Buried (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 1) (9 page)

Again he wondered about her and Amos. “I’m just not the marrying kind.”

“I hope you’re not saying that because of your father. You may look like him. Doesn’t mean you aren’t your own man.”

He nodded, discounting her words, even as he pretended to agree. Stella could say things like that because she didn’t know what it was like to be him. The darkness and the demons he lived with. The nightmares and weird twisted places his imagination always led him. He might channel those things into stories now...but maybe the day would come when they would spill out into real life. He didn’t want to have a wife or children if that happened.

“Do you ever hear from your father?”

Dougal grew cautious. “I used to get the occasional letter or email when he was in prison.”

“He’s out now, isn’t he?” She made it sound like a casual question. But he could tell she was as tense as he was.

“Last March. He sent a letter through my publisher. Wanted to see me. I tore it up.”

“You don’t want to talk to him?”

“Don’t see the point.”

“Right.” She removed the bread from toaster and buttered it. “He still doesn’t know about Jamie, does he?”

“Not from me he doesn’t.”

“That’s good.”

“Do you think he would hurt Jamie if he knew about her?”

“Not physically, no. I’m more worried that your sister, with her soft heart and all, would try to bring him into the family fold, and end up being disappointed. That man just was never meant to be a father.” She turned her focus back to Dougal. “How long are you in town for? Just the wedding?”

“Longer. I’m considering renting a cottage from Charlotte Hammond. She’s helping me with some research for my next book.”

Stella frowned. “Are you talking about the Librarian Cottage?”

“You know the place?”

“If it’s the one I’m thinking of. About five miles east of town, on the Old Forestry Road?”

He nodded.

“Dougal, that house hasn’t been lived in for decades. It’s got to be a big mess.”

“Charlotte already warned me. Which reminds me, I wanted to ask if you had time to clean it for me. I’d pay extra since it’s been unused for so long.”

Stella hesitated. “My knees are acting up pretty bad these days and just my regular jobs are all I can handle. But when your mom got too sick to work, I advertised for a new partner. Her name is Liz Brooks. Maybe she can help you.”

Stella pulled Liz’s business card from a drawer. “Here’s her number.”

“Thanks.” He glanced at the card, then pocketed it. “Do you remember much about Shirley Hammond? She used to live at that cottage in the seventies.”

Stella placed the cooked egg on her plate, along with two slices of toast, then sat down. She didn’t touch the food though. Just sighed. “Shirley was our librarian back in the sixties and seventies. She was a lovely woman. But very quiet.”

“I understand she died young. But how?”

Stella’s face paled. “She hung herself in the basement of the library. Everyone was shocked, of course. Saying what a waste, and things like that. She never left a note for her family.”

Charlotte’s defensive reaction to his questions about Shirley made sense now. Strange how suicide still seemed to carry a stigma. But he was surprised by the lack of a note. “Kind of ironic that a women who valued the written word didn’t leave any of her own behind.”

“I never thought of it that way, but that’s a good point. Why are you asking about Shirley, anyway?”

“Just curious. That’s all.”

She picked up her fork. “Sure you don’t want any?”

“Thanks, but I’m eating later. You go ahead.”

“I feel a little rude eating in front of a guest, but your sister and Cory are coming for a dress fitting in about fifteen minutes. And I haven’t eaten for hours.”

He recalled Stella had worked part time as a seamstress. “So you’re making Jamie’s wedding dress?”

“Made, not making. The wedding is in just one week, you know.”

He knew, unfortunately. “I should go. Let you eat in peace.”

He definitely didn’t want to be here when Jamie arrived.

* * *

After work, Jamie went home to grab a quick bite before the dress fitting. It only took five minutes in the cozy trailer to put together a grilled cheese sandwich. While she was excited about making a new life with Kyle and his children, she was sad about leaving this place. If her mom was still alive, it wouldn’t be so hard. But this trailer was so steeped in memories, it was going to be difficult to say goodbye.

When she finished her sandwich, Jamie headed to Kyle’s to pick up Cory. The little girl was waiting for her on the porch—she’d lined up four plastic lawn chairs and was hopping from the porch swing to each of the chairs without touching the floor. Jamie had played games like that as a child, too.
The porch is an ocean, teeming with sharks. You have to jump from one island to the other without falling or the sharks will eat you.

Jamie imagined a pretty set of wicker furniture replacing the plastic chairs one day. And two big urns of flowers flanking the door. Geraniums. Her mom had always loved geraniums.

“Hey, you,” she called out to the little girl. “Ready to pick up our dresses?” They’d already gone through several sets of measurements and fittings—hopefully everything would be perfect today.

“I’m ready, Jamie!” Cory hopped from a chair to the top rung of the stairs, grasping the banister, then throwing one leg over and gliding to the lawn.

“Whoa, careful girl. You don’t want to be walking down the aisle in crutches.”

Cory looked appalled at that possibility. Jamie was pretty sure that the little girl was looking forward to the wedding just as much as she and Kyle were.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised solemnly.

“It’s okay.” Jamie smiled, and held out her hand. “Is your dad—"

Before she could finish, Kyle appeared at the door, dish towel in hand. Jamie felt the usual rush of love at the sight of him. He took such good care of his children. She wished Dougal could see him now, as he smiled and waved them off. He’d realize how crazy his warning had been.

Stella Ward’s house was just six blocks from Kyle’s. Jamie drove the familiar streets slowly. The weather was warm and lots of residents were sitting on their porches, or watering their gardens. She waved to everyone she recognized.

Beside her, Cory was quiet, sitting on her hands, her blue eyes huge in her pale face. When Jamie glanced at her, she discovered the young girl staring at her anxiously.

“Is something wrong, Cory?”

“No. Everything’s perfect.”

Jamie didn’t believe that. Kyle’s children were often on edge around her and she had no idea why.

She turned onto Stella’s block, then frowned at the sight of Dougal leaving Stella’s house. He didn’t notice her car as she pulled to a stop by an eight-foot tall cedar hedge. He just glanced at his watch, got in his SUV and took off in the opposite direction, toward Driftwood Lane.

She wondered what he’d been doing here until she realized, of course he would visit Stella—she was the closest he had to family in Twisted Cedars now.

Except for her.

And she hadn’t exactly made him feel welcome, had she?

Suddenly the throbbing heat of her self-righteous anger dissipated, leaving her hollow inside. Dougal seemed so alone. So unhappy. She was reminded of how depressed she’d been in the first months after Mom died. She still missed her mother, sometimes with a physical force that could snatch away her breath. But having let go of the worst of her grieving meant she could recognize it when she saw it in others.

“Who is that man?” Cory asked.

“He’s my brother. I guess he didn’t see me.”

“Is he coming to the wedding, after all?”

Cory must have heard her father predict that he wouldn’t. “I’m not sure,” She made herself smile. “But speaking of the wedding, shouldn’t we go inside and try on our dresses?”

That was all the encouragement Cory needed. Quickly she unsnapped her seatbelt and jumped out of the car, running so she could be the first to knock on the door.

It turned out that the dresses fit perfectly. While Cory was in the bedroom, changing back into her regular clothes, Stella said quietly. “You just missed your brother. He popped in to say hello.”

“I saw him leaving.”

“Did you two make peace?”

So Dougal had told Stella they had argued. “I was still in my car. He didn’t notice me. He seemed preoccupied.”

“Dougal always did spend too much time living inside his head. I guess that’s what makes him such a good writer.”

“Have you read his books?”

Stella nodded. “Haven’t you?” As she zipped a fabric bag over Cory’s dress, Jamie did the same with her gown.

“Yes. But if he wasn’t my brother, I wouldn’t. They’re pretty dark.”

“He says he’s working on a new one. He’s planning on renting the Hammond cottage on the Old Forestry Road and writing it here.”

“Really?” Maybe he hadn’t come to town for her wedding, after all. Maybe it had been about his book all along. She wondered what grisly serial murderer he was writing about this time. “Why would he want to rent the Hammond cottage? It’s five miles from town and he could have the trailer for free.”

“Knowing Dougal, I’d say he prefers the isolation.”

Or maybe he still hadn’t gotten over the humiliation of growing up in a trailer park. Jamie frowned, her annoyance at her brother mounting again. “I guess he must be rich now. He can afford to stay wherever he wants.”

“Hm,” Stella said noncommittally as she put away her measuring tape. Her sewing room, like the rest of her home, was meticulously clean and organized. “Has he talked to you about his new book? He had some questions about Shirley Hammond, the old town librarian. I was wondering if she had anything to do with the reasons he’s planning to stay.”

“All we’ve talked about so far is my wedding—which he disapproves of, by the way.”

“He probably feels it’s his role to protect you. Especially now that your mother’s gone.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” But protect her from what? He couldn’t seriously think Kyle would hurt her. She didn’t want to think ill of her brother, but it was almost as if he’d come back just to stir up trouble.

now that she was
in the midst of it, Charlotte wondered why she’d felt guilty about having dinner with Dougal. He’d barely spoken to her since they’d met at Doris’s Fish Shack on the wharf. And since their meals had been served, he hadn’t looked up from his plate.

She flaked off a piece of her trout. The food was delicious and fresh, as usual. Too bad she couldn’t enjoy it.

She’d canceled her usual Friday plans with Wade for this. She’d called him earlier, and as she’d expected, he hadn’t been upset. “Having a busy day?” she’d asked.

“Oh, you know, the usual excitement. Just finished approving a new pump grinder for the jail sewer system.”

“Who knew a sheriff’s job was so glamorous?”

He’d chuckled. “How about you? Anything earth-shattering happen at the library?”

She’d had to take a deep breath. “Not quite earth-shattering, but interesting. I’ve been helping Dougal Lachlan with the research for his new book.”

“Really?”

“He’s planning to write it here, in Twisted Cedars, so he’s looking for a place to rent. He’s asked to see the Librarian Cottage. In fact, he wants me to show it to him tonight. Would you mind?”

“Not at all. Do you want to grab a bite, first?”

“Actually Dougal suggested stopping at the Fish Shack on our way out of town...”

Wade had been silent a moment, digesting all that. “Hope he doesn’t go running when he sees how dilapidated the old place is.”

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” she’d promised, ringing off, and feeling marginally less guilty about spending her evening with another man.

Now all she felt was a growing sense of resentment.

“We might as well have eaten separately if you were planning to be silent for the entire meal.”

Dougal finally looked at her. “Sorry. I’m not used to having company when I eat.”

She didn’t know if she could believe that. He lived in New York City, after all. “You must go out to restaurants with your friends.”

“You’re presuming I have any.”

“You don’t?”

He sighed. “I’m a solitary sort. When I go out, it’s usually to a bar. Noisy places bars. Not much conversation required.”

“Required for what?”

His eyebrows went up. He looked amused. “A little action.”

Of course. Though she could feel her cheeks warming, she forced herself to keep meeting his gaze. “Don’t you have to talk to these women in the morning?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Her cheeks burned hotter. She wondered what it would be like to meet someone like Dougal in a bar, to go home with him and have sex with him. One thing she was pretty sure about. The sex would not be comfortable and sweet, the way it was with Wade.

“Isn’t it awkward, having sex with someone you’ve only just met?” She didn’t know where she was finding the nerve to have this conversation. But at least she was no longer feeling bored and neglected.

“That’s what the alcohol is for.” Dougal touched her hand. “You’re pretty innocent for a woman your age, aren’t you?”

“Not so innocent. It’s just—things like that don’t happen to me at the Linger Longer.”

“Maybe if you lingered just a little longer, they would.”

His words weren’t meant to be flirtatious...or were they? The heat she’d felt in her face turned into a different kind of hot, and she found herself imagining Dougal touching more than her hand. Maybe her knee, under the table.

She forced another bite of the trout into her mouth. But oddly, now that she’d finally engaged Dougal in a conversation, she was no longer interested in food.

* * *

After dinner they got into Dougal’s car and Charlotte gave instructions to the cottage. He asked her questions about the place, while keeping his eyes on the road. Had she considered how much rent she was going to charge? What about utilities? And a damage deposit?

Charlotte replied, giving little thought to her answers. She felt...flustered. A little embarrassed at having initiated such an intimate conversation earlier. And a little aroused, too. Why should dark, moody Dougal Lachlan have this effect on her?