The Beekeeper's Daughter (Harlequin Super Romance) (16 page)

She didn’t sleep, of course, but forced her mind to things other than the fire—hardly a romantic end to an unbelievable night. Annie shivered, recalling the touch of Will’s hands on her skin, the taste of his mouth. He’d made love to her slowly the first time, as if every second counted. She could have lain there forever in his arms.

So what happens after tonight? After the summer? In her ideal world, he would definitely stay in Garden Valley, working at the apiary with her and her father.
Her father. Cara.

Annie sighed. Life was suddenly getting too damn complicated. Still, she wouldn’t have traded tonight for anything.

Much later, she was awakened again by Will, brushing strands of hair away from her face. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

Annie stretched and held out her arms. He grinned, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you’d better go home. The place will be crawling with people at daybreak and there is that Garden Valley Grapevine.”

She remembered Sam’s surprise when he saw her. “I think it may be too late for that anyway. I mean, my pickup with the apiary logo is sitting right next to your van.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right. But I still think—”

“I know, but first tell me about the fire. I couldn’t see much from here, but it looked as though most of the building’s frame was still standing when they were packing up their gear.”

“Waters was lucky. We were able to contain it quickly. Lucky for him he happened to be on his way home when he spotted the flames.” Will fell silent.

“What is it?” she asked.

He hesitated. “I shouldn’t really be talking about this to you, but Waters will probably be doing plenty of that himself so…”

“What?”

“He said just before he got to Henry’s place after the turn at the junction, he saw a pickup roaring up Henry’s driveway.”

“And?”

“He said it was Henry’s.”

“What would Henry be doing out at this time of night?” Then she got it.

“Oh no. He doesn’t think Henry had something to do with…that’s crazy. He’s a harmless old man.”

“There’s more.” Will sagged onto the edge of the bed. “We think the fire was started by a Molotov cocktail. You know, kerosene in a bottle with a wick? We found part of a bottle—the kind people use for homemade wine. There was a partial label on it with the name
Krause Fine Wines.
Apparently Henry bottled his own wine for years…?”

“But it doesn’t make sense, Will. What would his motive be?”

“Try a longtime feud between Sam’s father and Henry, so I’m told.”

“Sam’s father died more than a year ago and I think the hard feelings about the land sale ended long before his death.”

“Well, I don’t know all the history, but I agree that it doesn’t make sense for Henry to set fire to this place, much less his own place.”

“What do you mean? Wasn’t that the work of the arsonist?”

Will looked at her but said nothing.

“Don’t tell me you think Henry Krause—a man well into his seventies—has been running around the valley setting fires? Oh please, that’s too ridiculous to even contemplate!”

“I don’t think it, Annie. But Sam does and he’s doing a damn good job of persuading Captain Andrews and the other men that the idea is plausible.”

“Poor Henry,” she said. “You’ve got to help him, Will.”

“Help him? I’m in a bit of a jam on this one, Annie. I’m a newcomer to the valley and I think Andrews is starting to wonder about my friendship with Henry. All I can do is suggest he contact a lawyer, in case the investigation turns serious.”

“But what about the fire marshal’s report?”

“He’s talked to Andrews about both fires but apparently hasn’t had a chance to see Henry yet. Since there’s been no loss of human life, Andrews said the cases here are a low priority. So most of the investigation has been left to the captain. He’s had some training in gathering evidence and so on, but in the end, he has to hand it all over to the marshal for his analysis.”

“Whenever that happens,” she said.

“Exactly.” He yawned. “It’s almost four in the morning and our day starts in about five hours.”

“Sleep in,” she said. “I plan to. Besides, I have to drive to Shirley’s to pick up her mail. She lives just outside Essex so I might as well do some banking while I’m there.”

He nodded, rubbing his eyes, red-rimmed from smoke and soot. “Sleep would be good.”

Annie lowered her legs off the bed and sat up, smoothing her hair back with her hands. She caught him staring at her. “What is it?”

“You’re so damn beautiful. I just can’t begin to tell you what tonight meant for me.”

Annie grinned. “I think I have an inkling.”

He grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet, drawing her against his chest. He smelled sooty and sweaty, but Annie could have stayed there for hours. Finally he kissed the top of her head and said, “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“I can manage on my own.”

He tilted her head up to his, his eyes serious. “No way, Annie. I’m not letting you go home alone at this time, after what’s happened tonight. I’ll follow you in the van and make sure you get in the house safely.”

She was tempted to make light of it, but the seriousness of the night’s events were beginning to register. Returning to a dark and empty house was not something she wanted to do. She waited, perched on the picnic table, as he rolled up the blanket and sleeping bag and popped them in the van. After he slid the door closed, he came to her and touched the end of her chin with his finger.

“This isn’t the way I thought the evening would end.”

“No,” she said and glanced away. There was so much she wanted to say but nothing that didn’t seem corny or ring false. They’d made love and both enjoyed the experience. But she’d had a one-night stand once before and didn’t want another.
Maybe you ought to have considered that before jumping into bed with him.

“No regrets, I hope,” he said, his voice low.

Annie took a deep breath and turned back. “No regrets,” she echoed.
Not yet anyway.

Daybreak was peeking above the distant hills when she drove up to the apiary. Will’s van rolled to a stop behind her, but he didn’t cut the engine. Guess he’s not coming in to finish the night here, she thought. Disappointed, she snatched the key from the ignition and climbed out of the truck.

He insisted on checking the barn doors and came into the kitchen with her, pausing in the doorway while she turned on the lights upstairs. He was still standing there when she came back down. She had a feeling that if she moved close enough—kissed him—he would follow her upstairs in a heartbeat.

But she didn’t.

“Good night, Will,” she said. “Thanks for coming with me.”

He didn’t speak for a long time and Annie knew any move from either of them would break the spell. They’d be falling all over each other again, the way they had on the blanket at the campground. She knew, too, that he was thinking the same thing.

“Good night, Annie,” he replied. “Lock the door behind me.” Then he was gone.

Annie walked quickly to the door, hand on the knob, ready to call him back. Finally she locked the door and went up to bed.

H
E LEFT BEFORE
the investigating team arrived. Last night—or rather, that morning—he’d lain sleepless till dawn, wondering how to help Henry. Then he’d fallen
into a deep slumber for almost an hour, in which nightmare visions of the fire vied for attention with memories of Annie—her long slender legs wrapped around him, her full, luscious lips on his. By the time he rolled out of bed, he knew it was going to be a long day.

Fifteen minutes later, after a cold shower as a result of the power outage precipitated by the fire, Will drove up Henry’s road. The first thing he noticed was that Henry’s pickup was not in the same spot it had been when he left him after dinner last night. As he walked by it, he ducked his head to check the tires. There were chunks of mud clinging to the treads, but Henry could have picked that up anywhere. More damning were the clumps of grass.

Will surveyed the gravel driveway and the gravel road at the end of it. No grass there and not much around Henry’s yard, except for under the ash tree. He looked inside the cab. The key was still in the ignition. He wanted to reach inside and grab it, but knew he’d be in big trouble if it came out he’d been helping Henry conceal evidence. Then he thought to hell with it. He opened the door, took the key, slammed the door shut again and headed for the house.

The screen door to the kitchen was ajar. “Henry!” Will called.

There was no answer but he could see a plate and coffee cup still on the table. Maybe at the pigeon coops. He walked around the corner and saw Henry inside one of the coops, cleaning out the bird house. A wheelbar
row loaded with fresh straw was parked at the closed door of the coop. He didn’t hear the van drive up, Will thought. So he might not have heard someone drive away with his truck last night, either.

Henry happened to look his way and waved. “Come on in, but watch where you step.”

Will pushed open the wire door and gingerly stepped around the piles of droppings and soiled straw that Henry was shoveling out. The stench was almost overpowering, though it didn’t seem to bother Henry. Will breathed through his mouth.

“What do you do with all this?”

“I’ve got my own little landfill site out in the back field, but don’t let on to the authorities,” Henry said, winking.

Authorities. Yes. Get to the point, Jennings.
“Look Henry, I came by to tell you there was another fire last night.”

“Oh yes?” He didn’t look up, intent on forming another pile with the shovel.

Will waited for him to show some interest, but when he didn’t, quietly said, “At Rest Haven.”

Henry’s head came up sharply. He narrowed his eyes and repeated, “Rest Haven.”

“That’s right.”

“Huh.”

Will gave the old man another few seconds before asking, “Did you hear or see anything unusual about two this morning?”

“That the time? Nope. I was up in my bed sawing logs, as Ida Mae used to complain.”

Will wondered how to begin. Of course, he could just come out and ask Henry if he’d set the fire. But the small, frail man leaning wearily on the shovel looked incapable of making a fire in his own woodstove, let alone tossing a Molotov cocktail from a pickup. As Annie had said, the idea was absurd.

“I, uh, happened to notice your truck isn’t parked in the same place it was when I left here last night.”

Henry’s eyes darkened. “You think so?”

Will shrugged, sensing he was now in over his head metaphorically. “Look, Henry, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I have to. Someone saw your truck—at least a truck very much like yours—leaving the campground right after the fire started.”

“Why would I be driving around there in the dead of night?” Understanding crossed his face. “Ah. Someone thinks I set the fire myself. How? With my own jerry can, the way I was supposed to have set fire to my barn and pigeon coop?” His voice was angry.

“No, not a gasoline can this time. A Molotov cocktail.”

“A what? People still make those things?”

“I’m afraid so and this one was made with a wine bottle.” He paused. “A bottle used for homemade wine.”

“With one of my labels on it?”

The sadness in Henry’s voice made Will want to hug
the old man. “That’s why I asked about the truck. I noticed you left the key in it.” He held out his hand, with the key in the center of his palm.

Henry took the key with trembling fingers and tucked it into his overalls pocket.

“Do you always leave your key in the ignition?”

“Sure. Why not, way out here in the country? Saves me looking for it in the house every time I want to go into town.”

“Does anyone know you do that?” Will asked.

“Who could? It’s not as if I have any visitors here. ’Cept for you, of course.” He frowned at Will. “You don’t believe I set that fire, do you?’

Will swore under his breath, regretting having raised the matter at all. “Not for a second.” He hesitated a beat. “Do you have a—”

“Lawyer? Used to, years ago.” He kept his gaze fixed on Will. “Maybe I should get to Essex and look one up.”

“The sooner the better,” Will said. He took the shovel from Henry’s hand. “You go in and wash up. I’ll finish this and we’ll drive into town together.”

The old man didn’t say a word, but turned and shuffled toward the house. Will drove the shovel blade into the pile of straw.

A
NNIE WAS ALMOST OUT
the door the next morning when the telephone called her back. She hesitated, knowing she was already running behind schedule, but picked it up on the third ring.

When she heard her father’s voice, she sighed. This wouldn’t be a phone call she could handle in a few seconds. She wished she’d let the voice mail pick up.

“You answered pretty quick,” he said. “Thought you’d be working. It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“What’s up, Pop?” She made herself sound cheery, and knew he hated to be called Pop.

“Heard there was another fire last night.”

Sheesh, Annie thought, the grapevine is better than I thought. “How’d you hear that?”

“I was talkin’ to Arnie Harris this mornin’ and he told me. How come you didn’t tell me about old man Krause’s fire?”

Old man Krause indeed. He’s only ten years older than you are, Dad.
“There wasn’t really much to tell. The fire marshal’s official report hasn’t been filed yet.”

“Official report!” He snorted. “A child could figure
out that Henry Krause wouldn’t set fire to his own pigeon coop. Got to be that arsonist again, only this time he’s working too damn close to us. I’m coming home.”

The pulse at Annie’s temples drummed loudly. This was exactly what she’d feared. “Look, Dad, that’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous! You call looking out for my own property ridiculous?”

“Dad, the fires might not have been set by the same person. That’s why Captain Andrews hasn’t made a public announcement. He’s still collecting evidence,” she said, repeating most of what Will had told her last night.

“All the more reason to come home. Things are going haywire there in the valley. What’s happened to people these days?”

“You promised Shirley…”

“I don’t recall doing any such thing.”

There was a muffled sound and Annie could hear Jack talking to someone in the background.

He came back to the phone and, in a slightly mollified voice, said, “I’m working on that. I’ll talk to you in a couple of days.”

Mystified, Annie had to ask, “What are you saying, Dad?”

He heaved a loud sigh. “Apparently I did make some foolish promise—
when I was under the knife.
”

Annie grinned. That dig was obviously for Shirley, likely standing nearby. “I’m shipping off that order to
Harvey’s today,” she said, referring to the fine food shop in Charleston.

“Good, good. And what about that young fella?”

Young fella, as in Will? Annie felt a wickedly delicious thrill.

“Well?”

“He’s working out just fine, Dad,” Annie said. Her face heated up at the memory of last night. “Tell Shirley I’m on my way to her house to get her mail.”

“Yeah, okay. She said to open up the credit card bill and call her back to let her know the balance. I don’t know what she’s got up her sleeve,” he complained.

“Okay, Dad, will do. And you be nice to that woman, you hear? She’s a saint.”

“Humph. Talk to you later.”

Annie was shaking her head as she replaced the receiver. She hoped Shirley was going to buy something outrageously luxurious for herself.

On her way out to the truck, she paused at the door. People seldom locked up in the valley, but since the arsonist had moved closer to home, Annie decided not to take chances. She locked the door, checked that the honey barn was also locked and got into the truck. If Will arrived before she returned, he knew where to find the spare key.

She drove down to the main road, thinking of the previous night. Not the fire at the campground, but the fire Will Jennings had set. She’d tossed and turned in four hours of attempted sleep after he left. His lips and
fingers everywhere, his husky exclamation as he climaxed. Annie shivered at the mere recollection.

Annie turned onto Dashwood Side Road in the direction of Essex. When she reached the junction that would take her to Rest Haven, she braked and waited. Would she have time for a quick visit with Will? To test the post-coital waters, so to speak. She grinned. Who was she kidding? She just wanted to see the guy, to be next to him, breathing in his masculinity.

On the other hand, the place would be busy with some of the unit helping Captain Andrews search for evidence. Maybe Will would be one of them. She pictured his embarrassment if she drove up. The girlfriend dropping by the workplace thing. God, do you have it bad.

She cranked the steering wheel right, toward Essex. Her first stop was Shirley’s pretty bungalow, about half a mile out. The bungalow sat on land that used to be owned by Shirley’s parents. After they sold the family farm, they built the house as a retirement home, where they lived for several years. At the time, Shirley and her husband were living in Charleston. When he died, she moved back to her parents’ place.

Annie remembered very well the first time her father brought Shirley Yates home after they’d been seeing one another for a few weeks. She was home on spring break in her third year of college and had actually been pleased that her father was involved with a woman, having seen his loneliness whenever she was home on vacation.

Over the past few years, she’d often wondered why the two hadn’t married. But recently she figured living apart might be the trick to the success of their relationship. They each had their own separate lives but still shared one together. Not for me, she thought. I want a man who’s going to be around all the time.

The involved process of paying the apiary’s bills and updating bankbooks absorbed Annie’s morning. By the time she finished at the bank, it was almost noon and she was starving. She dropped into the new café in town for a salad before heading for the post office.

“You’ve got a parcel,” the postal clerk told Annie after she finished unloading the boxes of honey. “Just came in this morning. I’ll get it for you.”

Annie finished applying the address labels and was taking her wallet out of her purse when the clerk plopped a large brown padded envelope in front of her. “All set, then? I assume you want the receipt for these boxes.”

“Oh yes, they’ll be handy at income tax time.” Annie handed over the money, examining the envelope while waiting for change. The address was unknown, some place in Raleigh. But the name of the sender froze her to the spot.
Cara Peterson.

“Anything else?”

Annie looked up, dazed. The clerk was smiling politely. “Uh, no thanks. That’s it for today.”

She tucked the envelope under her arm and made for the door.

H
ENRY HARDLY SPOKE
all the way back from town. Will kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to fuss over the old man but worried about him all the same. He’d been subdued ever since leaving the office at the Legal Aid agency, but the lawyer had assured him he’d nothing to worry about.
So far.

The way he’d repeated those last two words was some indication of Henry’s state of mind. Or so Will figured. He’d waited in the reception area. The wait stretched to an hour. Once, bored with the limited se lection of magazines, Will paced back and forth in front of the plate glass window of the agency on the main street of Essex. He thought he saw Annie’s head in a sea of others and felt his heart pound.

She’d said she had to come to town on business. He hoped he’d bump into her later, maybe go for a long lunch somewhere cozy. But by then, he’d be driving Henry back.

The old man hadn’t wanted to stop for lunch in town, so Will drove up to a roadside hamburger stand. The guy needed some nourishment. They ate in silence, though once Henry looked slyly at Will and asked, “So you like Garden Valley?”

“Love it,” Will said over a mouthful of burger.

“People here are good people,” Henry said. “Salt of the earth. This arsonist—that’s an aberration. You gotta believe that.”

Will frowned. What was he getting at? “I can see that,” he said, waiting for some clarification.

But the old man just stared out the windshield, hamburger half-eaten on the wrapper in his lap. After a few minutes of waiting in vain, Will gathered up his garbage, packed the rest of Henry’s meal in the paper bag for his supper and started the van. By the time they pulled into Henry’s driveway, the man looked exhausted.

He helped him into the house. “Sure you don’t want me to stick around a bit longer? I could finish cleaning out the coop.”

Henry shook his head. “Too tired, son. You go see that girl of yours. Maybe she’ll persuade you to stay in the valley.”

He had a bad feeling about leaving the old man. When Henry insisted, Will quietly slipped out the kitchen door after promising to look in on him later in the day. Henry’s remark about going to see Annie—
your girl
—was the best advice he’d had in a long time.

He found her in a mess. An emotional one, he realized after a heart-stopping second. He saw her through the kitchen screen door sitting at the table. She must have heard the van drive up, but the fact that she hadn’t come to greet him was the first clue that something was wrong.

“Annie?” he asked, hesitating to simply walk right in.

She raised her head and managed a wobbly smile. “Hey,” she said.

It came out like a throaty croak. His hand rested on the doorknob. “Hey yourself.” He paused. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

He gently closed the door behind him and walked over to the table.

There was a brown envelope lying on the table. Next to it, Annie had her hands on what looked like a scrapbook. It had a deep blue leather cover, which was closed.

Will sat in the chair beside hers. “You okay?”

Her smile was stronger now, though he saw the remnants of tears on her face. “I…uh…I got this in the mail today. From Cara. My…my daughter.”

From the way she choked it out, he could tell she wasn’t used to saying that word.

“Looks like a scrapbook.”

“It’s the most amazing history of her life. Well, from when she was about ten or so. Here’s the letter that came with it.” She handed him a single piece of typed paper.

Will’s eyes held hers. “Sure you want me to read it?”

“Yes, I do.”

Now he understood. Will set the letter down next to the book. “She sounds like a neat kid.”

“Very. Her parents obviously did a great job.”

“Did you pick them, or what? How did that go?”

“No, Sister Beatty—she’s the nun at the adoption agency—picked them, but I told her the kind of people I’d like.”

“Then she followed good advice,” he said. He wiped a tear off her cheek with his index finger.

Annie dug into the breast pocket of the checked cotton shirt she was wearing, took out a tissue and loudly blew her nose. “I’d show you the book, but I don’t think I could take another look at it right now. Maybe later.”

“Later is okay. Do you feel like working today? If you want to…you know…have a rest or something, I can manage on my own.”

Her laugh made him want to drag her off the chair onto his lap. “I may be emotional,” she said, “but I’m not sick. I’ll be okay, Will. But thanks.”

If she keeps staring at me with those eyes, I may drag her onto my lap anyway.
He cleared his throat. “Did you mail off the jars to Charleston?”

“Yes. That’s when I got this.”

“Oh.” He peered down at the book, then back up at her. “Maybe we could
both
take a nap,” he suggested softly.

“Maybe we could.” Her eyes locked onto his.

He could see the desire in her eyes, but also turmoil and confusion. It wouldn’t be right to make love now, when she was feeling so vulnerable and mixed-up about the book, her daughter. Everything. “Or maybe we should—”

The chime of his cell phone solved the problem. “Damn,” he said. “Knew there was a reason I never bought one of these myself.” He was only half joking and he saw relief in her face.

He stood up to extract the phone from his jeans. Caller ID told him it was not the fire alert line, but Captain Andrews himself. “Just a sec,” Will said to Annie. He moved away from the table to lean against the counter, where he could still look at her.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Wonder if you could meet me at Henry Krause’s place in about half an hour. I know you have a special relationship with the old man, and he might want to have a friendly face when we talk to him.”

Will’s mind raced. “We?”

“The sheriff and I.”

Uh-oh. “What’s the problem?”

“Well, we found quite a cache of those empty wine bottles in one of the sheds. The sheriff wants to interview Henry.”

“Have you considered the possibility that someone else found them, too?”

“Yeah, we’ve talked about a lot of possibilities. But we also need to talk to Henry again. You coming or not?”

“I’m coming. Half an hour?”

“Right.”

Will ended the call. Half an hour. It was five now. He stared at Annie, absently tapping the phone against the palm of his other hand. Finding the other bottles was merely confirmation of what they already knew—that the Molotov cocktail had been made from something that belonged to Henry. It didn’t mean he’d made it or thrown it. So far the evidence was all circumstantial.

Except for Sam Waters saying he’d seen the pickup on the road, just before the fire was discovered.
Eyewitness testimony made the case a lot more serious.