Strands of Truth Read online

  She looked around for her phone but it was missing, though she’d sworn she’d brought it out here to await news of Oliver. “Ridge?” She waited for him to dock in Oliver’s mooring, and then he stepped onto the dock and came toward her.

  About thirty-three, Ridge Jackson always had a take-no-prisoners air about him. His piercing dark eyes warned the onlooker that he suffered no fools around him—and he’d never hidden his disdain for Harper’s influence on his father. It used to bother her that he held her teenage rebellion against her, but she was never going to change his mind, so she just had to show him that girl was long gone.

  He had Oliver’s thick, nearly black hair, sculpted nose, and lips. Ridge’s good looks and family money greased the way to many dinner invitations from hostesses eager to introduce him to available daughters or nieces.

  He would have played the Jane Eyre character Edward Rochester to perfection. They’d been around each other a lot over the years—holidays, Oliver’s birthdays, and various family functions. He might have disliked her then, but she’d been fascinated by him. She never had to guess at his intentions or worry that he might slip into her room on the nights she stayed with the family. He made no secret of his dislike, and that was the way she liked it. No games, no hidden agenda behind an insincere smile.

  And he was so smart. She used to listen to him talk to his sister about his love of sea life, and his love of mollusks had fueled her own decision to study marine biology. Not that she’d ever dare tell him.

  “Have you found Oliver?”

  His eyes pinned her in place, and he crossed muscular arms over his chest. “He’s in the hospital.”

  She gasped and clutched her hands together. “What happened? I-Is he going to be okay?”

  “We’re not sure yet. Maybe a stroke or a heart attack, but who knows. I found his boat out at sea, and I thought he was going down with you today.”

  “He did.” She told him about the attack on her and how his father’s boat was missing when they surfaced. “We searched for him but couldn’t find it.”

  “So, did he dive today?”

  “Yes. He seemed fine when he got there.”

  Ridge frowned. “Could he have had a stroke from the bends?”

  “I don’t see how. The beds are only twelve feet deep.”

  “I need to tell the doctors though, just in case.”

  “I’ll go see him now. Which hospital?”

  Ridge glanced up as an eagle squawked overhead. “He is in critical condition. No visitors but family.”

  Well, that got Ridge’s point across. No matter how much she and Oliver cared about each other, she’d never matter to his real family.

  “Thanks for coming out here to tell me.” She wanted to tell him he’d delivered his message so please leave, but Harper’s southern manners prevented her from such rudeness. She laced her fingers together and slid him a wary look as he surveyed her aging houseboat.

  Why wasn’t he leaving? He stepped closer to her and farther away from his trawler. He must have some other agenda for coming. Her mouth went dry. If he took over his father’s affairs, Ridge would probably withdraw the funding for her pen shell beds.

  Which would be a disaster of epic proportions. Oliver was her only investor, but it wasn’t just the money—it was his belief in her work. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to overcome her own inner qualms about her ability without Oliver there to bolster her.

  Ridge squatted and rubbed Bear’s ears. “I should have brought you a treat, buddy.”

  The dog’s ears perked up and he whined, then licked Ridge’s fingers. Traitor dog. To be fair, Ridge was the one who had gotten Bear for Oliver two years ago as a puppy. Two days later, after Bear chewed up Oliver’s Salvatore Ferragamo loafers, Oliver had told Harper if she didn’t take him, he’d drown the puppy. She’d taken him even though she knew Oliver’s bark was worse than his bite.

  “He didn’t tell you?” Ridge stared down at her. “It appears we’re going to work together.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Dad bought a lab he wants me to run. He thinks the pen shells may have some medicinal benefit, and I’m supposed to do what I can to find it.”

  She took a step back. “You don’t even believe in the project.”

  “For Pete’s sake, quit acting like I’m going to take the whole thing away from you. I’ll meet you at the pen shell beds in the morning, and we’ll discuss what to do next.”

  Her mouth agape, she watched him step back into his trawler and motor away. Dismay didn’t begin to cover how she felt about this turn of events.

  4

  He could have handled last night better. Ridge eyed the curves and planes of Harper’s face as she sat in the bow of her boat on Sunday afternoon, staring into the glowering clouds. She’d scraped her thick red hair back into a ponytail, but the starkness suited her high cheekbones and expressive turquoise eyes, which let him know the full extent of her contempt.

  The animosity between them was her fault, not his.

  Ridge would never forget that first meeting. He’d found her in the garage stealing his new sleeping bag and had called his dad. She’d been defiant and angry instead of shamed by her behavior. Over the next couple of years, whenever she’d been in the house, he caught her with her sticky fingers in everything from his dad’s desk to his sister’s purse. And she was always trying to pit Willow and him against their dad.

  Why Dad continued to help her was beyond Ridge.

  She finally glanced his way. “How’s Oliver?” Her gaze flickered to Bear, who sat adoringly at his feet, and her frown deepened.

  “Still in a coma.” Did he tell her the doctors thought Dad might have been oxygen starved? He didn’t understand how that could have happened though. The mollusk beds were in shallow water and his dad was an expert diver. He planned to examine his dad’s dive equipment. “I’m going to take a look at the beds.”

  A flush ran up the pale skin of her neck and lodged in her cheeks. “I think you’ll agree they look healthy. I have our first restaurant order for the pen shell meat too.” She squinted in the sunshine and stared out at a boat bobbing in the distance. “I’m not sure how much I’ll have to spare for lab testing. I wish Oliver would have talked to me about that.”

  He frowned and bent over to pull on his fins. Did he want the venture to fail? At least it might get her out of Dad’s life.

  He didn’t look at her but moved instead to the back of the boat. “I’ll be the judge of the health of the beds.” He fell backward into the ocean, and the clear blue water closed over his head in a warm embrace.

  What was wrong with him? No matter how much he lectured himself to at least be polite, the moment he got around Harper he turned into a snarling jerk.

  He kicked furiously down to the pen shell beds. Taking his time, he checked out the way they were anchored and the general health of the mollusks. She was right. They were in excellent shape.

  Her harebrained scheme might not be so wild after all.

  He left the beds behind and kicked for the surface. As he reached the boat’s hull, he heard the throb of an engine in the distance. He quickly climbed the ladder to the deck.

  Her eyes were wide as she stared over his shoulder at the approaching craft. Bear growled and moved in front of her, and she wrinkled her nose.

  “What’s wrong?” He faced the boat drawing near enough to dock with them.

  The man at the helm looked vaguely familiar. His smooth head was tanned, and what remained of his hair was a rim of brown from ear to ear around the back. He appeared to be in his forties. He cut the engine but made no move to come aboard Sea Silk II.

  The guy balled his hand into a fist. “I asked you to stay away from the burial site.”

  Harper lifted her chin and took a step toward him. “Did you attack me yesterday and try to force me to swim with you to the shore?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Ridge st
ared at the man and remembered where he’d seen him. “You’re running for city council.” His mind groped for the man’s name. “Eric Kennedy.”

  “That’s right. And I’ve already warned Ms. Taylor of the likely illegality of the location of those mollusk beds. We’ve discovered an ancient Native American burial site just yards past the beds.”

  “A hundred yards away!” She scooped up Bear. “I’m not disturbing any bones, nor am I breaking any laws. No one but you is saying I need to move the beds.”

  “I thought the burial grounds were down near Venice,” Ridge said. “And even down there, no one is cordoning off the area or restricting access.”

  “We don’t know what we have here yet. I don’t want it disturbed until the archaeologists have a chance to evaluate it. I explained all this to Ms. Taylor already. Who are you?”

  The man’s imperious tone rubbed Ridge the wrong way. Typical politician trying to catapult himself into the limelight with some hot topic that might make the news. “Her business partner. You have a court order about this or anything to back up your claim?”

  Kennedy reddened. “No, but I know I’m right.”

  Ridge crossed his arms over his chest. “Find a judge who believes you and come talk to us then.”

  Kennedy glared but said nothing. His boat roared away in a wash of motor-generated waves and stinking fuel.

  Ridge glanced at Harper as she sank onto a seat and hugged Bear to her chest. He could have sworn he saw her swaying before she sat. “You okay? You’re pale.”

  “I’m fine.” But her wobbly voice betrayed her agitation.

  “You didn’t tell me the details last night. What happened?”

  He listened with mounting concern to the details of the attack and the break-in the night before that. “You don’t have any idea who it was?”

  “I just got an impression of a muscular guy. It all happened so fast. Kennedy was the first person I thought of, but that’s not really his style.”

  “It still might have been related to this Native American burial ground. Do you know how far away they found bones?”

  “Their site is a hundred yards away. I’ve seen no evidence of any archaeological finds in my beds, and I have to dig them up and replant the shells on occasion. I think this is just a political stunt he’s trying to pull.” Her voice was stronger now, and her color had returned.

  But that didn’t explain the attack on her or the break-in.

  * * *

  Harper’s life might change on this bright Monday morning. She parked in the drive and got out, ready to stretch after the nearly two-hour drive from Dunedin. She’d been lucky the person she’d been matched with in the DNA program wasn’t halfway across the country with the way people moved around.

  Sara had offered to come with her to meet Annabelle Rice, but Harper wanted to do this by herself. If today ended in crushing disappointment, she didn’t want any witnesses. She could tell Sara about it this afternoon at the bivalve beds.

  The single-story house on Brindle Street was typical of Orlando. A raised portico over the entry accented the cream stucco home. Carefully tended flower beds spilled fragrance into the air along a winding sidewalk. More flowers filled window boxes and added bright color and character to the home.

  Annabelle’s email had been welcoming enough, but Harper had given herself a stern talking to about having reasonable expectations. She’d spent most of her life yearning to learn about her father, and it would be easy to pin all her hopes on this one meeting. She fully expected to find the woman wasn’t really her half sister.

  As she approached the arched front door, she wished she hadn’t left Bear at home. His warm, wiggly body would have brought comfort now. Inhaling the aroma of chocolate chip cookies wafting from somewhere, she pressed the doorbell.

  “Coming!” Almost immediately the door opened. “You must be Harper.” The woman motioned her in. “I’ve got fresh coffee brewing, and the cinnamon rolls are still warm. I’m so excited to meet you. I’m Annabelle, of course.”

  She embraced Harper in a quick hug that surrounded her in the scent of sugar and chocolate, then stepped away before it got awkward.

  Annabelle had soft pink skin and bright-blue eyes under gray-and-blonde hair cut into a stylish bob. She wore designer jeans and a lacy top that showed off toned arms, though she had to be around fifty—much older than Harper had been expecting. The words she had practiced evaporated on her tongue, but she forced herself to smile and follow Annabelle inside though tension coiled in Harper’s belly.

  Nearly twenty years’ difference existed between them, so this “match” didn’t seem likely.

  Sunlight bounced off the light oak floors and streamed through the front windows. The ceiling in the open floor plan soared at least sixteen feet above their heads. The sofa and chairs were a pale gray, and yellow accent pillows gave them a pop of color. The area rug was a gray abstract print splashed with more cheery yellow.

  Harper instantly felt at home in the space. “You have a lovely home.”

  “Thanks. I’m an interior decorator and change it up every year or so, just to try something new.” Annabelle gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat.” She bent over a stainless-steel serving cart and poured two cups of coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

  “Just black.” Harper smiled and wrapped her fingers around the bright-red stoneware mug. “I’m not sure what questions I’m supposed to ask or even how to feel. Have you had other matches to your DNA?”

  Annabelle took a sip of her coffee, then settled into the overstuffed chair opposite Harper. She curled her legs under her and shook her head. “I didn’t expect to, not really. My mother died when I was a baby, and I have no idea who my father is. I was hoping you could tell me. And let’s get the truth out right now. With as high as we are on the match scale, our father has to be the same man. I’ve done a lot of research, and we are definitely half sisters.”

  Harper caught her breath and set her mug on the side table. The parallels between their circumstances seemed surreal. She wanted to ask more questions about how Annabelle’s mother died, but it felt too intrusive until they became better acquainted. “My mother died when I was an infant, too, and no one has been able to name my father. You don’t know anything at all?”

  That part was disappointing. She’d hoped to discover her father’s identity.

  Annabelle’s smile turned wistful. “My mother was an only child, so I don’t even have any first cousins. My family consists of my two sons and my dead husband’s relatives. Jim died of a brain aneurism when the boys were five and three. I had just finished getting my degree, so at least I was able to support us. I sometimes thought about my ancestry, but until my boys got out on their own, there was never time to pursue it.”

  Her blue eyes clouded. “I was recently diagnosed with lymphoma, and that made me think more about discovering health problems in my genetic line. For my boys’ sakes especially.”

  Harper’s chest squeezed. “I’m so sorry. Have the treatments been rough?”

  “I haven’t started them yet. I’m scheduled to start chemo next week. I’m sure I’ll be all right. It won’t be fun, but I’ve been through worse.”

  Annabelle’s optimistic outlook was endearing, and Harper liked her more and more. “I’ll be praying for you.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take all the prayers I can get. So tell me about you.”

  Harper took a sip of coffee, but there was no delaying the inevitable. “My mom died when she was almost due with me. The brakes failed on her car, and it slammed into a big dump truck. She was still alive when she arrived at the hospital, and they were able to deliver me, but my mother died hours later. I lived with my grandmother until she died. After that, I went into foster care.”

  Annabelle’s eyes filled with tears, but she touched Harper’s hand without saying anything.

  Harper took another sip of coffee. “I ran away when I was fifteen. I ended up sleeping in the backyard of a man who became m
y mentor. He found me a good foster home with his secretary, then made sure I graduated and got to college. He dug into my background as much as he could, but even his money hasn’t been able to find out anything more than my mother died.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “What happened to your mom?”

  Annabelle passed a plate of rolls to Harper. “She was murdered. The murder was never solved. My oldest son is a police officer now, and I’ve asked him so many times to take a fresh look at the evidence, but he says it’s too late to learn much. She was bludgeoned with an unknown object.”

  Harper took a cinnamon roll and passed the plate back, though it seemed wrong to be nibbling on a warm roll when discussing such a horrible event. “I’m so sorry. How old were you?”

  “About five months old. I was adopted by a very sweet family who couldn’t have kids.”

  “You had no family?”

  “My mom’s dad and stepmother refused to take me. My adoptive parents kept all the newspaper clippings about the murder and gave me everything they knew about my mother when I was fifteen. That’s why I know so much about her.”

  At least Annabelle never had to worry about locking her bedroom door at night. “It’s odd that both of our mothers died when we were so young.” Harper’s thoughts raced, and she blurted out what she’d been stewing about for a long time. “Oliver wondered if someone tampered with my mother’s brakes.”

  Annabelle touched her hand to her throat. “Did you ever talk to the detective in charge of the investigation?”

  “No. He’s retired now.”

  Annabelle’s expression turned thoughtful. “You could look him up and ask questions. Did Oliver say why he wondered about the brake tampering?”

  “He said the car had just been serviced, so it was odd the brakes would fail like that.”

  Could Oliver be right?

  Had both their mothers been murdered?

  5