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Jason asked her questions about her meeting with the guild and she told him some of what she’d learned and how she intended to use it.
He was obsessive, about the town at least. Well, maybe she could use that to her advantage.
They arrived in her little cove twenty minutes later, just as the last flicker of light sank behind the jagged cliffs of Paradise Peak. As she peered up through the gloom, Piper could see little of the familiar landmarks because the dock lights hadn’t come on.
“Will you come up for some coffee?” she invited, once her sailboat was secured.
“Only if you make it hot chocolate,” Jason said. “After Ida’s high-octane sauce, my stomach will go into convulsions if I add coffee.”
“Sure.” Funny that his agreement brought such a flush of relief. She’d never worried about coming back late before. Piper led him off the dock and up the path to her home.
“You need some automatic lights. With all the clouds, it’s quite dark along here. The trees keep out the moonlight.”
She was suddenly aware of why she’d felt so uneasy. It wasn’t just the dock lights that were out. There were no lights along here, either.
His hand grazed her shoulder.
“Piper? What’s wrong?”
“I do have lights.” She looked up, pointed. “There’s one.”
“Well, it’s not working.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Yes, I’d noticed. Thanks.”
He grinned, then glanced around. “Looks like they’re all out. What do you suppose happened to them?”
“I have no idea. Fortunately, I’m very familiar with this path.” She turned and began striding along, confidence growing with each step she took. The next moment she was on her knees. “Ow!”
What was the willow chair her grandmother had always kept on the porch doing here?
“Whoa!” He was there, grasping her arm, helping her stand, his grip strong, reassuring. “What happened?”
“My pride just took a beating.” She brushed her palms against her legs, feeling the prick of pebbles that had dug into her skin.
“Maybe I should lead.” He lifted the chair out of the way.
“You’ve been here before?” she asked, staring at him.
“Good point. You lead, I’ll follow. Just go a little slower, okay?”
“Right.” Embarrassed, she picked her way up the path, her mind busy with the light question. “Maybe a breaker’s flipped or something.”
“Maybe.”
When she stumbled again, he took her hand, his warm, strong fingers threading through hers. “Let’s just go slowly, make sure we don’t happen over anything else.”
At that moment the moon slipped out from between two black clouds and provided just enough light for her to see a shape move through the brush.
“Do you see him?” she whispered.
“Who?” He glanced at her. “I can’t really see anything.”
Then moonlight was gone. So was the shadow. Maybe she’d imagined it. Piper shook her head.
“Never mind. It’s not far to the house now. This leads to the garden. Once we’re past these roses, we take two steps up onto the deck.” Her eyes were adjusting now, discerning familiar landmarks. “See? There’s the arch into the garden.”
He probably didn’t need her directing him, but she did it anyway until finally they stood before her door.
“Now if I can just get the key inside.” She slid it into the lock and twisted, unlocking the door and pushing it open. With one flick of her wrist the house entry and deck were illuminated. “Come on in.”
She turned on lights as she walked into the house. Thank goodness she’d cleaned up the kitchen this morning.
“So all the power’s not out. Just those lights.” He raised one eyebrow. “Where’s the breaker box? I’ll check it, if you want.”
“Thanks.” Piper showed him the panel in the basement, then left him, intending to return to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Halfway up the basement stairs she stopped, taking a second look.
The old wicker furniture her grandparents had replaced several years ago still sat down here because Piper had hopes of locating someone who would recane the seats and backs. But the furniture had recently been moved, and not by her.
Someone had been in her house.
“The breaker was off, all right.” Jason slapped the metal door closed. “If you’ve got a timer, you’ll have to reset.” He stopped speaking, looked at her more closely. “Something else isn’t right?”
“I’m not sure.” She went back down the stairs, stepped between the two love seats and stared at the thick wooden door she always kept locked. When she tried to open it, the dead bolt held, but she could see faint marks on the wood where it looked as if someone had pried a screwdriver. Had it been done tonight?
“Where does that door lead to? A secret tunnel?”
“Kind of. I told you my grandfather was a goldsmith, didn’t I? Well, he kept a workshop here after he retired.” She saw the interest flare in his eyes and hurried on. “I’ve been catching up on what he taught me. Because of the chemicals we use, he always insisted his work area be kept hidden and locked up. I’m the same way.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“It is.” Piper didn’t want to say any more right now. She wanted to think about whether someone could have gone through her house, and why. “Thanks for fixing the breaker. It’ll be nice to have lights again.”
“Yes.” He kept looking at her, though he said nothing more. He didn’t have to; that stare sent a funny kind of zing up her spine.
“Let’s go have that hot chocolate,” she murmured, tearing her gaze away.
“Sure.”
Jason followed her up the stairs to the kitchen and perched on one of the breakfast stools, watching as she put the ingredients together.
“Are you telling me that you are a goldsmith, also?” he asked when the silence between them had stretched to discomfort.
“No. I just putter at it. Gifts for friends, things like that.” She held out a mug. “Would you rather sit outside? There’s a space where we’ll be protected if it rains. We could watch the storm, though I’m sure it will only be a tiny one. The wind isn’t blowing hard anymore.”
“Outside sounds fine.”
Before she could lead the way, the phone rang.
“Hey, there. I tried you earlier, but no answer. Were you out on a hot date with the mayor?”
“Um, I’ll have to call you back, Ash. I’ve got company right now.”
“So I was right! Rowena owes me ten bucks.”
“Lucky you. Bye now.”
Knowing full well that her friend would immediately call Row and the two of them would discuss her visitor made Piper uncomfortable, especially with the subject of their conversation so near.
“Sorry, that was a friend of mine.” She pushed open the door. “You didn’t have to come over here with me. The sailboat does have a motor.”
“I’m glad I came. I was curious to see where you lived.” He followed her through the French doors and sank down onto the chair nearest hers. “It’s a beautiful view.”
She tried to see the garden through his eyes. Her grandmother had ordered small, shielded lights installed high up which cast a wash of illumination over her favorite gnarled oak trees. Accent lights hidden by boulders would soon show off the glorious blues of delphiniums, bright-red poppies and candy-pink carnations. Buried in the beds of the soon-to-be fragrant and colorful rose garden were soft, romantic lights, and along the path oversize mushroom lights showed the next step on the path down to the lake.
“Sitting up here, it feels as if the world is far away. It must be a wonderful place to come home to.”
“I never get tired of it.” Piper wished he could see it on a summer day when Cathcart House was at its best. “Every day I thank my grandparents for leaving this to me.”
“How did they die?”
“They moved to Toronto when Papa’s heart needed an operation. But he was too frail to recover. They died within months of each other.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“You didn’t come back?”
“Not for a while. It hurt too much.”
Low, growling thunderclaps rumbled their warnings across the water, and every so often a jagged slash of silver-blue lightning illuminated the rich, black-green forest across the lake for one brief space in time. A few droplets of rain spattered on the flagstones.
Why didn’t he say something?
“When I sit out here and see all the beauty God’s created, I can’t help but think of that hymn, ‘How Great Thou Art.’” It sounded silly, but Piper chalked her uneasiness up to the odd situation with the lights and the feeling that someone was watching them.
“I feel the same way,” Jason admitted. “There are so many lovely places around Serenity Bay. That’s one reason why I want to stay on top of the development we let in. It would be terrible to see the forests cut, the lake polluted and the coastline ruined in the name of progress. Know what I mean?”
She nodded. “Yes, I know. It’s like we’ve been entrusted with something precious, and while I do want others to see and appreciate it, I also want it to be here a hundred years from now.”
“For your grandchildren,” he teased.
“Yes,” she whispered. But Piper didn’t laugh.
Ever since that horrible afternoon she’d kissed Vance goodbye, she’d never allowed herself to think about kids. That only brought stabs of regret for what could never be. Her mother had clung to enough regrets for all of them. At twenty-three, when she’d left Wainwright Inc., Piper had made up her mind that she would never end up like her mother, pining for a man so consumed by making money he didn’t know what his own family was doing.
To love someone so much and have him ignore you—until you lost the will to live— No!
Love best suited people like her grandparents. Vance’s death proved that. Since he’d been gone, Piper had built a wall around her heart. She’d talked to her minister about it, talked to God about it, but somehow she couldn’t risk letting anyone get too close in case she got hurt again. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t trust God when it came to her father. God’s ways were slow and she had to stop Baron now.
“This has been great, but I think I’d better go now that the lightning has stopped. It’s getting quite late.” Jason stood, smiled down at her.
“You don’t have a light on your boat?” Piper asked, rising, too.
“Oh, yes. I won’t have any difficulty getting back.”
“Oh.” Obviously he was simply anxious to get away from her.
“I teach some boys a Sunday school class and I like to bone up on my lessons on Saturday night. They always have questions.” He stepped down off the deck, then turned back. “You’re very welcome to join us, if you’d like. It’s Bayside Believers Church, about half a block from Ida’s. If you meet me on the dock at nine-thirty, I’ll give you a ride. It’s always easier to go somewhere new with somebody else, don’t you think?”
His thoughtfulness touched a chord inside her. How was it he’d managed to read her so easily while he remained an enigma to her?
“Thank you. I’d like that. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll wait for you then. Good night.”
“Good night.” Piper stood on the deck, watching as he wound his way down the path and climbed aboard his boat.
When he looked up, she waved, waited for the sound of his powerful motor to recede then picked up the two mugs and walked inside, carefully locking the door behind her.
She rinsed the mugs, but left them in the sink until morning. Right now there was something else she needed to do.
Piper quickened her step down to the basement. She grabbed a nearby flashlight and shone it on the door. Yes, those were tool marks. And they were new.
She moved back upstairs, checked the back doorknob. No marks. Same thing on the front. No sign of forced entry. Her entire body slumped in relief.
“Thank you, Lord.”
Then she remembered.
“If you ever come and can’t get in, we’ll have a key hidden right here. Nobody will know about it but us.”
Piper flicked on the outside lights, unlocked the door and stepped onto the deck once more. She trod lightly across the deck, stopped in one corner. Her grandmother’s wishing well sat there, unused after the cold winter, cobwebs, dried leaves and dust frills gathered around the bottom.
The day she’d arrived she’d discovered one of her grandfather’s diaries was missing. It contained her grandfather’s thoughts from the last year of his life and it was the only one she hadn’t read, thinking she’d leave it until the grief wasn’t so fresh and it didn’t seem as if he were sitting there, saying the words to her.
Piper bent, tilted the well and slid her fingers beneath, searching for the key. Nothing. She pushed and shoved the heavy wooden piece, propped it up with a piece of wood, then shone her flashlight beneath.
There was no key.
She’d come here once after her grandparents had gone into the home and again after they’d died. The key had been there then. So had the diary. She could close her eyes right now and see the gilt letters etched on the leather cover.
Someone had taken the key and the journal.
Someone like Baron Wainwright?
After a hasty survey of the garden, Piper stepped back inside, closed and locked the door. She made sure all the windows were secure before she phoned the police. Piper felt certain they would find little and she was right. The police left no wiser than when they’d arrived.
Even so, Baron was the top suspect on her list. He’d hated her grandparents because they’d shielded her when he’d tried to force her back home years ago. He’d hated her because she’d told him the truth—that her mother would never have condoned his hateful behavior toward them, threatening them with legal action and lawsuits, but stood up to him and demanded he leave them alone or she’d disown him. And because she wouldn’t bow to his wishes.
Was taking Papa’s diary his way of denying her the solace she might have found in those last beloved words? Or was it a trick, a way to get her to call him and beg for what was rightfully hers?
If he thought she’d come crawling to him, he was in for disappointment. Piper had nothing more to say to her father.
Soft rain began falling, muffling the world outside. Piper lit a fire and curled up in her grandfather’s chair. She opened her briefcase and focused her attention on her plans for Serenity Bay.
But her thoughts kept returning to the tall, handsome mayor and the sense of gentleness she’d felt when he escorted her home.
Jason was a nice man. If she didn’t disappoint him about the Bay they could be good friends. But that’s all they’d be. Her heart couldn’t risk anything more.
Chapter Four
Piper Langley was no slouch.
Except for weekends and the busy summer days when rentals were in demand and tourists milled around everywhere, Jason preferred to come in to the town office early to check on happenings from the day before. But on both Monday and Tuesday mornings Piper arrived before him. Today she was already on the phone.
“I know it’s early for you, Jeff. But it’s even earlier for me.” Her light, musical laugh carried through the general office to the reception area. “I need to know if you’re interested in making an investment. Serenity Bay. I sent you a fax. Of course you haven’t heard of it yet. I haven’t started publicizing it yet. But when I do—”
Jason moved quickly into his own office, sorted through the files Ida had left for him and began dealing with his workload. Piper’s melodic voice carried to him periodically, her laughter bubbling out like a brook released from winter’s grip. From what he’d overheard, she sounded awfully friendly with this Jeff person. But then someone who looked like her wouldn’t be alone for long.
Checking the direction of his thoughts, Jason plowed through the pile of manila folders, then decided to start the coffee. Ida preferred hers the consistency of tar and wasn’t averse to tossing out anything she declared dishwater. He needed a cup before she came in.
He walked to the kitchen, filled the coffeemaker and waited for the water to drip through the grounds.
“Tomorrow? Fantastic. Thanks a lot, Peter.”
When the coffee was finished, Jason poured himself a cup, added some sugar and carried it toward his office. He was almost there when Piper flew out of her office and ran smack-dab into him. He jerked back to protect her and caught his breath as hot, dark coffee slopped over the rim and across his chest.
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