22. Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
Juliet
I n the end, we both triumphed in the shower contest, then ate breakfast together at the counter. What Henry had said about us being good together was absolutely true. Every time he came near me, I was struck by the overwhelming sensation of being whole . Even the cavernous emptiness that had inhabited my chest since my mother’s death evaporated, replaced with something warm and fulfilling.
It was beautiful and terrifying all at once. I wasn’t sure how to articulate those thoughts to him without it sounding like some kind of declaration I was in no way ready to make, but from the expression on his face when I caught him looking at me, I suspected he felt it, too.
While Henry finished taking care of the dishes, I sank down to the floor in the living room beside Blue and opened the box. I drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly as Henry came to sit beside me. There was a faint tremor in my hands, but I wasn’t sure if it was from anticipation over the box or a result of his dedicated morning attentions. All of my nerve endings were still singing, so I decided to blame the latter.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
A leatherbound book lay atop the rest of the contents. I leaned against Henry’s shoulder, appreciating his support, and flipped the book open. When a brittle pressed violet fell from inside the cover, I lifted it gently between my thumb and forefinger.
“Nan made me one of these,” I said quietly. “I found some letters and cards she’d written to me, stashed away in the box of journals from the attic. She wrote to me for years, even though she didn’t know my name. Like she knew I’d find them one day.”
Henry put his arm around my shoulders. “Nan loved you, Red, even without ever meeting you.”
The assurance strengthened my resolve. I flipped through the book, running my fingers reverently over pencil and charcoal drawings of the inn, the cottage, even some of the landmarks from my list. There were two more sketchbooks in the box, very much like the first, but I paged through each of them with intense concentration.
Henry seemed less interested in the artwork they contained than in my expression as I studied every sketch. I felt his gaze, warm and soft on my face, and when I glanced up at him, his smile was sweet enough to momentarily distract me.
When I managed to refocus on the last sketchbook in my lap and turned the final pages, my eyes shot wide. Instead of landscapes, these last few drawings were portraits done in bold, dark strokes of charcoal.
At my gasp, Henry’s gaze dropped to the artwork.
“That’s your grandfather,” he said, pointing to the first. “There are some other old photos of him around the inn. I’ll show you, if you haven’t seen them yet.”
Nan’s husband was a handsome, distinguished man with soft eyes and a gentle smile. I recognized him from one of the pictures on the mantle, but seeing him through Nan’s eyes was different. After studying his features for a moment, I turned the page, revealing an achingly beautiful image of my mother’s face.
“That’s my mom,” I told him. Carefully, so as not to smudge the charcoal, I laid my fingertips over my mother’s cheek. “She looks so sad here, so young.”
Henry squeezed my shoulder gently and pointed to the date at the bottom of the page. “This must have been around the time she left town, right?”
I nodded. “She was just a kid. I never really thought about what it must have been like for her. She left everything she’d ever known to make a new life, not just for herself but for me, too. I always knew being a single mom was difficult at times, but she was barely eighteen when she left Spruce Hill, pregnant and on her own. It must have been so hard.”
My words faded into silence as I flipped to the final page. This picture was of a young man, older than my mother’s portrait but not by much, with a cruel mouth and cold, dark eyes. Something about him seemed almost familiar at first, but at second glance, the sensation was lost. The date was the same as the previous page.
I stared down at it, studying each harsh line, before saying, “She left a note for me to contact the inn. I found it right before the house was sold.”
“Your mom?”
“Yes. She said lives were at stake and I needed to protect myself.”
Henry tensed at my side. “Protect yourself from what?”
“I don’t know. I thought she was just being dramatic. She told me to call the owner of the inn, who would explain things to me.”
“Shit,” he whispered.
“Yeah, that about sums it up.” I tapped the sketch in front of us. “Could this have been her boyfriend? His name was Lewis, I found it in one of the journals.”
“No,” Henry said slowly. “I’m pretty sure that was Lewis Zoratti. There was a framed photo of him and your mom from a school dance in the office at the inn. This is definitely not him.”
An unreasonable twinge of jealousy struck me, then flitted away. It wasn’t Henry’s fault he’d grown up so close to my family history while I’d been a thousand miles away. He must have seen the disquiet written on my face, because he pressed a kiss to my temple.
“It’s all yours, Red. I’ll help you track down every piece of history in every hidden corner of the inn, if that’s what you want. We can even visit Lewis this weekend, if you’d like to talk to him. I’m sure he’d be willing.”
I tore my eyes from the sketchbook and looked at his handsome face, shadowed now by morning stubble. Somehow, the scruff made him even more alluring.
“Thank you,” I said softly, then dropped my eyes back to the page, frowning down at the drawing. “Nan’s journals mentioned another guy, one who fought with my mom and showed up drunk, but she only used the initial T. This could be him. This . . . this could be my father.”
“Then we’ll find out who he is.”
My heart leapt into my throat at the prospect of learning more. I knew well enough that Nan’s view of this man had very likely influenced her portrayal of him, especially if she blamed him for my mother’s abrupt departure from town, but the sketch left me uneasy.
Henry’s strong fingers massaged the back of my neck as another rush of affection swept through me. I'd come to Spruce Hill looking for answers and instead I kept finding so many more questions. Anything he could do to help me in that quest, Henry seemed ready and willing to do it.
I appreciated it more than I could say.
And yet . . . I had a bad feeling, deep in my gut, as I studied the image.
“Maybe he was the reason my mom left town,” I said. “Maybe he was as malicious as he looks here. Maybe that’s the danger she was warning me about.”
The possibility had clearly crossed Henry’s mind as well—I could see it in his eyes, now solemn and worried. Spruce Hill was known for its low crime rates, but I couldn’t quell the thrum of anxiety that took root inside me.
“Maybe,” he agreed, his tone so serious that a chill ran down my spine.
“But you’ll help me find out who he was anyway?” I asked, studying him closely.
He nodded. “Of course I will. You should know by now that I’d do anything you asked.”
I got the feeling there was something he wasn’t saying. Even after the turn our relationship had taken, I was still a little flustered by that willingness to help, but then he cupped my cheek in his hand. His cautious expression was making me nervous.
“Will you do something for me?”
“What is it?” I asked, laying my hand over his.
“You’re a grown woman and I would never imply that you need a chaperone or a babysitter,” he began, “but I’d feel a lot better if you’d hold off on any more outdoor adventures by yourself. I’ll come with you anytime you want, but I don’t like the idea of you out in the woods or trekking the countryside alone until we get to the bottom of this.”
“You think there’s actually danger?” I drew back a little, searching his hazel eyes.
Before seeing the charcoal portrait on my lap, I might've laughed at his concern, brushed it off as an overreaction, but now, with those bold black strokes in my mind, I felt as unsettled as he looked. It seemed like he was torn between not wanting to scare me and not wanting to keep something from me.
“Probably not,” he admitted. “But I thought I saw something out back this morning, by the treeline.”
I jerked in surprise. “What?”
“It could have been a deer, a raccoon—anything, really. I just got a weird feeling from it and I’d rather be safe than sorry, especially when it comes to you.”
The simple words caused a flutter inside my chest, followed by a strange warmth that radiated throughout my body. I’d explore that at a later time.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He cocked a dark brow, clearly surprised by my swift agreement.
My responding smile was equal parts rueful and amused. “Yes, I promise I won’t go traipsing around by myself. You might eventually regret your offer to come with me, though. I still have a lot of ground to cover and it gets pretty boring for onlookers when I go into artist mode. Sarah once said it’s like watching paint dry. Probably because it literally is that, sometimes.”
Henry dropped his lips to mine in response, kissing me until I set aside the sketchbook and nearly climbed onto his lap.
“I won’t regret it, Red,” he whispered against my mouth. “Not a single moment.”
When I drew back, breathless and flushed, Henry couldn’t hold back a grin.
“What are you smirking at, Mr. Walker?” I asked.
“You taste like maple syrup,” he said in a low voice that sent goosebumps dancing over my skin.
“Hmm,” I murmured, running my tongue across my lower lip in a way that caused his pupils to blow wide. “What a fascinating idea.”
Henry’s gaze sharpened on my face. I wanted to kiss him, wanted him to sink into me again, right here on the floor. Even with the damn dog looking on, I suspected he would be willing to oblige, if I asked.
Instead, he kissed me again, hard and swift.
“I’m more than happy to participate in whatever dirty thoughts are going through that beautiful head of yours,” he said, “but I don’t want you to get upset with me for distracting you from the box.”
“Right. Let’s finish this.” I leaned my forehead against his while I caught my breath, then I wrinkled my nose. “Man, am I a terrible person to be thinking about sex while we’re sorting through my dead grandmother’s belongings?”
Henry’s laughter reassured me. “Juliet, I will never fault you for thinking about sex around me, no matter what we’re doing.”
He brushed his lips over mine one last time before I shifted back to my spot beside him and reached into the box. The notebooks were much less interesting—and far less revealing—than the sketches, but we scanned each page for anything pertinent. Mostly they held lists of supply orders, cost comparisons between local stores, and records of repairs to the building and grounds.
With a sigh, I tossed aside the final notebook and stretched my arms over my head. Henry didn’t even try to hide his appreciation for the way my breasts strained against the fabric of my shirt as I arched.
“Last stop, file folders.” I shot him a warning glance when I noticed where his gaze lingered.
“Yes ma’am,” Henry replied, pulling out the small stack of folders.
We each opened one, reading off headings to one another as we sorted through them. I sucked in a sharp breath as I pulled out a document.
“This must be a copy of my grandfather’s will.”
Henry leaned over to look, then let out a low whistle. “He left Nan a small fortune. I knew she owned the property outright, but I figured she’d just owned it for so long, she’d probably paid off the mortgage over the years. I think his family was pretty well-off, but he had no siblings and his parents died before your mother left town.”
I looked at Henry curiously. “The inn makes enough of a profit to stay in operation, though?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding enthusiastically. A glint of pride crept into his eyes. “I only took over full time with the bookkeeping about three years ago, though now I have Nan’s remaining responsibilities rolled into my job. She was a damn fine businesswoman. The inn became a popular getaway spot back in the early seventies.”
“I should have asked you for a history lesson that first day instead of fighting with you. People still visit in the off-season? I’ve heard winters can be brutal out here.”
Henry grinned. “Oh, they can be, but yes. We’re almost always at half-capacity, at least, even during slower times. We host a few small weddings each year, and Nan created different seasonal packages that still sell out every time.”
“That seems like a good way to keep people interested. Nan had some entries about weddings in the journals—those must be beautiful, especially with the gardens in bloom.”
“Definitely. She never wanted to update the damn website, though. I guess she thought calling for reservations was a nice personal touch, but I’ve been working on upgrading the site recently. Talking to someone on the phone might be more personal, but for the younger generations, it’s just an added aggravation. I want to allow for online booking, even if we hold back some availability for phone reservations.”
“That sounds perfect,” I agreed, smiling at him.
His enthusiasm charmed me. Then something occurred to me and my smile faded—I watched Henry’s expression fall right along with it.
“What would have happened to the inn if Nan hadn’t left it to me?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t know, actually,” he said, frowning a little. “We all assumed it would have been left to your mother, as next of kin—I figure it would have fallen on the lawyers to track her down. Nan changed her will after learning your mother had passed,” he added gently, “but I don’t know what exactly she changed, apart from naming you as her heir instead of your mother.”
I dropped my gaze back to the paper in my lap, nodding silently.
“No one at the inn has any hard feelings toward you, Juliet. They were as delighted to know you were coming out as Nan was when she found your picture. Believe me, I had to sit through a staff meeting about how amazing you would be right before you got here.”
I laughed at that. “Then I guess I can’t blame you for thinking I was a spoiled little heiress when I came into the office.”
“Well, I might have jumped to conclusions.”
“Only a few.”
He grinned. “I learned my lesson, though.”
“Good. This is the last one,” I said as I set aside the folder containing Philip Montgomery’s will and reached into the box.
Under this file folder was a small metal box fitted with a tiny lock. My eyes flew wide.
“I can go get some tools to break into it,” Henry offered.
“No,” I said slowly, “I think I have the key.”
I reached across him to grab the set Gerard had given me from the side table, then held up the tiny third key to show him. We were both silent as he watched me insert it into the lock. It popped open and I set the lock aside to open the lid.
Henry wrapped his arm around me as we leaned forward to look at its contents together. The box held a number of yellowed local newspaper clippings spanning nearly a decade, from years before and after my mother left town to create a new life a thousand miles away.
I gingerly lifted them one at a time, scanning the front and back of each brittle page. None of the articles were about the inn, my grandmother, or my mom.
“I don’t understand,” I said finally. “Maybe Nan was running the local conspiracy site I found before I moved here.”
Henry huffed a laugh. “Nan is the one who refused to let me update the website. I can’t imagine her figuring out how to run one herself.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but his finger landed on a headline and he froze.
“Look at this,” he whispered, pointing to the tiny print.
Body found during construction on Lakeview Drive.
We read the article in silence. A young woman’s body had been unearthed during foundation work in a new subdivision in the early nineties. It was eventually ruled a homicide. Her identity was listed as Lynette Jenkins of Oakville, which I remembered Henry said was the next town over. There were no suspects at the time.
“Lakeview Drive isn’t too far from Cooper’s Point,” he told me.
“Oh my god,” I whispered. “That conspiracy site, it had a page about unsolved murders. This must be them.”
A chill slithered down my spine at his words. With fresh insight, we flipped back through the other pages and found a number of similar articles—nearly a dozen bodies had been found, all told. A shudder rocketed through me and Henry pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms securely around my body.
A matter of life and death. Was this what my mother was referring to in her note?
“What do you think it means?” I asked, my voice muffled against his shoulder. “Why would Nan have kept these—and why would she lock them up?”
Henry only shook his head and held me tight to his chest. Neither of us knew the answer to that, and I wasn’t convinced we’d ever find out without Nan there to ask.
Just as I’d assumed my mother’s warning was a dramatic exaggeration, I had been damn near certain Henry was overreacting by asking me not to trek through the woods alone, but now? I was no longer sure what to think. Blue must have sensed our discomfort, because she immediately relocated to press her furry body against us both.
A sudden vibration from one of our phones made us both jump. Henry kept one arm around me while he grabbed his from the floor behind him, then he gave a short laugh.
“Libby’s inviting us over for dinner tonight,” he said. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
I peered up at him while I considered the offer. Though I was a little shell-shocked in light of our discovery, I felt strangely calm about Libby’s invitation. Being nestled in his arms slowed my heart rate for once instead of speeding it up.
We were safe. These crimes were decades old and we had no reason to truly believe anyone was at any real risk. Even if my mother was right about it being dangerous at the time, that was three decades ago.
“I don’t think this day could possibly get any weirder than it already is, so yes, let’s do it.”
Henry kissed the tip of my nose and cocked an eyebrow. “By ‘do it,’ you mean go to dinner, not get naked,” he clarified.
The words sent twin streaks of heat through my body, one straight to my heart and the other between my legs. I poked him in the chest.
“Cad,” I teased, remembering his comment about Nan loving that word, but his fingers were running lightly over my arm in a way that promised he’d be happy to deliver. The temptation of forgetting about these stupid articles proved irresistible, so I caught his earlobe between my teeth. “But why not both?”
His eyes went dark with desire and he fired off a response to Libby as succinctly as possible before tossing the phone aside.
“Your wish is my command,” he said with a smirk.
The sketch, the headlines, every real or imagined threat—it all fell away as Henry set about distracting me as thoroughly as he could manage.