After Caroline (5 page)

Even from a distance, it was an impressive house.

Joanna sat on a smooth-topped boulder atop the cliffs about halfway between The Inn and the house from her dreams, and stared at it. It was still nearly a mile away by her judgment, and from this angle the trees between it and Cliffside’s main road hid part of the beautiful landscaping she had seen from her bedroom balcony, but it was still beautiful.

Vaguely Victorian in style just as The Inn was, it had a roof with many peaks, countless windows sparkling in the sunlight, and a wide, ocean-side porch with, no doubt, a spectacular view. From where Joanna sat, the house should have looked bleak; it seemed almost to perch on a rocky promontory, standing in lonely isolation, with frothy ocean waves crashing against the base of the cliffs far below. Yet it didn’t look bleak so much as … dignified.

Still, Joanna’s feelings about the house were distorted, shaped by the dream that had tormented her for so many weeks. It seemed to her dark and menacing. It made her wary, almost afraid.

Joanna drew her knees up and wrapped her arms loosely around them, listening to the thunder of high tide battering the cliffs and feeling the cool ocean breeze. The sun was setting over the ocean, making the windows of the distant house glow reddish, and Joanna felt a faint chill that had nothing to do with the falling temperature.

Caroline’s house. She didn’t know how she knew she was looking at the house where Caroline had lived, but she was positive of that fact. And there, presumably, lived Caroline’s husband and daughter.

In the three months since her death, they had no doubt begun to cope with her loss, but Joanna knew her own appearance was bound to cause some … distress. Even the bellman and desk clerk at The Inn had been startled by her, and as for Holly Drummond, the attractive brunette had looked as though her knees had nearly buckled in shock.

Joanna hadn’t thought very much about her impulsive decision to come here during all the busy days of preparation, but as she sat there on the rock gazing at Caroline’s house, she felt more than a little panic. What did she hope to gain by coming here? Would her being here exorcise the ghost of Caroline McKenna from her dreams—if it was the dead woman’s ghost?

She had the uneasy idea that by coming to Cliffside so impetuously, she had started something that had immediately grown beyond her control, and for an instant she was sorely tempted to go back to The Inn, get her things, and catch the first plane heading to Atlanta, where she belonged. But before she could give in to the spurt of panic, a voice recalled her attention.

“Excuse me, but you shouldn’t—”

Joanna turned her head quickly, hardly surprised by this time when the man who had approached without giving
his presence away broke off abruptly, a look of shock on his face. He was a tall man, broad shouldered and athletic in build. He had very dark hair and very dark eyes, and though his lean face was too rugged for conventional handsomeness, there was something unusually compelling about him.

Beyond him, at the edge of the woods, Joanna saw a Blazer parked on a narrow dirt trail she hadn’t even noticed until then, and though the lettering on the vehicle’s side wasn’t entirely clear at this distance, the large logo was.

“You’re a policeman?” she asked, surprised by the lack of a uniform. He was, in fact, very casual in jeans and a light nylon windbreaker open over a dark T-shirt.

He nodded slowly and took a couple more steps toward her so that they were no more than a few feet apart. The shock had faded from his expression, but he was frowning slightly. “Sheriff. Griffin Cavanaugh.” His voice was deep and just a bit harsh, though whether that was usual or he was emotionally disturbed by her appearance was something Joanna had no way of knowing.

“I see. Am I doing something wrong, Sheriff?”

He didn’t answer immediately, those dark eyes fixed on her face so intensely she could almost feel the touch of them. But then he said almost mechanically, “You shouldn’t sit so close to the edge. It isn’t really safe. We had somebody fall right about here no more than four or five months ago.”

Since heights never bothered her, Joanna hadn’t hesitated to sit so close to the edge of the cliff that if she swung her right leg, it would have dangled out into thin air. But his words caused her to glance down at the jagged, surf-pounded rocks far below, and she shivered a little. Without wasting another moment, she scrambled off the rock and stood before him.

“The person who fell,” she said, “did he or she … die?”

Sheriff Griffin Cavanaugh nodded. “We lose one every
five years or so,” he said, his voice still a bit remote. “Tourists without the sense to stay back.”

Joanna felt defensive on behalf of all tourists. “There’s no sign. If it’s so dangerous, why isn’t this area posted, Sheriff?”

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and this time there was nothing detached in his tone when he said, “Because every time I post it, either the wind or a vandal does away with the sign. You’re from The Inn, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m staying there.”

“Then you should have read the warnings posted on the inside of your door. The cliffs behind the hotel have guardrails, and all guests are advised not to wander from that property. You’re on private land now.”

Joanna glanced toward the distant house involuntarily.

“Yes, his land,” the sheriff said, following her glance with one of his own. “It isn’t posted, but trespassing is strongly discouraged. This area can be treacherous, Miss—?”

“Flynn. Joanna Flynn.”

He nodded. “Miss Flynn. We would all prefer it if you confined your walks around the cliffs to hotel grounds. For your own safety.”

“I understand.” She had no intention of saying more, but when the sheriff started to turn away, she heard herself say, “Sheriff? I’ve encountered quite a few surprised reactions today, including yours.”

“You resemble someone who used to live around here,” he said readily enough.

“So I’ve been told. Holly Drummond said that the woman I look like … died.”

“Yes. Three months ago.” Whatever he may have felt about that fact, Griffin Cavanaugh kept it to himself; his expression was calm, his voice without emotion.

“Forgive me, but what was her name? And how did she die?” Joanna didn’t know why she was pretending ignorance about Caroline, except that she was reluctant to let anyone in Cliffside know that she had traveled thousands
of miles to explore a tenuous connection with a dead woman.

“Why do you want to know?” he demanded bluntly.

“It seems I look enough like her to be her sister.” Joanna managed a shrug. “I’m curious.”

“Her name was Caroline McKenna. She was killed in a car accident. The highway was slippery; she was driving too fast and lost control of her car. Anything else you want to know?”

Joanna didn’t let his rather harsh tone dissuade her. “Do I really look so much like her?”

He looked her up and down quite deliberately and thoroughly, then said, “Dye your hair black and change the color of your eyes and her own mother wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.”

She didn’t know if it was pain or anger she heard in his voice, but whichever it was warned her that she had gone far enough. “I see. Thank you, Sheriff—for the warning and for the information.”

“Don’t mention it.” He looked beyond her, where the sun was sinking rapidly. “It’ll be dark soon. It happens suddenly this time of year. You should head back to the hotel.”

Joanna knew a dismissal when she heard one, and she decided to obey. She was here for at least two weeks, after all; there was plenty of time to explore. But before she could do more than begin to turn toward the hotel, he stopped her with a question of his own.

“Why are you here, Miss Flynn?”

“Vacation.”

“In October?”

“I like fall vacations.”

He frowned at her. “You’re Southern.”

“Don’t you like Southerners?” she managed lightly.

The sheriff ignored that. “Georgia, I’d say.”

Without meaning to, Joanna answered the implied question. “Yes, Georgia. Atlanta, as a matter of fact. But we
haven’t tried to secede from the Union recently, so I don’t see that you should have a problem with my being here.”

His hard mouth curved in a faint smile at that, but the amusement was short-lived. “You’ve come a long way just to spend your vacation in a place with nothing to recommend it but the scenery.”

“That is surely my own business, Sheriff. But if you must know, I plan to vacation in every state eventually. It’s the best way I can think of to see the country. Oregon just happened to be my first choice in visiting the West Coast.”

“And Cliffside?”

Joanna couldn’t tell if he believed her or not. She shrugged. “The Chamber of Commerce made it sound like a nice place, and all I wanted was a pretty coastal spot where I could relax. Good enough?”

“For now,” he said. “Good day, Miss Flynn.”

“Sheriff.” She turned and headed toward the hotel, making a determined effort to move casually. At first, she was tempted to chalk the sheriff’s interest up to smalltown caution, but that reasoning didn’t hold water when tourism was so vital to the local economy. A more likely possibility was that he found the sudden appearance of a woman who looked eerily like Caroline McKenna to be far more than coincidental.

It occurred to Joanna only then that there would no doubt be many people in Cliffside who would feel the same suspicion.

She reached the neatly trimmed lawn of The Inn and paused to look back. The sheriff was still standing there where she had left him, but he wasn’t looking after her. He was instead gazing off toward that lonely house in the distance.

For the first time in weeks, Joanna slept all night without waking, but when she did wake around eight the following morning, it was with a niggling sense of unease as well as the memory of having dreamed again. Not everything this time, at least not that she remembered, but definitely
the carousel horse and paper airplane, and there had been rose petals drifting downward like rain.

She lay there for a long time in her comfortable bed, listening to the low roar of the ocean and staring at the ceiling, thinking about the previous day and trying to weigh her impressions of Cliffside and the people she’d met. Judging by all the reactions she’d earned, it seemed obvious that Joanna was going to find many people who had known Caroline. Which meant there would be many sources of information.

If Joanna could only figure out what questions to ask.

She got up, showered, and ordered breakfast from room service. And she drank her final morning cup of coffee while standing in the open door of her balcony and looking off toward Caroline’s house. She continued to feel uneasy when she looked at it. But that didn’t stop her from considering the best way to approach the place.

Trespassing was “strongly discouraged,” Sheriff Cavanaugh had said. Okay, but he’d also said the land wasn’t posted. So
legally
she wouldn’t be breaking any laws if she just wandered along the cliffs in that direction. Of course, the good sheriff could argue that she’d known better—if she got caught.

Briefly and somewhat ruefully amused at herself and this unfamiliar recklessness, Joanna left her room and took the elevator down to the lobby.

Holly Drummond was standing near the front desk and greeted her cheerfully. “Good morning, Joanna.”

Joanna was very aware that the other woman was looking at her in a measuring way that was probably completely unconscious and doubtless due to the resemblance to Caroline. It made her a bit uncomfortable, but she reminded herself silently that she had better get used to it.

“Hi, Holly. Listen, I was wondering. If there’s any information I need about Cliffside and the surrounding area—”

“You can ask me or whoever’s running the front desk,” Holly said. “Most of the staff know the area pretty well, in fact. We don’t have a concierge, but there are lots of brochures
over there by the house phones, and any of us would be happy to help you. What do you want to know?”

That’s a good question
. “Oh … nothing in particular, at least right now.” Reading curiosity in Holly’s expression, Joanna managed a laugh. “I’m a research librarian back home, so I guess it’s an occupational hazard that I tend to research the places where I spend my free time. No matter how hard I try to relax, I always end up in a library reading about the town founders. Absurd, I know.”