Whisper of Revenge (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 4) (2 page)

A chill crept through her.  Hiding her disquiet, she nodded,
forced a smile and said, “I’m really holding you up, Elias.  But I appreciate
you listening.”

His withdrawal was subtle but real, as if he realized he had
gotten way better acquainted with her in the last few minutes than he had ever
intended to be.  She rang up his purchase, he handed over some bills, accepted
a box holding the truffles as well as his own now-full travel mug, and said,
“Thanks for letting me in early.  Have a good day, Hannah.”  Then he was gone,
the bell attached to the door tinkling.

By the time she followed him to the door to unlock and flip
the sign over, he was gone, lost in the dense fog that still cloaked the
coastal town.

Hannah wondered whether he might have crossed the street to
the Shore Gallery, where lights were now on.  For all she knew, he bought the
chocolate for Monica, who owned the gallery, rather than for himself.

Preferring not to picture the resulting grateful embrace,
Hannah made herself return to her preparations for opening.

But first she carried the mug back to her office and put it
in a drawer.  Out of sight and, she hoped, out of mind.

*****

Elias hadn’t let himself be distracted from his work by a
woman for a long time.  As he set up in the sand dunes at the old resort, where
he’d trailed one particular woman like a lovesick puppy and eventually found
her dead body, it occurred to him that his subconscious might be playing him.

He didn’t think about that long-ago day often, although it
was hard not to when so much was the same this morning.  The fog was so dense,
he couldn’t see more than a few feet from where he stood behind his easel.  The
unrelenting roar of the surf was accompanied by a few lonely screeches from
seagulls.  No blood-curdling screams, thank God.  No child traumatized forever
by the sight of her murdered mother.

That was twenty-one years old, damn it.  Get it out of
your head.

He waited for that moment when the fog would thin, allowing
him a fleeting glimpse between dunes of the Pacific Ocean.

This wasn’t the exact same spot where Michelle Thomsen had
died, although he could have found it with his eyes closed.  Only once had he
allowed himself to work where her body had lain, and that had been when he
painted a watercolor to serve as poster art for the campaign to raise funds to
buy this old resort and save the land from being developed.  He’d considered it
his tribute to Michelle.

Today, he would work in watercolor, as he frequently did. 
His paintings in oil sold for more, but the very nature of the watercolor
medium suited the coastal scenery, the ocean and fingers of foam, the river
with clinging mist, the gray, wet fog, the damp understory of a windswept
forest.  And, God, the rain, an ever-present reality to residents.

An elusive memory came, something like a quick glimpse of
movement out of the corner of his eye.  He’d turn his head and there was
nothing.  But in this case…  He would swear he had heard talk about a woman
being stalked by someone who called himself her secret admirer.  Where he’d
heard it, who the woman had been, eluded him.  Had to have been in recent
years.  Elias was sure the end hadn’t been good.  Not like she’d been murdered,
but…  Frustrated, he shook his head.

For just an instant, the sky lightened to a paler shade of
gray.  He reached for his brush.  He wanted the moment when the ocean breeze
began to shred the fog.  Watching, waiting, he swirled his brush in the cup of
water.

But his thoughts reverted to Hannah Moss and he quit seeing
what was in front of him.  He didn’t like what was going on with her, and that
wasn’t entirely because she was right: the anonymous gifts were creepy,
especially today’s.  But some of it had to do with what was happening to him. 
He’d become increasingly fascinated by her, and he couldn’t figure out why.

She wasn’t his type.  Not even close.  He had always gone
for slim, fine-boned blondes.  No deviation.  Hannah was a voluptuous, freckled
redhead, far from delicate.  Not a large woman, exactly, but probably five foot
nine.  What Elias knew was that her smile lit up a room, when she laughed she
let it rip, and that damned pink wrapping paper with red hearts had clashed
with hair that he’d paint in shades of glowing copper.

In the past six months, he’d wasted an unbelievable amount
of time stopping by Sweet Ideas.  Before that, he’d just been glad for a local
bookstore.  If he wanted java, he went to Mist River Coffee, half a block
away.  Elias didn’t have much of a sweet tooth.

But he had started noticing Hannah.  Craving one of her
smiles.  There was only so often he could pretend to be browsing for a book or
ordering one he’d have to pick up.  She made decent coffee, and he wasn’t a
connoisseur anyway.  She seemed so pleased the first time he bought truffles,
he’d done it again.  And again.  And, damn it, they were good, sharp-flavored
with the scattering of sea salt adding bite to counter the sweet.  Eating them
was no hardship.  He made his mother happy every time he gave her a box, too.

How he’d gone from an occasional stop at the bookstore –
maybe once a month or so – to visiting at least every other day was a mystery
to him, and not one Elias appreciated.  Almost as often, he would tell himself
he’d stop going by at all – and then without having made a conscious decision
he’d find himself parking on Schooner Street and waiting for lights to come on
inside.  It was as if he was cold most of the time, and Hannah was a cheerful,
crackling blaze, warming him while he was in her presence.

A streak of blue startled him, made him realize the fog had
thinned to streamers.  He’d missed his moment, the first elusive glimpse of sky
and water.

Hell, he decided, the painting he had imagined would have
been too dark anyway.  He had to balance his vision or he’d quit making a
living as an artist.  Just last week, he’d taken back an oil painting that had
hung in Monica’s gallery for months without selling.  He’d try it somewhere
else, but even for him, it evoked a pang of loneliness.  The emotion had come
through more strongly than sometimes.  He frowned, seeing a possibility.  If
the lone beach walker in the painting had been going in the direction of a
distant bonfire, he’d have added hope to the mix.

Not his style, but...unexpectedly, he liked the idea.

He laid down the first strokes on the heavy, rough-textured
paper he liked, a deep gray washing into pearly gray tinged with blue, and
blocked everything else from his mind.

*****

“You’re a persistent man.”  Hannah pretended to amusement. 
In this suck-fest of a week, she’d done a lot of pretending while she tried to
see past the mask everyone wore.

The big, auburn-haired man who had just suggested they have
dinner only smiled.  Randall Bresler, who asked to be called Rand, owned the
fancy new resort on the far side of the point from Cape Trouble.  One problem
after another had delayed opening, but it was now scheduled for July 1.  Thus
the meeting, held in her cramped office.

He had approached her several months back about buying her
truffles, which would be individually wrapped to be left in resort rooms every
morning by the maids.  He’d brought a sample of the wrapping he had had
designed with the inn logo.  The size of his on-going order would mean a whole
lot of work for her and very possibly the addition of another part- or even
full-time employee.  She couldn’t see turning his offer down, though she had
mixed feelings about continuing to expand her business.  All she’d wanted
originally was to own a small bookstore.  Given the collapsing book business,
adding on the fudge and truffles side had made sense, but it had become more
than the modest sideline she’d anticipated.  She was feeling stretched too many
ways right now.

She had trouble believing Rand could be the source of the
gifts, but couldn’t rule him out completely.  Big and powerfully built, he was
typically blunt, but also capable of subtlety.  When the ground was broken for
the resort last summer, he had become a customer, buying both books and
truffles.  He hadn’t asked her out until mid-winter, after she’d dropped some
weight.  Knowing he hadn’t considered her sexy enough with a few extra pounds
made her pleasant refusals firmer than they might have been.

Today, as always, he’d shrugged as if her “thank you, but
no” had amused him.  But she had to wonder what simmered beneath his half-smile.

“You don’t get where I am by taking no for an answer,” he
said, echoing what she’d been thinking.  “We have a lot in common, Hannah.”

“Really?  And what would that be?  Do you have a young son? 
Do you set your alarm in the wee hours of the morning to whip up several
batches of fudge before your kid wakes up?”

“We’re business owners.  We cater to the public.  We offer
only the best.”

She shook her head.  “I’m a small business owner.  That’s
all I’ll ever be.  I suspect the Rand Inns will be a chain before we know it.”

A flicker of expression in his eyes told her that was
exactly what he envisioned.

“I haven’t been dating at all,” she said.  “I’m sorry,
Rand.  The truth is, I don’t have the energy.  What spare time I have is for my
son.  If it was you who gave me the flowers…”

Surprise had his eyebrows rising.  “I have competition.”

Wanting to be reassured, Hannah said, “Apparently so.”

He stood and held out a hand.  “My offers have been
sincerely meant.  You’re an appealing woman.”  His tone was unexpectedly
gentle.    “But I don’t want anything to get in the way of our working
together.”

She almost laughed, able to believe that much.  Randall
Bresler, she suspected, was very capable of ruthlessness in pursuit of his
ambitions.  Rumor had it that he had harshly dealt with the screw-ups on
construction this spring.

She walked him out, to find the small, café-style tables on
the sweets side of her business all occupied, and two different people browsing
in the bookstore.

Seated by the window, Mayor Gillespie lifted a hand at
Bresler, who veered to greet him.  A hefty man, the mayor was  a particular fan
of her signature fudge packed with butterscotch and chocolate chips along with
marshmallow cream and nuts.

Also sitting by himself, Ron Campbell appeared annoyed to
see her emerging from the back with Rand.  A city council member, he owned a
coastal chain of hardware stores.  She had the impression he liked being
important.  It wouldn’t be a surprise if he resented Rand, currently being
courted by every business person in Cape Trouble.

Because Ron was a good customer, she smiled at him, checked
to be sure Alice Roberts, currently behind the counter, wasn’t overwhelmed,
then went over to the bookstore side.  Customers could pay for purchases at
either cash register, but she wanted to be available to answer questions and
offer to make orders for her regulars.  Some accepted, even though she knew
perfectly well they could save by ordering online themselves.

A woman was contentedly browsing fiction.  Hannah had known
from her first glimpse that the other customer was Elias even though he had
been crouched with his back to her, looking at something on a bottom shelf. 
Now he rose and pivoted to face her.

Hannah’s heart skipped into a faster beat, but completely
irrational anger balled in her stomach at the same time.  Elias had stayed away
for the entire week.  Apparently she’d been right; he hadn’t liked having to
soothe her fears.  She’d overstepped.

His retreat had stung, contributing to her other stresses.

“May I help you find something, Elias?” she asked.

“No.”  He hesitated.  “Alice said you were in a meeting.  I
was waiting to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

After a glance at the other customer, he crossed the store,
stopping only a couple of feet from Hannah, who lifted her chin in defiance of
the impulse to back up.

“Have any more presents been delivered?”

She couldn’t believe he really cared, but…  He was here. 
Asking.

“Actually, yes.”  This one had been a whopper.  “A puppy.”

He stared at her.  “A
what
?”

“You heard me.  Ian has been begging for a dog forever.  I
keep saying no.  Needless to say, he doesn’t understand.”  The way his face
would fall had been killing her.  “We’re not home enough.  Especially not for a
puppy.  What do I do, tie him out in the back yard for ten hours a day?”

Elias’s focus was intense once he zeroed in on her.  “Tell
me.”

“I usually bring Ian with me to work on Saturdays.”  And
usually Sundays, too, of course.

Elias nodded; he knew.

“Naturally, that was the day we found a puppy tied beside
the back door.  He had a big blue bow tied around his neck.  I don’t know how
long he’d been there, but he was ecstatic to see us.  Ian thought I was
surprising him.”  The other gifts, especially the mug, had unnerved her.  This
one infuriated her.

“I’m sorry, Hannah.  What did you do?”

Her shoulders sagged.  “What do you think?”

One side of his mouth curved.  “I think you now have a
puppy.”

“I should have taken him to the shelter, but how could I do
that?”

He touched her cheek, a light brush of fingertips that made
her shiver.  “Of course you couldn’t.”

Her brain stuttered, but she managed to say, “He’s not
potty-trained.  Shuttling him in and out and cleaning up puddles has become my
new hobby.”

“You’ve fallen in love with him.”

Of course he was right, in a way.  But how she felt about a
small, plump, brown-and-white spotted puppy with an eager tongue had nothing on
her feelings for this man, a near stranger.  Thank God he had no idea, or he’d
never darken her door again.

A crush, that’s all it was.  She didn’t really know him, had
a suspicion nobody did.