Protecting Her Child (2 page)

“Eve isn't the Institute's only contributor. There are others.”

“Whose donations pale in comparison. I won't accept her help.”

“Look, Pete, I don't know the whole story. Denise mentioned something about your father. But whatever happened was a long time ago.”

“Please, Veronica.”

She held up her hand. “Just don't let your pride get in the way of saving lives. Applications for the Institute grant are due Tuesday. At least think it over. I'm giving you Monday off so you can use the long weekend to weigh your options.”

Without waiting for his response, Veronica turned back to the lab, leaving Pete to stare out the large windows that overlooked the parking lot.

His eyes focused on Eve scurrying toward her car. Her shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly, as if the effort of walking was almost more than her sickly body could manage.

Heaviness filled Pete's heart. His father had cared more about the estate grounds than he had for
the little boy who yearned to be loved. Eve had been Pete's refuge. She'd showered him with affection. As a child, he'd responded in kind.

Love, connection, a sense of family was what they both had needed then and, if the truth were known, probably needed now.

Although Pete never told Eve, he'd gone into medical research because of her, hoping to find a cure for the disease that would eventually take her life. But he couldn't change Eve's lab results, and no matter how quickly his research proceeded, he wouldn't find answers that would help her in time. Yet he could ensure that she didn't give her heart and her fortune to someone who didn't legally have a claim to either.

Craddock Sound? He had three days. Enough time to do a little reconnaissance. Hopefully, Pete would find out the truth about Eve's supposed daughter.

P
ete downed the last drops of the thirty-two-ounce cola he'd bought at the gas station as he turned off the highway and glanced at his BlackBerry sitting on the console. Thank goodness for mobile technology and the fact that Dixie Collins's phone number had been listed in the phone book, along with her address. MapQuest provided the missing link.

For the last two hours, Pete had sat parked down a lonely stretch of back road in sight of Dixie's modest home. Hurry up and wait. Just like in the army.

From the number of times she had stepped outside to use her cell phone, Pete wondered if something were going down.

He needed patience. And another cola.

His watch read 11:45 p.m. Time for Dixie to get some shut-eye.

Pete wouldn't mind catching a few winks himself.

He pushed the seat back to its full extension and stretched his legs. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he was just about to nod off when he heard an engine. Startled, he straightened.

A Lincoln Town Car pulled into the driveway. Green body, white vinyl top, mid-nineties vintage.

The driver stepped onto the pavement. Six-two, if not a tad taller, and at least 250 pounds of muscle. He wore his hair pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck and was dressed in a dark T-shirt and jeans.

Dixie ran to greet him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, the two embraced and shared a lingering kiss.

Follow your gut, Pete's first sergeant used to remind him. Right now, his gut was screaming that something wasn't on the up-and-up about this late-night rendezvous.

Once the loving couple unwound, they climbed into the Lincoln and headed out along the two-lane road.

Pete gave them enough leeway to keep from attracting attention before he followed the taillights that cut through the night.

Staying clear of the main highway, Dixie and
her boyfriend headed north, meandering along the coastal contours. Eventually, the two-lane road veered east into a narrow spit of black desolation.

If they'd made Pete, the lonely road could be a trap. But Pete felt no sense of unease or warning.

The taillights turned, and Pete increased his speed. He couldn't lose them now.

An outline of homes sat nestled along a coastal inlet. A plaque erected on the side of the road welcomed him to Refuge Bay.

Driving on the main thoroughfare of the small community, Pete passed two gas stations, both closed, a corner mom-and-pop grocery and an all-night diner, where three patrons sat at a booth by the window.

On the far side of town, a long, shingled building was perched at the edge of the water. A sign out front read R
EFUGE
L
ODGE
.

At the next intersection, the Lincoln turned inland. Were they going in a circle? Or had he been spotted?

The boyfriend didn't look like the type of guy who enjoyed being followed. Hopefully, this cat-and-mouse game they'd been playing wouldn't end up with Pete in the trap.

Not a good thought.

As if in response, the Lincoln stopped short by a tiny bungalow.

Pete cut his lights and turned onto a path that led behind a clump of pines. He killed the engine, crawled out of his Jeep and watched the guy push open the rear door of the small frame house. Dixie followed him inside. Lights flipped on from room to room.

Hoping to catch a glimpse of what was happening, Pete circled to the far side of the wooden structure and wormed his way through the thick shrubbery until he could peer in the window.

The man stood over a small table, his face twisted into a deep frown. A newspaper lay open. He shoved it aside, then lifted a square of cloth and studied it for a moment before tucking it into his pocket. Evidently satisfied with what he found, he turned abruptly, motioned to Dixie and headed for the door.

If Pete left the cover of the bushes now, he'd be spotted. Better to hole up until they climbed into the car and started down the road. With a little luck, Pete would be able to backtrack and pick up their tail.

Hunkered down in the bushes, Pete listened for the sound of an engine. All he heard were tree frogs against the backdrop of the distant surf.

Two doors slammed and an engine purred into gear.

Pete climbed from the bramble as the Lincoln drove out of sight, probably heading back to Dixie's house. He glanced at the bungalow. Torn between seeing what had prompted the twosome to drive so far in the middle of the night and wanting to follow them, he crossed the road and stepped into a small kitchen. Neat. Clean. A bowl of fruit sat on the counter. An open pantry next to the back door held a few cans of vegetables, a box of oatmeal and a jar of pickles.

The design on the linoleum was old and faded but without a spot or crumb. The floorboards creaked as he walked into the living–dining room combination where a love seat and rocker edged a braided rug. A wooden crate, decorated with a collection of seashells, served as a coffee table. Two folding chairs and a card table sat in the dining area.

Swatches of fabric that had drawn the guy's interest lay on the table in various pastel patterns of tiny, delicate hearts and crosses. Pete drew closer, overwhelmed by a sense of familiarity. The intricate motif looked like something Eve would create.

Glancing into the bedroom, he smelled a fresh, floral fragrance as sweet as honeysuckle. Had to be a woman's room.

Blow-up mattress on the floor. Rumpled bedding, the beige blanket and pink top sheet thrown aside.

Had someone or something interrupted her sleep? Not Dixie and her friend. The house hadn't been occupied when they had entered through the back door.

A photo on the floor next to the bed caught Pete's attention. A woman with shoulder-length raven hair and green eyes the color of the ocean looked lovingly at a man, perhaps two inches taller, who held her close.

For an instant, Pete longed for something as real in his life.

Abruptly, he turned away. Whoever lived here didn't need her privacy violated.

Stepping into the kitchen, he spied a stack of bills on the counter addressed to Meredith Lassiter. Probably the gal in the photo.

He glanced at the open pantry, noting the black hinges attached to the doorframe.

Odd.

He retraced his steps to the bedroom.

A couple of pairs of slacks and a blouse hung on the rack in the closet. Slippers were neatly placed on the floor below.

He hadn't noticed earlier, but the closet door had been removed from its hinges, just like the pantry.

Some type of space-saving decorating trick?

Then Pete left the house, the lights still ablaze to
warn the woman, should she return before the break of day. Tomorrow he'd make more inquiries in town. Hopefully, he'd learn why Dixie and her friend had driven through the night to break into this bungalow.

A second question needed to be answered as well.

Who was Meredith Lassiter?

 

“Are you a policeman?”

Not the response Pete expected from the shopkeeper.

“No, ma'am, but I am trying to find Meredith Lassiter.” He paused, searching for a way to ease the concern he saw in the woman's eyes. Gray hair, mid-sixties, she continued to stare at him.

“I'm a friend of her mother's.” Pete needed the woman's cooperation. “One of Meredith's neighbors said she teaches quilting classes here at your store.”

“Taught. Past tense. She's missed her last three classes and hasn't answered her cell in days.”

The friend-of-the-mother angle must have worked, although annoyance was still evident in the shopkeeper's voice. Hopefully aimed at Meredith and not at him.

“I left a message, reminding her that she's got a check to pick up,” the woman continued. “With the
economy and all, I don't have to tell you money's tight.”

He thought of the lack of funding for his research. “Yes, ma'am.”

The woman shrugged and worried her fingers. The frustration he'd heard earlier in her voice softened to concern. “I thought she'd be back by now. Truth be told, I'm worried about Meredith. She's a delightful young woman with a big heart. I wouldn't want anything to happen to her.”

Pulling out his business card, Pete placed it on the counter. “I'm staying at the Lodge over the weekend. If she comes back, would you tell her that Pete Worth is looking for her?”

“Shall I mention her mother?”

“No.” Pete glanced at the colorful quilts displayed around the shop. “Her quilting. Tell Meredith I'm interested in her work.”

The woman's eyes softened. “She
is
gifted.”

“Do you happen to know where I could find her boyfriend?” Pete thought back to the bedroom photo. “The guy's about her age, maybe a few inches taller. Dark hair, long sideburns?”

The shopkeeper furrowed her brow. “Doubt there'd be a boyfriend this soon after her husband's death. I heard the police are calling it a homicide.”

A buzz sounded in Pete's ears. Like a trapped fly. His own internal warning system. Seemed the deeper he dug, the more problems surfaced. His desire to help Eve had led him to Dixie and now to a missing woman whose husband may have been murdered.

Getting involved in a homicide investigation wasn't on his list of things to do this weekend, but if Meredith knew Dixie, she might provide information that Eve needed to know.

“Ma'am, do you recall when her husband died?”

“Hmmm? Must have been six months ago or so. Meredith never talked about him, and most folks didn't connect her with the story in the paper. Seems he died on a fishing boat out of Jackson Harbor.”

“South of here?”

“That's right. The article said he'd just hired on. Went out on a day trip, and his leg got tied up in one of the nets as it was being tossed in the water. According to the story, he was pulled overboard, and the blades on the motor caught him. Cut him pretty bad. He bled to death before they could get him to shore.”

“They?”

“The crew. I wouldn't have thought much more about the accident except the paper ran a picture of
the wife he left behind, and Meredith arrived in town not long after that. Last week the police arrested the boat owner.”

If the husband had been involved in something criminal, Dixie and her boyfriend could be as well. Perhaps that's why they'd made the late-night visit to Meredith's bungalow.

Pete pointed to the counter where he'd placed his card. “You have my cell number. Be sure to tell Meredith I'm looking for her.”

“Do you know that other guy who stopped by? He wouldn't say what he wanted.”

Pete thought of Dixie's friend. “Big man with a ponytail?”

The shopkeeper shook her head. “The man was Latino, probably five-eight.” She touched her face. “He had a scar on his left cheek.”

Evidently, Dixie and her boyfriend weren't the only other people looking for Meredith. The shopkeeper had mentioned the police, who probably wanted a chat with the grieving widow as well.

Leaving the store, Pete headed down the block to the diner and sat in a booth that faced the street with a clear view of the quilt shop. Three cups of coffee later, he noticed an elderly woman shuffle inside, holding a cane in her right hand. One of the few people who had visited the shop that morning.

Pete caught the eye of the waitress and pointed to his cup, which she quickly refilled.

Taking a sip of the hot brew, he glanced once again at the shop. The old woman stepped through the door and onto the sidewalk.

This time she held the cane in her left hand.

A baggy sweater hung over her sweatpants. A floppy hat covered her hair, except for a long strand that trailed along the slender curve of her neck.

The same raven hair he'd seen in the bungalow photo.

Pete threw some bills on the table and raced from the diner.

The woman turned the corner and crossed the street. A clunker sat parked at the end of the block.

Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder. Spying him, she tossed her cane aside and ran toward the car. Her hat flew off, and dark hair spilled across her shoulders, swinging back and forth.

She had an awkward gait and kept her hands close to her body. Was she holding something?

He was gaining on her.

“Meredith, wait,” Pete called. “I need to talk to you.”

She flicked another glance at him. Fear flashed across her face.

Not what he wanted.

At that moment, a police cruiser turned onto the block.

Meredith stopped abruptly. She turned and caught Pete's eye, her own wide with panic.

He slowed his pace. Meredith paused long enough for the black-and-white sedan to pass before she took off running again.

Silhouetted for that brief moment against the backdrop of the brick building behind her, Pete realized something he hadn't noticed before.