The Sweetest Summer: A Bayberry Island Novel (16 page)

He pulled his head from the deep shelves and heard splashing sounds echoing from the bathroom, followed by a high-pitched giggle. It was the little girl, and she sounded happy. The hum of Evie’s lower, gentler voice could be heard as well, though the words were indistinct. Clancy stood in the hallway, mesmerized by the beautiful sound. It had been three years since he’d heard a female voice or felt embraced by female energy in this house. Barbie’s unpleasant tone of voice and vibe had been the last. No, he hadn’t been exactly celibate since then—there were weekends in Boston and an occasional blind date in Nantucket or the Vineyard—but no woman had set foot in this house in the three years since his divorce except for his mother and sister. Even his damn dogs were male. At that moment, Clancy realized he’d missed it, the sense of being balanced out, and maybe even smoothed down, by the softness a female brought to a space.

But how hilarious was this? He finally found a woman he wanted to bring home but she happened to be a wanted felon with a child in tow, the obsession of every news team, special report, and political blog on the Eastern Seaboard. In fact, because Richard Wahlman had some big-shot assignment in Congress and had even been named as a possible vice president contender, her story had gone nationwide and global. That giggling little girl in his bathtub was Wahlman’s child. Evie had kidnapped her. Countless state, federal, and regional law enforcement professionals were searching for her.

Hey, every woman has
some
kind of baggage, right?

Clancy leaned his forehead against the painted pine door of the guest room and tried to make peace with the reality of what he’d taken on. Evelyn McGuinness would go to prison if convicted. That was the bottom line. And
by deciding to help her, Clancy had changed the course of his life as well.

He opened the door and did a quick job of straightening up. His last houseguest had been Duncan, almost exactly one year before, and in the fifty-one weeks since, the space had been used as a haphazard storage bin. Clancy opened the window a crack, enough to let in some fresh air without flooding the windowsill with rain, and began taking everything off the bed and piling it against the wall. There were books, law enforcement journals, winter coats and hats, and even a supersized container of Milk-Bones. Then he looked at the bed. Shit! No wonder he couldn’t find the sheets—they were still where Duncan left them a year ago! Clancy ripped the bed apart and headed toward the laundry room off the kitchen. At least the linens would be freshly washed.

Next he removed the trophies from the mantel and tackled the gigantic mess still dumped in the middle of his living room floor, randomly throwing the jumble into the boxes and depositing them in his bedroom closet. So much for his organization plan. He went on to conduct a search-and-destroy cleanup of the dining room, kitchen, and even his bedroom. He was grateful for the burst of activity, because if he’d had a moment to stand still and second-guess himself, then he’d be in a heap of trouble.

As he headed toward the refrigerator for pancake ingredients, his cell phone rang. It was Chip.

“Flynn here.”

“Chief, what is your ETA at the station? Will you be here for roll call?” Clancy realized he’d neglected to check in with Chip as he usually did. It had been more than two hours since his last contact with his second-in-command. That was a piss-poor example of leadership.

“Sorry, Chip. The time got away from me. Is there anything I need to be aware of?”

“Not really, but”—Chip hesitated—“there’s been some scuttlebutt about the fugitive and the abducted juvenile, but we’re getting conflicting reports.”

Clancy’s heart flew into his throat. “What do you mean?”

“Well, someone on the morning Nantucket ferry called to say she saw the suspect come on board and get dragged out by an undercover police officer. But her husband said she always overdramatized things, that it was just a typical vacation marital disagreement. He said the lady’s husband came on board to tell her to stop with all the drama and come back to the hotel.”

“You don’t say?” Clancy set the milk carton on the kitchen counter, then went to find a couple eggs, his pulse going crazy. “Did the woman make an official statement?”

“No, Chief. She said she didn’t want to get involved.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. Witnesses were an interesting bunch. Two people at the same place at the same time could see two completely different events. Sometimes, a witness with valuable information had to be subpoenaed to ensure justice was done. In this case, Clancy was glad the woman was skittish.

“How did you follow up on this, Chip?”

“I called Old John, the conductor working that run, and he said he had no idea what the people could be talking about. He said there was no record of a woman and child fare from Bayberry. He said he’d fax over the manifest.”

Clancy leaned his head back and closed his eyes in gratitude. Not only had his longtime friend held up a departure for Clancy, he’d covered his ass without even being asked. He owed the conductor a big favor, and he knew just what it would be. Since his wife had died, Old John had become so desperate for companionship that he could drive passengers crazy with his aimless chatter. Clancy decided he would invite him to the house for a meal, a game of checkers, and a leisurely chat.

“Well, there you go.” Clancy tried to sound matter-of-fact. “Since we don’t have an official witness statement, let’s not bother the FBI with it—I’m sure they’re
completely overwhelmed with rumors at this point. Oh, and speaking of the case, are there any FBI updates?”

“None at the moment.”

“Ten-four, Chip. Thanks for checking in. I’ll be there a little before eleven. Are the boys causing you any trouble?”

“Nah. Mostly just sleeping.”

“Excellent. See you soon.”

“Chief?”

Clancy’s finger pulled away from the
END
CALL
button. “Yep?”

“Is everything all right? I mean, I don’t mean to pry, but this morning you seemed real upset about something, and, well, I can’t remember the last time you forgot to check in. Is Mona all right? Has something happened to Duncan?”

“Everything’s good with the Flynns, Chip. No worries. I’m just running low on sleep. You know how it is during festival week—and my canine alarm clocks sure aren’t helping.”

Mercifully, Chip seemed satisfied with his answer and said good-bye.

Clancy pulled out the electric skillet, started some sausage patties, and began to whip up the batter. Just then, the bathroom door opened. He heard little bare feet run across the floorboards.

“I know you. You’re the policemans from the water!”

He smiled down at the cute little girl. Her short dark hair smelled like shampoo and her eyes sparkled. She was dressed in another unisex kind of T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. He wasn’t sure how to play this—would he continue pretending she was a boy? Could he call her Christina? Should he stick with Chris? He couldn’t help but think that if this was a challenge for him—a grown man—it had had to be confusing as hell for a little kid her age. Yet she seemed perfectly at ease.

“That’s me, kiddo. On land and on sea, I’m always a police officer.” Clancy let his eyes flash to Evie. She
looked refreshed, too. Her face was smooth and dry, and for a woman in her thirties wearing no makeup and being hunted down by the feds, she looked damn good. Rosy and soft—but not exactly relaxed.

There were deep grooves between her light brown eyebrows. Her pretty mouth was pulled tight. And she stood about as stiff as a mainsail. It was then that Clancy remembered he was in uniform.

“Anybody a vegetarian?”

“Not us,” Evie said softly. She cautiously entered the kitchen space and picked up Christina, propping her on a perfectly shaped hip. Clearly, Evie didn’t want to let the little girl out of her sight. “Is there any way I might use your washer and dryer?”

“Please do. They’re right in here.” He nodded to the mudroom. “The load in there right now will be done shortly.” Clancy gave Evie a friendly smile, and she responded with a small upward twitch of her lips. In an attempt to break the ice a bit, he pushed a kitchen stool to the sink and retrieved a colander from an overhead shelf. He turned to Christina. “Would you like to help with the blueberries?”

“Yes! Yes! I love blueberries!” She wiggled out of Evie’s grasp and climbed up on the stool. Clancy placed the pint of fresh blueberries in her hands and wrapped her fingers around the cardboard container. “Can you dump all the berries in here?”

She hurled those suckers in the colander without a second of hesitation. Clancy laughed. “That was wicked good, kiddo. Now your next job is to take this sprayer”—he pulled the faucet extension as far as it would reach—“then sprinkle the berries until they’re clean.” The kid yanked the nozzle out of Clancy’s hands.

“Chris likes to help in the kitchen,” Evie said from behind the butcher block. Clancy noticed that she’d used the genderless name and continued to keep her distance.

“We cook a lot together, and we always make pancakes on Sundays back in . . .”

Clancy pretended he hadn’t noticed her awkward pause. He busied himself with flipping the sausage while keeping an eye on his kitchen assistant, who was drowning the living hell out of those berries. He began talking to himself, hoping Evie would share in the conversation. “This is freshly ground turkey sausage from a butcher here on the island. No antibiotics or growth hormones, free-range kind of bird raised on the mainland. Perfectly spiced, too.” He glanced over his shoulder. “There’s even fresh sage . . .”

Evie had taken a seat at the butcher-block island. She had her hands gripped together and her head lowered. The sight of her shoulders hunched like that hit Clancy hard. He studied the elegant line of her neck, bent low, and couldn’t imagine how desperate and afraid she must feel. If everything went well, Clancy would know soon enough. He’d know everything. And he would do whatever he could to help her.

“The blueberries look good, Chef Jellybean.”

“Hey! That’s my name!”

“I know!” Clancy grinned at her. “Now let me turn this off, okay?” He had to wrestle the faucet from the death grip of his sous chef. For the next fifteen minutes his assistant was indispensable—she helped set the table, flip the pancakes, and pour the milk, all while Evelyn sat in silence, trying to smile pleasantly when it was obvious she was about to lose it. They ate at the island, but since he had only two stools, Clancy had to pull up a dining room chair for himself. He sat so low that his chin barely cleared the butcher-block surface, which Christina thought was hilarious. Her aunt said almost nothing through the meal.

When they’d finished eating, Evelyn volunteered to clean up, which gave Clancy a chance to grab the sheets from the dryer and make the guest bed. With that task completed, he had to go. Roll call was in just a few minutes.

“Evie, may I have a quick word with you, please?”

She turned slowly from her work at the sink.
Christina was busy at the dining room table, humming to herself as she used a dishtowel to dry every plastic cup or bowl Clancy owned, though not a single one had been used in the course of making breakfast. Evelyn was a smart cookie.

She joined him at the juncture of the hallway and living room, but immediately circled around so that she would have both Christina and the front door in her line of sight. Clancy raised an eyebrow. Did she think this chat was a trap? Maybe she still thought this whole thing was a trap, and that he was setting her up.

He sighed and smiled sadly. “Look, Evie, I have to go into work and I don’t know when I’ll be back. I never know, unfortunately. But I want you to know you are welcome to stay. I want you to stay. Just don’t answer the door or the phone and you’ll be fine.”

Evelyn raised her ethereal green eyes to his, and Clancy saw tears begin to form. She shook her head.

“So? Will you be here when I get back?”

“I”—she looked around his house—“I don’t know.”

“Fair enough,” Clancy said.

“We don’t have anywhere else to go at the moment, but I . . .”

Clancy stretched out his hand to hers. He didn’t know what the gesture meant or even why he did it, but it seemed she needed to be reassured. Softly, he stroked her fingers with his, and he was astonished when she unfolded her palm to his touch. If there was a word big enough for what this woman did to him, he’d never heard it. There was a power circling him whenever she was near. Her presence somehow made everything sharper and sweeter. Clancy felt as if he knew her—and not just as the fuzzy memory of a long-ago summer fling. He understood her. She was familiar to him. It almost felt as if she were supposed to be here, in his house and in his life. But there was just one little problem . . .

“I’m going to need to know everything, Evie. You can’t hold anything back if I’m going to help you.”

She pulled her hand away.

“I can’t force you to stay, but if you do, you must tell me exactly what’s going on. No more secrets. There’s too much at stake here.”

Her eyes darted quickly toward Christina. “I . . . right. I understand.”

“If you’re gone when I get back, I will keep you in my thoughts, always. I hope everything works out for the best for you.”

She nodded but said nothing.

Clancy headed to the front door, patting Christina on the head. “See ya later, alligator.”

“Bye!”

The rain had stopped and the sun was making its debut, which was excellent news for Island Day. Clancy tried to focus on that. He had a job to do today. He had a responsibility to this island.

He was harboring a fugitive.

“Jesus, what am I doing?”

As Clancy headed for the Jeep he heard crunching gravel on the drive behind him. He spun around.

Evie rushed forward. She kissed him. Hard. She popped up on her toes and cradled his head in her hands and just laid one on him. Then she hugged his body so tight his spine cracked. Then she stepped back. It ended just as abruptly as it began.

Clancy felt dizzy. And deliriously happy. He found himself laughing. “Now that was a wicked sick kiss.”