After Caroline (9 page)

She went out, quietly closing the door behind her, leaving Scott alone.

Joanna slipped the last sheet of paper into Caroline’s file and leaned back against the pillows banked behind her, frowning. There was still precious little information in the file, not nearly enough to do more than sketch in a life. No color, no … texture. That was it, she decided; so far, she couldn’t really feel the texture in Caroline’s life.

In three hours, Joanna had managed to scan years’ worth of Cliffside’s weekly newspaper, so she had more information than she’d arrived here with—but as she’d said to the sheriff, none of it told her who Caroline had really been.

A wealthy woman, yes—in her own right as well as married to a wealthy man. A woman who had supported a long list of charities, most of them in the areas of medical research and treatment, probably because a younger brother had died of an incurable disease when Caroline was a teenager. A woman who had seemingly been at ease speaking in public. A woman who was known for her sense of style and who wore dresses more often than pants, at least publicly.

Facts … behind which lay only speculation.

Actually, Joanna had discovered far more about Caroline’s
character in casual conversation than by reading a recitation of facts in the newspaper. The clerk in the drugstore, for instance, had told her not only that Caroline smoked pretty heavily, but also that it was a nervous habit and that “she bit her nails, too, poor thing.”

The clerk had boasted long, beautifully manicured nails, so her pity was easily understood. Joanna lifted her own hands and studied them, taking note of the neat, medium-length nails, only one ragged thumbnail evidence of her recent nibbling. Aunt Sarah had been quite definite in her ideas of how a young lady should present herself, and those had included well-kept hands and no nervous mannerisms.

Another difference between Joanna and Caroline? Caroline had apparently been nervous, at least in some ways, and Joanna had never been that. Except that for the first time in her life, she had caught herself chewing on her nails in Atlanta during the search for Cliffside and Caroline. An odd coincidence? Or something more eerie?

She shivered unconsciously and let her hands fall. Was it possible, she asked herself, to absorb another person’s mannerisms? A person one had never met? No, surely not. Just as it wasn’t possible to establish some kind of psychic connection with another person just because both of you “died” the same day. It defied logic and common sense.

Yet here she was.

She shook her head, forcing herself to stop thinking about elusive things and to concentrate on the facts she had gathered.

The guy at the gas station, once he’d stopped staring at her, had offered the information that Mrs. McKenna had been a real safe driver, everybody knew that, and it had been a real shock when she’d been killed driving so fast. Some said the car must have had something wrong with it, but he knew for a fact it had been okay, because his boss
and
the sheriff had practically used a magnifying glass to go over what was left of the wreck, and they hadn’t found a thing wrong, not a thing. So she must have just lost control,
that was what his boss and the sheriff thought. And wasn’t it a shame, the whole town thought so ….

And the girl working in The Inn’s gift shop had, in the middle of a long, involved description of her last visit to the town’s clinic, mentioned that Mrs. McKenna had had terrible allergies and had to see the doctor often, especially during the spring and early summer. Of course, she always went straight in to the doctor while others signed in and waited, but nobody minded, truly, because she was so nice, and besides, it was she who had persuaded her husband to open the pharmacy next door, where they kept prices down, so everybody benefited ….

Lesson: Instead of asking questions, just talk to people
.

It was something Aunt Sarah had taught Joanna, this inward acknowledgment of the lessons learned in everyday life. She had firmly believed that more could be learned from just observing life than any school had ever taught, and she had convinced Joanna it was true.

So … Caroline had had at least two nervous habits—smoking and biting her nails. A safe driver apparently driving a safe car in good working order, she had wrecked that car driving too fast on a slippery road. And she had suffered from allergies, the condition serious enough that over-the-counter remedies had apparently been ineffective.

A bit of texture. Not much, but some.

And to that, Joanna could add a few insights she had picked up since arriving in Cliffside. Caroline had been a good mother, devoted enough to have a playful carousel horse installed in one of her own favorite places. And if Regan’s comments were anything to go by, it seemed obvious that Caroline had been the more loving of the two parents.

Regan … Joanna felt very uneasy about her. She missed her mother so desperately, and even though she had seemed to accept that Joanna was completely different in almost every way, the similarity of feature might well be enough to cause her to form an attachment. And even if a
bond of that sort helped Regan now, it was bound to cause her pain when Joanna left.

Part of Joanna wanted to avoid the child for that very reason. But another part of her wanted to reach out to Regan, because she felt sure Regan hadn’t even begun to deal with her mother’s death. And because there was something in that sad little girl, some worry or knowledge, that tugged desperately at Joanna. She wanted to hold the child, to soothe and protect her.

Protect her…

How do you know when a grown-up is afraid?

“Caroline died in a car wreck,” Joanna heard herself say aloud in a very firm, matter-of-fact voice. “There was nothing wrong with the car. It was just a tragic accident.”

I have bad dreams when I’m scared. Mama did, too, I think. She had a lot of bad dreams last summer. Before the car accident
.

“And Regan is just an unhappy, grieving little girl trying to understand why she lost her mother. Trying to find a reason it happened. Trying to make sense out of something so utterly senseless.”

…
the sheriff had practically used a magnifying glass to go over what was left of the wreck
….

“He was just being thorough, that’s all. Just trying to find out what had caused her to lose control of the car, because he knew she wasn’t a reckless driver. Not because he suspected anything other than an accident—and if I keep talking to myself like this, especially out loud, somebody’s going to lock me up.”

The sheriff, probably. He’d be happy to, she thought. More than happy to. She hadn’t decided whether he simply didn’t trust her or had another reason, but he definitely did not want her roaming around town asking questions about Caroline.

Why? Because he was protecting the sensibilities of the people in his town—or because there was something he didn’t want her to find out? What if there was something to find out, something damning? He was the sheriff, after
all; he’d know all the details of the “accident” more completely than anyone else. So maybe there
had
been something suspicious about Caroline’s death, some evidence that it had not been an accident after all. Maybe even evidence of deliberate murder. And maybe the sheriff had kept that to himself because … because of what? Why would the respected sheriff of a small coastal town hide evidence of murder? Because he’d been involved in it himself? Because he was protecting someone else who had?

Joanna slid down on the bed and groaned softly. God, this was ridiculous! She had come three thousand miles to find out about a dead woman, and now she was driving herself nuts imagining that there might have been something deliberate about Caroline’s accident when there wasn’t so much as a hint that that was so. It was worse than ridiculous, it was … crazy.

Joanna had never been quick to judge, yet here she was eyeing this town and everyone in it with distinct suspicion. And why? Because she had a recurring nightmare filled with fear? Because she was convinced beyond all reason that Caroline had somehow reached out to her and needed her help? Because Regan, in her terrible, contained grief, reminded Joanna of the little girl she had been one hot June when her world had changed forever ….

She closed her eyes, feeling tired. It was barely ten o’clock and far too early for bed, but the day behind her seemed unusually long and filled with unfamiliar, uneasy emotions. And unsettling encounters. Regan. Griffin. A little girl almost paralyzed with grief, and a hard man with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. What color were they? She hadn’t been able to tell.

He saw Caroline when he looked at her, just as everyone else had, Joanna knew that. But he also saw … something else. Maybe, she thought, maybe he saw a little bit of Joanna there as well ….

She was walking along the cliffs toward the gazebo, staying out of the woods because the woods weren’t safe. Behind her she kept hearing a gull cry, and finally she
looked back over her shoulder, and she saw a girl with long blond hair leap off the cliffs as if trying to fly. She wanted to cry out a warning, but it was too late, the girl was soaring out and down … and down.…And standing on the cliffs where the girl had been was a man, his back to her, and he started to turn, and she was so terribly afraid…
.

Joanna jerked awake with a gasp, her heart pounding. The clock on her nightstand told her it was barely midnight, and she could hear the low wail of the wind outside. It wasn’t raining, she thought, but the forecast had called for storms all night, and it sounded as if they were on their way.

She sat up, running her fingers through her hair. The dream remained vivid in her mind, and with it a sense of urgency even stronger than the one that had sent her across the country in search of a dead woman.

“My God, Caroline,” she murmured, “is that what happened? Did you see that poor girl pushed off the cliffs? Is that why you were afraid?”

There was no answer, except the wind.

A
T FIRST
, Holly thought it was a dream. She was floating peacefully, listening to the wind and half-consciously waiting for the storm to arrive. She liked storms and always slept better during a stormy night. Then she felt movement, the bed beneath her shifting heavily, and she rolled onto her back with a little moan of annoyance.

Something touched her mouth, warm and hard and tasting faintly of coffee. She uttered another little sound, this one filled with pleasure, and decided she liked this dream. Someone was kissing her, only their lips touching, and he was awfully good at it. He aroused and enthralled her, seduced her, until her body felt hot and throbbed with a slow pulse that seemed to originate deep inside her. His mouth brushed hers, teased hers, his teeth nipping gently at her bottom lip, and his tongue enticed skillfully until she pulled her arms from beneath the covers to reach for him.

Her wrists were caught and held together, gently pinned against the pillow above her head, and Holly would have
protested if she could have found the breath for it. His mouth was still moving on hers, possessing hers, and she thought she was going to burn up or explode or just melt into a puddle if he didn’t do something to satisfy the frantic need coiling inside her.

Then, finally, his hand touched her breast, moving in a slow, lazy circle so that her nightgown offered a silky friction, and she whimpered at the waves of pleasure. As if they had all the time in the world, he kissed her mouth and caressed her breasts. Her back arched as she tried to push herself harder against his tormenting hand, and when he teasingly drew back, Holly moaned his name in frustration.

“Cain
…”

“I’m glad you know who I am,” he murmured, cupping her breast through her nightgown, his thumb rubbing slowly back and forth across the straining nipple. “I was beginning to think you were going to sleep through this. Open your eyes, Holly.”

She did, staring up into the dark glitter of his eyes. She made one somewhat weak attempt to free her wrists from his gentle grasp, then forgot about doing anything about that and tried to think straight. “You’re in my room,” she realized.