Kitabı oku: «Return of the Wild Son», sayfa 2

“You’re not taking the doughnuts, are you?”

She stared down at the bag. “You didn’t give me any information.”

“There isn’t any to give yet. The potential buyer probably won’t even show up. And if he does…”

Lucinda stuck her head in the office. “Excuse me. Bill?”

“What is it, Lucinda?”

“Mark Blayne is on the phone from Sutter’s Point Realty.” She cast a sideways look at Jenna. “The fella who’s interested in the lighthouse is coming to town this morning.”

Jenna leaned over the desk. “Won’t even show up, huh?”

Lucinda backed up a few steps. “Believe it or not, the original call came from somebody in Sutter’s Point.”

Bill beamed. “Hot diggety. This guy lives close. He’s got to know about the shape that building’s in. This is starting out to be a great day.” He glanced at Jenna and affected an expression of chagrin. “Sorry, Jenna. But it’s the wheels of progress, you know. If there’s a chance to get the lighthouse off this town’s back, I’m going to take it.”

She wanted to strangle him. Instead, she slammed the bag of doughnuts back onto his desk. It made her feel somewhat better to picture his arteries clogged with hundreds of grams of fat. And she decided to find out just exactly who from Sutter’s Point was buying the lighthouse out from under her.

J ENNA WAS BACK AT THE bakery by nine o’clock, mechanically refilling coffee cups. “Who could this buyer be?” she asked her mother.

Marion gave her a long-suffering look and began arranging clean mugs behind the counter. “He’s just looking, Jenna. We don’t know that he’s going to buy it. So why is it so important that you know his name?”

“Because maybe he’s a nice old man who just wants to do something for the community. Maybe I can talk him into donating the lighthouse back to us.”

Marion stared at her. “That wouldn’t make any sense. No one spends eighty thousand dollars on a lark—at least no one from around here. It’s more likely this guy bought it as an investment, and turning it over to you and your committee would be a ridiculous decision.”

“Then maybe he’s a developer interested in putting something new on that property. He might even like my idea for beautification.”

“Jenna, you have to stop concocting these ideas. If you really want to tackle a tough problem, think about what will happen if the place sells and we have to tell your grandmother.” Marion sighed. “I’m not sure this town is equipped to handle a rebellion at the seniors home.”

“She’ll be devastated,” Jenna agreed. “But no more than if she discovered my plans for the building.”

Marion nodded toward the front window of the shop. “Who’s that man across the street? He’s just standing there…Maybe he’s lost?”

N ATE STOPPED on the sidewalk and looked across at the grassy area that separated the two sides of Main Street. New businesses had popped up, but much about Finnegan Cove was familiar. The park benches were freshly painted. The flowers were just beginning to bloom. The brick buildings were solid and clean, their roofs in good repair. It wasn’t the sun-washed glitz of Southern California; here there was a sense of reverence for what had come before. For permanence.

Nate didn’t want to be here. He hadn’t thought about returning to this place since he’d headed his old pickup out of town two weeks after his father’s trial and pointed west. Even when he came to Michigan to visit his father, he never considered stopping in Finnegan Cove. There’d been no reason to. Those who’d once befriended the Sheltons had ended up condemning them, along with the ones who’d paid little regard to a struggling fisherman and his two sons.

Before the cancer took her, his mother had had friends. Everyone liked Cheryl Shelton. She’d been sweet and friendly and always offered a helping hand to anyone who needed it. When she died, each of the three Shelton men felt the loss deeply.

Nate looked at his watch. Nine-thirty. He had a half hour before he had to meet Mike at the lighthouse. He headed toward the red-and-white-striped awning over a wooden sign advertising a bakery across the street where there’d once been a dentist’s office. He was nervous about seeing Mike again. Even before their mother died, Nate and Mike hadn’t seen eye to eye on much. Probably caffeine was the last thing Nate needed before facing his brother, but what the heck.

T HE TALL MAN IN JEANS and a light jacket Marion had pointed out was approaching the shop. The sun glinted off his dark-blond hair. His bronzed complexion told Jenna he wasn’t from around Finnegan Cove. No one on Lake Michigan had the hint of a tan in April. This guy had to be a transplant from someplace exotic and sunny. Cool and confident—that’s what he was, with the emphasis on cool. Residents of Finnegan Cove were solid, dependable, but definitely not cool.

He came inside and looked around. The last customers had left several minutes ago. The sandwich crowd wouldn’t be in for lunch for some time.

“Are you open?” the man asked, coming up to the counter.

“Until two,” Marion said.

He sat on a bar stool. Something about the man’s voice seemed familiar. Jenna studied him closely. He looked familiar, too, as if he was someone she ought to know. But that was impossible. How would she know a guy whose jeans even looked expensive—as if custom-made to fit his long, lean legs? He wore a shirt with a button-down collar. Guys in Finnegan Cove wore Wranglers from Wal-Mart, and T-shirts advertising the local bait-and-tackle hut. She couldn’t look away. The stranger was intriguing, and not just because they didn’t see many strangers before tourist season.

“I’ll have a cup of coffee,” he said, and pointed to the chrome cake tray covered with a plastic dome. “And that raspberry Danish.”

Marion slid the pastry onto a plate and set it in front of him. She stood a moment, her eyes intent on his face. Then she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

Jenna rushed over from the coffee machine. “Mom, are you all right?”

Marion’s eyes widened. Her lips twitched, as if she didn’t know whether to smile or frown. “After all these years…”

The man stared hard at her mother, then sat back on the stool. “My God. Marion Malloy?”

She exhaled a long breath and said simply, “Nate.”

Jenna dropped the cup she’d been about to fill with coffee. It broke into a dozen pieces. He tore his gaze from Marion’s face to look at her, and the past came back in a nightmarish rush. He was Nate Shelton—older, more filled out, without the wiry toughness of youth, and with a few wrinkles around his unforgettable blue eyes.

Marion cleared her throat, hurried to help Jenna clean up the mess. After throwing the shards in the trash can, she broke the awful silence. “You remember my daughter, Jenna, don’t you, Nate?”

He gave her an intense appraisal, as if trying to find her in his memory bank. “Sure,” he said after several uncomfortable moments. “You were just a kid when I…left.”

You mean when you ran away rather than face what your father had done. “I was thirteen,” she said. “Not so much a kid. Old enough.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He picked up his fork, cut into the pastry and then let it sit there. After a moment he looked at Marion and said, “So have you stayed in Finnegan Cove all this time?”

“I never thought of leaving,” she replied. “This is my home. And I bought this shop with the money…” She paused, looked down at the counter. “With the money I got after Joe died. Anyway, this is a nice business. My daughter helps out. We get along just fine.”

He nodded, acknowledged the full cup of coffee Jenna placed in front of him. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.” He took a sip. “You know, I think about what happened a lot. I’m sorry for what you went through.”

“Forget it, Nate,” Marion said. “It’s in the past.”

Forget it? Jenna rested her hip against the counter and said, “What are you doing here, Nate? I heard you were on the West Coast somewhere. Why have you come back?”

He stared up at her with those blue eyes that used to make her adolescent knees weak. “It’s kind of strange, I guess, me being here again. And my reason for being here will seem even stranger.”

She waited, raised her eyebrows in question.

“The old lighthouse,” he said. “I’m thinking about making an offer on it.”

Jenna’s heart tripped. She clutched the lapels of her blouse with trembling fingers.

He spoke matter-of-factly, as if his admission wouldn’t cut her to her core. “I’m taking a look at it this morning.”

“But you don’t live in Sutter’s Point,” she said, her voice harsh and defensive. “The man who’s interested in the lighthouse is from Sutter’s Point.”

“Oh. You must be talking about my brother, Mike. I think he’s made some inquiries about the lighthouse in the past few days.” Nate gave a half smile. “I see word still travels fast around here.”

Jenna closed her eyes. She couldn’t look at the handsome face she used to dream about years ago. The face so like his father’s.

The son of the man who had killed her dad was planning to buy the lighthouse.

CHAPTER THREE

N OW THAT HE’D HAD time to really look at Marion, Nate decided she’d hardly aged. Her hair, shorter than he remembered, was still a mass of chestnut-brown curls. Her figure was fuller, but obviously not altered drastically by working in a bakery. And her doe-brown eyes, which he remembered from across a crowded courtroom, still sent regret coursing through him. Almost as much as her daughter’s did.

He never would have recognized Jenna. He’d barely paid the slightest attention to the shy young teenager until tragedy had brought them together for a few weeks of judicial agony. She looked nothing like she had as a girl. Jenna Malloy stood at least four inches taller than her mother, with wavy auburn hair to her shoulders. And her eyes, a deep soul-searching green, bored into him with a fierce defiance he couldn’t ignore, or blame her for.

In Hollywood, beauty was often measured by degrees of voluptuousness. Jenna was striking because of her prominent cheekbones and straight, slightly upturned nose. He sensed she had an appealing combination of her father’s determination and her mother’s gentleness.

But it was that defiance he most noticed now. She glared at him and said, “You won’t be welcomed back here.”

“Jenna!” Marion gasped.

Nate had to consciously stop himself from squirming. He stared directly at Jenna and said, “No problem. I’m not staying.”

“Then why are you interested in the lighthouse?”

No evasive tactics from this woman. But Nate was certain this was not the time to bring up his father’s future living arrangements. “I have my reasons,” he said.

She placed both palms flat on the counter in front of him. “That lighthouse is in terrible shape,” she said. “If you’re thinking of buying it out of some romantic impulse, you should know it will probably fall down around your feet.”

Nate reached for his wallet. “Believe me, romance has nothing to do with this.”

Marion wrapped her hand around her daughter’s arm. “Jenna, that’s enough. Nate has every right to buy the station.”

Jenna’s eyes clouded. He thought she might be close to tears. “He has no rights,” she said. “That station is a reminder of one of the worst moments in my life.”

Nate pushed the uneaten raspberry Danish and full coffee mug across the counter. “I’m sorry I bothered you,” he said, sliding a few bills under his plate. “I didn’t know when I came in here that you would be…”

“You thought we would have run years ago, like you did?”

Marion picked up the dishes. “Jenna, please, don’t say anything else. Nate doesn’t deserve this.”

He held up a hand. “It’s all right, Mrs. Malloy. I understand where she’s coming from.” He risked another look at Jenna and discovered her expression had softened, some of the antagonism obviously draining away at her mother’s distress. “I would have hoped that the bitterness could have lessened by now,” he said to her. “I feel sorry that it hasn’t.”

He turned away from the counter and headed toward the door. “I have to meet my brother.”

Marion came from around the counter and followed him. “How is Mike?” she asked. “I haven’t heard anything about him in years.”

Nate shrugged. “I don’t know much more about him than you probably do,” he said. “Mike never contacted us after he left. But I know he’s a contractor and he agreed to meet me to evaluate the light station.” He glanced at Jenna, whose face was now devoid of emotion. She couldn’t care less about Mike or Nate. And he could understand that.

“That’s good, anyway,” Marion said, as if that detail comforted her.

“Yes, I suppose, but some things never really change.”

Nate walked out of the bakery and over to the truck he’d rented. He sat in the driver’s seat for several moments before turning on the engine. He still had to face Mike, and this last encounter had left him shaken. He should have thought about the reaction his announcement could have on the Malloys. But he’d been gone for so long.

N ATE ARRIVED at the lighthouse five minutes early. He parked his black truck next to the burgundy one with Shelton Contracting Services painted on the driver’s door. Mike was doing okay for himself. He was licensed, bonded and considered “no job too big or small.” Nate turned off his engine, took a deep breath and got out.

Since Mike was nowhere in sight, Nate leaned against his hood and stared. He’d seen the lighthouse from this angle as often as he had from the lake. The building was as familiar to him as the small two-bedroom cottage his dad had rented on the outskirts of Finnegan Cove, the house where Nate and Mike had grown up. Nate didn’t care if he ever saw the house again. He’d believed he’d feel the same way about the light station, but he wasn’t so sure now.

When he was young and Lighthouse Park had been meticulously kept, he’d come here on picnics. He came to the woods beside the light when he was a young teenager to do what the older kids did—drink, make out, raise a little hell away from the watchful eyes of parents. And he came to be alone during the difficult period after his mother died, and Mike left, when Harley was becoming the man who would eventually murder someone.

Nate escaped to this very property, ironically—within the hallowed walls of a building originally intended to guide seamen along the coast, and save lives. After Harley was taken away in handcuffs, Nate had never been back. Now, standing in front of the lighthouse that had shaped their lives, looking up at the peeling walls of the tower, he felt only a familiar peace.

A tall, broad-shouldered man came around the side of the building. Nate found himself having to squint to bring the face of his brother into focus. Mike’s back was stiff, as if he’d rather be anywhere else on earth. About ten feet away, he ran his hand over his thick hair, which was a few shades darker than Nate’s.

Nate pushed off the truck’s hood, waiting—for what he didn’t know—his hands in his jeans pockets.

Mike crossed his arms over his chest. “How you doing?” he said.

“Good. You been here long?”

“About ten minutes.” His brother glanced at the tower. “Guess you can tell she’s not in the best of shape.”

So they were getting right down to business. “The keeper’s cottage doesn’t look too horrible,” Nate said. “What about the lighthouse itself? How bad is it?”

“It’s still standing,” Mike stated. “The lock was broken on the back door, so I was able to go inside. At first glance I’d say it’s sound. But cosmetically it’s pretty much a mess. You won’t be able to reach the beacon room without major restoration to the stairs. The entire place needs new windows and doors. The floors are shot. The heating system—forget it. Electrical, well…”

Mike’s litany of problems should have discouraged Nate. Oddly, it didn’t. He was intrigued. “So how much would it take to make it livable?” he asked.

“Just livable? Without fixing everything that needs attention?”

He nodded. “Dad wants to move in a few weeks from now. He can do a lot of the work himself.”

Mike frowned. “Still can’t believe it. But anyway, maybe between five and ten grand, if you’re not picky and you hire cheap help, or do it yourself.” His mouth lifted at the corners, something between a sneer and a grin. Nate couldn’t tell. He didn’t know this man anymore.

“Did you ever learn how to swing a hammer?” Mike asked.

“I guess you forgot. Dad taught me the same carpentry skills he taught you.” Nate extended his left arm, flexed his muscles. No atrophy there. What brawn he had might come from a gym membership, but he was still capable of manual labor.

Mike scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot. “Yeah, but I never thought it took with you. You seemed to prefer a pen to a drill.”

Nate smiled. “Still do.”

“To really modernize, make the place comfortable and restore some charm, you’ve got to be looking at twenty thousand.”

Nate nodded. The project was doable, if their dad wanted to tackle it. “I don’t see any Condemned signs.”

“No. There’s access to all the rooms except the tower. But I’d say the only things living here for a lot of years have been birds and insects.”

Friday night, after he’d had time to contemplate his father’s phone call, Nate had done an Internet search on the Finnegan Cove, Michigan, lighthouse and been rewarded with a picture of the place. The photo had been taken ten years ago, and even then it was showing signs of significant decay. That had been the point of the photograph. A concerned lighthouse enthusiast had chosen the Finnegan Cove Light to illustrate the desperate need to restore the old buildings.

“So, you think the old man’s off his rocker?”

Nate scrubbed his hand over his nape. If he was, then Nate wasn’t too far behind him. “I gotta admit,” he said, “I couldn’t imagine why he’d want to come back here.” For some reason, certainly not because he thought his brother was interested, Nate added, “I just had a sample of the way folks feel about us coming back to this town.”

“What are you talking about?” Mike asked.

“There’s a bakery on Main Street. I stopped there to get a cup of coffee, and you won’t believe who’s running the place.”

Mike waited.

“Marion Malloy and her daughter, Jenna,” Nate told him.

“That’s an interesting bit of news,” Mike said. “I figured rather than relive that night over and over every time they passed the lighthouse those two would get out.”

“I know. After I gave Marion the twelve grand, I thought she might start over somewhere else. The trial was hard on both of them, especially Jenna. She was so young to go through something so terrible.”

“Getting out is more our style, don’t you think?” Mike spat in the dirt, then rubbed his fingers down his jawline. “I have to say, though, dividing up the proceeds from the sale of that fishing boat was the best thing the old man ever did for us.”

They remained silent, each lost in his own thoughts, until Mike suddenly said, “So, did you see the daughter?”

“Yeah, she was there this morning.”

“She married?”

“I don’t know. But I didn’t see a ring.” He wondered why he’d noticed that detail.

“And I guess she didn’t treat you like her favorite person?”

“Person. Creature. Primate.” Nate managed a smile. “I’m not high on her list of living beings.”

“Was she openly hostile?”

“Oh, yeah. Looking into her eyes, I felt the past twenty years slip away. I was suddenly bad boy Nathaniel Shelton again, only Jenna’s contempt was worse than any aimed at me before.”

“Hell, Nate, you didn’t kill her father.”

That simple truth should have put the tragedy in perspective. Sadly, it didn’t for Nate.

And he resented his brother’s attitude. He always had. Two years older, Mike had taken the brunt of punishment for Harley’s erratic behavior after their mom died. It had been Mike who’d bailed Harley out of jail, Mike who’d taken criticism from neighbors and Mike who’d stood up to Harley and argued back when it only pushed the two men further apart. But then Mike left, and at sixteen, Nate had taken over the job of managing the drunken, abusive man his father had become. And Nate couldn’t look at his brother today without feeling that Mike had let him down.

Ironically, before the murder, Nate had begun to see a change in their father. Harley had started to resemble the calm, rational, even loving man he used to be. So once Harley went to prison, Nate made strides in reconnecting with him, in time forging a fragile but reassuring bond.

He glanced at Mike, saw him focus on the lighthouse. As in the past, it was impossible to know what was going on in his brother’s mind. The only contact Nate had had with Mike over the years was a few notes from his wife, a woman Nate had never met. They’d just shared what Nate told himself was a companionable moment. Could this meeting be the start of a reconnection for them?

Mike turned to him and said, “I haven’t got all day, Nate. You want my opinions on this building or not?”

“That’s what we’re here for,” he replied. They started walking toward the lighthouse.

“Just out of curiosity,” Mike said. “Did Harley give you a good reason for wanting this place?”

“He gave me a reason. I don’t know how good it is. He said Finnegan Cove is the only home he’s ever known.”

Mike frowned. “Not true. He’s spent the past two decades in Foggy Creek.”

Nate reminded himself that Mike didn’t know Harley was a different man now. “He blended in at prison,” Nate said. “I suppose he feels if he can make it there, he can make it in Finnegan Cove again. At least he wants to try. And after spending all those years paying his debt, I guess he’s earned the right to live where he wants to.”

“Just count me out,” Mike said. “I left here twenty-two years ago and I don’t intend to come back, even to hang a few new windows. I can’t be around the old man.”

“You’ve made that clear,” Nate said. “For the past two decades.”

“Good. Because I’m doing this for you, little brother. For the years we had together, before it all turned sour.” He held up one finger. “No other reason.”

They reached the back door and Mike opened it. “I don’t imagine he has any competition in trying to buy this place,” he said. “If you make an offer, it’ll probably be accepted.”

“I suppose I will then.”

“Then you going back to L.A.?”

“Sure. Once Dad’s settled, I’ll head back. But as I’ve done all these years, I’ll continue to check how he’s getting along.” He cut off his words.

Mike’s eyes sparked with long-held resentment. “I don’t suppose you’d take any advice from me?”

“Not unless it’s about fixing up old stairs.”

Mike almost smiled. “Okay, then. Let’s look her over. You might as well go into this deal with both eyes open.”

For the next hour, the brothers examined every inch of the Finnegan Cove light station. And their conversation was all about construction.

I N THE HOURS THAT HAD passed since Nate’s unexpected visit to the bakery, Jenna’s anger hadn’t abated. Now, at closing time, she feverishly scrubbed the countertop that her mother had just wiped and vented her frustration aloud. “Did you hear what he said, Mom? Nate Shelton feels sorry for me! What does Harley Shelton’s son know about anything? And how does he have the nerve to come back to this town and say that he pities me! How sorry did he feel when his father hit Daddy with that two-by-four?”

Marion looked away, pretending to stuff napkins into an already bulging chrome holder. Jenna saw her cringe. “I did it again, Mom, opened my big mouth. Forgive me. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, and I seem to do it too often by bringing up Daddy’s death.”

“That’s not why I’m upset, Jenna,” Marion said. “It’s your reaction to Nate this morning. I remember how it was for him. Nate felt terrible about what happened.”

“Fine. So Nate felt terrible,” Jenna said. “He and his friends were always getting into trouble with the police long before Harley…” Her voice caught, and she took a deep breath. “I’m surprised he didn’t end up in a cell before his fifteenth birthday.”

Marion stopped fidgeting and looked at her daughter. “I realize Nate did things you never would have done at his age. But he wasn’t so bad as a kid. He just grew up too fast. When his mother was alive, he was a sweet boy. And then later, after she died, I seem to remember a few times I caught you staring at him when he was bagging at the supermarket. And I recall picking you up at Lighthouse Park a time or two when you and your girlfriends had gone there to watch the older boys, including Nate, play baseball.”

Marion gave one of those knowing smiles that mothers seem to perfect. “You didn’t always have such a low opinion of Nate. Besides, the police never charged him with anything. They picked him up twice—and that was only to scare him. Now all of a sudden, he’s interested in the lighthouse, and you’re dredging up all these reasons why you should hate him.”

Jenna had to admit there was some accuracy in her mother’s interpretation of history. Five years younger than Nate, and with an overactive imagination, Jenna had often fantasized about him. But after he’d become old enough to drive, Jenna heard more about Nate from the police scanner her father had hooked up in their living room than she did from the few ladies in town he’d managed to fool with his smile.

She knew Nate and his friends hung out at Lighthouse Park, showing little regard for the property, littering the grounds with beer cans and fogging up their car windows with whichever girl in town was eager to take a drive.

Jenna always believed Nate and his friends were the main reason the park got a bad reputation. But even then, while Lighthouse Park deteriorated and the station began its sad decline into disrepair, Marion had defended Nate to Jenna, saying he was just acting out his frustrations. Joseph Malloy, on the other hand, saw Nate for what he was—a bad seed who would end up like his father, quarrelsome, mean, and not to be trusted.

“You know,” Marion said now, “you might try being nice to Nate. We don’t know what’s going to happen with the lighthouse.”

She headed into the kitchen and Jenna followed her, saying, “I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I can’t come up with any reason Nate would want to buy the place. But he mentioned Mike, and I’m wondering if he’s the one who’s interested. Though why Mike would come back is an even greater mystery. He left before Nate did.”

Marion organized cans on a shelf. “My daughter the detective,” she said fondly.

“Certainly Mike’s motive for buying the station can’t be better than mine.”

“We’re finished here,” her mom said. She snapped the dead bolt on the back door and turned around. “But one last thing, Jenna. Your motive for wanting to buy the light is as personal and subjective as any could be.”

“What? The building is a mess. I want to tear it down and put something beautiful and lasting in its place.”

Marion walked over, wrapped her hands around Jenna’s arms. “What you really want is to get rid of a horrible memory.”

When Jenna started to protest, her mother wouldn’t let her. “And I understand.” She smoothed her hand over Jenna’s shoulder. “I wish you could have been spared what you saw that night. If I could change anything about the past, it would be that, and your grief. The grief you still feel.”

Jenna looked at the floor, unable to bear the pain in her mother’s expression. They had been through so much, the two of them. Heartache, therapy, starting over. But still, after all this time, Marion didn’t really understand.

Her mother leaned down to peer into Jenna’s downcast eyes. “It’s just a building, honey. Something terrible happened there, but twenty years have passed. You’ve got to let it go.”

“I have, Mom,” she protested. “At least I’m trying. I try every day. But the best way, the surest way to put the past to rest is to wipe it off the face of the earth.” She hoped her mother could see the sense of what she was saying. “And when that station came up for sale, it was a sign I can’t ignore. I was meant to buy that place.”

Marion turned and got her purse out of the locker. “You haven’t told your grandmother your idea.”

“No.” That admission plagued Jenna’s conscience. She didn’t like hiding anything from Hester.

“She’ll find out eventually,” Marion said. “Are you still going to see her tonight?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to argue. I’m bringing her a turkey dinner from the Boston Market. She always likes that.”

“Yes, she does.”

Jenna watched her mother close up shop and, once outside, get into her dependable Ford and drive away. And then her thoughts turned to Nate. She couldn’t help wondering what he had done with his life since leaving Finnegan Cove.

He must have found success on the West Coast. He apparently had enough money to buy the lighthouse. And he looked, well…good. Very good. Successful, assured, as handsome as she remembered. Yes, physically Nate still lived up to her fantasies. She swallowed. Looks could be deceiving.