behaving oddly, in particular after I openly accused him of the vandalism. So, I followed him home this evening at five-thirty.”
A new kind of anxiety mushroomed inside Chase. “Then why didn’t you bring him in?”
The chief shook his head. “Because he gave me the slip. That’s why I went to Edna, to see if she had noticed anything. She was my only other hope of getting to the truth.”
Chase flung his arms outward in disbelief. “You really think that Ralph killed Beverly?”
The chief reached into his interior coat pocket and withdrew a plastic bag. He placed it on the desk. Chase didn’t have to pick it up to know what it contained. The jeweled sheath that belonged with the letter opener…the murder weapon in the Bellamy case.
“Oddly enough,” the chief went on, “when I got to Edna’s, she was just about to call me. When she did the laundry at the inn this afternoon she changed some linens and found this—” he tapped the plastic bag “—in Olivia Hamilton’s bedroom, hidden beneath the mattress.”
The reality of what he was suggesting slammed into Chase like water breaking on the rocks. “You can’t be serious.”
The chief nodded. “Edna also told me that she’d seen Ralph and Ms. Hamilton engaged in what looked like intense conversations or confrontations—always out of her earshot. She got the impression Ralph was questioning the orders he’d been given. Don’t get me wrong here,” his uncle asserted, “Edna thinks highly of Olivia, but when I pushed, she admitted that she was afraid the woman might be bordering on a breakdown of some sort. Real jumpy, acting kind of funny about everything, and too quiet…withdrawn.”
Stunned, Chase could scarcely voice what he knew his uncle to be saying. “You think Olivia either orchestrated or carried out this murder? For what purpose? To torture herself?” The ferocity of the emotions soaring through him now tilted his equilibrium, making him feel unsteady on his feet. This was insane.
“I believe she’s mentally unstable. That perhaps she even killed her husband.” He shrugged. “Maybe it was self-defense, who knows? She came all the way out here for a fresh start and things started to go wrong. The only thing she knew to do was to take desperate measures. I told you, Chase, that she was a desperate woman. Desperate people do desperate things. Who’s to say she isn’t as crazy as a loon?”
He tapped one of the files Chase held. “Didn’t you read that research I did on serial killers? Most of them were abused in one way or another as children. I think Olivia Hamilton’s abusive husband may have pushed her over the edge.”
Chase had read the research all right and it didn’t add up to anything in his opinion. His uncle was clearly grasping at straws. Chase wasn’t listening to any more of this. He grabbed his keys. “If you think you can prove it,” he challenged, “arrest her. Personally, I think she might be the one in danger. Whoever did this may not be finished yet.”
The chief lunged to his feet. “Are you implying that someone on this island would be capable of murder just to shut that place down?” His own fury roared in every word.
“You accused Ralph Cook. Why not?”
The chief stabbed a finger at Chase’s chest. “I accused him of being caught up in the woman’s spell. I didn’t say anything about him committing the murder.”
“You’re wrong,” Chase growled.
“No,” his uncle snapped. “You are. You’re allowing your obsession with the woman to color your judgment, just like your daddy did.”
Chase put his face close to his uncle’s. “Maybe I am, but I’ll take my chances. What you’re suggesting is crazy. She’d be stupid to do something like this even if she were capable. That inn is her livelihood, why would she jeopardize that?”
“Maybe for the publicity,” Chief Fraley offered unrepentantly, then shrugged. “Maybe because she just can’t help herself. Whatever the case, I’m putting out an APB on Cook,” he went on. “And then I’m going for a search warrant on the inn. Fair warning—after that, I plan to arrest her.”
“You do what you have to do.” Chase hurled the words back at him. “And I’ll do what I have to.” With that said he walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Chase strode to his vehicle, ignoring the pouring rain. He’d warn Olivia that she needed to find an attorney. He would help her. Find a way to prove his uncle wrong.
He swore hotly, repeatedly, as he started the engine, then fastened his seat belt. This whole thing was completely out of control. He didn’t doubt that his uncle felt he was doing the right thing, but he’d clearly had it in for Olivia from the moment she’d arrived on the island—which meant he wasn’t being objective. Maybe dredging up the past had pushed him over some edge.
Chase’s cell phone rang, dragging him from the troubling thoughts. He pulled it from the carrier at his waist and flipped it open. “Chase Fraley.”
“Deputy Fraley, this is dispatch.”
Chase’s senses moved to a higher state of alert. “What’s up?”
“Got a call a couple minutes ago from a woman who sounded more than a little hysterical. She asked for you, but as soon as she realized she’d gotten 9-1-1 instead of your office she hung up. I attempted to call back but didn’t get an answer. She was on line long enough for the system to pinpoint the location.”
Uneasiness slid through Chase. “What’s the address?”
The dispatcher rattled off the island address that turned Chase’s blood to ice.
“Got it,” he said and ended the call. He tossed the cell phone into the seat and rocketed away from the curb flanking city hall.
The hysterical woman had been Olivia. The address, her inn. Chase imagined every sort of horror in the few precious minutes it took him to reach the long winding drive that led to the inn. About fifty yards from the house he skidded to a stop when he came upon Olivia’s car sitting in the middle of the drive.
He jumped from his SUV without even bothering to close the door. She was in the car. Sitting up. Alive. Relief gushed in his chest.
She stared up at him through the trails of water sliding down the glass of the driver’s side window. He tried to open the door but it was locked.
“Unlock the car, Olivia,” he called loudly enough for her to hear over the still raging storm. Lightning flashed and he got his first good glimpse of her starkly pale face. Absolute terror glinted in her brown eyes.
Her movements robotic, she depressed the unlock button.
He opened the door and crouched down to put himself at eye level with her. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, his eyes visually examining what he could see of her body.
“I can’t go back in the house.”
Her voice was so small he almost didn’t hear her. “Tell me what happened,” he urged, afraid to touch her but wanting to so badly he could hardly restrain himself.
She looked back at the inn. “I think…something is in there.”
It took Chase several minutes, but finally he talked her into getting into his SUV. The robe she wore was soaked. She shook so brutally her teeth chattered. The cool night air combined with the rain had no doubt chilled her to the bone, but he imagined her physical condition was more a result of the fear he’d seen in her eyes than the cold.
But she needed to get out of those wet clothes. With that in mind, he drove up to the inn. The front door stood wide open.
Chase shut off the engine and turned to her. “Is someone in there?”
She struggled with her answer. “I—I’m not sure.”
“I’m going inside to check it out. I’ll lock the doors. You’ll be safe in here.”
Livvy shook her head. “Please,” she pleaded. “Don’t leave me alone.”
The concern on Chase’s face gave her such relief. Thank God he’d come. She’d known she could count on him.
“All right. Let’s check it out.”
Once they were inside and Chase had secured the front door, Livvy gathered her scattered wits and told him everything that had happened. She led him through each room, finally coming to the kitchen where the cupboard still stood open, the tins of tea staring out at her, taunting her.
Chase stood silent a moment. Her hopes fell. He thought she was crazy. She should have seen that coming. Even she had to admit that the whole thing sounded completely nuts.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Let’s consider what we’ve got here.”
Hope glimmered once more.
“The house is empty and secure. But the music was real. We have to assume the weeping was, as well.” He indicated the cupboard. “It’s possible Edna could have taken it upon herself to order a different blend of tea.” He looked down at Livvy. “That’s something we can confirm tomorrow morning.”
She nodded. This was good. A plan. She needed a plan. But a part of her couldn’t believe that with all the blends of tea on the market that Edna would have ordered that particular one. And so much of it…
“Let’s see if we can find where that weeping was coming from,” he suggested.
Livvy blinked back the tears that had crested. He believed her. Thank God. She’d been so afraid that no one would.
They started upstairs where she’d first heard the sound. From there they searched every room, every closet, every single nook and cranny. Chase Fraley didn’t miss a thing.
But they found nothing.
Until they reached the downstairs laundry room. In the storage closet where the vacuum cleaners and miscellaneous mops were kept, high on a shelf above Edna’s line of vision, was a cassette player. Wires ran from the player to the ceiling above it.
From his position on a step stool, Chase counted four different wires. “They probably lead to speakers located in various places in the house.” He studied the cassette player again. “It can be set like an alarm clock, allowing the playing of the tape to start at specified times.” He depressed the rewind button, then the play button and within seconds the distant, forlorn sound of weeping could be heard upstairs.
He shut the machine off. “Let’s leave it where it is so we don’t do any more damage to any prints that might be here.”
Livvy nodded. “What do we do now?” She shivered. Her robe had started to dry but it was still a little damp and she felt as cold as a Sub-Zero freezer.
Chase stepped down off the stool. “We get you warmed up.”
His clothes were wet, as well. “What about you?”
He smiled, not his usual high-voltage charmer, but one brimming with warmth. “I’ll be fine.”
Livvy led the way up to her bedroom. No way was she going anywhere alone. She was glad she hadn’t had to ask him to accompany her.
She rounded up a towel for him and retreated back into her bathroom. She blew out the candles she’d forgotten all about. Thank God a fire hadn’t started. Working quickly, she peeled off her robe, swabbed her body with a dry towel and slipped on a flannel gown. It fell all the way to her ankles and fit like a tent, but it was warm. She’d worry about panties later.
She tugged a comb through her damp hair and hurried to rejoin Chase in her bedroom.
He’d removed his shirt and was in the process of scrubbing the towel over his sculpted chest. Livvy paused in the open doorway, her gaze riveted to his movements. She had known his body would be beautiful. Heat slid through her, warming her as nothing else could. A throb of need followed the path of the heat, reminding her of just how long it had been since she’d wanted…
He looked up, apparently noted her wide-eyed gaze. “Sorry.” He gestured to the shirt he’d draped over the back of a chair. “I thought I’d take it down and put it in the dryer for a few minutes. If that’s okay.”
She nodded jerkily.
His gaze roved over her granny gown. “You look comfortable.”
Definitely not a compliment, but he was right. She hugged her arms around her chest. “I feel…comfortable.” And she did…oddly. She felt no need to withdraw. It felt right being alone in her bedroom with him.
Good Lord. What was she thinking?
Her cheeks flushed. “Would you like some coffee?”
“That’d be nice.”
She started across the room, a spear of unexpected pain bringing her to an abrupt halt. She winced. Rubbed at her leg.
“You okay?” He was at her side so fast she swayed.
“I’m okay.” She remembered falling outside. All the fear and excitement had kept her from noticing the nagging pain, she supposed. She rubbed her thigh a little harder and considered that her worn-out body only added to the granny picture. How romantic. She shook herself. What man would want damaged goods? And she was damaged, inside and out.
“Olivia,” he said softly.
Meeting his gaze proved the most difficult task. She didn’t want to see pity in his eyes and she was certain that’s what she would find.
“I know what happened to you,” he went on when her gaze at last came to rest on his.
Her heart bumped hard against her sternum as she recognized what she saw in that sea-blue gaze. Not sympathy, not pity. Desire…need, almost as strong as the need strumming through her soul.
She twisted her fingers together, unsure how to react. “It’s not such a pretty story.” She had to look away, couldn’t bear the intensity any longer. So much had happened. Everything was out of balance…out of control.
“I would never hurt you, Olivia,” he murmured. “I want you to know that. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.”
She lifted her face up to his, desperate to believe he could mean such sweet words. “I don’t know what’s happening,” she admitted. “I…” She shook her head. “Beverly’s murder. The tape.” She shivered. “The tea. Who’s doing this?”
He caressed her cheek so gently that she whimpered with longing. No one had touched her that way in so long.
“I promise I will get to the bottom of this. I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”
The feel of his warm hand, the strength emanating from his touch…made her want to lean into him.
“Thank you.” She worked up the courage to say the words. “Thank you for believing in me.”
She saw him lean toward her. Her body instantly went rigid with trepidation.
“I have to do this,” he whispered as his lips brushed the same cheek he’d caressed.
Livvy’s eyes closed, her heart fluttered like a caged bird.
“I’m not taking any chances…I’m staying with you tonight.” She felt his words against her cheek, those full lips moving with infinite softness and restraint.
For the first time in nearly half a decade she followed her heart, reached out to another human being. Her arms went around his lean waist and she wilted against that powerful chest.
“Hold me.”
She vaguely recognized the desperate plea as her own voice…her own aching need.
“All night long,” he promised.