Butterfly Cove (16 page)

She stood for a long time in the silent attic, feeling the cold outline of the key dig into her fingers. It dug in harder and harder until she gritted her teeth and felt the pain grow, but even then Olivia couldn’t relax her grip.

Something felt wrong.

She walked downstairs, back to the sunny kitchen and her handbag with the cell phone. She dialed.

“Summer Island Bank. May I help you?”

“I hope you can. I have a safe-deposit box at the bank. I wanted to check your banking hours today.”

“Today is our late day. You can come until seven forty-five. Be sure to bring your key. If you don’t have your key, we can’t open the vault.”

“Oh, I have my key.” Olivia hesitated. “It’s been a while, so I can’t remember your sign-in process. Do I need identification?”

“You’ll have to sign in and show an ID. Your signature will have to match the signature card, too. This will be done in the presence of a bank representative. After that, you have as much time to access your box as you require.”

This was bad news. Olivia knew she wasn’t a signatory, so they wouldn’t let her in to open the box. There had to be a perfectly normal reason that the account had never turned up before this. Probably her father had just forgotten. Probably the bank records were incomplete.

But as she hung up the phone, a little voice kept whispering that banks do not make mistakes and that her father had not made a mistake either. He had meant to keep this box secret.

For the life of her, Olivia couldn’t figure out why.

She sat in the quiet kitchen, the key cold in her fingers. She heard the sound of her pulse and the beat of her heart. She told herself to stay calm, that there had to be a good reason her father had never mentioned this key or the box.

Fortunately, one person might have answers for her. She dialed the number of Sawyer Sullivan’s longtime business adviser, Martin Eaglewood, an island native who had been a friend of her father’s as long as Olivia could remember.

He answered the phone on the first ring. “Livie, how are you doing? I haven’t heard from you in weeks. I’m hoping you’re calling to take me up on that offer of lunch. It’s been too long.”

“Lunch would be wonderful, Martin.” Olivia kept her voice calm and upbeat. “You name the date. We’re fairly busy with the final repairs on the Harbor House, but I can work around my schedule.”

“Everything okay there? Al at the hardware store says you’ve spent a lot of money on repairs.”

No secrets in a small town,
Olivia thought. “Everything is on schedule. Actually, I was calling about my father’s financial records.”

“Of course. What can I do to help?”

“I just wondered if you had found any indication that he had additional accounts? Or maybe he had a safe-deposit box somewhere? Is there anything that has not shown up before now?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve been through all our correspondence and all the documents that we found at the bank. He had one safe-deposit box at the bank, and you were there when we cleared it out. Why do you ask?”

Olivia squeezed the key, hearing the loud hammer of her pulse. She felt like a traitor, but she couldn’t seem to trust her father’s executor or anyone else right now. “I always thought there were more documents somewhere. I figured I should ask you.”

“Well, I’m glad you got that off your chest. But there are no other accounts or bank boxes. You can be very certain that if I had found anything I would have contacted you immediately.” The silence stretched out for long moments. “When you were going through the house, did you find any papers or things that your father had left for you?”

It was such an innocent question. There was no reason for Olivia to feel wary in answering it. “No, nothing at all, Martin.”

Her father’s adviser cleared his throat.

“Is there something else I need to know?”

“I’m afraid...your father owed people money. Only four. It’s nothing major, Olivia. There was a grocery account. He had a small tab running at the café downtown. He was also making payments on a boat that he was renting.”

“A boat? He never mentioned that to me.”

“I just heard about it this week. I was going to call you. I thought you and I might go over and have a look. Maybe—well, he might have left something there.”

Olivia felt the cold pressure of the key in her fingers. Would Martin have really called her? Or would he have gone to check the boat himself?

Olivia hated the way her thoughts were running, but she couldn’t stop seeing shadows. “That sounds like a good idea. If you’re free, why don’t we go there first thing tomorrow. Where is it?”

“I’ll have my secretary email you all the information. It’s about a half hour up the coast. I’ll check and see when they open. We can meet there. Then perhaps you’ll let me take you to breakfast after that?”

“Of course. I’ll watch for the email. I’m busy later in the day, so I’d like to do it as early as possible.”

After he hung up, Olivia saw the email from his office and checked the location of the dock, which was about thirty miles to the north. She dialed the management office to check the hours.

Martin had said that he would meet her there at eight-thirty, but Olivia found out that the office opened at seven-thirty. It was probably nothing, but she wanted to be there when the office first opened.

A sudden growling in her stomach reminded Olivia that she hadn’t eaten anything all day. Though she had no real appetite, she went down to the kitchen and heated some soup in the microwave. But when the timer went off, she made no move to eat. She simply stood at the big kitchen window, looking out at the harbor.

The house seemed too big and too quiet. Loneliness clung to every room. She looked down at the key she had found and wondered if there was some way to work around normal channels to view the contents of the box. At this point she didn’t even know if it belonged to her father. She doubted it belonged to a prior owner of the house, since her father had lived here for almost forty years. And that narrowed down the list of possibilities.

She wanted to pick up the phone and call Grace or Caro or Jilly, laying out the new developments and asking for their advice. But they were all too busy with their own lives and problems.

Olivia turned away, her soup forgotten. She had no appetite. She wanted to crawl into bed and pull the blankets over her head, but the worries grew and Olivia recognized the first stages of the old attacks that had crippled her since elementary school.

The sudden cold sweats. The shaking hands.

The looming sense of failure, impossible to escape.

Olivia closed her eyes and locked her hands together, holding back the bad memories and the fear and all the ways that she could fail in the future. She had been plagued by panic attacks since she was fourteen. Now she was learning to understand their patterns and to deal with them.

She took slow breaths, forcing out the bad memories. She repeated out loud all the things she loved in her life and all the things she had to be grateful for. She summoned up memories of her friends and pictures of the beautiful yarn shop and new café at the Harbor House. She pictured a full parking lot and happy shoppers.

It was all going to be fine, she told herself, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. The key fell onto the table in front of her, glinting in the sunlight, but Olivia felt stronger now, able to beat back the demons of fear.

Sharp knocking at the back door made her jump. She glanced back to see who was there.

A lanky figure was shadowed against the stained glass door. Olivia knew only one man who was that tall.

And because she was so relieved to see him, because she wanted badly to discuss what she had found and ask for help, Olivia forced herself to stay right where she was. “Go away, Rafe.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T
HERE WAS NO
sign of apology in Rafe’s eyes as he stood in the doorway, only concern. “Jilly gave me the key. She said I should swing by.”

Olivia shrugged. “There was no need. I—I’m fine. Just busy.”

Rafe crossed the room slowly, looking around the kitchen. “You’re sure everything is okay?”

“Everything is
fine.
” Olivia shoved her hands in her pockets, praying for him to leave. “But I’m cooking.”

“You are?”

“That’s right.” Olivia backed away. She knew her face was pale and she could feel the sweat on her forehead as the anxiety began to return in slow, insidious waves. “I’m—okay, Rafe. But I’m busy. Cooking. I think you need to go.”

“I don’t smell anything cooking. There’s just a single bowl of soup on the counter and I’m pretty sure that came from a can because it’s what I have every night.”

“Stop it, Rafe. Just leave.” Olivia pressed a shaking hand to the wall, needing the support. Why wouldn’t he go away? She needed to focus before she was caught by a full-blown anxiety attack.

“You don’t look so good. Why don’t you sit down? I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

When he walked toward her, lean and tall in his uniform, sunlight struck the badge at his chest. Olivia heard the creak of leather at his belt and knew that he was carrying a service weapon.

And though it was the last thing she wanted, Olivia was comforted by his presence, anchored by his quiet strength.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m not feeling very well.” She spoke stiffly. “I have a pill I should take when this...happens.” Her hands shook slightly as she leaned over the counter for her bag. She hadn’t really told anyone about the panic attacks—and the medication she had started taking to help deal with them.

Rafe’s fingers curved around hers. He held her shoulders gently and guided her to the chair at the window. “I’ll get the bag and the water. I’ll put hot water on for tea. Shouldn’t you eat something when you take medicine?”

Food was so far from Olivia’s mind that she laughed. “Maybe later. But tea sounds good. It’s in the red canister next to the teapot.”

“Got it.” He moved with quiet efficiency, and though the kitchen was not his own, he seemed to be at ease. While the water bubbled, Olivia focused on her breathing exercises and watched gray waves rise lazily and then crash on the beach.

She began to feel better. Her hands slowly unclenched. The thunder of her heartbeat grew quieter. She hadn’t even taken her pill yet, and she had held back the attack. The knowledge made her stronger than a whole bottle of pills.

“Tea’s ready. I found something called Raspberry Herbal Zinger.” Rafe smiled wryly. “Here’s your water and the bottle I found in your purse.” He pulled out a chair and sat beside her. There was no judgment or curiosity in his face. He was simply calm. Simply a friend helping a friend in difficulty.

Olivia remembered that he had always known how to keep his head in the middle of a storm, even as a boy. People remembered Rafe for his misbehavior and his bad-boy charm, but she remembered him for his strength. He had always been a good listener when few other people in her life bothered.

She took the pill and then added two spoonfuls of sugar to her tea. “My other vice, along with the caramel apples. I love dark sweet tea.” She cut off her nervous chatter and then faced him directly. “You’re not going to ask?”

They both knew that she was referring to whatever it was that left her white-faced and sweating, her hands clenched on the table.

Rafe frowned at Olivia’s tense fingers. “No, I’m not going to ask. I figured I would just make you tea and we could sit here. If we talk, that’s fine. If we don’t talk, that’s fine, too.”

The way he said it, Olivia knew he meant it. He was comfortable in his own skin. He could sit here in the quiet house and say nothing and it wouldn’t bother him a bit. How many men could you say that about?

The fact that he didn’t barrage her with questions gave her the strength to face him. To really see him.

And to allow him to really see her.

“I get them. Anxiety attacks. I’ve had them...since I was fourteen. Nobody knows,” she said slowly. “Not even Jilly. My father sent me to a psychiatrist up in Seattle. All he wanted to do was give me medication. I took the pills for a week and flushed the rest down the toilet. They didn’t help the anxiety. All they did was make me feel weird and disconnected. I told the doctor that, but he didn’t seem to care.”

Rafe sat silently for long moments. “And so you dealt with it yourself. You’ve been dealing with this yourself all these years?”

Olivia nodded. “I never told my father they were worse. It wouldn’t have made any difference.”

Rafe poured his own cup of tea. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t take them if you need them and if they help you. But it doesn’t sound like that particular set of pills was doing you any good.” He added sugar to his tea, not looking at Olivia. “Jilly says sugar and lemon ruin Earl Gray. But I can’t break the habit. When I was over there in the field, I could be gone for days. And I always thought about hot tea. Good tea, made with lemon and sugar, just like this. It seemed like an impossible luxury, but I kept it in my mind, telling myself I would get through everything and then I would have tea anytime I wanted. No more shouting. No more bullets or IEDs.” His eyes darkened. “Strange what we fixate on to get us through hard times,” he said quietly.

Olivia watched him squeeze more lemon into the tea and stir it slowly. His fingers were long and agile. He moved them slowly back and forth over the rim of the teacup, and the sight made something flutter in her chest.

She cleared her throat. “You’re in uniform. Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?”

“I am on duty. I just swung by to make sure everything was okay here.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I didn’t call in with any problems.”

“Serve and protect, Livie. Jilly told me to check in on you. I try to drive down every street in town at least once a day. You know Mrs. Granger over by the bank? I found her trying to climb a tree to get her cat down. She’s eighty if she’s a day. She could have broken every bone in her body. I finally got the cat down—and I still have the claw marks to show for it,” he said dryly.

“A dangerous assignment.”

“You’re damn right. Yesterday I drove by the old beach road and found four high school kids down there drinking and necking. One of the girls’ fathers showed up and he was carrying a gun. That wasn’t so amusing. I managed to talk them all out of doing something they would regret. Gave them the name of a family therapist, and I told them the visit wasn’t optional. They would all go or they would be looking at the inside of a jail cell.”