She hadnt been here when Jason had needed her, but she was now. Shed find the answer to the question that haunted her, because if she didnt, shed never be satisfied. What had happened in this seemingly quiet, peaceful town that had led to her brothers death?
* * *
MAC DROVE DOWN Main Street, keeping an eye on the compact car ahead of him. He wasnt following the woman exactly, but she had stirred his curiosity. Something had been just a little off-kilter about their conversation, and her defensiveness had startled as well as intrigued him.
He frowned, trying to put his finger on the exact source of his unease. Kate Beaumont had seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he couldnt quite place her. Thick, honey-blond hair was pulled casually back on the nape of her neck, allowing wavy tendrils to escape and curl around her ears. Her lightly tanned skin seemed touched by the gold in her hair, and even her eyes were a golden brown. Surely, if hed ever known her, hed remember. A man didnt run into that many brown-eyed blondesand especially not one carrying a chip the size of a mountain on her shoulder.
The familiarity remained stubbornly elusive, so he put the resemblance on a back burner to percolate. It would come through, sooner or later. Meantime, it looked as if his mystery woman was going to take his advice. Shed pulled into a parking space across from the café.
A moment later he realized hed jumped to conclusions. Ms. Beaumont wasnt headed toward the café. Instead, she was walking up the sidewalk of Blackburn House. Now what, exactly, was she up to? Unless she had a sudden yen to buy quilt fabric or a book, there wasnt much in Blackburn House to attract a casual visitor.
Curiosity had him turning in at the driveway that ran along the side of the building. At the rear of Blackburn House stood the old carriage house, converted into the workshop of Whiting and Whiting Cabinetry. Not that he was the Whiting or the son involved in the business. Dad might have had hopes in that direction at one time, but when Mac had come back from a stint in the military, hed known the carpentry trade wasnt for him. Still, Dad seemed content with one son in partnership, and the business suited Macs brother, Nick, perfectly.
Parking, Mac eyed the back door into Blackburn House. That might be a bit too blatant, running into the woman so quickly. She really would have cause to cry harassment if he did that, wouldnt she?
Instead, he headed into the cabinetry shop, prepared for the usual din of saws and hammers. But all was fairly quiet at the moment. One of the Amish carpenters who worked in the shop sat on a bench in the rear, his lunch bucket beside him. He raised a thermos in Macs direction, and Mac grinned and nodded.
Hed forgotten it was lunchtime. No doubt Nick was lunching with his fiancée, Allison, assuming shed been able to get away from the quilt shop.
His father, instead of eating the lunch Mom had packed for him, was bending over a rocking chair, carefully hand-sanding a spindle. The normal work of the shopcustom-designed kitchen cabinetssat all around him, but he was focused on the rocker instead.
Hey, Dad. Is that for Mom?
His father looked up at his approach, pushing his glasses into place. Folks said Nick looked more like their father, but all three of them had the same lean, straight-featured faces. Dads eyes crinkled at the sight of him.
Your mom says she has enough furniture, thank you very much. He grinned. This is a gift for Allison. The way those women are fussing over this wedding shower, youd think no one had ever gotten married before.
Better not let Mom or Allison hear you complaining. Mac leaned against a handy workbench. Since he was safely removed now from the farmhouse that his brother, Nick, and Nicks young son shared with Mom and Dad, he could take a more detached view of Nick and Allisons wedding preparations.
His father raised an eyebrow. Bet you havent even thought of setting up the bachelor party yet. That is a best man duty, you know.
I know, I know. But Nick doesnt like any of my ideas. Especially not taking off to Vegas for a weekend.
Dad swatted at him as if he were a pesky fly. Be nice to your brother. Hes taken long enough to decide to risk marriage again. And as for you...
Dont start, Mac said quickly. I hear enough of it from Mom. Shes taken to reminding me that Im not getting any younger, as if I were teetering on the doorstep of the nursing home.
She wants more grandkids. Dad eyed him severely. Youre supposed to do your part.
Mac shrugged. Ive got a whole town to look after already. Thats enough for me at the moment.
Here. Dad tossed him the fine sandpaper hed been using. Do a little work for a change while I pour out my coffee.
Mac bent obediently over the chair, hands caressing the smooth curves of the fine maple. He might not want carpentry for his lifes work, but he still enjoyed the calming nature of the skill. Seeing the grain gleam in response to his movements was satisfying.
What brings you in here at this hour? His father took over his spot, leaning against the workbench. Not enough to keep you busy at the office?
Mac shook his head, not looking up. Just a funny thing that happened. I had to speak to a woman parked in the no-parking area up by the cemetery. She seemed... I dont know...upset, maybe. Annoyed at me for speaking, thats for sure.
And? Dad seemed to be waiting for more. He had to know that that was the sort of thing that happened too often to cause comment.
It was just odd, thats all. Shes a stranger, but she seemed kind of familiar to me.
He could feel his fathers gaze on him. A looker, was she?
Mac grinned. You could say that. A striking brown-eyed blonde, if you want to know.
Thats the answer, then. Dad sounded amused. She probably had a starring role in one of your dreams.
He chuckled, as he was meant to, but then he shook his head, running the sandpaper smoothly along the grain of the wood. Sounds like it, but that wasnt it. Ive got a good memory for faces, and Im sure Ive seen her before.
If she was visiting someone in town, you might have noticed her. In fact, it sounds as if you could hardly miss her.
She said she wasnt visiting anybody. Asked directions to a place where she could get lunch, as if she was just passing through.
You told her the café, I suppose. Dad spoke with the experience of one who knew there were few other places in Laurel Ridge where youd be likely to get a good lunch.
I did, he said slowly. But I saw her going into Blackburn House instead.
So maybe she wanted to look around the shops.
Mac didnt respond. Slowly, very slowly, a memory was stirring in the back of his mind. An image. A rainy day, the kind of steady downpour that managed to trickle down your neck no matter how protected you were. Soggy grass underfoot, and drooping, saturated flowers, the ribbons around them stained with water. A cemetery, but not the one at the top of the hill.
Thats it. He straightened, one hand on the back of the chair, gripping it tightly as the impact of the memory hit. I saw her a little over a year ago at a cemetery in Philadelphia. At the funeral of that young guy who worked in the financial management office. The one we found dead of an overdose right up there on the hill where shed stopped.
Dad met his eyes, startled and sympathetic. That poor kid? Is she some relation?
He nodded, the memory clarifying now. I didnt speak to her, but someone pointed her out to me. His sisterno, his half sister. The names are different, but Im sure of it.
The picture was stamped so firmly on Macs mind that he wondered why he hadnt realized it the minute hed seen Kate Beaumont. Maybe he would have, if shed been named Reilley, like the half brother.
Funny how much you could tell about a situation just from body language. The half sister and the father had stood several feet apart, obviously not touching, not even looking at one another, each one isolated in his or her own grief.
Tom Reilley, presumably Kate Beaumonts stepfather, had been a retired cop. That had been one reason why Mac had driven to Philadelphia for the funeral. Professional courtesy, if you will. The mans son had died on his turf.
Mac realized his own father was studying him, an expression of concern on his face. Hed knownhe always seemed to knowhow hard Mac had taken the death. This was his town. He was responsible for it. That meant never letting a situation get out of control, because if it did, then as a peacekeeper, youd failed.
Jason Reilley, lying dead against a gravestone in the oldest section of the cemetery, a fatal combination of alcohol and pills in his system, had been out of his control.
Another memory flickered, just for an instant. Another town, a world awayflattened homes, the smell of burning in the air, a small, huddled body...
His father stirred. Well, no reason for the woman not to come here, I suppose. Maybe she felt as if she wanted to see for herself where he died. Sort of a pilgrimage.
It struck him then. Kate Beaumont hadnt looked to him like a woman on a pilgrimage. Shed looked like a woman on a crusade.
His uneasiness was full-blown now. His sudden movement set the chair rocking as he headed for the door.
Where are you going? Dad put out a hand to still the rocking.
To have a talk with Ms. Beaumont. Macs course of action solidified. Maybe youre right. But I want to know why, when she saw who I was, Kate Beaumont was so careful not to mention her relationship with Jason Reilley.
* * *
KATE HADNT GONE more than a few steps inside Blackburn House before she realized that checking out the business that had hired Jason as an intern wouldnt be unobtrusive. The building was smaller than shed expected, though impressive with its marble entrance hall and Victorian woodwork. To her right was a quilt shop, and through the window she could see several women in Amish dress browsing along rows of fabric.
The business on her left checked her for a moment. Whiting and Whiting Cabinetry. Related to Chief of Police Mac Whiting? Probably. It wasnt that common a name, and Laurel Ridge was a small town.
She walked toward the back, past a graceful staircase that clearly led to offices on the second floor. That must be where the financial consultants had their offices. The rear of this level housed what appeared to be a storage room and a bookstore.
Kate paused, looking at the display of bestsellers in the window. It was unusual to find an independent bookseller thriving in a small town, but this one appeared to be doing fine. Several customers wandered through the aisles, a toddler stacked blocks in a corner with childrens books, and an elderly man seemed to be having an animated conversation with the woman behind the counter.
Upstairs, then, for a look at the offices of Laurel Ridge Financial Group. No one else was on the stairs, and Kate felt conspicuous as she hurried her steps.
The second floor was quiet. Two offices on the right, two on the left and what seemed to be a private area separating them. Rejecting the attorneys office and the door marked with only the name Standish, she turned left and found a real-estate company and then the offices shed been looking for.
Kate stationed herself in front of the posters of available properties displayed in the plateglass window of the real-estate office, trying to appear absorbed in the description of what was called a desirable four-bedroom residence and the photo of a decrepit-looking farmhouse, optimistically labeled a fixer-upper. From there, she could glance into the windows of the office next door.
The first thing she noticed was that something was missing. Jason had mentioned, when hed first accepted the internship one of his professors had helped arrange, the names of the two partners who comprised the professional staff: Russell Sheldon and Bartley Gordon. Now there was only one name listed on the doorGordon. Below it, in suitably smaller letters, she read, Lina Oberlin, Assistant and Office Manager. What had happened to the other partner?
The room beyond the window told her nothing. A reception desk, where a twentysomething with improbably red hair sat filing her nails, another desk behind hers, which might once have been Jasons, and three uncommunicative doors.
Kate sensed movement in back of her, and before she could turn, she saw a face reflected in the glass. Mac Whiting stood behind her, his jaw especially uncompromising.
She swung around. Are you following me, Chief Whiting?
Looking to ask you a question. He seemed to make an effort not to sound as intimidating as he appeared. When we met earlier, why didnt you mention that you were Jason Reilleys sister?
Half sister, she pointed out, her mind scurrying busily. How had he identified her with Jason so quickly? Shed never even been to Laurel Ridge before. She had gone straight to Philadelphia when shed heard the news of Jasons death. Thats why our names are different.
He inclined his head at that obvious statement, but his eyes never left hers. Im sorry for your loss.
The phrase sounded a little stilted, but Kate thought she detected real regret in his voice, and she warmed toward him before she reminded herself who he was.
Thank you. She hesitated, but curiosity was stronger than her desire to keep the man at arms length. How did you know who I am? Or is it your practice to run a background check on everyone who comes to Laurel Ridge?
Surprisingly, he didnt seem to take offense at that, although his face didnt relax. I didnt have to. I recognized you from he hesitated, his straight brows drawing down from the funeral.
She was probably gaping at him. Kate gave herself a mental shake. You were at my brothers funeral? Why?
He died in my town. The words were clipped. Call it a courtesy.
You didnt speak to me.
Under the circumstances, I thought it was better not to. I figured you and your father didnt need the reminder of what happened.
Stepfather, she corrected automatically. You mean your assumption that Jason was just another druggie whod overdosed in your town.
He stiffened. It wasnt a question of assuming anything. The postmortem confirmed the cause of his death.
She wanted to protest that Jason had been clean for nearly three years before he died, but told herself bitterly that it was hardly likely a cop would be convinced by her opinion. Not when Jasons own father hadnt been.
Kate rubbed her arms, chilled by the vivid reminder. Jason had looked so young by the time shed been able to see his body at the viewing. With every care and stress wiped from his face, he might have been a sleeping child again.