Bay Hideaway (7 page)

“What!” Nathan’s glance clung to her like hot oil. “You never said anything about this letter when that happened.”

“I tried to tell you it was more than a prank,” she reasoned, endeavoring to ignore the confusion and anger battling in his voice.

“Judi,” he went on, “don’t you think I would have taken it more seriously if you would have shown me the letter? Vandals out for kicks don’t leave mysterious notes behind, especially ones sounding like personal vendettas.” He quirked an eyebrow knowingly. “So that leaves me to assume that you wouldn’t, or couldn’t, show me these notes for two possible reasons. Either you suspected—why, I don’t know—that I was threatening you, or the author knew something and was holding this information over you—a blackmail of sorts.”

Judi couldn’t avoid his direct gaze. His quick perception of the situation petrified her. He was right, of course—except in opposite order. She didn’t suspect Nathan until later. She closed her eyes in a supreme effort to calm the wild fluttering of nerves racing through her.

“I can see that at least one, or possibly both, of my assumptions are on target,” Nathan assessed with annoying self-confidence.

“I tried to make you see, Nathan….” Her voice trailed off nervously. “Then I had proof that you were the one sending the letters.”

He stared at her in amazement. “What could possibly make you think I’d sent you these types of threatening notes along with vandalizing your car and presenting you with a dead, vile rat?” He tossed an agitated hand into the air. “First off, the handwriting is nothing more than cursive scrawl. I have flawless print!” Then as if carefully weighing an opening statement in front of a jury, he cocked his head thoughtfully in her direction. “I may not be a poet, but the grammar and hacked prose could be improved upon by a five-year-old. At least give me more credit than that.”

Judi struggled to keep a flush from creeping up into her cheeks as he threw a frustrated glance to the ceiling.

“Another thing,” he went on, landing his gaze back on her. “If I’m as compulsive about every detail as you’ve always claimed, I can assure you that I wouldn’t be able to create such a cheap product.”

A hot protest rose in her throat. “You would if you were trying to disguise your handwriting. So not everything you’ve said is quite true. You don’t
always
print, Nathan.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are times when you write in cursive,” Judi continued, “and no matter what you claim, your script writing is worse than scrawl. That’s why you prefer to print.” She lifted her chin. “And the cursive writing matches closely enough to raise a valid question.”

“The
only
time I write in cursive is to sign my name,” he argued. “How could you match the writing with only a signature?”

Squaring her shoulders, she shifted uneasily under his scrutiny. “Not true! When you paid bills, you wrote the entire check in cursive. Remember? You always said the checks should look uniform and that meant they couldn’t be done in print
and
cursive.”

Nathan’s lips twitched in contemplation, and he leaned back to sit on the edge of the table. He gave a low grunt at the idea. “I suppose you’re right! I’d forgotten. I used to write the checks that way.” The tightness of his mouth twisted into a firm line. “With the age of electronic transactions, it’s no longer necessary to write checks, and it seems like ages ago. Guess I just didn’t remember.”

“So we’re right back to the beginning,” Judi pointed out. “The handwriting in those notes does look like yours.”

“Now wait a minute,” Nathan quickly protested, lifting himself from the edge of the table. He scooped up another letter from the box and scanned it intently. “It’s really been a long time since I’ve written in longhand, but still, I still don’t see the similarity. I mean, this writing is absolutely terrible.”

Judi couldn’t prevent the wry smile from forming at the corners of her mouth. “So is yours.”

“This bad?” His question seemed genuine.

Her mouth pulled knowingly to the side and she nodded. “Yes.”

Nathan made a face and she could tell he was fighting the idea. His fingers fidgeted with the paper in his hand and he glanced at it again. Something in the boyish confusion marking his features moved her. A dangerous spark of feeling she thought was well hidden in the depths of her contempt for the man who was her husband was beginning to surface.

Was she crazy?

Nathan gave a sigh. “I still don’t see it.”

“Look at each
R
and
S.
Look at the swoops on the
Ls
and slant of each sentence.” She watched him closely examine the style. “Trust me, Nathan. I compared the actual letters and it’s close enough to be scary.”

“I didn’t write these notes.”

She drew a deep breath, unable to take her eyes off his lean, attractive face. The cleft in his chin seemed to deepen. He looked truly perplexed.

Slowly, Nathan leaned over, imprisoning her hand under his. His face drew close and she had the instinctive feeling he was fighting between anger and some other deep emotion. “You never had anything to fear from me, Judi.” There was a pause. “I loved you!”

Judi didn’t miss the past tense condition of his words. He
had
loved her. “I don’t know what to say,” she finally replied, trying desperately to keep her voice level. It was the truth. There were no words to describe the barrenness of her heart and feelings she had at that moment.

“I say we should get to the bottom of these letters,” Nathan demanded, his voice becoming steely hard. “To do that, you’ll have to tell me everything—and I mean everything—you know about these letters and what this person is holding over you.”

Nathan studied the uneven edges of the creased paper in front on him. This was the last of the threatening letters to be copied. Not a single note made sense—at least not to him. Only Judi knew the implications of the innuendos and the power these words held over her. He rested his gold-plated pen a moment.

For some unexplained reason he believed Judi was telling the truth—as she understood it. Maybe it was the fear in her eyes or the poorly hidden grip of panic lashing out against the contents of the cold metal box. Whatever it was, the woman feared for her life. Now what? He was having a difficult time defusing the fury and resentment he’d spent the last few days building.

If only she had come to him.

Yes, he had been enormously busy with the campaign, almost numb from the frenzied pace of speeches, debates, interviews, and television commercials. But he would have dropped everything if he’d known the gravity of Judi’s dilemma. She should have known that! She should have trusted him.

It would be hard to calculate the emotional, legal, and even criminal consequences of Judi faking her own death. His own inattentiveness was partially to blame. Even now, he knew the enormity of the situation was beyond his own comprehension.

“We’d better hurry, Nathan,” Judi whispered across the table. “That bank teller keeps looking in. I think someone else is waiting to get to their box.”

With an effort, Nathan dragged his mind back to the present. “I’m almost done.” Pushing down his previously troublesome thoughts, he briefly glanced at the doorway before giving her a reassuring look. “There’s no one waiting on us. Your teller buddy is just keeping an eye on you. Bay Island must be like any other small town where everyone knows everyone—and their business.” It pleased him when Judi managed a tiny smile of agreement, lightening the tension. “So, what’s a bank teller inclined to do if a regular customer comes into the bank with a perfect stranger and this customer wants to get into her safety deposit box for the first time in two years? The teller is suspicious—as well she should be.”

Judi seemed to think this over. “You’re probably right.”

“Actually,” Nathan said with a small smile of his own, “I think the entire employee pool has waltzed by that door in the past half hour to make sure I haven’t absconded with all your jewels and worldly possessions.”

“If only they knew,” came her reply with a quiet but impish laugh. Her coloring was beginning to improve dramatically.

“But all the same,” Nathan continued, smoothing down his tie, “I’ll finish copying this last letter so we can get out of here.”

Diligently he printed the last few lines and sat back in the uncomfortable chair to appraise his work. The words needed to be exact if he was to make any sense of these letters and the possible motive behind them. Carefully, he twisted the tip of the pen until the point retreated inside and then leisurely secured it into the pocket of his shirt.

He glanced at Judi, who sat solemnly across from him, and wondered if he dared risk the fragile truce they’d developed. “Judi, I know you said that you wanted all of these letters to remain in the safety deposit box, but I’d like to keep one of them.”

“But why?” Alarm spread across her face.

Nathan hesitated, rubbing his thumb across the sharp edge of his jaw. “I came here believing you had deserted me for one selfish reason or another—all of which I couldn’t understand.” He rested a hand on the metal box. “You believed me to be the author of these notes.” Leaning forward, he caught the gaze of her guarded look, her eyes unabashedly veiled in wariness. “Can I assume we’ve come to some point of agreement where you might consider another explanation as a plausible alternative? We need to take a closer look at this whole thing, including the wording and handwriting. To do that, an actual sample of the letter will be necessary.”

Judi surveyed him with large emerald eyes, uncertainty still lingering in their depths. “I don’t know.”

“It’s up to you,” he assured her, spreading his hands nonchalantly before her. “I do think it will help us sort out the who, what, and why of this problem. You can choose which note comes and which ones stay.”

There was a measured but deep intake of air as Judi mulled over his words. “All right. One note can’t make that much difference—if it should disappear.” She regarded him with a narrow gaze. “For the record, though, you need to know that I’m not convinced of your innocence.”

“Fair enough!” He shrugged. “I have my own reservations when it comes to your part in this death-disappearance ploy. So we’re even.”

Judi’s brows arched a fraction.

He launched his own quizzical look her way. “But I’m willing to concede other possibilities might exist. Are you?”

“I suppose.”

“That’s a starting point.” Instinctively, he dropped his voice a tone or two and inclined his head toward the box. “Why don’t you go ahead and choose a letter. We’ll work from there.”

“Fine!” Determination, sprinkled with a light dusting of edginess, crept into her voice; yet when she began to reach forward to select a note, Nathan saw her hastily pull back.

Her eyes darkened in dismay as she looked up at him. “On second thought, why don’t you choose one; maybe the note you were just working on.”

“If you’re sure?”

She nodded. “Yes, I’m sure—if you think it will help.”

“I do!” Nathan cast her a troubled glance as he folded the letter and tucked it alongside the pen in his shirt pocket. Getting her to discuss the letters might be more of a challenge than he thought if she couldn’t even touch them.

“Would you mind putting away the box?” she asked quietly.

Without delay, he closed the box lid, scooped it up, and slid it back into the dark, narrow cavity. The small metal door closed easily. “Are you ready?”

Judi nodded and gathered her purse while Nathan rang the bell. The ever-vigilant bank teller wasted no time in coming.

“Find everything all right?” the teller asked with a smile.

“Yes, thank you,” Judi replied as the teller relocked the vault and returned Judy’s key.

As they walked through the doorway and into the lobby, several heads turned their way.

Nathan leaned close. “I think we’ve stirred some interest,” he whispered, his hand naturally resting at the small of her back to speed her along. He felt her back grow rigid and quickly let his hand drop.

Judi looked at her watch as soon as they stepped outside into the warm rush of island air. “It’s almost two o’clock,” she remarked with a groan. “I need to get back to the church. I’m already an hour late.”

“But you haven’t eaten,” Nathan pointed out with logic as they walked to the golf cart. “We also have a lot of work to do. Why don’t we grab a bite to eat and then discuss what we’re going to do?”

“I don’t think I could eat a single bite right now.”

“But I could,” he quickly protested.

“Well, I can’t just not show up for work,” she reasoned. “My job’s flexible, but not
that
flexible.”

“If it’s bothering you, call the church and see about taking the afternoon off. They already know you have an out-of-town visitor. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“I really shouldn’t.” There was a sigh. “It might generate gossip and I do have work to finish for the camp.”

“Your policeman friend, again?” Nathan moved to unsnap a small cell phone from the holder on his belt. “Then call your friend and explain that you’re tied up this afternoon. See if the work can wait until tomorrow.”

There was an awkward silence. “But I’ve never called off before.”

“All the more reason why they shouldn’t mind.”

Judi hesitated.

“Call him and see.” Nathan flipped open the phone and turned it on. A tart musical rumba danced across the silence as the network booted up. He handed her the open phone. “I’m sure the church and camp can spare you for a few hours.”

Judi placed her purse on the driver’s seat of the cart and grudgingly took the phone. “Let me see if Pastor Taylor’s in first.”

Nathan glanced down at her as she poised a slender finger to dial. Unbidden, his memory shot back to happier times when Judi would tenderly trace the outline of his lips with those soft, silky fingertips, nearly driving him out of his mind with longing. He closed his eyes over the burning recollection.

Suddenly, the phone came to life with a loud, annoying ring and he jerked his eyes open.

For a breathless moment, Judi stared at the offending noise before pushing it toward him. “I think it’s for you.”