Her Deadly Inheritance Read online

  He ground his jaw. What kind of world was this where innocent people were hurt for no good reason? Bradwell’s niece had no idea what she was walking into. He should warn her. Bad idea. He’d have to blow his cover and throw away two years of hard work just when he was so close to success. And for all he knew, she might not stay long enough to get into trouble. In the meantime, he’d do whatever he could to ensure her safety.

  He blew a frustrated breath. Too bad she chose today to show up. Two more weeks, and he’d have solved the problem. She could’ve come home in safety. As it was, he needed one last piece of evidence to convince himself he had trailed a killer to Windtop.

  Sure, telling Jill Shepherd was the right thing to do, and he wanted to do the right thing. But why should she trust a stranger?

  A Cessna buzzed overhead. He jerked around to watch the single-engine plane circle and float to the grassy runway as if this were any ordinary day. It taxied within a few yards of where he stood and swung broadside.

  His gut clenched as a passenger peered from a side window. He hooked his thumbs in the back pockets of his jeans and emitted a grunt. Bradwell’s niece had arrived.

  With a fading whine, the plane’s engine shut down. Moments later, the pilot emerged and opened a side door to help a petite beauty with golden hair step down.

  Clay pressed his lips together as he sized her up. She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds. If it came to defending herself, she didn’t stand a chance.

  Her green blouse rippled in the summer breeze, and several spiraling wisps of hair swept across her face. She brushed them aside with a slender hand and looked around as if expecting someone.

  He strode forward. “Jill Shepherd? I’m Clay Merrick.”

  A whisper of wariness flashed in her violet eyes. She looked away and then fully engaged his gaze. “The contractor my aunt hired.”

  She had a gentle way about her yet remained cautious, her stance poised for flight. Maybe he had underestimated her.

  “My aunt knows I’m here?”

  “I don’t think so. Your uncle sent me.” He pulled a paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to her.

  A slight lifting of her shapely eyebrows indicated she recognized the handwriting. She opened the note.

  Earlier at the paper mill, Bradwell had briefed him on its contents. Visiting executives had him tied up in an unannounced meeting. He urged her to go with Clay to present herself to the judge as proof she was alive, then on to Windtop to wait. He would join her around 4:30 p.m.

  She lifted her gaze to study him as if weighing her options. “I would like to talk to my uncle.”

  Do the smart thing, he wanted to say. Get back on that plane and go home. Instead, he stood there as she pulled out her cell phone, turned her back to him, and walked away a few paces. However, she hadn’t gone far enough to prevent him from catching the drift of the conversation.

  “Uncle Drew? What’s going on? Yes, he’s here. No, I’m not comfortable doing that. She won’t? You’re sure?” A long pause. “All right, I’ll do as you say, but I still don’t like this.”

  Clay didn’t like it either, but it wasn’t his decision.

  Tucking both the note and her cell in her purse, she returned. “Let’s go then. I hear the judge is waiting.”

  “Uh, right.” He checked his watch. “The ferry is too.”

  She tensed. Her eyes widened. “The public ferry?”

  “Your uncle arranged for private passage.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Is something wrong?”

  She raised her delicate chin and squared her shoulders, stirring his reluctant admiration. “Nothing. Nothing that matters.”

  He swallowed a grunt and tipped his head toward the two large leather bags beside her. “Yours, right?” When she nodded, he reached for them.

  “Mr. Merrick.”

  At the quiver in her voice, he wiped his hands against his jeans and gave her his full attention.

  “On the way, could we?”—her words choked off and she tried again— “stop at the island cemetery?”

  The pain etched in her eyes strafed his heart. He knew all too well the source of that pain. He grabbed her bags. “We’ll make the time.”

  He turned away, scowling. Without even trying, she had cracked his defenses.

  The aging truck shuddered as Jill settled on its stiff bench seat and clicked her seat belt into place. She looked over her shoulder and through the rear window. The man whose eyes had mysteriously drawn her in the photo adjusted her luggage among trees with balled roots and flats of red, white, and blue petunias. He slammed the tailgate.

  Strange. He wore quality denim yet drove a truck almost as old as he was. Then again, maybe her aunt had purchased the Ford 150 for Windtop. Grand Island residents preferred using sturdy, old vehicles on its unpaved roads.

  Merrick approached the driver’s side, but instead of joining her, he reached inside and pulled a lever to pop the hood. He opened and then slammed it, returning to slide behind the steering wheel.

  “Trouble?” she asked.

  “Just checking.” He turned the key in the ignition, and the motor sprang to life.

  She shrugged. Everything must be all right then. Or maybe not. Merrick seemed awfully tense. Almost as if … as if he were worried about something. Did that something have anything to do with her? Surely not. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder why her uncle sent this man in his place and insisted her arrival be such a secret.

  I’m glad you came, Uncle Drew had written in his note.

  Glad, for what reason? Even her uncle was hiding something from her.

  She shivered. Suddenly, it seemed the smart thing might be to turn back while she still could. Go back to your family. Yes, there was that. The moment she read those words this morning, she knew she must face Lenore and the truth about her mother’s death. Unfortunately, she could only do that at Windtop where all the trouble began.

  Clay revved the motor, and her stomach lurched as the truck moved, carrying her away from Hanley Field into an unknown future with a stranger at her side.

  Uncle Drew should be here. At the very least, he should go with her to meet the judge. “To cancel proceedings declaring you legally dead, he has to have proof that you’re alive,” her uncle had said. “Don’t worry. Lenore won’t be there. I’ll take care of letting her know once you’re on your way to the island.”

  Don’t worry? She shook her head. How was that possible? Right now, all she was running on was pure trust in God.

  And she wasn’t very good at that yet.

  If only she’d had more practice, this whole situation might not loom quite as frightening.

  Yellow dust billowed behind the old truck as it sped over the sandy road along Grand Island’s southern shore. Jill swiveled back to stare ahead through the windshield. The island had changed. The forest crowded the edges of the road and blocked out the sunlight more than she recalled.

  Cold prickles danced over her shoulders. This wasn’t the Grand Island she once knew. She’d leave this dark place as soon as possible.

  On the plus side, her meeting with the judge had gone well. She and Clay found him waiting at Powell’s Point before they were to board the ferry. She had glanced around and found no one else who might know her, but being a family friend, the judge had recognized her instantly. Before they parted, he mentioned, as a favor to Uncle Drew, he would delay processing the order and keep their secret until her uncle got back to him. Drew had asked to inform Lenore himself. As the judge drove away, she and Clay Merrick had boarded the ferry.

  Now, with a rumble, his truck pulled off at the side of the road below the island cemetery. Clay shifted into park and Jill peered through the windshield at a lone path rising through the forest. At its end, she would find her mother’s grave, a prospect that left her numb.

  The door on the passenger side opened, and Clay stepped back as he held it. She bit her lip and slid from the bench seat. Putting off thi
s visit to her mother’s grave would only make it harder to face what lay ahead at Windtop.

  Jill followed Clay around the hood of the vehicle where he leaned with his back against the driver’s side fender. He crossed his arms.

  “I’ll wait here,” he said, his voice a gravelly growl. He broke their mutual gaze and stared at the ground to hide … what? Anger?

  She turned to the forested pathway, forcing one foot in front of the other. Her mother had died too young. Was her death Jill’s fault? Jill found the question hard to shake and needed an answer before she left this island.

  The path gave way to a quiet clearing where sunlight filtered through a high, leafy canopy. In the glow of green and gold, she passed thirty weather-worn stones marking the resting places of the island’s early settlers, some her ancestors, but her proud heritage would not help her now.

  Her stomach churning, she found her grandparents’ graves, and beside them, a newer red granite slab embedded in the forest floor. She crouched down to touch it and cold seeped into her fingertips as she read the inscription. Susannah Bradwell Shepherd. Beloved mother of Jill Ashley Shepherd.

  She closed her tired eyes. Beloved mother. Yes, certainly, but was she her mother’s beloved daughter? Or had her flight on that long ago stormy night driven her mother to suicide?

  Hot tears spilled over and splashed on the marker. She palmed their tracks from her face. Too late for tears now.

  She never meant to cause her mother’s suicide. How was it even possible? The Susannah Bradwell Shepherd she knew would never have done such a thing. Yet the police had come to that conclusion and people did change. She had. Had her mother changed enough to take her own life?

  Frantic cries echoed unbidden through her grieving heart. Come back, Jill! Please! Come back!

  Tipping her face heavenward, Jill whispered into the agonizing silence, “Too late, God! I’ve come back too late.” With her mother gone, all her arrival could accomplish was to end the lie. Something her mother would want her to do, yes, but small comfort at a time like this.

  A bird trilled in the quiet of that place as if to encourage her. Nona said God would help her find peace. How?

  “Is it my fault, Lord?”

  Her shoulders shook as she gave way to tears. Nona said tears would help cleanse her of this terrible grief. Yet no relief came, only a searing, choking pain.

  How long she wept, she couldn’t say, but when at last her sobs stilled, she opened tear-blurred eyes to find Clay Merrick standing near. A quiet sympathy shone in his clear gray eyes. Without a word, he extended his hand. Placing her own within its warmth, she found the strength to rise.

  Clay gripped the steering wheel and pointed his truck north on the forest road along the island’s east side. Jill’s too-quiet form beside him worked knots in his gut. Tears glistened on her lashes. Her chin trembled, and the memory of her weeping at her mother’s grave disturbed him to the core.

  He stared grimly ahead. She shouldn’t have come. He wanted to tell her that before they crossed the channel at Powell’s Point but couldn’t force the words past his lips. Instead, he watched for the slightest hint that she had changed her mind. In a heartbeat, he would have whisked her back to the airport. Instead, she’d lifted that small, determined chin of hers and boarded the ferry while he muttered a few choice words under his breath and out of her hearing.

  Now, his jaw twitched. More than ever, he ached to tell her all that he suspected but couldn’t yet prove. For her sake, as well as that of other innocent people who might die if he failed, he couldn’t risk it.

  He clenched his teeth. He might not be free to stop her, but—he flicked a glance heavenward—Someone Else ought to! At one time, he would have asked that Someone to change Jill Shepherd’s mind. However, a long time had lapsed since his last prayer, and he didn’t plan to resume the habit anytime soon.

  He turned the truck toward Windtop’s entrance gate. As it swung wide, he drove through, and Jill tensed beside him. When the gate clanged shut behind them, she jumped like a startled bird. Any moment, he expected her to cry out, but she clamped her mouth shut.

  Did returning to Windtop stress her that much? Then why did she keep going?

  He glanced at her pale face. For pity’s sake, turn back! The words burned in his gut. Yet he, too, clamped his mouth shut.

  Chapter Two

  Jill trembled as the truck sped past Windtop’s brick gatehouse, racing toward nothing but trouble. Uncle Drew might be optimistic, but she had no such illusions. She couldn’t have arrived at a worse time—the very day Lenore expected to own Windtop. No plan she or her uncle could devise would soften that blow.

  Fear not, child.

  The gentle words warmed her heart as the truck emerged from the forest shadows into sunlight streaming over a velvet green lawn. As the great house swept into view, Jill drew a sharp breath. Windtop shone like a jewel in the forest. The photo her uncle had given her offered a poor representation of all this man had accomplished.

  Clay Merrick glanced her way and smiled as if she had paid him the greatest of compliments. “Restoration can work miracles,” he said.

  Restoration. Is this what you have in mind, Lord?

  A lump of uncertainty rose in her throat while the man beside her parked the truck before Windtop’s main entrance.

  He placed a key in her hand. “Go ahead,” he urged. “I’ll bring your things.”

  She stared at the brass object warming in her palm. For better or worse, the moment she used this key, her life and that of the Bradwells would change. She snatched up her purse.

  Standing before Windtop’s massive door, she inserted the key, turned it, and pushed the door open. The entrance hall yawned before her. As she stepped across the threshold, a sad silence seeped into her bones. No familiar voices greeted her—not Mother’s, not Maggie’s.

  Never again.

  While suffocating pain wrapped itself around her, she remained in place. Why hadn’t she come back while Mother and Maggie were still alive? Before nothing remained but this shell of the past? Breathing in shallow gasps, she forced herself forward.

  Her footsteps echoed on the parquet floor as she crossed the hall. Standing at the bottom of Windtop’s grand staircase, she let her gaze follow its square ascendency to the third floor. As she peered up through the heart of the house, a burst of sunlight brightened the cupola’s stained glass windows, showering down bits of luminous color like rainbow promises. God’s rainbow promises.

  Would he really make all things work together for good in this dark, dark place?

  Clay finished stocking the kitchen with the groceries he’d bought in town and returned to the back of the truck. He hefted Jill’s luggage from its bed and set the bags on the gravel drive while he closed the tailgate. As he bent to retrieve them, a tiny tail swung down from the front wheel well.

  So that’s where the kitten went.

  Abandoning the bags, he snuck up to grasp the waving tail but missed. “Clever kitty,” he whispered before hunching down to reach into the wheel well.

  Mewing in protest, the little creature jumped down and sprinted across the lawn, heading for the wraparound porch. He scrambled after it, first to one bush, then another, until the kitten disappeared through the porch’s latticework and spun around to look out at him with big eyes.

  Great! He’d never fit his hands through those narrow openings. He’d have to coax it out. “Here, kitty-kitty.”

  The kitten cringed and scrambled backward, keeping him in view.

  As little as it was, it seemed to know how to care for itself. First, it clung to the wheel well all those miles since Hanley Field, and now quickly found this hiding place. “You’re one clever little character.”

  A little character he needed to get his hands on. But he’d already frightened the kitten enough with his rejected rescue attempts. If he left it alone for a while, it might calm down and be ready to let him take it home. “All right, but I’ll be back.”
/>   The kitten maintained eye contact as Clay backed away.

  “Stay put now.” Scant chance of that, but Jill Shepherd had already waited too long.

  Clay eased the luggage to the entrance hall floor to keep from disturbing Jill. What a picture she made, so vulnerable as she stood before the fireplace, gazing up at her mother’s full-length portrait. Making as little noise as possible, he closed the distance between them. She glanced his way with a sad smile, the small gesture stirring something in his heart he shouldn’t welcome.

  His gaze moved from Jill’s quiet presence to the portrait he had often studied this past year. Susannah Bradwell Shepherd. Serenity itself in an ivory satin gown, her bright golden ringlets had been swept up and cascaded to her bare shoulders. A single strand of pearls graced her slender neck and a wisp of a smile lit her fine-boned face while something profoundly sad shadowed her soft, brown eyes. He’d often wondered about that.

  Now, here was her daughter. “You look like your mother,” he whispered into the silence.

  She smiled. Just a trace, and though he had no right, would never have a right, it helped to know he had comforted her.

  Mother and daughter looked enough alike to be mistaken for one another, except for one thing. “Except for your eyes.”

  She sucked a sudden breath and her smile vanished. Lowering her lashes, she hid deep violet eyes with their fascinating flecks of gold and brown.

  Somehow, he had offended her.

  Jill shifted away. It wasn’t Clay’s fault. Not really. He had simply stumbled on her longtime family wound. Her mysterious eye color marked her as different among the Bradwells, an outcast in her aunt’s estimation.

  Bradwell eyes were brown, something Lenore often pointed out as if the color of Jill’s eyes somehow cast a slur on the family name. Had she inherited her eye color from her father? The man whose name her mother had taken to her grave?