Suddenly One Summer (15 page)

“Some think that ghosts are spirits trapped between this world and the next, with unfinished business. Others believe that all who die go to heaven and become angels. Sometimes they come back because the people they love need something from them: a message, a sign, guidance.” Henry shrugged. “Who’s to say?”

“It’s all a lot of nonsense,” Reid said, knowing he
was trying to convince himself as much as he was the old man.

“If you thought that, you wouldn’t still be talking to me.”

“Well, I’m done,” Reid said as he got to his feet. “Thanks for setting me up with your grandson.”

“You’re welcome. You know, Mr. Tanner, maybe the story you’re meant to tell isn’t the one you’re chasing.”

Reid had had the same thought. Maybe he was seeing Allison because she wanted him to make amends by saving another woman the way he couldn’t save her.

Maybe that’s what he wanted to do, too.

As Jenna walked into the town square with Lexie in the late afternoon, her connection to Rose Littleton made her view the town a little differently. If her suspicions were true about her mother being Rose Littleton’s child, then Angel’s Bay was where her grandmother had spent all of her life. It might have been where her mother would have lived if she hadn’t been adopted.

It still bothered Jenna that she didn’t know what her mother had known about her birth. But those answers would have to wait until they were free of Brad, until she had an opportunity to speak to her father and to other relatives who might be able to fill in the blanks. In the meantime…

She glanced around the square. A community quilting bee was in full swing. Five large frames had been set up with groups of women seated around the edges, working on various quilts. Lexie was called over to join a kid’s table by one of her friends, while Jenna saw Kara Lynch waving her over.

She said hello, and the next thing she knew, someone was getting up and she was being urged to take the seat next to Kara’s.

“I shouldn’t be sitting here,” Jenna said quickly. “I don’t know how to quilt.”

“So you’ll learn.” Kara handed her a needle and thread. “We’ll start with the basics. See the little hole in the needle? Put the thread through there.”

Jenna grinned. “Well, I know how to do that.” Kelly had gone through an embroidery phase and had occasionally let Jenna hold the hoop and put some stitches in.

“Good,” Kara said with a smile. “Do that, and then I’ll show you the next step.”

“I don’t want to mess this up,” Jenna said. “Aren’t these quilts going to be on sale?”

“Yes, they are. Every year, in honor of the town’s birthday, we remake the original quilt. We also make five other designs that are part of the Angel’s Bay quilt line and sold all over the world.”

“Which is why I need to give up my seat to someone who knows what they’re doing.” Jenna started to rise, but Kara put her hand on her arm and smiled.

“The quilting bee is about more than just making quilts. It’s community and tradition. It’s what connects us to each other, and to the past and the future.”

Kara’s words rang through Jenna’s heart, reminding her of the link she’d never expected to find and which now seemed to appear wherever she went. Kara’s family traced their family tree back to the
shipwreck. How odd to think that Jenna’s family tree might go back just as far, perhaps even to the central figure of the wreck, the baby Gabriella.

Jenna’s gaze drifted to the center of the quilt, to the white fabric square symbolizing the baby’s bonnet, to the angel wing design representing the baby’s birthmark, the miracle of her survival. Had Kelly known the legend? Had she believed that somehow Angel’s Bay would save her and Lexie as well? It was a fanciful thought, but one Jenna couldn’t discount, now that she was starting to believe that her blood-line ran straight back to this town, to this quilt, to this pattern of connecting squares that linked all of the survivors together with one story—a story that had yet to be fully told.

“Are you all right, Jenna?” Kara asked. “You seem lost in thought.”

“Just thinking about the history of this town. I always lived in a big city, where people didn’t know their neighbors and didn’t care. It’s strange to think of how so many of you are tied to each other and to those who came before you, and how it’s all represented here in this quilt.” She fought back the urge to share her own personal link. She couldn’t reveal her connection to Rose Littleton while she was living a lie.

Kara smiled at her. “I think you’re getting hooked, Jenna. This quilt always works its magic on whoever sits down with it. It draws you into the world and won’t let go. Don’t be surprised if once you start quilting, you don’t want to stop. Quilting gets in your blood.”

“That’s right, dear,” an older woman on Jenna’s other side said. “I remember when I first came to Angel’s Bay forty-two years ago. I was twenty years old at the time. I’d never done a stitch in my life, but I fell in love with quilting.” She gave Jenna a wrinkly smile. “I’m Dolores Cunningham.”

“She fell in love with Preston Cunningham, too,” an older woman from across the table interjected. “Dolores wanted to impress Preston’s mother by making her a quilt. That’s why she worked so hard to learn how to do it. I’m Margaret Hill, by the way. My friends call me Maggie.”

“It worked, too,” Dolores told Jenna. “Preston’s mother didn’t like me at first. She thought I was a big-city girl out to seduce her son. I won her over with that quilt. I convinced her I was planning to stay, and that I’d fit in perfectly with the family. Preston asked me to marry him the next day, and I said yes.”

“But she divorced him three years later,” Maggie put in. “You always leave that out, Dolores.”

“True, but I still love quilting,” Dolores said with a laugh. She gave Jenna a mischievous smile. “Men come and go. Quilts are forever. That’s what I always say.”

As Jenna listened to the two older women chat, she wondered if they’d known Rose Littleton, if they’d been friends with her grandmother. She wanted to ask them questions, wanted to know everything. But if she started talking about Rose being her grandmother, she’d draw too much attention to herself.

Jenna focused her attention back on the needle in her hand. She finished threading it and then held it up, feeling a very minor triumph. “You’re not going to actually make me do something with this now, are you, Kara?”

“Yes, you’re going to hand stitch the back and front of the quilt together.”

Jenna gave her a dubious look. “Sure I am.”

Kara laughed. “It’s easy. You just put the needle through here, then pull it up again, like so,” she said, demonstrating. “Now you try it.”

Jenna did as Kara instructed, pleased when the stitches began to take shape in an even manner. Maybe she could do this. She concentrated hard with each insertion of the needle, praying that she wouldn’t screw up.

“Don’t worry so much,” Kara said with a laugh. “Good grief. You’re holding the needle so tightly your hand is turning white.”

Jenna lifted her gaze to Kara’s. “This is way out of my comfort zone.”

“That’s a good thing. Quilts aren’t about perfection,” Kara said. “They’re made with love.”

“But these will be sold. The customers expect perfection, or they’ll want their money back.”

“Hand stitching is never perfect. It’s human. Maybe that sounds silly and old-fashioned, but my grandmother taught me that each stitch is a personal mark, a piece of history passed along from one generation to the next. People who buy handmade quilts
enjoy knowing that they were made in a personal way by humans, not machines.”

Jenna couldn’t quite grasp the idea that perfection wasn’t important. Perfection had been the goal she’d strived for her entire life. She’d spent ten hours a day practicing the piano in her quest to be perfect. And it wasn’t just her own expectations she’d had to meet, but those of her father, and her teachers, and later the audience and the reviewers. The concept of imperfection being acceptable seemed completely wrong. But she did relax her fingers as she pulled the needle through the fabric.

“That’s better,” Kara encouraged.

“Thanks. You’re a patient teacher,” Jenna said. “I suspect you’ll be a great mother.”

A pleased light entered Kara’s eyes. “I hope so. I had a little scare last night, and it made me realize again how very, very much I want this baby to be born healthy.” She put a hand to her abdomen and gave a caressing stroke.

“Is everything okay?” Jenna asked with concern.

“Charlotte—Dr. Adams said I’m fine. The baby is the right size, the heartbeat is strong and steady, so it’s all good. It was probably just a cramp.” Kara paused, her expression contemplative. “Do you ever get the feeling when things are really good that something bad is about to happen, because you’re just not that lucky?”

“I think it’s normal to be nervous when you’re pregnant,” Jenna answered.

“Were you nervous when you had Lexie?”

Jenna hated lying to Kara; the people in Angel’s Bay were so nice, so generous with their friendship. “I think we always worry about our kids being all right, even if they’re in the womb. Are you sure I’m doing this right?” Jenna asked, pointing to her stitches.

“Yes, that’s exactly right. And thanks for the reassurance. I hate sounding so paranoid. I’ve had this weird feeling lately. It’s silly. I don’t know how Colin puts up with me, but he’s been great. He’s an incredible man. I know he’ll be a wonderful father.” She shook her head with a little laugh. “So my nerves are probably just hormones, right?”

“Probably,” Jenna agreed, but as she gazed around the square, she couldn’t shake her own bad feelings. There were so many strangers in town. If someone was watching her, she wouldn’t have any idea. Then again, there was safety in numbers. No one could hurt her or Lexie here in the middle of a quilting bee. It was when she was home alone that she really had to worry.

She knew that Reid was right about not being able to stay hidden forever. Sooner or later Brad would find them, and she had to be prepared to fight him. It wouldn’t be easy, because he was Lexie’s father. In the eyes of the law, Brad was an innocent man, a victim of a horrible crime. She could end up not only as a kidnapper, but also a murder suspect. Brad could paint a picture of sisterly rivalry. He could claim she came into the house and killed Kelly.

And how could she refute his accusations? She knew so little about her sister’s life. She needed to know a lot more, and with Reid’s help, she hoped, she’d find the ammunition she needed. Then she could go on the attack.

Reid stared at the computer screen. The image of Kelly Winters gazed back at him, and he felt as if he was looking at Lexie. Mother and daughter shared a striking resemblance, something Jenna should have considered when she’d run. She could have dyed Lexie’s hair brown; that might have helped. Then he remembered Lexie proudly stating that she looked just like her mommy, and he suspected that Jenna hadn’t been able to take that away from the little girl.

He’d gone through the online archives of every newspaper and media outlet that had covered the death of Kelly Winters, wife of police officer Bradley Winters, and he now had a few more facts. On Friday, April 12, at four o’clock in the afternoon, Brad Winters had come home from work to find his house ransacked and his wife dead on the kitchen floor. She’d been stabbed repeatedly. According to Brad, his daughter, Caroline, had gone to spend the weekend with a relative in Maine and, thankfully, had not been home at the time of the attack.

So Lexie was really Caroline. And Jenna was Juliette Harrison, a renowned pianist who had played with every major orchestra in the world. Her father, Damien Harrison, was a famous conductor. The two
were supposedly residing in London at the time of the attack, although several papers alleged that Juliette was in rehab after a drug overdose had made her collapse onstage before a concert in Vienna.

That gave him pause. Jenna certainly hadn’t mentioned a drug addiction, although she had glossed over some sort of mini-crisis. Still, drugs didn’t ring true. There had to be another explanation.

Turning his attention away from Jenna, he focused on Brad Winters. He’d found several photos of Brad, including one taken about three weeks before the murder. Brad had been hailed as a hero by a local woman he’d saved from a carjacking while off duty. Although Brad’s face was partially covered by the hand he’d put up to ward off photographers, Reid could see that Brad Winters was a big man with a strong, sturdy build, a square face, military haircut, and a serious expression. More important, he was a hero. No wonder Kelly didn’t think anyone would believe he was beating his wife. But was that all that had been going on?

Reid had searched for biographical information on Brad Winters but came up with only limited facts. It didn’t appear that anyone knew much about him before he’d joined the police force. The thing that puzzled him the most was why Brad hadn’t raised the alarm that Lexie was missing. He knew she wasn’t with relatives. If he was the killer, there was no other intruder. So why not report Lexie’s absence? The only answer Reid could come up with was that Brad didn’t want anyone to find Lexie.
Either Brad knew that Lexie was with Jenna, or he knew that Lexie had witnessed her mother’s murder and he didn’t want her to be interrogated. Or maybe it was both.

Reid picked up his phone and called Pete. It was risky, but he knew he could trust Pete. And he needed a middleman to get some information for him.

“McAvoy,” Pete answered. “You better tell me you have the story done, Reid.”

“Almost. I just finished an interview with our young filmmakers.”

“Good. Finally some progress. Is that it?”

“No, I need a favor.”

Pete gave a heavy sigh. “I already did you a favor. I got you a paying gig.”

“I need information on a Massachusetts cop by the name of Bradley Winters and a murder investigation that took place at his home a little over two months ago. The wife, Kelly Winters, was killed during an alleged home burglary.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Whatever you can get. I was thinking you might ask Stan,” Reid said, referring to a PI he and Pete had both used over the years. “But you can’t tell him it’s for me.”

“Murder, Reid? I think I liked it better when you were retired from hard news.”

“You’re the one who’s been telling me to get back into the game,” Reid reminded him.

“Why can’t you call Stan yourself?”

“I don’t want the inquiry traced to me.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Pete said. “But Stan’s money is coming out of your paycheck. This doesn’t involve a female, does it?”

“Two of them.”

“Great. Double trouble. I should have known.”

“I’ve got everything under control,” Reid said.

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Just get me the info. Oh, and I need it yesterday.”

“Of course you do. I’ll trade you the info for my angel article.”

“You’ll get your angels, don’t worry.” Reid hung up the phone, far more interested in a devil by the name of Brad Winters.