Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense) (21 page)

Sympathetically,
Ginger told her again not to worry so.  The last thing she was going to do was
point out that Hazel should just call herself.  It would only upset her sister
more.  Especially since Ginger knew the truth: because of what had happened in
the past, Hazel could not bear to court any police attention whatsoever. 

Strangely,
Hazel was even more scared of change than she was of the police.  A stranger
docked so close by, for an open-ended period of time, someone who had not grown
up here, who had no ostensible business here, who didn't
belong
here—well, ultimately, that was the kind of anomaly that Hazel's anxiety would
latch onto.  It was the kind of change from the norm that Hazel would rail
against, irrationally even. 

And
surely, she ascribed far more curiosity to this man, Michael, than he truly
possessed.  Why on earth would this young man care about the family history of
two old ladies next door? 

“Ginger,
did you hear me?”

“Yes,
yes, now sit down,” Ginger coaxed, “I'll make you some Earl Grey with lemon
peel, would you like that?”

“I
want you to call the police,” Hazel reiterated, her voice a bit wobbly.  “Tell
them that man is presenting a disturbance.”

But
he's not
, Ginger wanted to say.  But it was easier to accommodate.  There had
been a time when Ginger wanted to be free of Hazel's domineering ways, when
Ginger had attempted to strike out on her own... 

She
shook the memory away now.  It was so long ago and had been fraught with so
many unhappy revelations, it wasn't worth remembering.

“All
right,” Ginger finally agreed, “I will call first thing in the morning.  How's
that?”  For a moment, Hazel's eyes lit up like a child's and Ginger patted her
shoulder.  “Just sit down at Mama's vanity and I will bring you a nice mug of
tea.  I'll brush your hair while you drink it.” 

Suddenly
there was a creaking noise.  It seemed to come from the third floor, the attic
room above them.  Alarmed, Hazel's eyebrows shot up. 

“It's
just the house settling,” Ginger assured her and left the room.  On her way
down the hall, she considered how different things would be if Walt Baker were
still here.  If he hadn't disappeared, well... 

Surely,
Hazel would not need Ginger the way she did now.

A
short time later, Nicole had changed into striped pajama pants and a green tee
shirt.  She got under the covers next to Michael.  Setting sex aside, she had
invited him to sleep over.  He was on his side of the bed now, wearing only
boxer-briefs. 

“Cute
shirt,” he remarked, eying the big pink heart decal that spanned her breasts. 

“Thanks,”
she said and leaned over to kiss him goodnight.  The kiss was soft and
enticing, and could have led to more, before she gently pulled back. 

“You
sure you want me to stay?” he confirmed. 

“Of
course.”

“Okay. 
‘Night, Nicole.”  He slid deeper into the covers as she flicked off the light. 

“Goodnight.” 
In the darkness, she smiled to herself and added, “Don’t roll too far away.”

***

While
Nicole slept, Michael steadily shifted his body to the edge of the bed and
peeled back the covers.  Once he was on his feet, he glanced back. 

She
was sleeping soundly, her even breathing like the faintest hum of a radiator or
something from his memory. 

Furtively,
he crept downstairs and went straight to the library.  He knew exactly where he
was going even before he switched on the light—back to the seascape he had
started to examine when Puddle had pulled him away.  Now Michael reached for
the painting, carefully detaching it from its hook.  This could be it, the
measurements and dimensions were right—

Gingerly,
he ran his finger along the back, feeling for the slight catch where the heavy
brown paper had puckered on the seam.  The puckering was an indication that the
backing had been re-sealed at some point.  Michael was hoping that would leave
the backing vulnerable to being pulled back without any tearing.

Damn—it
wouldn't give. 

Perhaps
the puckered opening was the result of age or humidity instead of tampering. 
Even with Michael's prodding, the rest of the paper backing wouldn't budge.  He
had no choice but to tear it.  Slowly, deliberately, he ripped it away from the
thick frame in one straight line.  Then another tear along the bottom, making
an L.  He had to shimmy the thing to loosen, but finally the painting
disconnected from its frame, fell backward and landed thickly in Michael's open
palm.  Damn, it was heavy. 

When
Michael bent his head and angled the painting to the side, he saw that it was
only half an inch thick—with no demarcation in the side edge whatsoever.  The
face of the painting was coated in an almost slippery layer of dust, signaling
that the dust was not fresh, and therefore that the seascape was not likely a
recent paint job intended to cover something else.

Cursing
his under his breath, he assembled it back together.  The scuffed remnants of
glue barely adhered the backing to the frame, but the half-ass job would have
to do.  When he hooked it back up, he gave it an extra press, flattening it to
the wall.

“Michael?”

Startled,
he looked over. 

Nicole
was in the doorway.  Smiling sleepily at him, she said, “I saw the light.  What
are you doing?”

“Hey
you,” he said, feigning a relaxed demeanor.  “I couldn't sleep, so I was
looking for another book to borrow. 

“Did
you find anything you want?”

“
Yeah
,”
he said playfully and eyed her up and down.  With a grin, she blushed. 

“I
can’t sleep either,” she said.  “Want to play Poker?”

“Sure,”
he agreed without hesitation.

“I’m
going to check on Puddle first.” 

“Okay,
but Nicole, understand that we’re gonna play for real this time.”

“Okay,”
she agreed. 

“I
mean it,” he insisted, as he followed her toward the kitchen.  “No ‘girl
discount,’ no special treatment.” 

“Uh-huh…”

“I’m
not gonna go easy on you this time.”

She
turned abruptly, causing her ponytail to flip to the side with spunk.  In that
moment, she looked like a cheerleader or something equally too upbeat and too
good for him.  Tilting her head, she assessed him.  “You know, you’re cute when
you’re trying to be scary.”

With
mock resignation, he shook his head.  “Those are fighting words, right there.”

“Let’s
play.” 

***

On the way out
the following morning, Nicole was startled to run into The Hermster on the front
porch, kneeling beside a box of tools.  “Oh, hi, Mac,” she said brightly.  It
was a cold day, but the sun cast a white light on the steps. 

“Morning,
Nicole,” he said with a folksy nod, then glanced at Michael, who was coming up
behind her. 

“This is my
friend, Michael,” Nicole said.  “Michael, this is Herman MacDonald—Mac.  He was
a friend of my aunt's.”

Instead of
shaking Michael's hand, Mac simply nodded to him, then spoke directly to
Nicole.  “I was just doing some work on the porch, like we talked about.”  By
way of demonstration, it seemed, he held up a hammer.  Funny, she hadn't heard
any hammering that morning.  As if reading her mind, Mac added, “I just got
here.”

“Okay, great. 
Thanks again.  But I feel bad because I'm heading out for a bit so I won't be
here to offer you a cold drink or a cup of coffee, something to thank you for
your troubles.”

Mac waved her off
as though such amenities were crazy talk.  “It's the least I can do.”  Hmm, she
really didn't see how.  How did Mac figure that he owed her something?  The two
of them had only just met.   

“Don't be silly;
I really appreciate it,” was all she said.

“What are you
working on here, Mac?” Michael asked.

“Ah...broken
step,” he replied.  Nicole didn't want to mention the loose railing; she had
already told Mac about that and she certainly didn't want to come off like she
was nagging him.  He was doing her a favor, after all. 

Gently, Michael
touched Nicole's waist.  “Nicole, you should have told me something was broken
on the porch.  I would have taken care of it for you.”

“I didn't
realize—apparently Mac had been doing some repairs for my aunt when...”  She
let her words trail off for obvious reasons. 

With a nod,
Michael said, “If there's anything else, let me know, though, okay?” 

Call it wild
infatuation, but her heart skipped in a way that Mac's offer didn't inspire.  

“Between you
guys, my dad, and my friends—I am being more taken care of than any girl
deserves.”

Mac smiled at her
and said, “Can't blame anyone for that.  You're very daughterly.” 

The comment
surprised her.  Tilting her head, she asked, “What do you mean, 'daughterly'?”

Averting his
eyes, Mac shrugged.  Took a cloth out of his overall pocket and wiped down his
hammer.  “Just that there's something about you—makes men want to protect you,
look out for you.”

“Mac...!”  Nicole
smiled and touched her palm to her heart.  “That's really sweet.”  She was
genuinely touched.  For some reason, it seemed to be a uniquely special
compliment.  She glanced up at Michael, whose smile was tight.  He appeared
uncomfortable somehow. 

Suddenly Mac
dropped his hammer, sending it clacking down the steps.  He scrambled to catch
up with it.  “Well, we won't keep you,” Michael said, guiding Nicole past Mac. 

Turning, Nicole
waved goodbye; Mac saluted back and eyed Michael almost warily. 

Men were so
weird.  If they weren't staring each other down for no apparent reason, they
were bonding instantly against
Lifetime
.  Where was the happy medium? 

Either way,
Nicole was in a hopeful, blissful mood this morning.  If she were as cynical
Cameron, or as sarcastic as Alyssa, she would probably say that it was all too
good to be true.

Over the next few
hours, the sun's umbrella had snapped shut and a biting wind had ripped down
from the sky, with a gush of cold rain in its clutches.  The thunder made a
sound like the sky had opened up. 

Nicole sat at her
usual table at Tinsdale.  The storm outside blew sheets of rain against the
window; they splashed hard then broke apart, sliding down the glass in
anguished defeat. 

As she continued
to read, she learned that the keeper of a neighboring lighthouse—called Stage
Harbor Light—hid liquor underneath the floorboards during Prohibition. 
Apparently, during an inspection of the premises, an inspector had noticed the
loose floor boards, but didn't bother to check beneath them.

A crack of
thunder sounded as Nicole turned the page. 

She gasped. 

The letter 'L'
was written in purple pencil on the margin.  Nicole skimmed the page, but
couldn't find any obvious link between the letter and the text. 

Two pages later,
she came upon the letter 'F'. 

Suddenly she was
startled by a loud
bang. 
She jumped half an inch in her chair.  The
sound had definitely come from inside the library, not outside.  When she
looked over her shoulder, she saw no one around.  It was as if a book had
dropped or maybe something heavier, like a chair.  She waited, but heard
nothing else, so she turned back to the papers in front of her. 

She was beyond
confounded by these markings, which were so clearly in her aunt's handwriting. 
They appeared random…but were they?  Nicole had assumed that Aunt Nina hadn't
even gotten this far in the research materials. 

Drumming her
fingers on the table, she deliberated for another moment before pushing out her
chair.  She was going to ask Ginger.  If anyone would know how far Aunt Nina
had gotten with the lighthouse collage, it would be one of the Bloomingdale
sisters. 

For some reason,
these letters were nagging at her—plus the two underlined passages she'd found
the other day.  There was something deliberate in these markings. 
Almost...cryptic.  It was like Nina was trying to say something—but what?  And
to whom?

On her way to the
stairs, Mac suddenly came out from an aisle of bookshelves and appeared in her
path.  “Oh!” Nicole gasped, realizing right after that perhaps she was too
jumpy today.  But still, he’d startled her.  In fact, what was he doing there
now?  The last she’d seen him he was working on repairs at the house. 

“Sorry there,
Nicole,” Mac said with almost a smile (he always appeared a bit too sad for a
full smile).  “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

“No,
no…well…actually you did.”  She tried to keep her tone light, but for some
reason, Nicole felt a little annoyed.  Or maybe just disconcerted.  Either way,
she found him less than humbly charming at this moment.  “What are you doing
here?” she asked him.