Losing Ladd (24 page)

Travis groaned aloud, then whirled on
her. Running a hand through his hair, he grabbed hold of a clump,
exclaiming, “You're insane! You can't do this, don't you get that?
Have you forgotten what he did to your mother?”

“
I’m his daughter.” She
locked arms across her chest. “Ex-wives are different.”

“
Not if he thinks you're
here to convince him to drop charges against Troy, they
aren’t!”

“
That was my diversion
tactic so he wouldn’t be suspicious.”

“
What?” Travis closed his
eyes, shook his head. “Felicity, please. You can’t do this. You’re
messing with the wrong man.”

“
No. My mother is lying in
a hospital bed and my father is responsible. I’m doing for her what
she can’t do for herself.”

“
Let the police handle
it.”

“
He’s got half the police
force in his pocket! They’re not going to get anywhere with
him.”

“
And neither are
you.”

Resentment split her in
two. “At least I’m willing to try. I’m not going to sit on hands
and wait idle while you
men
go around and try to figure everything out. If
you hadn’t interfered, I could have learned something.”

Travis looked into her
eyes, and for the first time Felicity felt the condemnation Casey
and Troy must have felt all these months. Raw and cutting, there
was no doubt what Travis thought of her. He disapproved. Worse, he
thought she was incompetent. “I’m not a helpless, stupid child.
This is my mother and my battle,” she said, jabbing a finger to her
chest. “I have my own mind and my own plan and if you disagree with
it,
tough
. I’m
finished with your protection routine.”

Like a punch to the gut, Travis
sputtered, “Felicity.”

“
By the way, how did you
know I was here?” she demanded.

“
I saw your
car.”

“
Really? Next time you see
it somewhere, don’t stop.” Felicity turned on her heel and left
him. “I don’t need your kind of interference on my
behalf.”

Felicity yanked open the door to
Fran’s Diner, the clang of bells reverberating in her chest. Travis
made her so mad. Why did he have to butt into her business? Now
she’d never get close enough to her father to get the information
she needed, and it was his fault. All his fault. Sure, she might
have been feeling a bit uncertain at the moment he barged in, but
she could have recovered. Now, she would never know. Her mother was
still in a coma, her father was still walking free and she was
helpless to do anything about it.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was
fair.

The scent of fried chicken broke
through her anger. The lunch crowd was scarce but she could see the
cooks were busy preparing for the dinner rush. From the back of the
restaurant, Fran Jones spotted Felicity immediately and waved her
over. She was talking with Ashley Fulmer, probably about her
mother. Ashley was as close to family as someone could get without
actually being blood. She’d been Felicity’s grandmother’s best
friend. “Two seeds in a melon,” Ashley always said, using one of
her many garden analogies. “Your grandmother Susannah and me were
close as sisters.” Felicity’s mom claimed Ashley had been like a
mother to her, filling in the void after Susannah Ladd died.
Felicity had only been six at the time and didn’t remember much but
she knew one thing: Ashley Fulmer was the first to raise her hand
when help was needed.

Standing behind the counter, Fran
folded the top of a paper bag and pushed it toward Ashley, absently
tucking stray red curls beneath her hair net. Next to Ashley’s pop
of spring blue clothing, Fran’s white uniform seemed sterile.
Unfriendly. It reminded Felicity of the white coats the doctors
wore as they walked the halls, delivering the bad news to families
and friends.

Heading over, Felicity wondered if it
was more food for Albert. With her mom in the hospital, Ashley
would be the sole caretaker for Uncle Albert. He still lived on the
property though Felicity didn’t see him much anymore, not like she
used to when Uncle Ernie was alive. He used to insist she visit
every night and play her flute for them. Albert listened and seemed
to enjoy the music, but he never asked for her after Ernie passed.
It seemed when Ernie died, so did Albert’s desire for music. Her
mom said he was becoming one of those odd recluse types, refusing
her invitations to dinner and bonfire gatherings, claiming he
didn’t have the energy for it. Felicity feared that Albert could
wither away and die without anyone knowing about it.

Thank goodness her mom and Ashley
checked up on him.

“
How’s your momma?” Fran
asked, her heavily-lined brown eyes sharp with concern.

“
Has there been any word?”
Ashley echoed.

“
Same,” Felicity replied
dully.

Ashley’s big blue eyes recoiled.
“Isn’t there anything the doctors can do?”

Felicity shrugged, sinking a hip into
the counter. “They say they can’t. Not yet, anyway. If mom doesn’t
get better on her own, they might have to take her to
surgery.”

“
Surgery?”

“
That’s what they say.
Nick’s with her now but I’m on my way over. I wanted to pick up
some food for her, maybe get her to smell what she’s missing out on
and wake up.”

The bittersweet compliment drew a
smile from Fran. “That’s good thinkin’, child. How about I send
some biscuits and cornbread with you, maybe some fried chicken?
Delaney never could resist the smell of fried chicken, and I have
fresh batch coming out right now.”

“
Sounds good. If nothing
else, Nick can eat it.” Felicity hadn’t seen him eat a bite a food
since he’d been at the hospital, but she knew he had to be putting
something in his stomach or else he’d starve. Might as well be
Fran’s cooking.

Fran drew a hand under Felicity’s chin
and cupped it. “I’ll go put together a bag for you right now.” She
kissed her cheek then went straight to work, leaving a heavy drift
of her perfume behind.

“
Thanks.”

Ashley rubbed a hand up and down
Felicity’s arm, gathering Felicity in her gaze. “Oh, darlin’. I’m
sorry you’re having to go through this. It’s a shame what’s
happened to your momma. Is there anything I can do?”

“
Not really. Helping with
Albert is probably the biggest thing.”

“
You know I will. That
poor man wouldn’t survive otherwise.” Curling a finger to dry a
tear at the corner of her thickly mascaraed eye, her glitter-coated
bangles sparkled pink and green at her wrist, rivaling the
sparkle-outlined cat image on the front of her aqua T-shirt. Ashley
didn’t have any cats on account of the foxes might nab them, but
she loved the furry felines all the same. Like Ladd Springs, her
property was surrounded by forest and wildlife was part of the
deal.

“
Now tell me,” Ashley went
on. “What about the stables? Are the horses all right?”

“
Troy’s been helping to
get them settled. One was burned.”

Ashley clasped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh, no! It wasn’t Blue or Sadie, was it?”

“
No. A horse by the name
of Lola, but the vet says she’ll be okay.”

“
I
swear
, the only good thing about
Delaney’s condition is that she doesn’t know anything about what
happened to her stables. If she did, she’d go plumb
crazy.”

“
Nick agrees. He said when
she awakens that I’m not supposed to mention it.”

Moisture shone in Ashley’s eyes,
catching in her lashes. “That Nick is a smart man and sweet as pie.
I saw him at the hospital this morning, and the nurse told me
hasn’t left Delaney’s side, not for one second.”

“
He hasn’t,” Felicity
said, warding off a slap of guilt because
she
had. But she left for good
cause. A cause Travis had ruined. “Anyway, I figured he could use
the food.”

Stroking the lengths of Felicity’s
hair, Ashley smiled affectionately. “You’re precious, you know
that? A gift from Heaven.” Felicity slumped, crossing her arms. She
didn’t feel precious. She felt mad, worn out. She felt inadequate.
“You tell your momma I’m comin’ to see her this afternoon and she’d
better be awake when I get there.”

Felicity smiled at the obvious tease.
“I will.”

Ashley rose, planting a kiss on
Felicity’s cheek. “Tell Fran I had to run, will you?” Lifting her
bag of food she paused. “It’s all going to work out, darlin’ you’ll
see. The Good Lord won’t take our Delaney from us. Not yet. You
don’t give up hope, you hear?”

Willing it to be true, Felicity
nodded. She wasn’t sure that prayers could be filled as reliably as
orders from Fran.

Chapter Twenty-One

“
Jeremiah
Ladd?”

“
Who’s looking?” Jeremiah
wheeled around toward the gruff voice and froze. It was a police
officer dressed in full uniform. Biting back a curse, he
straightened on the barstool. “What can I do for you,
Officer?”

“
I’d like to have a word
with you.” He flicked a glance toward the front door of Bucky’s.
“Outside.”

Jeremiah knew that could only mean one
thing. He was here to arrest him for something. “Is there a
problem?”

“
Nothing that a few
questions can’t solve.”

Resignedly, Jeremiah pushed up from
his seat. Resisting arrest wasn’t smart. It would only add to
whatever charges the man had in store for him—charges he could
weasel out of if he had to. Wanting nothing more than to throw back
the half glass of whiskey sitting before him on the wooden bar top,
he thought better of it. Better a clear mind when evading police
interrogation than a blurred one. “Sure thing.”

As the men walked out into the
sunshine, the bright light felt like running into a wall. Adjusting
his vision, Jeremiah considered the numerous offenses he’d
committed since being in town. The man could be here to question
him about any number of things. Tugging at his shirt collar,
Jeremiah decided to play it cool. Whatever the officer wanted to
discuss, he had no proof. Jeremiah had made sure of it. Coming to a
stop several feet from the entrance, he turned and asked
innocently, “How can I help you?”

“
I’d like to know your
whereabouts around seven-thirty last evening.”

“
Last evening?” Jeremiah
asked, squinting against the glare. “Why, I was here, drinking with
a few of my buddies.”

“
Can anyone vouch for
you?”

“
Sure can,” he said,
suppressing a chuckle. After all, it was true. He’d been here with
the boys going over Plan B.

“
What do you know about
the fire at Hotel Ladd?”

“
Fire?” he asked. “What
fire?”

“
The fire deliberately set
in the stables. We have it on good authority you could be
involved.”

“
Sorry, Officer, but it
wasn’t me. Whoever is feeding you the information is
wrong.”

“
Do you own a cell
phone?”

“
Of course. Who
doesn’t?”

“
We’d like access to your
records.”

Hell, no, he wasn’t giving them access
to his records! What—did this guy take him for a fool? “I think you
need a warrant for that,” he responded, zipping a rise of nerves.
Getting nailed for arson was serious business. The fact they were
interrogating him so quickly was not a coincidence.

The man cocked a brow. “Is there a
problem?”

“
No, sir. Just an average
Joe American who believes in his right to privacy, that’s all. If
you have evidence to support a warrant, then I guess I’ll have to
open my private life up to scrutiny. Until then, I
don’t.”

The man nodded his reply, marking
Jeremiah as obviously guilty. “How about we check out your alibi
first.”

“
By all means.” And then
I’m going to make whoever tossed my name up for grabs
pay
for their
mistake.

Jillian Devane waltzed
into the lobby like she didn’t have a care in the world. Cal
tracked her every step to the coffee machine, her every move as she
made herself a cup of steaming black coffee. Set up outside the
gift shop, the coffee station was replete with organic creamers and
herbal sweeteners but she used none of them. Retrieving a copy of
the local newspaper from the wire stack nearby, she strolled over
to one of the overstuffed chairs by the fountain and made herself
comfortable. Most guests enjoyed their coffee outside, at one of
several bistro tables situated between here and the spa pleasantly
shaded by trees. But not Jillian. She was here to taunt.
Well, make yourself at home,
sweetheart
.
The
police are on their over to speak with you
.

The officer in charge of the
investigation had asked Cal if he knew of anyone who might want to
do harm to the hotel or Delaney Harris. “Darn right I do,” he
replied and rattled off three names. Jeremiah Ladd, Jillian Devane
and Jack Foster, the last being the most difficult. But if he was
going to be fair, Cal had to include his brother. His lighter had
been found outside the stables. He did have a grudge against
Delaney and the hotel. If he was innocent, the police would learn
as much. But this one, he mused, marveling at Jillian’s
deliberately drawn-out movements, her conscious avoidance of his
direct gaze—she was a different story.