Thirty-Three

Charley groaned, disoriented. Glancing at the clock she winced. Five a.m.? Why was she awake? Her skull felt like it was about to split in two.

The mattress dipped as Cocoa jumped to the floor. Just a shadow in the dusky room, she stood alert, ears forward, body rigid. Listening.

Something tapped against glass. A tree branch blown by the wind?

No. If the wind had picked up, the curtains would billow. But there wasn’t a wisp of a breeze flowing through the room.

Nose to the ground, Cocoa raced to the closed bedroom door. Her low growl, the bristling fur, had fear skidding down Charley’s spine. Something wasn’t right.

She tossed the covers aside and swung her feet to the floor. The movement jarred her aching head.

She scanned the room. On the top of the chest of drawers, metal glinted. Her ruling pen. The two flexible metal jaws tapered to a lethal point. “That’ll work,” she murmured. Picking it up on the way past, she moved to the door.

Cocoa pressed against the doorjamb with an anxious whine.

Turning the handle, Charley got a good grip on the pen. She wrapped her fingers around it, angling the metal tip up like a blade, wrist locked nice and square. “Ready?”

Cocoa pawed at the door. Charley swung it open and she took off in a flash, coursing over the ground, like she was stalking prey.

Charley crept through the dark living room, following in Cocoa’s path. It was probably just a raccoon or a stray cat. Still, her pulse raced.

Her toe hit something hard and a flash of pain made her eyes water. Biting back a curse, she rubbed her foot.

Table leg. Ouch.

If ever there was a time to channel Liselle in Hamadryads, it was now. Think stealth and courage. Whip-smart reactions.

Cocoa’s growl turned menacing.

Rounding the corner to the entrance, Charley’s heart leaped into her throat. She raised the pointed tip of the pen, keeping it up and away from her body, ready to slash or stab, if she had to.

Nose wrinkling, Cocoa snarled and bared her teeth. Hackles up, the dog crouched, facing the front door.

Outlined against the glass pane was the tall and broad-shouldered silhouette of a man.

Knuckles knocked on the glass again. “Are you going to leave me standing out here?”

At the sound of his voice, Cocoa relaxed, and her tail began to wag.

He’d better have a good explanation for showing up this early.

Charley flung the door open and shivered as a gust of cool air skated over her arms. “What are you doing here?”

Cocoa scrambled forward to greet Matt.

“Morning,” he said cheerfully. He looked wide awake. “How’s the head?” He held two Thermoses and a butter-streaked wax paper bag.

“Still attached.”

His blue plaid flannel shirt, white T-shirt, and Levis made her all too aware of the fact that she was standing there in her pajamas.

“Well, that’s something,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I’ve been up for hours,” she replied, deadpan.

Matt chuckled. “Good thing I waited an extra hour before coming over. Are you going to stab me with that?”

She still brandished the pen like a knife. “I thought about it.” But she lowered the makeshift weapon. “That’s what happens when you show up at someone’s house in the dead of night.”

“Actually, it’s dawn. And we’re going to watch the sunrise from the dock.” He held out a Thermos to her.

“You’re kidding, right?” But she took the Thermos, because it might be filled with caffeine and her head was throbbing. “The number one carpenter,” she read the side of the mug. “‘A shelf made man’?”

Matt held up his own. “‘Measure twice, cut once’. I raided my dad’s collection of travel mugs and found these at the back of the cupboard. Woodworking humour. So, are you coming?”

“I’m in my pajamas!”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He flashed his crinkly-eyed grin. “I could just eat these chocolate croissants myself.”

Chocolate croissants? “Give me a sec. I’ll throw on a pair of jeans and a sweater.”

“No time. The sky’s already starting to turn pink. Here.” He shrugged out of his shirt and settled it over her shoulders. The flannel felt warm against her skin. She breathed in the scent of chocolate and soap. “Now you’re set. Just grab some shoes.”

Maple syrup. The memory pierced the fog clouding her mind. Last night, had she told him he smelled like maple syrup? It couldn’t get much more embarrassing than that.

“You’re bossy. Did you know that?” But she set the Thermos down and slid her arms through the sleeves of the shirt. If her brain were functioning, she’d be able to come up with a better reply.

“You look good in flannel,” he said.

“Who knew all a girl needs to make an impression is flannel and pajamas?” She slipped into her flip-flops and closed the front door with a quiet click.

Cocoa roamed ahead of them to the water, paws swishing through dew-tipped grass.

Charley took a sip from the Thermos as she walked, then winced at the bitter taste. “Matt, what is this?”

“English Breakfast tea.”

“Why —” It hit her. The Coffee Nook. She told him she preferred tea. Damn. And he’d remembered. She’d have to drink it. “Mmm, so good.” Karma.

He threw her a glance. “Too strong?”

She took another sip, swallowed hard. “It’s great.”

Matt shook his head. “Did no one ever tell you you shouldn’t lie?” He held out his own drink. “Here, swap.”

Caught out, she grinned. “Lesson learned.” She took a sip of sweet, creamy coffee and wrapped her hands around the mug. “But you make really good coffee.”

Matt lifted his Thermos with a wink. “Luckily, I make a mean cup of tea, too.”

The old wooden dock, streaked green with moss and faded as driftwood, swayed as she sat beside him.

With a splash, Cocoa leaped into the water. Wading through the shallows, her tail wagged furiously.

Sunbeams hit the mist. Not just warm streaks of morning light but sun-shot gold, straight to the vanishing point. The surface of the lake shone, smooth as glass. The peace and solitude broken only by the ink-dark shadows screening the far shoreline.

“It’s like there’s no one else in the world,” she murmured.

Somewhere a loon called to its mate.

Matt shrugged, but the lazy movement seemed tense. “That’s because they’re all still sleeping.”

She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Ha. Funny.” The coffee was starting to hit her system. The croissant flaked apart in her fingers and tasted of toasted caramel and bittersweet chocolate. “This is nice.”

“Can’t beat a sunrise at the lake.”

Colours bloomed like paint on damp paper. Crimson, Burnt Sienna. Indigo, Yellow Ochre. Insects hummed, the drowsy sounds of a hot summer day. Ripples spread toward them from where Cocoa splashed through the water, brown fur already wet and gleaming.

“I didn’t drag you out of bed just for the company.” Matt reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded square of paper and passed it to her. “Take a look at this, tell me what you think.”

Glancing away from the horizon, she took the paper from him, smoothed it out on the dock. The edge fluttered in the breeze and she pinned one corner down with her Thermos. “A blueprint?” A legal-sized photocopy, faint in parts.

When he leaned over to tap the sheet, his arm grazed hers, sending a current of electricity tingling over her skin. “Check out the names.”

“Andrew Clarkston.” The second name had her heart rate kicking up a notch. “Thomas Kelley,” she murmured. She checked the date on the stamp. “This was drafted ten years ago. They worked together, knew each other.” That put things in a whole new perspective.

“Not only that,” he said. “Take a look at the changes. This was originally proposed as a five-story build but it was scaled down to three.”

“Why?” Fewer materials?

“It would be a faster build, meaning they’d be able to start other projects sooner. The workforce would be smaller and, because of that, the company would be able to have multiple projects on the go and a lower labour base rate. And, see here?” Matt shifted, pointed at one of the revisions. “Someone made a last-minute change to the fill material around the foundation. The new material was a hell of a lot cheaper and more readily available than the original one. But not the same quality. It was known to retain water, which would expand when frozen and cause cracks in the foundation walls. The project was scheduled to start in late fall.”

So, Clarkston Engineering had cut corners and Thomas was a part of it. The realization prickled at the back of her neck. “Engineering fraud?”

“Or lousy research.” His eyes had gone hard as flint, his jaw tense. “But I’d assume so, yeah. It would be easy to apply pressure with the cold weather setting in. To put a rush on the project, and get the material approved. Up the profit margin.”

The edge to his voice had her asking, “How did you find out about this?”

“I was searching for something else, stumbled across this instead.”

Something else. It was vague enough to jar. “You were looking at blueprints?”

“It’s not important.” He brushed the question aside. Fast.

“Did no one ever tell you you shouldn’t lie?” She quoted his own words back at him.

A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. “Okay.” He shifted so that he faced her, and their knees bumped. Sunlight played over his face, glinting golden at his jawline. “But it’s about your gallery.”

Her heart thudded. “You went looking for the gallery’s blueprints? Why?”

He looked at her, his expression impatient. “I could tell you if you’d stop interrupting me with questions.”

“A side effect of spending too much time with Meghan. Sorry.” She waved a hand. “Keep going.”

“Clarkston Engineering built it. Jeffrey was Andrew’s general contractor, and my mom worked for him as a framing carpenter.”

Lizzie. Her ghost in the Mews. “So, all three were involved in the job.”

He took a breath. “I found some photos she took on the site, late in the day. Of the joists.”

“But why would she —”

Matt shot her an exasperated frown. “You said you’d let me finish.”

“Right.” She slid her hands under her legs and fought the urge to rock impatiently. “Go ahead.”

“She spotted an error and documented it. Then she died.” His voice was flat, his expression calm, except for his eyes. In them she saw the pain, the anger. Carefully tamped down and ready to explode. “An accident on site.”

Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Andrew killed her.”

Oh my God. She sucked in a breath. “Are you sure?”

“I’d ask him, but he’s dead.” A muscle leapt in his jaw. “Yeah, I’m sure. She discovered an error in the structural integrity of the building. She wouldn’t have backed down until it was fixed. But, before she could make it public, she fell to her death from the second-floor window. Only thing is, she was careful. Followed all the safety regulations. I don’t think she fell. I think she was pushed.”

“You’re saying Andrew committed murder to cover up a mistake.” The man Kayla had married.

“That’s my guess. And it’s got me wondering if his death has something to do with the past.”

Fraud and murder. She looked at the blueprint. “In other words, Thomas might have a motive that’s more than just anger over the delays on his house.”

“You found the recipe, so I thought I’d get your opinion on this.”

Thomas had easy access to the gallery and knew enough about art history to turn a vanitas painting into a threatening message. “Alex needs to see this.”

“Not yet.” He folded the blueprint again, sharpening the crease with one swift slide of his fingers.

“But this is the clue we’ve been looking for.”

“It also gives me one hell of a motive.”

That gave her pause. He had a point. Alex might decide the evidence proved his theory of revenge.

Matt said, “You know he’s going to ask the same questions you did. I need better answers. Otherwise, this won’t play out well. I want all the cards in my hand before I take this to the police.”

He’d have a hard time tracking down answers from a holding cell. “We need to figure out what happened between Thomas and Andrew in the past. And fast.” She thought of the postcard on the gallery’s door.

“We?” He skimmed his thumb over her cheekbone, just a brush of contact. A shiver ran through her at the gentle touch.

Someone cleared their throat nearby, loudly.

“Nice timing,” Matt muttered.

Alex walked over the grass to them. Cocoa gave a happy woof and shook her head, ears flapping. Drops of moisture spattered over them.

“Charley.” Alex’s face was grim. “Someone tripped the alarm at the gallery.”

The statement, the meaning behind it, seared through her. “What?” She jumped to her feet, pulse scrambling.

He jiggled his car keys in his hand. “An officer’s already on the scene. I’m on my way now.”

God, she couldn’t think straight. And Cocoa was soaked. “I need to get Cocoa inside first. Throw some different clothes on.” Take an aspirin.

“Make it fast. Meg’s coming too.”

“So am I.” Matt raised his brows at the look they both shot him. “I’ll follow you there.”

Adrenaline coursed through her veins. “Was anything taken?”

Alex’s expression was stony. And all cop. “We’ll find out when we get there.”