Heroes are My Weakness (11 page)

The cat wouldn’t budge.

“He’s feeding you, isn’t he?” she said. “Don’t let him feed you. You have no idea what he’s putting in your Fancy Feast.”

As the cat continued to elude her efforts, she grew increasingly frustrated. “You stupid cat! I’m trying to help you.”

The cat dug its claws into the rug, stretched, and yawned in her face.

She reached under the bed, extending her arm. The cat lifted his head, and then, miraculously, started to crawl toward her. She held her breath. The cat approached her hand, sniffed, and began licking her fingers.

A ketchup-loving cat.

As long as she kept a little ketchup on her fingers, the cat was content to let her pick him up, carry him back into the main house and down to the kitchen. Jaycie was still with Livia, so there were no witnesses to Annie’s struggle getting an extremely pissed-off animal into the lidded picnic basket she found in the pantry. The cat howled like a car siren all the way down to the cottage.

By the time she got him inside, her nerves were scraped as raw as the scratches on her arms. “Believe me, I don’t like this any better than you do.” She flipped open the lid. The cat jumped out, arched his back, and hissed at her.

She filled a bowl with water. A pile of newspapers on the floor was the best she could do for a litter box. This evening, she’d feed him her last can of tuna, the one she’d intended for her own dinner.

She wanted to go to bed, but she’d stupidly promised Jaycie she’d talk to Theo. As she trudged back up to the top of the cliff, a scarf wrapped over her nose and mouth, she wondered how much longer she’d have to keep doing this before she paid off her debt to Jaycie.

Who was she kidding? She’d barely started.

She smelled the fire even before she saw the smoke rising from the trash drums behind the garage. Jaycie couldn’t have managed that icy path, so Theo was back from town and satisfying his unhealthy fascination with fire.

When they were kids, he’d kept a supply of driftwood above the tide line so they could build beach fires whenever they wanted. “If you look into the flames,” he’d say, “you can see the future.” But one day Annie had spied him alone on the beach tossing what she thought was a piece of driftwood on the fire he’d built until she’d caught a flash of purple and realized he’d thrown Regan’s precious purple poetry notebook into the flames.

That night she’d heard them fighting in Theo’s room. “You did it!” Regan had cried. “I know you did it. Why are you so mean?”

Whatever response Theo had made was lost in the sound of the argument Elliott and Mariah were having at the bottom of the stairs.

A few weeks later, Regan’s beloved oboe went missing. Eventually a visiting houseguest spotted the charred remains in one of the trash drums. Was it so impossible to believe that he’d played a part in Regan’s death?

Annie wanted to snatch back the promise she’d made to Jaycie that she’d talk to him. Instead she steeled herself and rounded the garage. His jacket lay across a tree stump, and he wore only jeans and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt. As she moved closer, she realized that confronting him right now, when she’d just come up from the cottage, worked to her favor. He didn’t know this was her second trip, so he’d have no reason to connect her with the handprint on his mirror. Jaycie couldn’t maneuver the steps, and Livia was too small to have reached the mirror. That left only a not-so-friendly creature from the other world.

A shower of sparks erupted from the drum. Seeing him through those glowing red embers—that dramatic dark hair, those feral blue eyes and saber-sharp features—was like catching a glimpse of the devil’s lieutenant out for a winter romp.

She curled her hands in her coat pockets and stepped inside the burning circle. “Jaycie says you’re going to fire her.”

“Does she?” He picked up a chicken carcass that had fallen on the ground.

“I told you last week that I’d help her, and I have. The house is decent, and you’re getting your meals.”

“If you can call what the two of you send up ‘meals.’ ” He tossed the carcass into the fire. “The world’s a tough place for a bleeding heart like you.”

“Better a bleeding heart than no heart at all. Even if you gave her a big severance check, how long would it last? It’s not like there are other jobs waiting for her. And she’s one of your oldest friends.”

“This morning, I was the one who had to drive the recycling into town.” He gathered up a handful of withered orange peels.

“I would have taken it in.”

“Right.” He threw in the orange peels. “We saw how well yesterday’s trip worked out for you.”

“An aberration.” She said the words with a straight face and some serious attitude.

He gazed at her, taking in her undoubtedly flushed cheeks and the tangled mayhem poking out from beneath her red knit hat. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. Not threatening, but more as if he were really seeing her. All of her. Bumps and bruises. Scars. Even—She tried to shake off the impression. Even . . . a few holy spots.

Instead of the fear and disgust his scrutiny should have elicited, she had a disturbing desire to sit down on one of the tree stumps and tell him her troubles, as if she were fifteen all over again. Exactly how he’d roped her in the first time. Her hatred spewed over. “Why did you burn Regan’s poetry notebook?”

The fire flared. “I don’t remember.”

“She was always trying to protect you. No matter what horrible thing you did, she’d defend you.”

“Twins are weird.” He almost sneered, reminding her so much of Leo that she shivered. “Tell you what,” he said. “Maybe we can work something out.”

The calculation in his eyes made her suspect he’d set another one of his traps. “No way.”

He shrugged. “All right.” He pitched a full trash bag into the fire. “I’ll go talk to Jaycie.”

The trap snapped shut. “You haven’t changed a bit! What do you want?”

He turned his devil’s eyes on her. “I want to use the cottage.”

“I’m not leaving the island,” she said as the acrid smell of burning plastic filled the clearing.

“Not a problem. I only need it during the day.” The waves of heat rising from the fire between them distorted his features. “You stay at Harp House in the daytime. Use the WiFi. Do whatever you want. When evening comes, we trade places.”

He’d set a trap, and the jaws had snapped. Had he ever said that he was going to fire Jaycie, or had she and Jaycie merely assumed that was the case? As she considered the likelihood that this was a ploy designed to manipulate her into doing his bidding, she was struck by something else. “
You’re
the one who was using the cottage before I got here. That coffee I found belonged to you. And the newspaper.”

He threw the last of the trash into the fiery drum. “So what? Your mother never minded lending out the cottage.”

“My mother’s gone,” Annie countered. She remembered the newspaper she’d found that had been dated a few days before her arrival. “You must have known when I was arriving—everybody on this island seemed to know. But when I got here, there was no water, no heat. That was deliberate.”

“I didn’t want you to stay.”

He exhibited not even a trace of shame, but under the circumstances, she wasn’t handing him a gold star for honesty. “What’s so special about the cottage?”

He grabbed his jacket from the stump. “It’s not Harp House.”

“But if you hate the place so much, why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” She jerked her hat over her ears. “That’s not the way it is with you.”

“Isn’t it?” He hooked his jacket over his shoulder and headed toward the house.

“I’ll only agree on one condition,” she called after him, knowing as she did that she was in no position to make conditions. “I can use your Range Rover whenever I want.”

He kept going. “The key’s on a hook next to the back door.”

She remembered the underwear she’d left scattered around the bedroom and the book of pornographic art photos lying open on the couch. Then there was the black cat. “Fine. But our deal doesn’t start until tomorrow. I’ll bring you a key to the cottage in the morning.”

“No need. I already have one.” In two long strides he’d rounded the stables and was out of sight.

A
NNIE HAD BEEN BLACKMAILED, BUT
she’d also gotten something out of it. Not only did she now have reliable transportation, but she also wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into Theo during the day. She wondered if he’d discovered the handprint she’d left on the bathroom mirror. If only she could hear him scream.

Maybe tonight she’d scratch claw marks into the turret door. Let him figure that one out.

When Annie got inside, Jaycie was sitting at the table, sorting a pile of clean laundry. Livia looked up from a big jigsaw puzzle on the floor, her attention on Annie for the first time. Annie smiled and vowed to bring Scamp out again before the day was over.

She made her way to the table to help with the laundry. “I talked to Theo. You don’t have to worry.”

Jaycie’s debutante eyes brightened. “Really? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Annie picked up a bath towel and began to fold it. “I’ll run the errands into town from now on, so let me know what I need to do.”

“I should have had more faith in him.” She sounded almost breathless. “He’s been so nice to me.”

Annie bit her tongue. Hard.

They worked in silence for a while. Annie dealt with the sheets and towels so she wouldn’t have to handle his personal items. Jaycie took her time folding a pile of silky boxer briefs, fingering the material. “I’ll bet these cost a lot.”

“Amazing that such delicate fabric can hold up against all those clawing female hands.”
Not to mention a large body part
. . .

Jaycie took Annie’s comment seriously. “I don’t think so. His wife died just a year ago, and the only females around here are you, me, and Livia.”

Annie gazed toward the four-year-old. Livia’s forehead was knit in concentration as she pressed the giant jigsaw pieces into their proper places. There was nothing wrong with her intelligence, and Annie had heard her humming softly to herself, so her vocal cords were working. Why wouldn’t she talk? Was it shyness or something more complicated? Whatever the cause, her muteness made her more vulnerable than the average four-year-old.

Livia finished her puzzle and left the kitchen. Annie was here too much to be kept in the dark about the little girl. “I saw Livia writing her numbers. She’s really smart.”

“She gets some of them backward,” Jaycie said, but she was clearly proud.

Annie couldn’t think of any way to handle this other than to be direct. “I haven’t heard her talk. Maybe she talks to you when I’m not around?”

Jaycie lips tightened. “I was a late talker.”

She spoke with a finality that didn’t encourage more questions, but Annie wasn’t ready to give up. “I don’t mean to be intrusive, but I feel like I need to know more.”

“She’ll be fine.” Jaycie hauled herself up on her crutches. “Do you think I should make sloppy joes for Theo’s dinner?”

Annie didn’t want to imagine what Theo would think of Jaycie’s sloppy joes. “Sure.” She steadied herself to broach a more difficult topic. “Jaycie, I think you need to make sure Theo doesn’t get too near Livia again.”

“I know. He was really mad about the stable.”

“Not just the stable. He’s . . . unpredictable.”

“What do you mean?”

She couldn’t outright accuse him of intending to harm Livia when she didn’t know if that was true, but she also couldn’t ignore the possibility. “He’s . . . not good with kids. And Harp House isn’t the safest place for a child.”

“You’re not an islander, Annie, so you don’t know how it is here.” Jaycie sounded almost condescending. “Island kids aren’t pampered. I was hauling traps when I was eight, and I don’t think there’s a kid here who can’t drive a car by their tenth birthday. It’s not like on the mainland. Peregrine kids learn to be independent. That’s why keeping her inside is so awful.”

Annie doubted whether any of those independent island kids were mute. Still, for all she knew Livia talked to Jaycie when Annie wasn’t around. And maybe Annie’s concern was for nothing. Theo had seemed genuinely upset about the possibility of Livia getting hurt in the stable.

She separated out the dish towels. “Theo wants to use the cottage during the day.”

“He worked there a lot until you came back.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew.”

She started to say that Theo had a fully equipped office in the turret, then remembered Jaycie didn’t know Annie had been up there. The only way she could stomach the idea of working for him was by reminding herself she wasn’t working for him. She was paying off her debt to Jaycie.

When she was done stacking the folded laundry in the basket ready to be put away the next time Theo left the house, she carried her laptop into what had once been a pleasant sunroom but now, with its dark-paneled walls and thick wine carpet, looked more like a man cave for Dracula. At least it had a view of the ocean, unlike Elliott’s office. She chose a deep leather armchair that looked out across the big front porch to the water, which was slate gray today with angry whitecaps.

She opened the inventory file she’d created and set to work, hoping this time not to hit so many dead ends. She’d been able to track down most of the artists whose work hung on the cottage walls. The artist who’d painted the studio mural was a part-time college professor whose work had never caught on, so she wouldn’t have to deal with trying to sell off a wall. The black-and-white lithographs in the kitchen should bring her a few hundred dollars. R. Connor, the painter of the upside-down tree, sold his paintings at summer art fairs for modest prices, and considering the commission she’d have to pay a dealer, she would barely put a dent in her bills.

She let herself Google Theo’s name. It wasn’t as though she’d never Googled him, but now she added another word to her search.
Wife.

She found only one clear photo. It had been taken a year and a half ago at a black-tie benefit for the Philadelphia Orchestra. Theo looked as though he’d been born to wear a tuxedo, and his wife—the photo identified her as Kenley Adler Harp—was his perfect match—a patrician beauty with finely carved features and long dark hair. There was something familiar about her, but Annie couldn’t put her finger on what.