“Leland, it’s Isaac Morgan.”
The engine died. “Who?”
“Isaac Morgan.” Isaac had never called him before. They’d never had any trouble, but they weren’t exactly friends.
“That’s what I thought you said. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you could answer a few questions.”
“About…”
“David O’Toole.”
This met with a protracted silence. “Why would you want to know anything about David?”
“Let’s call it general curiosity, for now.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough reason to get me to talk about him.”
Isaac understood. Those memories had to be difficult. “Then I’ll be more specific. I’m afraid the accident that took his life wasn’t an accident.” He waited for an exclamation of shock or surprise, but didn’t receive one. The pause felt charged with some strong emotion, but because Leland hadn’t spoken, Isaac couldn’t tell which emotion or why. “You still there?” he prompted.
“Yeah, I’m here. What makes you say that?”
This was the question Isaac had assumed would come immediately after his earlier statement. Why had it been delayed? What was going on in Leland’s head? Was he remembering? Wondering if what Isaac had just said could be true? Or was he thinking that he’d suspected the same thing?
“I’d rather not explain at the moment,” Isaac replied. “But…maybe you can convince me otherwise.”
“And if I can’t?”
Isaac felt his eyebrows shoot up. “What does that mean?”
“It means nothing. Never mind. I don’t want to talk about this,” he said, and the phone went dead.
6
When Claire opened her eyes and saw the sun creeping around the corners of her blinds, she pulled her extra pillow over her head. It couldn’t be morning. Not yet.
“Claire? You going to answer or not?”
Claire wished she could ignore the voice at her front door. Once she got up, she’d have to come to full awareness, and with full awareness she’d be faced with the memory of what she’d done last night. After ten years, she’d gone back to Isaac’s house, and his bed. But instead of being fulfilled, instead of feeling as satisfied as she once had, she battled regret—just as she’d expected. Served her right.
Why had she given in after so long? She’d known he wasn’t what she wanted, that he could never be the kind of companion David had been.
Shit…
Bang. Bang. Bang.
There went the door again. She had to deal with her sister whether she felt like it or not. Leanne knew she was home.
“What do you want?” Claire remained where she was and, for a change, didn’t bother to soften her voice.
“It’d be nice to know you survived the night, for one thing,” her sister yelled back. “I was supposed to check on you every few hours, remember?”
Had she even tried? Or had she gotten drunk and passed out?
Claire was willing to bet Leanne hadn’t thought of her until this morning.
Her sister’s negligence might’ve hurt, except that Claire was used to it. All the care and attention between the two of them went in the other direction—from her to Leanne. As the baby of the family, Leanne was used to being coddled, and the sledding accident had only exacerbated that, all but cementing Claire as the one who would forever compromise, give, tolerate, cajole.
“I’m alive,” Claire responded. “You can go home. You’re off the hook.”
“That’s it?” Leanne’s surprise almost made Claire chuckle. “You’re not coming to the door?”
“I have a head injury, remember?”
“Does that mean you’re not working today?”
Scooting closer to the nightstand, she checked the alarm clock. Eight-thirty. Her first appointment was at ten, and then she was booked solid until six, with a half-hour lunch break.
Considering the size of her headache, she couldn’t stand on her feet all day. She didn’t want to field the questions she’d be asked, either. No doubt word of the incident had spread. Maybe it’d even been reported in the paper, like every other call to the sheriff’s department, including the minor ones. “I’ll have to cancel.”
“Okay, well…” Leanne didn’t seem to know what to do with herself. It wasn’t enough of an excuse that Claire was hurt; Leanne was used to Claire being at her beck and call, whether it was convenient or not.
Remembering Isaac’s mouth on her breast—and elsewhere—Claire barely stifled a groan. She was an idiot. But sleeping with her ex-lover wasn’t her only problem. What about the man who’d attacked her at the cabin? She had no idea who he was or what he’d wanted.
The lost files and the information she’d picked up from what she’d managed to read complicated things further....
The warning from her subconscious had been correct. This wasn’t a good morning. But she might as well confront it head-on.
“Wait a second,” she called out.
“I’m still here,” Leanne said.
Frowning because of everything that’d passed between them last night, Claire got out of bed and, supporting herself against the walls, made her way to the living room, where she opened the door.
“Wow, you look like hell,” Leanne muttered.
“I feel like hell. But thanks for making my morning that much more enjoyable. I can always count on you.”
Leanne gave her an odd glance. “Just thought you’d want to know.”
“Not necessarily.” Had she looked okay when she’d appeared at Isaac’s cabin? She couldn’t imagine she had, but it made her mad that she’d even care. Anyway, Leanne didn’t look much better. She’d put on a robe, but she was still in that nightgown she’d been wearing the night before—not a positive association as far as Claire was concerned.
Fortunately, they didn’t have any neighbors. They lived at the end of a rutted dirt road next to the old park, which wasn’t used anymore. This area, called River Dell, was considered the poor side of town, but Claire liked the privacy of having their own cul de sac. They both worked out of their homes, which had been purchased with the trust money their grandparents had left them, although that was gone now. Leanne made stained-glass windows and lamps, which she sold online and by referral. Her shop, like Claire’s salon, was attached to her house.
They weren’t getting rich, but they were self-employed and self-sufficient. That freedom meant a lot to Claire.
Suddenly, Leanne leaned close. “Is that a hickey on your neck?”
Isaac had wanted to leave a mark; he’d done it on purpose to spite her. “Of course not. I…I hit something when I fell. It’s just a red mark.”
Leanne didn’t seem completely convinced, but she let it go. “So…do you need me to make you some breakfast?”
An offer like that meant she was feeling contrite. But the emotion wouldn’t last. She wasn’t that big on taking responsibility for her actions. “No, I’m fine.” Claire hesitated, fought with herself and eventually came to a decision. “I have a question for you, though.”
Her sister’s