Karen Harper - More Than Words - Stories of Strength - Close Call / Built to Last / Find the Way

“You think your ex-husband is in the area?”

“Let’s say I fear it.”

But she didn’t go on, seemed unable to. O’Malley walked around to the other side of the tide pool and squatted down, noticing that she had grabbed something from the bottom of the pool. “What do you have?”

“Starfish,” she said, and smiled as she lifted it out of the water and showed it to him. “I used to love to collect things from tide pools when I was a little girl. I’d put everything back, of course. Once—once I forgot, and I was mortified for days.”

A sensitive soul. “I understand.”

Her eyes met his, just for an instant, and she replaced the starfish back in the water. “When I got up this morning, before you and Jessica arrived, I was positive someone had been through the Saratoga trunk in the living room during the night. It’s an antique, from my great-grandmother.”

“The living room’s open to guests?”

She nodded. “But no one—it was just John Summers here last night. And he wouldn’t be interested in the contents of an old trunk. He’s a hiker. He goes out every day for hours. He pays me extra to load up his daypack with lunch and snacks.”

“What’s in the trunk?”

“Nothing of any value to anyone but me. Family photo albums and scrapbooks of my life before I married.” She spoke clearly, directly, without any hint of trying to hide something. “Some old books and diaries.”

“Your diaries?”

“Oh, no. My great-grandmother’s. She and my great-grandfather came to Nova Scotia from Scotland.”

“Have you read her diary?”

“Bits and pieces. It feels like prying, frankly.”

O’Malley shrugged. “That’s half of what I do for a living. What made you think someone had been in the trunk? Was the latch open, something like that?”

“It was moved and—” She thought a moment as she got to her feet. “I’d draped a throw over it last night. It was on the couch this morning.”

“Maybe Summers couldn’t sleep and came downstairs to read for a while, get a change of scenery, and used the throw to keep his feet warm.”

“It’s possible.” She smiled. “I like that theory.”

“Any other incidents?”

“A few more like that.”

“All with personal items?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing that’d tempt you to call the police?”

“No, not yet. I just feel—I don’t know how to describe it. Like somebody’s looking for something, prying into my life, or if not my life, my family’s past. It’s a very strange feeling.”

“Anything exciting about your family’s past?”

She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Was one of your ancestors secretly married to the Prince of Wales or something?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that.”

“But like something else?”

“Well—” She shook her head, laughing a little. “My great-grandmother lived in this area during a famous, tragic incident when a Halifax heiress ran off with a no-account foreign sailor. Irish, I think. Their boat went down in a storm just beyond the cove here.”

“They were killed?”

“Drowned.”

“Bodies recovered?”

Marianne nodded sadly. “There are rumors the heiress had taken gold coins and jewels with her, as a nest egg for her new life.”

O’Malley watched her expression and, from long experience, knew there was more to the story. “No sign of them?”

“It depends on whom you believe.”

Vague answer, but he didn’t push.

“None of this is like my ex-husband. He’s more the type to take a baseball bat to the kitchen because I left a coffee filter in the sink. But I haven’t seen him in two years. I don’t know—” She left it at that, then said abruptly, “I’ll walk back to the house with you. Would you and Jessica care for some blueberry wine? It’s made by a local winery. It’s quite good.”

O’Malley winked at her. “So long as it’s not raspberry wine.”

She laughed again, seeming more relaxed now that she’d told someone about her snooper. He wanted to know what she was holding back, but he doubted he’d get it out of her tonight. Marianne Wells was a direct, strong, self-contained woman, comfortable in her own skin. He wondered how much of that had been there before her husband went to work on her, and how much she’d had to get back, rediscover and build after she got him and his violence out of her life.

When they crossed the road, she paused at the base of the porch steps, then turned abruptly to him. “It’s all too easy, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“To hide yourself from the truth. I pretended for such a long time that I wasn’t living the life I was living.”

“Well, you know what they say.”

“What’s that?”

“Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”

“Oh, stop. Oh—oh, that is so lame!” She called up to the porch. “Jessica, your friend here is just awful.”

Jess slid off her swing and stood at the top of the steps, the evening light catching the lighter streaks in her hair. O’Malley had tried to pretend she wasn’t as beautiful as she was. Talk about hiding from the truth. She grinned at him and Marianne. “Is he telling you stupid jokes?”

“Close. Very lame pearls of wisdom.”

Jess winced, still grinning. “That’s our Detective O’Malley. He’s got a saying for every occasion. His brothers are the same. They can reduce complicated issues and emotions to soundbites.”

“Well,” Marianne said cheerfully, “I guess it’s a gift.”

She trotted up the steps, a lightness in her gait that hadn’t been there before, and went inside to fetch the blueberry wine.

O’Malley joined Jess on the porch. “Where’s Summers?”

“He turned in early. What were you and Marianne talking about?”

“Violent men, snoops and treasure lost at sea.”

“I hate the idea of violent men. Snoops can go either way. Treasure lost at sea—now, that could be fun.”

“I’ll tell you all about it. Speaking of snoops, how’d you like my apartment yesterday?”

“No vermin. That’s something.”

“No interior decorator, either.” He moved in closer to her, smelling the scented soap she’d used in the shower. “It’s a shame we’re paying for two rooms.”

“O’Malley—” She blew at a stray lock of hair that had dropped onto her forehead. “Damn.”

“Hot all of a sudden, huh?”

“It’s too late not to pay for both rooms…”

“We could do Marianne a big favor and pay for both rooms, but only actually use one. Save her on cleaning, anyway.”

“You’re just looking for distractions.”

“It was your idea to come up here and become one.”

But before she could respond, their hostess arrived on the porch with three glasses and an open bottle of blueberry wine.

Jess woke up very early and wandered outside to catch the sunrise, thinking of the rest of the continent still shrouded in darkness as the first morning rays skimmed the horizon and glowed orange on the ocean. Fishing boats puttered across the mirror like water, leaving a gentle wake, the quiet and stillness disturbed only by a few seagulls.

She’d never been anywhere more beautiful, and yet she couldn’t relax.

It was O’Malley, of course. She’d dreamed about him.

Not good. An intelligent woman had no business dreaming about a Boston homicide detective with a penchant for getting himself shot at. Never mind all the other reasons. The tight-knit family where she would always be a stranger, the lone-wolf apartment that showed no sign of needing anyone to share it, the dedication to the job that bordered on obsession.

Then again, those could be the same reasons he was avoiding getting more involved with her. She thought of her own family, her own apartment, her own dedication to her job.