Marta Perry - How Secrets Die

More intrigued by Bart’s attitude than anything else, Mac raised an eyebrow. “Is Ms. Beaumont threatening you with bad publicity? How?”

“Not exactly.” Bart hesitated as if balancing the wisdom of confiding in the police against his obvious irritation with the Beaumont woman. “But she’s stirring up talk about her unfortunate brother’s death. You know how uncomfortable that was. I think it best that it be forgotten, not dragged into the public eye again.”

In other words, Bart Gordon had the wind up because of Kate Beaumont’s interest in her brother’s death. But why? There’d never been any suggestion of involvement on the part of the company.

“I can’t run the woman out of town because she makes you uncomfortable,” he pointed out.

“I know. But it’s just so inconsiderate. We’ve already dealt with all that unpleasantness, and it certainly wasn’t our fault. If I’d known the boy was likely to go back to drugs, I’d never have agreed to give him a chance.” He was beginning to sound petulant, and Mac’s supply of courtesy was running dangerously low.

He rose, hoping to indicate that the interview was over. “I’ll have a talk with her.”

“Yes, well, I suppose that will have to do.” Bart made it as far as the door before his grievance burst out again. “What does she want here, anyway? And why did it take her over a year to decide she had to come?”

Muttering a soothing word or two, Mac eased him out the door and closed it firmly.

But the question lingered in his mind. Little though he wanted to admit it, Bart Gordon did have a point. Why had Kate Beaumont waited over a year to come to the place where her brother died?

* * *

KATE WALKED THE flagstone path to the cottage, disappointed but not deterred by the failure of her effort to speak to Russell Sheldon. Apparently it was true that the retiree was in poor health, since a caregiver had opened the door at his house and politely but firmly declined Kate’s request to speak to him.

Very firmly—almost as if she’d been warned that Kate might come calling. Someone from the financial office had probably tipped off the woman, and it would be interesting to know who it had been.

She passed into the shade cast by the tall hedge along the side of the bed-and-breakfast, chilled when she stepped out of the bright autumn sunshine. She glanced up. The clear, crisp day seemed to accentuate the bright colors that appeared here and there on the ridge that isolated the town. She wasn’t sure she’d enjoy living in a place where the hills crowded so close.

One refusal didn’t spell the end. The caregiver had to leave sometime. She’d just have to catch Sheldon at a time when he was alone. No good reporter would ever give up after the first rebuff.

The walkway led to the stoop at the front door, where she exchanged the shadow of the hedge for those of the shrubs that overhung the cottage. Had Jason ever felt claustrophobic, living in such an enclosed space?

Kate drew out her keys, her fingers caressing the silver dragon on the key ring before they selected the door key. But when she touched the door, the key wasn’t necessary. The door was unlocked, and it swung soundlessly open a few inches.

She stepped back, her heart pounding. She hadn’t left the cottage unlocked. Double-checking the locks was second nature for someone who’d spent her life in an urban area, and Tom had drilled safety and self-defense into both of them.

No sound came from the cottage, but that didn’t mean it was safe to go in. She threaded her fingers through her keys, almost hearing her stepfather’s voice instructing her, and grasped her cell phone with the other hand. She pushed the door wide with her foot and peered inside, senses alert.

Nothing. At this point, Tom’s instructions would have stressed moving away and calling the police, but she had no desire for another encounter with Mac Whiting.

Kate took a cautious step inside, then another, and listened, holding her breath. After a moment or two, tense muscles began to relax. Whoever had been here must be gone.

Even as she thought it she sensed movement behind her. She whirled, striking out with the hand holding the keys—get out, scream, run—

Iron fingers grabbed her wrist before the blow could land. She froze, face-to-face with Mac, staring breathless into his narrowed eyes. For a long moment they stood very close, and the air seemed to quiver between them.

Then he stepped back, releasing her, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “You always greet visitors that way?”

“Visitors generally knock.” Kate grabbed for the shaken fragments of her composure.

“The door was open.” Whiting took hold of her wrist again, turning it to examine the points of the keys extending through her fingers. “Very effective weapon.”

The touch of his hand made her too aware of the fierce physical presence behind his lazy smile and small-town manner. She drew away, and he didn’t attempt to stop her.

“My stepfather was a cop. He taught us both self-defense.”

“You must have been his star pupil.” He studied her face for a moment. “You want to tell me what this is all about? I was just coming to talk to you. You came into the cottage as if you were expecting an attack.”

Kate turned away, rubbing her fingers against the silver dragon. “I locked the door when I left earlier,” she said shortly. “When I came back just now, it was unlocked.”

“You’re sure?” He shot the question at her.

“Of course I’m sure,” she snapped. “I didn’t grow up in Hicksville. I learned to lock doors as soon as I was tall enough to reach the knob.”

Before she’d finished, he was giving her a firm push toward the door. “Go outside while I check the house.” Without looking to see that she obeyed, he moved toward the bedroom, staying to the side as he opened the door.

Nothing happened. He disappeared into the room. Kate followed to find him surveying the clothes she’d tossed on the bed. Mac gave her a sharp look. “I thought I told you to go outside.”

“I don’t follow orders well.” She glanced around and shrugged. “Doesn’t look as if anything’s disturbed in here.”

He’d moved to the dresser, and she spoke again, impatient.

“I didn’t bring the crown jewels with me this trip. The only thing of value here is my computer.” The computer. She spun and fled back to the other room. The computer still sat on the small side table she’d appropriated to use as a desk.

“It’s still here.” Mac spoke behind her. “So apparently you haven’t been burgled.”

“It’s here.” Quickly she checked her files. Jason’s diary was there, all right.

“Everything okay?” Mac had moved close enough that she felt his breath on her neck when he spoke. Close enough, most likely, to read the titles of the files. She shut the laptop.

“Okay. Except that I left it turned off, and now it’s on.”

But he was already moving to the kitchen, most of it visible from where they stood. “Easy to make a mistake about a thing like that, isn’t it?” he said. “And I think I’ve solved the mystery.” He held something up. “Your burglar left you a present. Smells like nut bread.”

“Mrs. Anderson.” Kate’s jaw was tight, and she struggled to relax it. “She means to be kind, but...”

“But you’d rather she didn’t,” he finished for her. His face took on the amused look that annoyed her so. “I’ve never heard of locking doors to keep out kindness.”

Kate took a deep breath, trying to think of a response that didn’t sound petty. She couldn’t. “Was there some reason you came over, Chief Whiting?”

His smile suggested he knew what she was thinking. “Mac, please. It seems you’ve ruffled the feathers of one of our prominent residents.”