Marta Perry - How Secrets Die

She looked at him blankly for a moment. “Who?” She couldn’t imagine Russell Sheldon’s caregiver going to the police about her visit.

“Bart Gordon seems to think you’re planning to stir up bad publicity for his company.” He raised an eyebrow. “And he’s not yet aware that you’re a reporter.”

That comment seemed to come from left field. “My profession has nothing to do with it. My reasons for being here are purely personal.”

“And they are?”

Her fingers clenched, nails biting into her palms. “I’ve already told you. I want to see the place where my brother spent the last months of his life.”

“Yes, you told me. But I don’t think you mentioned why you waited a year to come.”

If she threw the computer at him, he’d probably arrest her for assault. She glared at him instead. “Not that it’s any of your business, but this is the first opportunity I’ve had to get away from work for any length of time.”

Mac seemed to be weighing her words, his eyes noncommittal.

Nettled, she couldn’t keep from responding to what she suspected was disbelief. “I think that’s all I have to say on the subject. So unless you intend to arrest me for making the good residents of Laurel Ridge think about something they’d rather forget, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

His smile flickered. “I’ll buy that, for the moment. But if you ever decide to confide in me...”

“I won’t.” Her tone was tart.

“In the meantime, take my advice and steer clear of Bart Gordon. We wouldn’t want him charging you with harassment, would we?” He gave her another extended look, then turned and walked out.

Kate let out a long breath. She hadn’t seen the last of him—there was no doubt of that in her mind.

In the meantime, she had a more immediate problem. Obviously the landlady had come in, bearing food. But would she have started the computer? Somehow Kate didn’t think so.

At least whoever had done so hadn’t been able to get past the password, as far as she could see. But who? And why?

CHAPTER FOUR

KATE STOOD FROWNING at the computer for another moment. Then, realizing she was standing right in front of the window, she looked out, half expecting to see Mac Whiting staring in at her.

No one was there. She moved away from the window, and then went back and pulled the curtains closed. It made the small room dark, but it eliminated the sense that someone was watching her.

Rubbing her arms, she stalked into the kitchen. Mac had been right, of course. He seemed to make a habit of that. The neatly wrapped loaf on the counter bore a label. Nut bread, it proclaimed, in Mrs. Anderson’s already familiar writing.

Drat the man. She’d already been shaken at finding the cottage door unlocked, and the immediate confrontation with him had really knocked her off her balance. That was probably why she’d had that intense awareness of him as a man. That, and the brief glimpse he’d given her of an intense protectiveness lurking under his professionalism.

He’d rocked her, and she didn’t want that. Didn’t have time for it, and really didn’t welcome it. There was no space in her thoughts right now for anything but her mission.

Why, Jason? Why? She had nothing but the last journal entry to go on. If only he’d been clearer, just that one time.

He’d been upset, that much was evident. He’d talked about something wrong, something that had rocked him to his very soul.

Something so serious that he had taken his own life. She’d come reluctantly to that conclusion over a number of sleepless nights. It would be so much easier if she could believe he’d died of an accidental overdose. But she couldn’t.

Someone had hurt Jason beyond bearing. She had to know who. Why.

Shaking her head, she forced herself to concentrate on more immediate problems. Like who had been in the cottage while she was out.

Kate rested her hand on the smooth, rounded surface of the loaf. Granted that Mrs. Anderson had been in the cottage, she still came back to the conviction that the woman would not have turned on Kate’s computer. Naturally Mac would assume she’d been mistaken about turning it off, but she distinctly remembered doing so.

There was no point in going over and over the same ground. Kate grabbed her bag and went quickly toward the door. She’d thank Mrs. Anderson for the nut bread and add, very politely, that she’d rather the woman didn’t come in when she wasn’t there. Even a temporary tenant had a reasonable expectation of privacy, didn’t she?

Crossing the yard, Kate tapped on the back door. Mrs. Anderson, busy with something at the stove, turned and waved her in.

The door was unlocked, and the first thing Kate noticed in the back hallway was a wooden rack attached to the wall, containing a row of keys, all neatly labeled. She hadn’t noticed it when they’d come out this door the first time, probably because she was too intent on persuading Mrs. Anderson to let her have the cottage.

Obviously she didn’t have to look far for a means by which someone could get into the cottage. That person had only to wait until Mrs. Anderson was in the front of the building, open the back door, reach in and lift the key from its hook. Apparently people here didn’t have much concern for security.

Mrs. Anderson, wiping her hands on a towel, hurried to meet her. “Sorry. I thought I’d get a few coffee cakes baked to put in the freezer. Weekends get busy during the fall foliage season, you know.”

“I didn’t realize,” Kate said. And she had no idea what Mrs. Anderson considered busy. “I just wanted to thank you for the nut bread you left for me today. That was so thoughtful.” And I wish you hadn’t. “The thing is...”

She ran out of words. Maybe Mac had been right about this. How could a person lock the door against kindness?

“It’s nothing at all.” The woman waved her to a seat in the breakfast area. “Goodness, I’m baking all the time, it seems. And I worry about you, alone back there, just like Jason was. Now, you’ll stay and have a cup of coffee or tea, won’t you? Or iced tea or cider?”

Kate started to shake her head but changed her mind. In the interest of keeping good relations with Mrs. Anderson, she should accept. If they started chatting casually, she might find a way of suggesting that the cottage key be kept in a more secure location.

“Iced tea, thanks.” She settled into a chair and looked out on a flower bed filled with a colorful array of mums and asters.

Mrs. Anderson hurried to the refrigerator, returning to the table in moments with a tray holding a pitcher of tea, ice-filled glasses and fresh sprigs of mint. The woman must have been born to be a hostess.

“It’s nice of you to stop and visit.” Mrs. Anderson poured tea into the glasses. “How are you getting on, dear? It’s not upsetting you too much, living where Jason did?” Her round face crinkled with what seemed genuine concern.

“Not at all.” To Kate’s surprise, she realized that was true. She didn’t have a sense of Jason in the cottage, not the way she’d had when she’d cleared the house where they’d grown up. That place had been filled with memories, too many of them unhappy ones.

“That’s good.” The woman’s worried look didn’t vanish completely, but she seemed satisfied at the moment. “I noticed that Lina Oberlin stopped by to see you.” There was a bit of curiosity in the words.

“She knew I wanted to hear about how Jason got on there.” Kate paused. Apparently Mrs. Anderson kept tabs on who went to the cottage. Annoying, but it meant she might be able to provide information Kate needed. “I had hoped Ms. Oberlin might know about any friends Jason made at Blackburn House, but she didn’t seem to.”