Warning Signs (Love Inspired Suspense) (9 page)

Owen sidled up, armed with a knife. She ceased her cucumber massacre with a pointed stare. He smirked and grabbed a tomato, and, with that, she guessed he was staying for dinner.

Her blade fell in unison with his as they sliced and diced. Twice his elbow hit hers and she realized he was left-handed. She supposed she could have moved over a bit, but she kind of liked the tingling waves that traveled up her arm when he bumped her, and
he
didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move over.

With nothing left to cut, she grabbed the underside of the board to pick it up and scrape the veggies into the bowl with the waiting lettuce. Only, Owen grabbed the board at the same time, and before she could change their course, tomato and cucumber pieces headed in the wrong direction.

Green and red diced veggies flew through the air like confetti at a Christmas fiesta. One by one, each piece landed in too many different places to warrant even an attempt at saving them. There was nothing to do but watch and accept the demise of her salad—and hospitality.

She gave her best grin and signed, “At least we still have the cookies.”

Owen’s dark eyes flashed with remorse. His hand fisted at his chest to sign, “I’m sorry. I wanted to help, but you were doing fine without me. I should have stayed over there. I should have stayed out of your way.”

Out of my way? He wanted to avoid me, like everyone else?
“What if I told you I was tired of people staying out of my way?”

His head tilted a bit. “What do you mean?”

“You’re my first visitor. When I came here, all I wanted was to make some friends. Instead, I walk down the boardwalk and the people dip back inside or cross so they won’t pass me by. If they do pass, they barely look me in the eyes.”

“I’m sure they only do these things because of Nick. He’s probably been misrepresenting you since you arrived.”

“Possibly, but I think they’re also uncomfortable around me because of the language barrier. They choose to avoid me instead. They choose to stay out of my way, when all I want is for them to—”

The lights flickered.

Owen’s stoic expression seemed to dare her to continue with the truth. “Do you need to get that?”

She nodded but didn’t move.

The lights flickered again, snapping her into motion. She left him alone in the kitchen, deciding it was best to not play this truth-and-dare game.

Her phone system sat on her desk in the living room. She pushed the button to answer. A message scrawled across the screen. Look out your front window.

As she pivoted to follow the directions, she collided with Owen’s chest. Miriam jumped back and saw his eyes weren’t on her but on the screen. He read along, then without a word, made his way to the front parlor in brisk strides.

She followed on his heels to the front bay window. He blocked her view with the height he had on her, but on her tiptoes, she could make out something silhouetted in the moonlight at the end of her pebbled walkway. Owen’s arm came back around, shoving her away from the window before she could identify the object.

“Stay!” his hand commanded, then reached behind his waist and removed a gun she’d had no idea he had on him. Stunned by the shiny black weapon, positioned at the ready in his hand, she felt her legs lock in place as he flipped up the safety latch.

He swung the front door wide and peered out from beside the doorjamb. After a tense moment, Owen slunk out onto the front porch with careful steps. From there, he disappeared from view.

Miriam inched forward to investigate what was out there that would make him react with such caution. Owen had told her to stay, but if she was careful not to be seen from the window, then she would be safe. Besides, Owen might need her assistance. To do what, she wasn’t sure, but she still figured she should know what was going on in front of her house.

She dropped to a crouch and crawled to eye level with the window trim, then nudged up a little more to get a clear view of the walkway.

Owen’s back hunched over the object, blocking her view. His gun protruded from the waistband of his pants, glinting off the porch light. If he’d holstered it, did that mean the coast was clear and it was safe for her to proceed, as well?

With that thought, she gained her feet and went to the front door. She halted at the threshold when she could make out a dark liquid on the white pebbles. A coffee spill came to mind. Perhaps it was her wishful thinking because the truth was too hard to grasp.

If that was blood on her walkway, then the object was a living thing. And it was hurt.

An animal? A person? She turned away, toward the direction of her phone. She could call the TTY operator and have them call 911. But what would she tell them? At this point, she didn’t know what was out there.

She veered back. Owen had a phone to his ear, already making the call. That eased her from feeling like a failure in the situation. She wanted to help, but it would take her longer to be productive if she had to use her phone service. His lips were moving, but in the dark shadows and with only a view of his profile, she couldn’t make out his words.

She wished he would move so she could see behind him. She craned her neck to try, then realized she was on the bottom stair. She’d left the house without making the conscious decision, as though her legs had a mind of their own.

He straightened and pocketed his phone. On her first step down on the pebbles, he sprang around to face her. He must have heard her. His lips moved fast and demanding and completely soundless. She tore her gaze from his useless words and dropped it to the clear view she now had of the object behind him.

Nick lay curled up, unconscious and bloodied at the end of her walkway.

SEVEN

S
omeone had beaten up Nick. Miriam’s hands twisted together in her lap. Someone had beaten him within an inch of his life and left him on her front curb like yesterday’s garbage. Someone had used him to get to her all because they wanted her to leave the island and had grown tired of asking.

She’d thought the pranks were coming from a student and had figured eventually the identity of the troublemaker would come to light. As principal, she would handle it internally. But this attack went beyond juvenile shenanigans. Nick was a grown man, even if he was on the smaller side. Miriam could no longer discount the local adults as possible suspects in the pranks and in Nick’s assault.

She should have listened to Nick when he’d told her to call the police. She should have notified Sherriff Grant after the first onslaught. As soon as the first message came, she should have filed a report. Now Nick lay on one of the only two clinic beds on the island, coughing up the price of her stubbornness as he’d been coughing up blood on her walkway.

Dr. Schaffer pulled the chair up in front of her. He spoke slowly and loudly to her. Under other circumstances she might have smiled at his unconscious attempt to make her hear him, but right now her lips were pursed so tight, bending them into a smile would require the mending of her shame-filled heart.

Nick was hurt because of her.

Miriam turned away from the lip-flapping doctor to face Owen in the seat across from her. “Can you please tell him I can’t understand him?”

No trace of comprehension crossed his face. His undercover signing secret remained intact.

“He’s a doctor,” she signed, not caring about his secret at the moment. “Everything is confidential, isn’t it?”

Owen turned his attention to the glass doors, where the lit walkway led to a quiet downtown.

So that’s it?
She fumed. She was on her own? Her interpreter, the only person on this island who could translate for her, lay sedated, leaving her less valuable than a planter in the corner of the room, and now the high-and-mighty special agent chose to abandon her to flounder alone. Fury seeped out of Miriam like steam off hot pavement.

She hated that she had this anger deep down inside her. It wasn’t as though she was the first child to go through life without her parents’ blessing of acceptance. She supposed that was why she could always relate to Esau’s story in the Book of Genesis. When Esau’s father gave his blessing to his brother and not to him, Miriam felt Esau’s anguish as if it was her own. When he cried out, “Bless me, even me also, O my father!” she cried out the same thing.

Even me.

How she’d craved her mother’s acceptance. Her blessing. Instead Miriam had been left in the darkness, empty-handed.

Until God met her there and gave her His perfect blessing.

Miriam closed her eyes, ignoring the doctor’s soundless words, ignoring Owen’s undercover stand. Ignoring the world she didn’t belong in and calling on the one she did. She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall.

I feel alone, Father,
she prayed silently.
I don’t know who to trust anymore, and I don’t know why You brought me here. I need Your healing and guiding hand. Please, Father, remove the haze of my anger so I can see Your ways clearly. So I can hear Your direction for my life. So I can receive the blessings You have for me.

Something touched her arm. Miriam opened her eyes to find Owen had moved across the room to the chair beside her. Worry etched his features.

“Are you okay?” he signed, and she noticed the doctor had left the room.

“I’m fine. I was talking to God.”

His eyes flashed in surprise, then dulled to annoyance. “Excuse me if I don’t join you. God left me when I needed Him most. And from where I stand, it doesn’t look like He’s doing much for you, either.”

Owen was wrong. He didn’t know God the way she did. He wasn’t there in the darkness with her. No one was. No one but God. She could always trust Him to lead her out.

“Dr. Schaffer says Nick will be okay. He should be able to leave in a couple days. We can stay by his side tonight if you want,” Owen said.

“Shouldn’t Nick be transported to the mainland?” Miriam asked. Dr. Shaffer was a good physician, but a hospital would be best.

“No,” Owen answered. “There are no signs of internal bleeding. The blood came from the stomach, not the lungs. Judging by the bruise in the shape of a boot, it was caused by a kick to the abdomen.”

“Kicked? As in stomped on when he was down? After they had already battered his face and roughed him up, they finished him off with a blow that could have killed him?” Miriam breathed deeply; the smell of antiseptic and everything sterile filled her nostrils. She let herself grow used to the sharp clinical smells, a reminder that Nick was in the right place. God had provided, and Nick would heal.

Her quick-to-anger response chagrined her. Lately she’d been falling off the edge of anger a little too often for her liking. This was the third time today. First this morning when she’d thought Owen had judged Ben stereotypically, and then at her house when Owen didn’t deny how he treated his son. Slow to anger had always been her prayer of petition, but at the moment she didn’t feel like giving it up.

She justified the lapse, saying an innocent person had been hurt, even though deep down she knew her anger wouldn’t help anyone heal—or receive justice.

Through the double glass doors, Miriam noticed a woman rushing up the concrete walk. Before the doors were flung wide, she recognized the woman as her secretary.

Stephanie burst in, her hands and mouth moving a frantic mile a minute. Miriam sprang up and signed to Owen, “What is she saying?”

He gave a single shake of his head.

“Please, I need to know what’s made her so upset.”

Owen eluded her request with a blank face.

Slow to anger,
Miriam prayed, needing peace more than ever when it came to this man.

She targeted her secretary’s lips. Miriam recognized Nick’s name—and the longing look of affection Stephanie sent toward his room.

Miriam did a double take. It couldn’t be true, she thought.
Could it?

* * *

Stephanie was a bangle-clinking fiasco. The way her arms flew around with each of her wails, Owen thought she might knock someone out with those bracelets, especially the jewel-encrusted ones. “I can’t believe this has happened,” she droned on. “Where is he? I need to make sure he’s okay.”

“Are you talking about Nick?” Owen speculated on how this girl had learned about the assault already. And what was Nick to her anyway?

“Yes! Where is he? Is it bad?” She bounced on her tiptoes in an attempt to peer beyond him.

“Well, it’s not good, but he’ll be fine. Someone did a number on him. You wouldn’t happen to know who that someone is, would you?”

Stephanie landed back on her feet, her eyes an act of wide-eyed innocence. “Me? No, how would I know?”

“Well, you found out he was here. How did you know he was hurt?”

“Well, Tildy told me, of course.” She seemed surprised that he didn’t know this already.

“Who’s Tildy?”

“Tildy. You know. Tildy from the Underground Küchen.”

“What is the Underground Küchen?”

She flipped her wrist with a jingle. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. You’ve only been here for a couple days. It’s the German restaurant, down by the shore. The one carved into the cliff.”

“Right.” Nick had mentioned the place to him. “And how did Tildy find out about Nick?”

“Ah, let me see.” Stephanie rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Owen suspected this could take a while. Steph wasn’t proving to be as bright as the pink concoction she wore for a blouse. “Tildy told me that Len told her.”

“Len? The custodian?”

“Yes. She said Len stopped in for his usual and told her that Frank had heard that Nick was here.”

“Frank?” Owen recalled Wes mentioning a Frank before.

“Frank Thibodaux.”

“Thibodaux.” The name clicked. “Any relation to Ben?”

“His grandfather. The two men own the two restaurants on the island.”

“They have a vested interest in this island, then. And if someone doesn’t fit in, they might even take matters into their own hands to get rid of them.”

“Well, that seems kind of harsh.” Stephanie jutted out her chin. “Hey, are you saying Frank and Len beat up Nick? Don’t you know how ridiculous that sounds? They’re like ninety years old or something. Plus, they are sweet old men who love us all.” Stephanie nodded at Miriam. “In fact, they were the ones who hired her in the first place.”

“Wait, it was Frank and Len who made the decision to hire Ms. Hunter?”

“Yes. They said it was time to bring her home. Now, can I please see Nick?”

* * *

“I had no idea Stephanie felt this way about Nick,” Miriam signed to Owen in the waiting room. “She kept her feelings a secret from me, and apparently Nick, too.”

Miriam hoped from Nick, too. With him sedated she couldn’t ask him outright. She almost dreaded the moment he would awake. Would this be another thing he’d kept from her?

“How well do you know Frank Thibodaux and Len Smith?” Owen asked.

“Apparently as well as I know Nick.” She waved her hands to indicate he could ignore that last off-the-cuff statement. “They seem like very nice men, but I don’t know them well. Why?”

“Did you know it was their decision to hire you?”

Her curiosity was piqued. “They sit on the school board. In fact, now that I think about it, I think they sit on every board. They must be revered by the islanders.”

“Yes, seemingly so. But why would they hire you?”

Miriam scoffed at his insult. “Because I qualified for the job and earned my way here.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to see it is highly unusual for a deaf person to be in charge of a hearing school, no matter how qualified you are for the job.”

The guy might as well have pushed her off her cliff. Did he really believe what he was saying?

“Criminal behavior is happening on this island.” He continued to sign as though he hadn’t just cut her down. “Somehow you’re connected. I need to figure out how. So tell me, how did you hear about the job?”

She pursed her lips and looked away, not wanting to tell him anything. But then she figured he thought that way about her only because he didn’t know her well enough yet. She just had to show him how smart she was. Her swim coach always told her she had to get out there and show the world how smart she was, and that would include Owen.

“I received a letter from the school board soon after the reading of the will. I inherited the house but wasn’t planning on returning here. I thought I would just sell it,” Miriam signed, thinking back. “Then I got the letter. I remember it came with a picture of my grandparents and said it would make them proud to have their only grandchild living in their home and a part of Stepping Stones. They offered me a position I had been waiting for—to head my own school. But I’ll admit the ‘a part of’ in the letter was what had me making plans to accept.” She tilted her head in thought. “Do you think they knew what to say to get me to come back?”

“They definitely played on your emotions.”

“But why? And who’s against it to the point they would beat Nick up to make me leave?”

“Who was the principal before you? Why did they leave?” Owen leaned in, his eyes sharpened to points. She could practically see the gears in his mind cranking.

Miriam felt grateful for his presence and his help. Without Owen, she would be sitting here, scared out of her mind without a clue to what was going on. Someone out there didn’t know Owen could sign and probably thought without her interpreter, she would be on the first helicopter off the island. Whoever it was probably figured she wouldn’t even wait for the Sunday ferry that came in two days.

She signed, “I was told the man before me retired to Florida. He was part of the Thibodaux family.”

Owen chewed on that for a few moments before speaking again. “The Thibodaux family seems to be gaining high-alert status in this investigation. Perhaps they’re involved in more than committee boards. Perhaps drug smuggling is their next business venture.”

“But what does it have to do with me?”

“I’m not sure yet. I think tomorrow I’ll be in the mood for some German food, though.”