Laine shut off her phone and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans with a sigh of relief. Detective Inspector Watley seemed no closer to an answer—at least, an answer that would satisfy him—than he had a month ago, when she had brought Arren home with her to Canada. They had stopped briefly in the big, cosmopolitan city of Toronto to collect Martin, then immediately headed west. Far west, over the Great Lakes and the wide prairies, finally to land at a remote airstrip in the Rocky Mountain foothills.
She contemplated the group gathered around the huge pine table: Arren, Bethea and Martin, Innis and Anya.
“Well,” snapped Innis. “What did the copper want this time?”
“The usual. ‘Are we sure we know nothing of the whereabouts of Mrs. Arabella Griffin? Or a certain Mr. Jaird Fallon?’ I hope I sounded dumb and innocent enough.”
“Of course you did, sister dear. We know you’re not innocent . . . but dumb, well . . . ”
“Shut up!” She reached across the breakfast table to give him a swat. Anya leaned out of the way, protecting her coffee and croissant. “If DI Watley had anything on us at all, he’d never have let us leave England. Apparently he’s focused on the coroner, Judy Polk. He apparently suspects her of complicity in the killings.”
Arren said, “He may be right. I never liked her. It would be easy for her to sign off on suspicious deaths.”
The woman might well have been under the influence of the compelling Jaird Fallon. Laine, wanting to change the subject to something more pleasant, turned in her chair to look out the kitchen’s big picture window and waved her arm at the incredible view. “I can’t get over how magnificent this is, and how you, my wonderful stepdad, managed to keep it all a secret for so long.”
Martin shifted in his chair, making the wood squeak. He was a big man: not soft, but generously built. Since he’d been spending time at his Alberta ranch, he’d picked up a tan and now looked more like a cowboy than a businessman. He had traded his suit and tie for jeans and a leather vest. Laine approved, and she was pretty sure Bethea did too.
Turned out he’d been amassing land for years, quietly putting together a parcel of several thousand acres consisting of flatland, streams and rolling foothills below the Rockies, which now, in early October, crested snowy white against the horizon. Nestled on the remote property was a rustic lodge—with all the comforts of home—and extensive, luxurious stables. Anyone visiting would think Martin Summerhill was raising temperamental thoroughbreds on this land . . .
All along he’d had a goal.
He reached for his wife’s hand. “I’ve known what you are for years, my love. And for years I’ve had to watch what it did to you . . . it seemed like a curse from hell. I didn’t know the whole story, but your suffering is what has made me reluctant to join you. I could only attempt to protect you.” He raised her small, pale hand in his large, tanned one and kissed it. “Can you forgive me?”
In answer, Bethea in turn kissed his hand. For a moment they put their heads together, sharing an intimacy Laine had never witnessed between the two. The only thing that would make this moment more perfect would be if Arabella were here.
But she was dead. Though death, for such as she, was perhaps not as final as for ordinary humans. Laine had felt her several times, before they left the Blackhorse Inn and the lush forests and streams around it. Arabella was gone from this world, but in the next she was with her beloved.
Laine drained the last of her coffee and jumped up. She could bear being inside no longer, with the brilliant golden day out there ready and waiting.
“I’m going for a run. Anyone care to join me?”
Arren, Innis, and Anya immediately leapt up, as she had known they would. Here in the wide-open prairie, far from prying eyes, they could shift as they willed, and run forever.
Martin and Bethea remained seated. He looked at her and quirked an eyebrow. “Well, my dearest? Is it time?”
Time? What did he mean?
Bethea cupped his face in her hands, searching his hazel eyes with her own. “Are you sure, my love? Completely sure? There’s no going back . . . ”
He grabbed both her hands and pulled her up into a bear hug. “I’m sure.”
Together they smiled at the younger generation. “We’re going to take a walk to the river. It will be cold . . . but I think a swim is just the thing for us.”