The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (27 page)

Camilla heard Dr. Lil whisper some words of condolence about the dead deputy. The guy had been found stabbed, with his pants unzipped, only a few yards away from his car. So Dora had taken one more victim with her before she was caught. She had a long list of victims to pay for. But she would never hurt anyone again now.

Ryan come up behind her. She looked up from the sleeping child.

"I'm so sorry, Camilla. I blew it."

Camilla went over to the window on the other side of the room, where a pair of softly padded chairs waited. She sat down and gestured him to the other seat.

He sat.

"What do you mean, you blew it? You saved at least three lives today, and caught a serial killer."

"The county deputy's dead. Robin's badly hurt, and so is Oliver, and you almost died."

She felt the anger rise in her.

"Ryan!" She said it softly so she wouldn't wake up Oliver, but with pure exasperation. "You're an idiot, you know."

"I know," he said, forlornly. "I should have seen the pattern sooner."

"No. You're not an idiot because you saved us from a horrible death and caught Dora Favre today. You're an idiot because you think that's not enough. You aren't responsible for what she did. You stopped her before she did even more damage." She shoved her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt and felt something. She pulled it out. The letter addressed to her. The one she'd found with Dennis's body.

She shuddered.

"What's that?"

She held up the envelope. "I found it when I discovered... the body. It's a letter addressed to me." She examined the envelope. "It's in Dennis's handwriting."

"That's evidence," he said.

"I guess it is. But I didn't know that when I picked it up." She looked at the back, where the envelope had been hastily torn open. "Can I look at the letter inside before turning it over to you? It's addressed to me."

He nodded.

She pulled it out.

Dear Camilla,

If you get this letter you're going to be really pissed at me. I, Dennis Henning, stole the payroll from Cordova Computing. Take this letter to the police and they will know you are innocent, so that's okay.

"Okay! What were you thinking, Dennis?"

"What does it say?"

"I'll finish it and then you can read it, okay?"

He nodded, and she continued reading.

I’m sure you're really pissed. If you let it out, you wouldn't blush so much. That's the cure, you know. Being true to yourself instead of pretending things don't bother you.

If you get this letter you have Oliver, and I’m not coming back. Here's the thing: I got into a jam. It's my own fault, I made the wrong woman angry. I’m going to try to get rid of her before she does any more damage. But it might not work. I’m not a violent guy, Camilla. I’ll try, but I might not succeed. I can't go to the cops for obvious reasons, so I’ve got to try to man up and solve this on my own.

But you're my insurance policy. If I don't come back and you get this letter, that means Oliver is all alone. I need someone who can take care of him, and I picked you because you're the perfect person.

"Poor little boy," she whispered. "Dennis knew what was coming."

His mother had insurance when she died, so there was a big chunk of change set aside for him, all legal money, not laundered or nothing. I used it to buy a little place in a town you've never heard of. The house is in your name, and the keys are in this envelope. It's The Honeymoon Cottage in Pajaro Bay, California. It'll give Oliver what he needs: safety and love. It'll give you what you need, too—no more running. You play those old tapes over and over in your head. They tell you you're going to screw up. They tell you you're just like your father. You tell yourself all those lies you learned from your parents. You think you're destined to be just like them. Until you stop telling yourself those things, you'll never be free. Stop blushing, Camilla. Tell yourself the truth. Tell the world the truth about yourself. And tell my son the truth he needs to hear. He needs to know he's not destined to be like me. You can do this—better than I ever could, because you understand Oliver better than I do. You're just like him. Don't let him repeat our mistakes. Give him the chance to be different.

I'm mailing this letter today, then going to solve my problem. If I get back in time, you'll never see this, and you'll never know about any of this. If I don't get back in time to intercept this letter, you'll find it in your mailbox.

Tell Oliver I love him. Take care of him. Don't let him grow up to be like me.

"I won't," she whispered, fingering the scrawled Dennis at the bottom of the letter.

She handed the letter to Ryan and he read it through silently.

"Wow," he said when he finished. "So Dora found the letter when she killed Dennis. She must have confronted him before he had a chance to mail the letter. Then she used the key to the cottage to lure you there, planning to kill you and Oliver in another 'accident'. What a scheme."

"Yeah."

"So you were right. He loved Oliver more than his own life."

"And you were right. Someone really was trying to kill us."

"So now what?"

"Now what? I'm doing what it says. Staying here and giving Oliver the life he needs." He hadn't understood her when she tried to tell him before, but maybe he could now.

"I have to stop running away. I have to make a stand somewhere, and it might as well be here. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"No." He said it flatly. "You're doing this because Dennis told you to?"

"No. Of course not. This is what I was trying to tell you at the cottage. As long as I'm afraid I can't teach Oliver to be brave. I would always be hiding behind a lie."

"What lie?" He lasered in on that. "What lie, Camilla?"

"I've been ashamed. Ashamed of who I am, where I came from. Ashamed of what I've done."

"What have you done?"

"I lied to you about everything."

She noticed Ryan had stood up. He had his hands clenched at his sides and she could see his knuckles were white.

She looked up at him. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?! You tell me our whole relationship is based on a lie, and that's why you can't leave with me, and then you ask what's wrong?"

"Keep your voice down!" She glanced over at Oliver, but he was fast asleep.

"I asked you to stay a few hours ago and you said no. But a con man uses you, causes all this trouble, and when he snaps his fingers you jump."

"You have it all wrong, Ryan."

"Yeah. Apparently I do."

"Sit down, Ryan. I have things to tell you."

"I don't think so," he said, so coldly that she jumped.

She looked up at him, but he wasn't going to listen to her. How could he? "You don't understand," she said helplessly.

"No. I don't. You're staying here because Dennis wants you to, but what I want means nothing."

"I’m not staying for Dennis. I’m staying for—"

"—for Oliver. But I don't see why."

"Because I have to make a stand somewhere."

"A stand for what?"

"For myself. For my life. I am not going to run."

"Because a con man tells you to?"

"Keep your voice down. Dennis could read me like a book. Remember—those were your words. He's right. I run every time someone looks at me sideways. I’m trying to run away from other people's judgment of me. But that's not going to work. Because I’m never going to stop judging myself."

"That's a bunch of mumbo-jumbo he came up with to manipulate you."

"No it isn't. Don't you see, Ryan? The problem isn't Mabel Rutherford, or Dennis, or Thea, or my mother—or even that grumpy old cat of Miss Potter's."

He looked at her uncomprehendingly.

"The voice putting me down is inside me. Until I stop running from it, I’ll never be free. I could go clear across the country—the world—and it'll still be there. I've got to stop running from it. I have to stay here."

"You won't even discuss it with me." He couldn't get beyond that.

"No," she admitted. "This is something I have to do. And if you would stop running away yourself, you'd see I'm right. Stay in Pajaro Bay with me, Ryan." How could she explain? This was about being deserving of him. It was about being honest, and holding her head up, and then, only then, being able to build a relationship with the man she loved. "Please stay here, and face everything we need to face with me."

"Don't try to project all Dennis's psychological garbage onto me, Camilla. I know what I'm doing."

Of course he couldn't understand. Because she was just hitting him with all this. She's never really talked with him about his decision. And he knew nothing about her. He had never really known her at all. She'd never given him the chance.

He stalked to the door.

"Ryan?" she said to his back.

He stopped at the open doorway, but didn't look back.

"Please stay. Let me explain."

The door closing behind him was the ending of one part of her life. It was time to begin the next.

~*~

"I can't believe it's mine," she said at nine a.m. on a Saturday morning three weeks later. She looked at the green door of the little office in Torres Alley.

Robin handed her the keys. "It is. For a very reasonable lease rate with option to buy."

Camilla unlocked the door and stepped into the little building. "It's really tiny." She was feeling overwhelmed with doubts. Was she crazy to do this? She had been so sure that staying in town was the right thing to do, but now, faced with a new business, and no customers, it seemed ridiculous.

Robin came in after her and took three steps forward, stopping in the center of the room. "What do you mean it's small? It's big enough to hold a dance party." She twirled around in a circle, then put a hand to her forehead, where the healing scar still showed bright red. "Ooh. Maybe I shouldn't have done that."

Camilla put a hand to Robin's shoulder. "I'd offer you a chair, sister, but I don't have one."

Robin smiled. "I'm fine." She walked around the room, examining everything. "I love this little wood stove. Think how nice it'll be in the winter. And think of the flowers outside all summer." She opened a window to the garden in back. "It'll work. You can fit a desk and a computer and that's all you need, isn't it?"

"Since I didn't sell the cottage I don't have money for the computer. I'm still cash-poor until Dennis's case works through the courts and the money he stole from me is returned. If it ever is. I'm pretty low on the list of victims needing reimbursement."

"Well, you have enough to live on for now, right?"

She nodded. "Now that I sold the car to Hector at the garage. I think he overpaid because he was stoned, but I couldn't afford to wait for him to come to his senses."

"Oh, honey. You'd be waiting a lifetime for that...."

She shrugged. "I'll pick up another car as soon as I can scrape the money together. He'll make the profit from me when he sells me one of his fixer-uppers."

Robin laughed. "He'll probably turn your old convertible into a luscious little gem and then sell it back to you for a fortune. I wouldn't worry about him. He's nuts, but he's good at what he does."

She smiled.

"So what do you need to get started in business? We'll make a list."

They sat in the middle of the floor, and Robin took a notepad out from her purse.

Camilla started ticking things off on her fingers. "I really should get a used computer. I actually learned to do books by hand in college, believe it or not. I can do double-entry accounting with nothing but a pencil and a pad of paper. But a computer would make reports look more professional."

"You can use mine in exchange for a discount on the fees you charge me."

Camilla nodded. "And a chair. I should sit somewhere."

Robin wrote it down. "Yeah. Sitting's good."

"And I guess I better find a chair for clients—if I get any."

"We'll go over the hill to the city tomorrow and you can pick up a couple of cheap chairs. You'll be back by then, right?"

She nodded. "I promise I'll be back late this evening."

"You're not going to tell me where you're going?"

Camilla shook her head. "I appreciate you loaning me your car. But I'll tell you about my trip when I get back. I promise. I'm coming clean on everything now. Just something I have to take care of right away."

Robin nodded. "Tell it when you're ready. I'll be here." She looked around. "So, what kind of chairs?"

"Chairs?" Then Camilla stopped thinking about what she was planning for the afternoon and brought her mind back to the present. "Yeah. Let's see. A desk chair for me and a couple of regular chairs for clients. We'll get the desk chair tomorrow, but Mabel Rutherford's got a pair of nice straight-back chairs that'll work for clients. Much cheaper than new."

Robin stared at her. "You're kidding."

"Nope. I have to face her sometime. I’m not leaving town, so I have to get used to dealing with her."

"Wow. I guess you are clearing up all your unfinished business. You are a better man than I, Gunga Din."

"Kipling. I hated that English class in college."

Robin laughed. "I was an English major. And my ex-husband was an English professor, so I got my fill of the classics."

Camilla grinned. "Aha! Another clue."

"Yup. Stick around, girl, and you'll learn all the gory details eventually."

"I have time. I’m not going anywhere." She looked around the room. "Do you really think I’ll have enough room for everything in this little place?"

"You don't need space for a coffee machine. Mine's just down the block. Two sugars and cinnamon, just the way you like it."

"It's a deal. Chairs, a computer as soon as I can get my hands on one. And some clients. Clients would be good."

"I’m your first client."

"You know you don't have to do that."

"Yes I do. I took the English classes in school. You took double-whatever math."

"So, I have one client."

"Two." Zelda Potter's hat today was strawberry red, with a huge brim that almost—but not quite—overshadowed her aura of unflappable cool. "The historical society's finances are in deplorable condition. The fault, I am sorry to say, of the organization's president."