Deadly Reckoning

Kayla took a deep breath and a roll. She needed something to do with her hands other than twisting them in her lap. And she needed nourishment for her baby.

She could still feel the warmth of Gabe’s fingers on hers. But Gabe couldn’t always be there to chase away her fears. Kayla had to deal with them alone.

Molly ladled chowder into a bowl and passed it down the table “So, Kayla, where are you from?”

Kayla placed the bowl of creamy, steaming chowder in front of her, the aroma stirring her hunger to life. “Seattle.”

“Are you here just for the summer or do you plan to make Cape Churn your home?”

Kayla smiled. “I’m keeping an open mind.” She really didn’t want to raise her child in Seattle. Especially not without Tony. No, if she was going to have this child on her own, she’d need the perfect home for the two of them.

“What happened last night isn’t making Cape Churn your number-one choice, is it?” Dakota muttered, the first words he’d spoken since taking a seat at the table.

Kayla stared down at her hands in her lap. “I’m so sorry for that girl and her family.”

“You think murder and crime is restricted to cities,” Mr. Johnson commented, “but it’s not.” He slathered butter on his roll and bit into it. “Mmm. These are the best dinner rolls I’ve had in a long time.

“Thanks.” Molly tucked her napkin in her lap and reached for one.

Jillian smiled across the table at Kayla. “I’m curious, Kayla. How did you find Cape Churn, and specifically, our little real-estate office?”

Glad the topic had moved off the murder, Kayla answered, “I received a brochure in the mail from your off ice.”

Jillian’s brows rose. “Really? Hmm. I don’t recall mailing any to Seattle recently. I had planned on doing a mass mailing next week.” She shrugged. “Someone must have been reading my mind, and I’m glad they did.”

“What is it you do, Ms. Davies?” Lawrence Wilson lifted a spoonful of chowder to his lips, concentrating on the soup, his gaze never rising to meet hers.

An introvert at heart, Kayla shifted in her seat, aware that all other eyes around the table were directed toward her. “I paint.”

“Kayla Davies.” Molly’s brows dipped. “Seems like I know that name from somewhere. I’ve been chewing on it, but can’t recall.”

“She’s only the hottest artist in Seattle right now. Heck, probably in the States,” Jillian gushed.

“No, that’s not it.” Molly’s eyes widened. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure you’re fabulous, but that’s not where I heard your name. I think it was on the news recently.”

Mrs. Johnson’s eyes widened. “That’s right. Weren’t you attacked in Seattle a couple weeks ago? It was all over the papers and on television. After an art exhibit or something?”

Kayla’s face burned and she tried to think of something to say that didn’t sound flippant. All she wanted was for the subject to drop. She’d come to Cape Churn to forget and move on.

“Sure would like more of that chowder,” Gabe said, breaking the silence. He handed his empty bowl to Molly. “Saw a vehicle head out to the Stratford mansion. Is Stratford back in town?”

Kayla let go of the breath she’d been holding and tried to relax, grateful that Gabe had deflected attention from her. From beneath her lashes, she darted a glance across the table at Lawrence Wilson.

He’d been staring at her, but as soon as she looked up, his gaze dropped.

A chill cooled the air around Kayla.

Wilson turned to Jillian and asked for the salt and pepper, breaking the tension that perhaps only Kayla felt.

“Nora Taggert said Stratford ordered takeout for two yesterday.” Jillian dabbed chowder from her lips. “Wonder who he brought back with him.”

“In all the years I’ve lived in Cape Churn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him bring someone back to the mansion.” Molly poured wine into her glass and set the bottle on the table. “He’s such a loner.”

Jillian nodded. “Doesn’t stay long when he comes. Hard to get to know a man who’s never around.”

Gabe agreed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Stratford. “How long has he been back?”

“Who knows?” Jillian shrugged. “Nora’s mention is the first I’d heard. He hasn’t been out and about except to walk along the cliff.”

“Never was one to live at the mansion for very long. And when he’s there, he doesn’t come out. The man’s a recluse, if ever there was one.” Molly nodded toward Kayla. “He lives on the crag closest to the lighthouse.”

“You should see his place.” Jillian leaned forward. “It’s the biggest house around and practically empty. His grandfather left it to him when he died. As far as I know, Andrew Stratford only comes here to check on the upkeep. Such a shame. I bet I could get a good price for the property.”

“Any idea where Stratford lives when he’s not at the mansion?” Gabe asked.

Jillian shrugged. “No. He has a service come out from Portland to tend the property and a full-time caretaker we only see on occasion purchasing supplies.”

Kayla wondered where Gabe was going with his questions about Stratford. An image of a solitary figure and a silvery-white blur flashed across her thoughts. “Does Mr. Stratford have a dog?”

Molly’s brows pinched. “No, that would be Frank Mortimer. Walks his dog along the cliff’s edge now and then near sundown. Doesn’t like people much.”

The man had been walking along the cliff around the same time the group of young people had gone down to the beach below the lighthouse. Chances were, he’d seen them from where he was. “Does Mr. Mortimer leave town much?”

“Hard to say. We really don’t see him coming and going. If he does, it’s at night when no one is watching.”

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