After Caroline (36 page)

“You want an APB?” Casey asked.

Griffin shook his head. “No. Just a casual look around—and no questioning people about him; there’s no reason to add fuel to the gossip.”

“I’ll tell him,” the deputy responded, and left the office.

After a moment, Griffin watched his fingers begin to drum on the desk again, and this time he didn’t try to stop them.

Clouds kept hiding the sun as Joanna walked quickly to the gazebo. Maybe that was why she kept feeling chilled, she thought, because each time the sun vanished, so did the warmth of it. Then again, maybe that wasn’t the reason. Maybe it was just her nearness to the cliffs. She was wary, her senses alert for any sign that she was being followed or, indeed, that anyone else was around. She kept back from the edge of the cliffs, but the pounding of the surf against the rocks was a continual reminder of just how close she was.

The constant rhythm of it was like a heartbeat. Like a clock ticking. It seemed to thud in her head and beat against her nerves until she longed for silence just so she could
think
without all the bits and pieces of information and speculation in her head chasing themselves in baffling circles.

Who could have tampered with her car? Doc hadn’t been happy with her questions and certainly hadn’t been forthcoming with information, but would he have tried to kill her? Adam Harrison had shared his information about Caroline without hesitation, so why would he have gone after her? She supposed he could have had second thoughts later, but still, would those second thoughts have driven him to a murder attempt? And even if Lyssa Maitland
had
stared after her with a peculiar expression on her face, did that even mean anything?

In addition, lots of people had been in town during the several hours Joanna’s car had been parked there, and she had talked to most of them about Caroline at one time or another. Many had been guarded or evasive; some had talked easily and openly. No one had seemed dangerous or threatening, as far as Joanna was concerned. But fact and fiction were filled with villains who smiled disarmingly, so how could anyone really know what might lie behind a smiling face?

It could have been anyone. Anyone could have tampered with the car—and unseen.

The town of Cliffside—how was that for a list of suspects?

The problem, Joanna decided as she walked along, was that it was all too easy to imagine any number of people as having a motive, simply because the reason of “protecting a secret” was just too damned vague and opened up too many possibilities. Most people had secrets of one kind or another, but which secrets were important enough to kill for? Surely there weren’t many of those in this small town. Surely.

But even if there were few, it didn’t narrow the field, because Joanna didn’t know what she was looking for. Unless and until she discovered why Caroline had been so uneasy and possibly frightened before she was killed, she didn’t have a clue as to the one secret that really mattered.

The gazebo came into view as Joanna came to that conclusion, and she stopped there on the edge of the woods. Regan was in the gazebo, sitting on the carousel horse and gazing out to sea, her small face still, as unexpressive as her father’s always seemed to be.

You’re why I’m here
.

It was crystal clear in Joanna’s mind, and she was only surprised she hadn’t realized it long before she had. She was here because of Regan. That’s why the dream had brought her here, because Regan needed her help.

Don’t let her be alone
.

Was it a plea from Caroline, placed in Joanna’s mind somehow during that instant when both had been in a state of virtual death? Had Caroline cried out for help for her daughter across three thousand miles and death’s own void, her terror and desperation in that moment so strong that she had somehow been able to connect with Joanna’s subconscious and hurl at her a jumble of impressions and fears?

The subconscious, Joanna knew, dealt with problems in its own unique way. It processed information in ways that were frequently abstract, even surreal. Dream images, for instance, might sometimes be meant literally, but more often were symbolic. Yet in Joanna’s dream, most of the images at least
existed
literally, which indicated they had some literal meaning.

The ocean crashing, of course, and Caroline’s house were certainly real. The painting had been real. The carousel horse. The roses had been real enough, leading Joanna to the greenhouse where Caroline’s rose lived and where her former lover could impart his information. The clock ticking felt very much like time passing—or running out.

But a paper airplane? That image remained a puzzle.

The child crying had to be Regan.

The one person in Caroline’s life to whom she had been utterly devoted had been Regan, and it made sense that her concern for her child might be the last desperate thoughts in a mother’s mind as death struck—especially if that death was violent and the mother knew her child was threatened.

But by what? Why did Regan need Joanna’s help? Because she grieved so for her mother? No, surely the dream would not be filled with such terror if that had been Caroline’s main concern. Because she was in danger? Because whatever had so frightened Caroline somehow touched or threatened Regan’s safety? That made more sense, at least as much as any of this did. It even lent weight to the admittedly far-fetched idea that some part of Caroline had survived the moment of death to reach out to Joanna; few
things in existence were as powerful and all-consuming as a mother’s love for her child, and danger to that child would enable most mothers to reach far beyond their normal limits if necessary in the driving need to protect.

Don’t let her be alone
.

But had she meant that literally, that Joanna shouldn’t leave Regan physically? Was the little girl in actual physical danger? Or had Caroline meant that her daughter needed an advocate to balance the remoteness of her father?

“Oh, hell, now what do I do?” Joanna muttered to herself, knowing only that she had to do
something
.

She hadn’t spoken very loudly, but Regan turned her head just then, and her small face lightened instantly. Her lips curved in a smile of singular charm, and she said, “Joanna,” with obvious pleasure.

“Hi, Regan.” Joanna crossed the clearing to the gazebo and stepped inside it, leaning against the railing beside the carousel horse. “How have you been?”

Regan hunched her shoulders slightly, a faint smile remaining. “Okay. I—I got into Daddy’s car yesterday and sat there for a while.”

Quite a step for a child terrified of cars. Joanna smiled at her. “I’m glad. It was a brave thing to do, facing your fear. Your mother would be very proud of you.”

“You’re the first one I’ve told,” Regan confessed.

“Not your father?”

“No. He wouldn’t care.”

Joanna hesitated. “Regan, I hardly know your father, but I’m sure he
would
care.”

“He doesn’t care about anybody. Mama said so.”

“Did she—say that to you?”

Regan frowned a little. “No. I heard her say it to Daddy.”

Gently, Joanna said, “Regan, I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but sometimes grown-ups say things to each other that aren’t necessarily true. Especially when they’re angry. Maybe your mama and daddy didn’t get
along very well, but that doesn’t mean either one of them didn’t care about you.”

Regan’s frown deepened. “Mama wasn’t yelling at Daddy when she said that.”

“Did she ever yell when she was mad?”

“No.”

“Then she could have been mad at him when she said that, couldn’t she? Even though she didn’t yell?”

Regan hunched her shoulders. “I guess so.”

“Did she ever tell
you
that your daddy didn’t care about anyone?”

“No.”

Joanna smiled at her. “Look, Regan, all I’m saying is that things you overhear don’t always mean what you think they do. Your daddy’s probably the kind of man who doesn’t show what he’s feeling, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel. And just because your mama might have been mad at him doesn’t mean you have to be too.”

After a moment, Regan said diffidently, “Is that why I want to yell at him all the time, Joanna? Because I’m mad at him? Because I wish … he had died instead of Mama?”

Joanna wasn’t shocked by the question, but the pity she felt for Caroline’s child tightened her throat and made it difficult for her to speak. “Honey, I think what you really wish is that there hadn’t been an accident at all. You don’t wish your daddy dead, you just want your mama back. And since you know you can’t have her back, you have to get mad at somebody. He’s your daddy—he should have protected your mama, that’s what you feel, isn’t it? He should have kept the accident from happening.”

Regan nodded mutely, her dark eyes shimmering with tears.

“I know that. I felt the same way about my daddy when their boat sank. For a long time, I blamed him, because there was no one else to blame. But, Regan, my daddy did the best he could to save my mama. And your daddy would have done his best if he had been there. But he
wasn’t there. He was miles away at your house, and he didn’t know she’d be in trouble. How could he save her? How could he even help her?”

After a long moment, Regan said, “I’m still mad at him, Joanna.”

“I know, honey. But try to think about it, to understand that it wasn’t his fault she was killed. In time, I think you won’t be quite as mad at him. In time, none of it will hurt so much.”

“It won’t? Really?” There was a world of bewildered pain in that childish voice, and it nearly broke Joanna’s heart.

“I promise you. You’ll never stop missing your mama, but in time it won’t hurt so much to miss her.”

“You still miss your mama and daddy?”

Joanna nodded. “Very much. But it doesn’t hurt now. I’ll always feel sad, and always wish they could be here with me, but I don’t cry myself to sleep anymore.”

“I do that,” Regan murmured. “Every night.”

“It’s good to cry, honey. It helps take away the pain.”

Regan nodded and fell silent again, watching her own hands running up and down the shiny chrome pole in front of the carousel horse’s saddle. Then she turned her head suddenly, and her face was very serious. “Your car wrecked yesterday, didn’t it?”

Though she was glad of the change of subject, Joanna was a little startled; adult gossip she had come to expect, but with Regan so cut off from town … “How on earth did you hear that?”

“I heard Mrs. Porter telling Mrs. Ames about it this morning,” Regan replied, listing her teacher and the housekeeper respectively. “You—you didn’t get hurt, Joanna?”

“What do you think?” Joanna lifted her hands in a look-at-me gesture, smiling.

Regan’s face remained grave for a moment as she studied Joanna carefully, but then she nodded and smiled. “You look okay. I’m glad.”

“Me too. It wasn’t really so bad, you know. I just had to drive into a pasture and knock over a few haystacks.”

“I’m glad Mr. Cook didn’t have his horses in there,” Regan remarked.

“You and me both,” Joanna responded with some feeling. She studied the little girl for a moment, trying to decide how best to proceed. She still felt very reluctant to question Regan about her mother, but she honestly didn’t know where else to go for information. Scott, she supposed—but there was certainly no indication that he’d be willing to talk about his wife.

Still, that lonely house was also a part of Joanna’s dream, and it could easily mean more than a simple indication of where Caroline had lived and Regan lived now.

“Joanna?”

She blinked, then smiled. “Sorry. My mind wandered.”

“Mama said this was a good place to think,” Regan said, turning her gaze back out to sea. “She’d come out here when she wanted to be alone. Do you think … she’s still here, Joanna? That she’s watching over me?”

“I don’t know if she’s here,” Joanna replied honestly. “But I’m certain she’s watching over you, Regan. She loved you very much.”

They both heard the distant sound of a bell ringing just then, and before Regan could speak, Joanna said, “Do you mind if I walk back to the house with you? I’d like to talk to your daddy, if he’s home.”

“He’s home,” Regan said.

Griffin wouldn’t like this, Joanna was sure. Scott McKenna was a suspect on his list, and he would doubtless raise hell when he found out that Joanna had talked to the man—alone, she hoped. Joanna was a bit uneasy about the situation herself, given the fact that it was at least possible Scott had tried to kill her the day before.

But she was still convinced that she could find out the truth about Caroline, and she had to talk to Scott if she had any hope of doing that. Of them all, he must have known his wife the best, whether or not he had loved her.
He had lived with her for more than ten years, and the habits and routine of daily life had to reveal the true character of any person.

Joanna and Regan walked side by side through the small stand of woods separating Caroline’s gazebo from the big house, and as they neared it, Joanna tried to decide what she would say to Scott.