Heroes Are My Weakness(92)

“That’s a good idea,” the woman said kindly.

But neither the local nor state police had any record of an accident involving Theo. The intensity of her relief brought her to tears. Only slowly did that relief give way to comprehension.

There had been no accident. He wasn’t hurt. Wasn’t dying. He was asleep in a hotel room somewhere.

She called his cell, but it went to voice mail. Because Theo had a habit of turning off his phone at night, even at the cottage, where there was no reception. Whoever had contacted Barbara had done it with the clear intention of getting Annie off the island.

Jaycie.

Barbara had said the call had been hard to understand. Of course it had. But not because of bad reception. Because Jaycie had made sure Barbara couldn’t identify her voice. Because Jaycie wanted to get Annie off the island before the end of March so Theo would be hers alone.

The sky had begun to lighten as Annie drove back to the dock where Naomi waited. The streets were empty, stores closed, traffic lights flashing yellow. She could fight—plead extenuating circumstances—but Cynthia wanted the cottage, Elliott was a hardheaded businessman, and the agreement was ironclad. No do-overs. The cottage would return to the Harp family, and whatever his stepmother wanted to do with it would become Theo’s problem. Annie’s problem would be getting back to the city and finding a place to live. Theo, rescuer of needy women, would likely offer her a room at Harp House, which she’d refuse. No matter how difficult her circumstances, she wouldn’t let him see her as another woman in need of rescue.

If only she’d called the hospital herself, but in her panic, that hadn’t occurred to her. All she wanted to do now was punish Jaycie for the harm she’d done.

Naomi was sitting in the stern of the Ladyslipper, drinking a mug of coffee, when Annie returned to the dock. Naomi’s short hair stuck up on one side, and she looked as weary as Annie felt. Annie gave her an abbreviated account of what had happened. Until now, she hadn’t spoken to any of the women—not even Barbara—about the conditions surrounding her ownership of the cottage, but it would soon become common knowledge, and there was no longer any need for secrecy. What Annie didn’t tell Naomi was that Jaycie had made the phone call. Before she shared that piece of information, she intended to deal with Jaycie herself.


THE LADYSLIPPER APPROACHED THE HARBOR at dawn as the fishing boats chugged out to sea to begin their day’s work. Barbara and her pickup waited for Annie at the dock, parked not far from Theo’s Range Rover. Naomi had called Barbara from her boat, and as Barbara approached Annie, guilt oozed from every pore of her matronly body. “Annie, I’m sorry. I should have asked more questions.”

“It’s not your fault,” Annie said wearily. “I should have been suspicious.”

Barbara’s repeated apologies on the drive back to the cottage only made Annie feel worse, and she was glad when the ride ended. Even though she’d barely slept, she knew she couldn’t rest until she’d confronted Jaycie. Vandalism, attempted murder, and now this. Any hesitation Annie might have felt about involving the police had vanished. She wanted to look Jaycie right in the eye when she told her she knew what she’d done.

She made herself drink a cup of coffee and eat a few bites of toast. Her gun was where she’d left it last night. She couldn’t imagine using it, but she also wasn’t going to be stupid, not after she’d seen Jaycie climb the stairs toward Annie’s room last night. Tucking it in her coat pocket, she left the cottage.

Not even a hint of spring rode on the wind. As she made her way across the marsh, she pictured Theo’s farm at the other end of the island. The lush stretch of sheltered meadow. The distant view of the sea. The all-embracing peace of it.

The kitchen was empty. Keeping her coat on, she made her way to the housekeeper’s apartment. All this time she’d been trying to repay the debt she owed Jaycie not knowing the debt had been paid in full the first time Jaycie had broken into the cottage.

The door to the housekeeper’s apartment was closed. Annie shoved it open without knocking. Jaycie sat by the window in the old rocker, Livia in her lap curled against her mother’s breast. Jaycie’s cheek rested on her daughter’s head, and she didn’t seem indignant about Annie barging in. “Livia hurt her thumb in the door,” she told Annie. “We’re having a little cuddle. Is it better now, muffin?”

Annie’s stomach twisted. Regardless of what Jaycie had done, she loved her daughter, and Livia loved her mother. If she turned Jaycie over to the police . . .

Livia forgot about her hurt thumb and lifted her head to see if Scamp was hidden behind Annie’s back. Jaycie fingered a lock of Livia’s hair. “I hate it when she gets hurt.”

With Livia in the room, the heavy weight of the gun in Annie’s coat pocket felt more obscene than prudent. “Livia,” Annie said, “Mommy and I need to talk about some grown-up things. Will you draw a picture for me? Maybe a picture of the beach?”

Livia nodded, slid off Jaycie’s lap, and headed for the small table where she kept her crayons. Jaycie’s forehead knit with concern. “Is anything wrong?”

“We’ll talk in the kitchen.” Annie had to turn away as Jaycie reached for her crutches.

The uneven thump of Jaycie’s gait followed Annie down the hall. She thought about how men historically settled their scores in public arenas: the dueling field, the boxing ring, and the battleground. But women’s disputes tended to be played out in domestic arenas, like this kitchen.