Shirlee McCoy - The Lawman's Legacy

Comfort.

Security.

Someone to lean on.

She wanted those things desperately, but she wanted the life she’d created more.

She had to remember that. Had to get a handle on her emotions before Douglas’s interview. If she didn’t, she might give away too much of herself.

Four years, and she’d been fine.

Four years, and she’d kept Tyler safe.

She’d do the same for another four years and another and another.

She would.

All she had to do was keep her head on straight, focus on answering Douglas’s questions about Olivia without giving away anything about herself or Tyler.

All she had to do was continue to keep her secrets.

Only hers weren’t the only secrets she carried.

She had Olivia’s secrets, too.

Keep this for me, Merry. Don’t tell anyone you have it.

The words whispered through Merry’s mind, as clear as they’d been the day Olivia had spoken them, her lilting Irish accent charming and warm. They mixed with other words, another time, another place, another accent. Thick Bostonian. The same as the one Merry had worked so hard to rid herself of.

Keep him safe. Please, promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll keep him safe. Promise me.

So many promises, so many secrets.

Too many secrets.

And, Douglas Fitzgerald coming over to her house to ask questions.

Douglas with his winning smile and caring nature.

Douglas, who had taken her to lunch, looked deep into her eyes and made her feel beautiful and special and cared for. She couldn’t stomach lying to him, but she couldn’t ever tell him the truth.

Please, God, don’t let him ask me questions I can’t answer.

But Douglas would.

He had a reputation for fairness and honesty and dogged determination, and he had a way of looking at people and into them that made Merry nervous.

He would know she had secrets.

He probably already knew.

If he thought those secrets had anything to do with Olivia’s death, he’d dig until he knew everything. Every secret. Every lie. Every bit of what Merry had kept hidden.

He’d dig until he destroyed everything she’d worked so hard to protect.

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and, this time, she didn’t bother wiping them away.

THREE

Forty years.

That’s how long it had been since someone had been murdered in Fitzgerald Bay.

Scratch that.

It had been twelve hours since someone had been murdered in Fitzgerald Bay. At least, that was the coroner’s assessment, but Douglas hoped he was wrong. His brother Charles had a foolproof alibi for the morning. He’d left his house at eight, been at their father’s place by eight-fifteen. The entire Fitzgerald clan and a few friends had seen him there.

A good alibi for the wrong time.

Which wasn’t a good alibi at all.

That worried Douglas. Not because he suspected his brother, but because other people might.

A divorced doctor with a pretty young woman living in an apartment attached to his house had given the gossip mongers plenty to talk about. Would romance bloom between the divorced doctor and the Irish nanny? Would they marry and live happily ever after?

Douglas had laughed at the whispered speculations.

He wasn’t laughing now.

As much as he loved the townspeople, he knew that they’d find plenty more to whisper about now that Olivia was gone. Had Charles murdered Olivia in a fit of rage because she’d rejected him? Had there been a lover’s spat? Had the handsome doctor killed the woman who cared for his children?

Olivia had been young and sweet and, seemingly, vulnerable. Where she’d lived, where she’d died, those things were circumstantial evidence that could make people eye Charles with suspicion.

Douglas couldn’t let that happen.

Charles had been through a lot, and it was time for him to have a little peace. Hopefully, Douglas’s visit with Merry would provide evidence, something, that would keep people from whispering and speculating. Evidence that would lead to a killer. That’s what Douglas needed, and it’s what he planned to find.

He pulled up in front of Merry’s house, eyeing the small yellow Cape Cod. White shutters. Small porch. Toys littering the front yard. Nothing unusual about that, but there’d been something in her eyes when she’d seen Keira dusting for prints. Not just grief. Fear. Stark and dark and shimmering in the depth of her chocolate brown eyes.

He opened the gate, walked into the yard. She’d cleaned things up in the year that she’d lived in the house. Cut back shrubs and trimmed the old crab apple tree. Painted the siding and trim.

Made the little house into a warm and cozy home.

But as far as Douglas knew, she never had anyone over to visit. No church socials hosted at the O’Leary place. No playgroups with mothers and kids hanging out in the little yard. Maybe she’d had Olivia over once or twice, but that seemed to be the extent of Merry’s desire to play hostess. As a matter of fact, she’d announced that things weren’t working out between them a few minutes after Douglas had suggested he pick her and Tyler up after work and take them for an evening picnic in the park.

Merry had seemed truly horrified by the idea.

Just as she’d seemed horrified by the idea of Douglas stopping by her place to conduct the interview.

Too bad.

He was about to step into her world, whether she liked it or not.

He knocked on the door. Waited. Knocked again.

The door swung open. No strawberry-haired, soft-eyed woman, though. Instead, a dark-haired, black-eyed little boy looked up at him, his deeply tanned skin flushed with excitement.

“You the police?”

“I am, but you should have asked who I was before you opened the door, pal.”

“I’m not Pal. I’m Tyler.”

“Tyler William O’Leary! What have I told you about opening the door without permission?” Merry appeared behind her son, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow, her curls pulled up in a high ponytail.

“Not to.” Tyler shifted from foot to foot, nearly bouncing with energy.

“Then why did you?”

“I saw him out the window, Mommy. He has a cool car. Just like mine. Look.” Tyler held up a toy SUV.

“It doesn’t matter what his car looks like, you shouldn’t have opened the door. Go to your room. I want you to spend some time thinking about what you’ve done.”

“I already thought about it, Mo—”

“Go.” She pointed at a steep staircase to the right of the door, and Tyler dragged his feet as he slowly walked toward it, his gaze still on Douglas.

“Quickly, young man, or you won’t get any of the cookies we made.”

He shot up the stairs after that, racing to the landing and disappearing into a room.

“He’s a cute kid,” Douglas said, more to break the sudden silence than for anything else.

“He is, but he’s a little too smart for his own good.” She brushed what looked like cocoa off her apron. Faded jeans cupped round hips and long legs, and a pink sweater hugged her curves. As always, she looked pretty and soft and very, very lovely.

She also looked scared. Worried. Nervous.

“He’s four, right?”

“Yes. Next year, he’ll be in kindergarten but for now, he just goes to preschool three days a week. Mrs. Sanderson next door has him if I’m working the other two days. He runs her ragged. He’s just so busy, and I’m worried about what will happen when he goes to school. I’m sure…” She blushed. “Sorry. You’re here to talk about Olivia. Not Tyler. I tend to talk too much when I’m nervous.”

“What is there to be nervous about?” he asked, and she hesitated, her dark gaze skittering away.

“Olivia is dead. You said she was probably murdered. Her murderer is still on the loose. Shouldn’t I be nervous?”