Strands of Truth Page 6

  How was she even going to bring up the topic?

  * * *

  As twilight fell Annabelle switched on the lights in the living room and curled up on the sofa with a homemade chicken potpie. The cancer treatments were scheduled to start next week, but even the thought of the side effects of chemo couldn’t dim her exuberance at finding her sister. Since yesterday their conversation had been all she’d thought about. She’d been shocked to discover Harper was so young though. Their father must be quite the ladies’ man. He must have gotten Harper’s mother pregnant when he was in his forties at least.

  She spooned a mouthful of potpie onto her tongue and let the flavor of sage and chicken linger. The cat squirreled around her ankles meowing for her dinner, and Annabelle finished her meal, then got up to spoon the canned food into Rico’s bowl.

  The light on the back deck was out, and she stepped to the switch plate to flip it on. Nothing. The bulb must be out, and she’d need a ladder to reach it. Scott wouldn’t mind coming over to do it. She shot him a text and told him she’d tell him about her visit with Harper yesterday when he got there.

  See you in fifteen.

  Since Scott’s father died, he was quick to come help her. At twenty-five Scott was one of the youngest detectives on the Orlando police force. In spite of his tough job, he was a marshmallow inside when it came to her. He had worried Harper would take advantage of her, but that was his law enforcement background talking.

  She heard a sound in the backyard and frowned. Another raccoon had probably gotten into the trash can. The animals had been such a nuisance lately. She grabbed a BB pistol Scott had brought her and a flashlight, then advanced to the door. She opened it with as little noise as possible and stepped out onto the deck. The flashlight hadn’t worked last time she tried it either, and she’d forgotten to change the batteries.

  She squinted in the darkness but didn’t see anything moving around the garbage cans. The moon hid behind the clouds, and it was as dark as a cave out in the yard. Whatever sound she’d heard didn’t repeat, so she turned to go back into the house. Her hand touched the door, and the echo of a footfall sounded behind her.

  Whirling, she brought up the BB gun and flicked off the safety, but before her forefinger found the trigger, a hand clapped over her mouth and something stabbed her arm. A needle? The man was at least six feet, with bulky muscles. It was too dark to see his face as he dragged her deeper into the shadows. She fought with renewed strength and bit savagely at the fingers clasping her mouth.

  He muttered an oath and let go. She whirled to run away, but her legs felt like she was trying to swim in quicksand.

  “No, no,” she moaned. Her arms pinwheeled as she tried to maintain her balance on feet that felt as big as pontoons.

  Her knees buckled, and she dropped onto the deck. Her lids fluttered, but she wouldn’t be able to fight the blackness floating at the edges of her sight. The darkness that claimed her was as black as the water in a mangrove alley.

  “Bite me, will you?” The man’s gruff voice was the last thing she heard.

  * * *

  When she blinked away the confusion, Annabelle heard the hum of tires on a wet road. She reached up and touched something metallic over her head. She was in a coffin? She curled her hands into fists and tapped at the lid overhead, but her cries were barely more than a whisper.

  Wait, it wasn’t a coffin. She was in a trunk. Her hands were free though and so were her feet. She swiveled around and kicked at the lock. To her amazement the lid sprang free and she smelled the fresh scent of rain. She lifted the trunk lid a few inches to peer out and try to figure out her location. Her head cleared more by the moment, and she saw headlights following along the highway.

  If she could get out of the trunk, she could find help. The car slowed as if to make a turn, and now was likely her only chance. She heaved the lid up as high as it would go, then rolled out of the trunk. Her right shoulder hit the pavement first and pain exploded down her back and arm. She tumbled toward the ditch and came to rest with a mouthful of gravel.

  The car’s brake lights gleamed, and it swerved toward the opposite ditch.

  Ignoring the pain radiating all through her body, she staggered to her feet and ran to the center of the road. “Help, help!” She waved her hands over her head, and the approaching truck slowed, then stopped. Her stomach roiled, probably from the drug he’d injected. Her mouth felt like cotton.

  A man thrust his head out of the open window. “You need help, ma’am?”

  “Please, take me to the hospital and call the police.” She collapsed to her knees.

  The kidnapper’s car squealed away and darkness claimed her again.

  9

  August 1969

  Stretched out in the sun like a cat, Judy kept her eyes closed and let the heat warm the ocean’s chill from her skin. The scent of Coppertone suntan lotion mingled with the salt air in an intoxicating aroma. The big ocean cruiser bobbed in the waves with the shore shimmering in the distance. They’d played and splashed in the water like children, and she felt like she’d known him her whole life.

  She could feel his gaze on her like a caress. He’d made no secret of his infatuation with her, and she had never felt a pull like this toward a man. Part of her attraction to him was the way he wore his wealth like a second skin. It was in the fit of his uniform and the scent of his Aramis cologne. It was in this expensive new boat and the items scattered around it. She wanted more out of her future than the secondhand clothes she was used to, and he might be part of that new beginning she’d come here to find.

  She felt like a clodhopper around him though, and she would have to get over feeling inferior.

  She opened her eyes to lock gazes with him. His blue eyes were warm and approving. She reached for her top to throw over her wet swimsuit. “I’m fixin’ to eat that food you promised.”

  He opened the cooler and pulled out shrimp cocktail, potato salad, cheese cubes, and fruit skewers. “Your wish is my command.”

  The shrimps were huge and luscious, and the Camembert cheese practically melted in her mouth. “There’s a powerful lot of food. Were you expectin’ company?”

  A shadow crossed his eyes, but he shook his head. “I brought what I like. I’m glad you approve.”

  Was he telling her the truth? Could someone have stood him up and he’d picked her up as a replacement? She pushed away the questions. However it had happened that they were here together, it felt right. Like it was written in the stars.

  She tried to place his accent. “Are you from Massachusetts?”

  He handed her a skewer of pineapple and mango chunks. “I was until I was about ten. I thought I’d lost that accent long ago. You must have a good ear.”

  She’d tried on a northeastern accent a time or two when she used to pretend to be Jackie Kennedy. It was good practice for an acting career. “I like your boat.”

  He smiled. “I just got her. Dad let me pick out whichever one I wanted, and her elegant lines spoke to me. Would you like to see belowdecks? It’s quite spacious.”

  “Sure.”

  What kind of money would it take for him to be able to walk into a marina and pick out a boat? She couldn’t begin to imagine how much this sleek vessel had cost. Probably more than she could expect to make in her lifetime.

  She followed him down the ladder into the salon that smelled new. The head was small but efficient, and the galley had enough storage to live aboard however long he wanted. She imagined them sailing down the coast to the Keys or the Bahamas. They could stop at ports along the way and dine on caviar and champagne.

  He opened a gleaming teak door. “This is the master stateroom.”

  She followed him into the spacious room with its big bed and built-in drawers. “Lots of room.”

  He took a step toward her, and she lifted her face to meet his kiss. Her future was in his arms, and they both knew it.

  * * *

  Harper’s turquoise eyes locked gazes
with him. Her dark-red hair was disheveled by the wind. Why did she have to be so beautiful?

  The stray thought had to be clamped down and eradicated, but Ridge couldn’t look away.

  “Your hair’s wet.” He winced at his stupid remark.

  She touched a long, damp lock. “I got caught in the rain. Are you okay?”

  He turned away to grab coffee mugs from the cupboard. “Want some coffee?”

  “What, you’re not shoving me out the door? I’ll take that coffee before you change your mind.”

  He couldn’t hold back the grin as he turned to put a full mug in her hands. “Am I that bad?”

  Her gaze searched his. “You can’t say you’ve been exactly friendly.”

  His amusement vanished. “I don’t like seeing my dad taken advantage of.”

  Her eyes studied him over the rim of her mug as she sipped her coffee. She lowered the cup. “Your dad wants us to bury the hatchet.” She sidled over to sit on a bar stool at the marble counter.

  He rubbed his forehead and took a gulp of coffee. “You think you’ve got him in your pocket forever now because you’re pregnant?”

  Color rushed to her cheeks. “P-Pregnant?”

  “I saw the papers he signed claiming he’d take financial responsibility for the baby.”

  She looked away. “It’s not what you think.”

  “So you’re not pregnant.”

  Harper looked away. “He didn’t explain?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  The secretive expression had been Dad’s only answer when Ridge found the documents on the desk. Dad always protected Harper no matter what, but he rarely explained his actions.

  Was it even any of Ridge’s business? He was an adult now and had his own life. Why did he care what his dad did with his money? It belonged to Dad, not him. But every time he told himself he needed to give Harper the same grace God gave him, his anger would well up and sweep away all his good intentions. He didn’t understand why it mattered to him, but it did.

  “Dad said he wanted us to bury the hatchet, huh? What brought that up?”

  She sipped her coffee. “I’m not sure. He called me out of the blue. Maybe it was his brush with death.” Her gaze swept back to collide with his. “I respect your dad so much—I love him. He’s the best mentor anyone could have. He literally saved my life. You’ve never tried to see it from my point of view. You’ve never so much as asked why I ran away from the foster home or why your dad rushed in to help.”

  He kept his tone even. “You want to tell me now?”

  “Do you want to hear it?”

  He took a drink of coffee to give himself time to think. Did he want to understand her, or did he want to let his anger fester? “If you want to tell me.”

  She sighed. “I forgot to lock my bedroom door one night, and the only escape was out the window. I knew I didn’t dare go back.”

  His fingers tightened on the cup. “Your foster dad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you go to your foster mom for help or DCF?”

  “My foster mom yelled at me and told me I’d been tempting her husband. She said if I told DCF, they wouldn’t believe it either. Based on past experience, I thought she was probably right.”

  He heard the ring of truth in her words. “You were always stealing stuff—my favorite thermos, Willow’s sweaters. What were we supposed to think about that?”

  She set her cup down, and her gaze fell away from his. “I-I thought I’d need them when things got bad at the home your dad found for me. It took a long time to feel safe. Sometimes I still don’t.”

  His disdain for her began to melt. What did he know about living under that kind of constant fear? His own gripes about not spending enough time with his dad were minor compared to this.

  “What about the paper I found? You aren’t going to explain, are you?”

  She caught her full lower lip between her white teeth. “No.”

  Irritation burned in his chest and pushed away his sympathy. He walked out of the kitchen. He either had to take her at her word or believe the worst.

  She brushed past him into the living room. “I’m going home. It’s been a long day. Call your dad. He’s worried about you. Harvest is tomorrow, and I can’t dive. You up to helping?”

  She couldn’t dive? He bit back the questions. “Of course.” He walked her out, and even when he locked the door behind her, he didn’t know what to believe.

  10

  Harper was still shaking from Ridge’s inquisition when she kicked off her flip-flops and stepped aboard the boat, docked tonight in a mangrove alley. The night felt darker than eight o’clock, and she switched on generator-powered lights.

  She’d felt the need to hide away, though she told Sara where she was anchoring. The moist air enveloped her like a warm hug. The boards creaked under her bare feet, and she felt her tension ebb away with the glitter of moonlight shining on the water and the sound of the waves lapping against the hull of the boat.

  Bear whimpered and launched himself at her leg as soon as she opened the cabin door. She picked him up and snuggled him to her chest. “Hungry, boy? I’ll get your dinner.”

  She carried him inside the galley and found the bag of dog food inside a cabinet. Bear barked and wagged his tail when she put him down, and he wolfed down his dinner.

  She looked around the galley at the rusty appliances and flaking cabinets. The place was old, but it was hers. A friend of Oliver’s had told her she could have it if she hauled it off, and she’d spent all last summer making it seaworthy. It had taken all her money to repair the hull, but with her first bit of income from the pen shell beds, she was going to fix up the interior. The old green and orange color scheme hailed from the seventies, and it was downright depressing.

  The small bedroom held a double bed with a sagging mattress. She’d gotten a turquoise Hawaiian print quilt for the bed, but it clashed with the fraying orange shag carpet in the room. The salon was large enough but also depressing in spite of the windows on both sides. She would remove the wall between the kitchen and salon and put down engineered hardwood floors, then paint the wood walls in white. The decor would be turquoise and white with touches of melon. It wouldn’t cost that much, and she could handle the work.

  She touched her belly. All those plans would have to change if she was pregnant. Living on a boat wouldn’t be practical with a toddler.

  She opened the tiny refrigerator and peered inside. Some lasagna was still left from the dish Sara had brought over the other day, but Harper wasn’t hungry, not after hiding so much from Ridge. Taking the box she’d gotten from Annabelle, she exited to the night air and climbed to the party deck. It was a little cheerier up here. She’d bought a plastic table and had gotten brightly colored deck chairs to lounge in or to pull up to the table to eat.

  Lights swept the dock and illuminated her boat as a pickup pulled into the weedy drive. She recognized Josh’s Dodge Ram and his wide shoulders as he got out. Sara hopped out the passenger side and waved at her. She carried a casserole dish in her hands, and as they neared the boat, Harper caught a whiff of some kind of chicken dish.

  Sara stepped aboard and smiled up at Harper. “I know it’s late, but I brought dinner. If you’ve already eaten, you can save it for tomorrow. Roast chicken and vegetables cooked in my Instant Pot. There’s enough for all of us. We haven’t eaten yet.”

  Josh held up a sack. “And I brought utensils.”

  His blue eyes were striking in his tanned face. A helicopter pilot for the Coast Guard, Josh was the kind of man you wanted around in an emergency.

  “Come on up. I’m glad for the company.”

  Sara was first up top, and she set the casserole on the table, then lifted off the plastic lid. Josh came up with Bear in one arm and the bag in the other. “I found a stowaway wanting to come up.” He set Bear down and the dog trotted over to the table and sniffed.

  A Dodgers cap covered Josh’s light-brown hair, and he wore sh
orts and a T-shirt. The paper sack rustled as he fished out paper plates and plastic utensils.

  “Smells good.” Warmth swept up her chest and neck. Friends were what she needed tonight. They could pore through the box of articles and information her new sister had given her as well. They could help her gain perspective on everything that had happened.

  Sara ladled up the food and handed plates all around while Harper fished dripping-cold bottles of water from the cooler on the deck.

  Sara uncapped her bottle. “Tell Josh what you heard from Annabelle yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to bring him up to speed.”

  Harper filled him in. Josh’s eyes widened when she said Annabelle’s mother had been murdered. He pulled on his earlobe as he listened intently. Harper wasn’t sure she wanted to get into her own mother’s situation, but it seemed to be part of the picture, so she needed to.

  “Annabelle thinks I should talk to the detective who investigated my mother’s death.”

  Josh frowned. “Your mother was murdered too?”

  “Oliver always wondered if her car had been tampered with.” Harper reached for the box of clippings. “Here are some news articles about the murder of Annabelle’s mom. I haven’t had a chance to read them yet.”

  Josh’s frown deepened. “You have the same father, right? Some mystery guy no one knows? It’s pretty odd both women died like that. How old was Annabelle when her mother was murdered?”

  “Five months old.”

  “And you were?”

  “Not even born yet. The doctor delivered me just minutes before she died.”

  “Most of the time what seems to be a coincidence has deeper ties,” Josh said.

  “So do you agree that I should talk to the detective who investigated the accident? I was planning to, then thought it might seem odd for me to be digging into an accident that happened so long ago. Would he even remember?”

  Josh and Sara exchanged a long look before he nodded. “It might not hurt, even if it’s to set your mind at ease. Maybe it was the accident it appeared to be.”