Bay Song Page 6

  She was absolutely not having him in her house, but she wasn’t prepared to be heartless enough not to offer him anything.

  “Thanks,” he said, looking vaguely relieved. “That would be great.”

  He started for the shower, while she went into the house. She washed her hands and arms and then filled up two water bottles and carried them outside.

  The shower wasn’t enclosed. It was just a wall built of the same decking as the walkway, with a pipe that ran up into a showerhead. Cade was standing beneath the running water. He’d taken off his shoes and shirt, but he was still wearing his shorts.

  His chest was as tanned as his face and arms, so he must be out in the sun shirtless enough to make the color even. She admired his body again as she approached—the strong lines, hard plains, and lean tapers.

  He was rubbing his face and hair, so his chest and abdomen were prominently displayed as she reached him.

  She liked the looks of him. She liked the looks of all of him.

  It had been a long time since she’d felt so viscerally attracted to anyone, and it was surprising that she was experiencing it now—since the death and burial of the deer had been emotionally hard for her.

  He lowered his hands from his face as he became aware of her presence. He flashed her a smile, and she noticed how even and white his teeth were.

  He’d obviously had very good dental care growing up. His family was probably well-to-do. He’d probably had a safe and privileged childhood.

  Nothing at all like hers.

  “Thank you,” he said, reaching out to take one of the water bottles from her. “I thought September was supposed to get cooler.”

  “Not this early.” She looked at him curiously as he stepped out of the shower. “You must not be from around here.”

  “I am, actually.” He ran a hand through his hair to get some of the water out. “I grew up in Cape Charles.”

  This almost surprised her, but then she remembered that he had exactly the same eyes that Roy from the drugstore had.

  “But it’s been a while since I’ve been back,” he admitted.

  She started to ask him where he was from, but she caught herself before she did. If she asked a question like that, then he would feel like it was all right to ask her something similar.

  And those were questions she wouldn’t answer.

  He gestured toward the shower, which he’d left running, so she set her bottle down and stepped under the spray. She was still wearing her dress, but there wasn’t much to it, and it was covered with dirt from the grave, so she needed to clean it off anyway.

  She rinsed herself off quickly, aware that Cade was watching her, and she stepped out as soon as she was mostly clean.

  She could leave the more thorough cleaning for later.

  She quickly braided her thick, wet hair and tied it off with a band she kept around her wrist. Her dress clung to her body shamelessly, and she could see that Cade was having trouble keeping his eyes up at her face level.

  She glanced down. The fabric of her dress was transparent, and she could clearly see the shape of her breasts, the shading of her nipples and belly button.

  She glanced up and saw that Cade liked what he saw. His amber eyes had gone hot in a way that left no mistake about his reaction.

  She pulled the fabric of her dress away from her body, but it just clung again when she released it. “Sorry,” she said. “Nothing to do about it.”

  “I’m not complaining.” His voice had a rough texture to it that it didn’t normally have.

  To her surprise, she experienced a flash of amusement, and she almost laughed. She wasn’t even sure why—just something about the way he had said the words, half-dry and half-admiring.

  He met her eyes with a little smile, and she was hard-pressed not to smile back.

  She looked away quickly. No sense in bonding with the man. She needed to get him out of her life as quickly as possible.

  He looked like he was glancing around for some place to sit, and she didn’t want him to do it so close to her house, so she started walking back down the boardwalk toward the beach, knowing that he would be compelled to follow.

  He did, leaving the hand truck and shovel back in the yard and bringing his shirt and water bottle with him.

  Her dress was already starting to dry in the sun, and she felt tired but clean and relieved that the poor deer had been buried. It wasn’t even noon yet. She would still probably be trying to grapple with the body, getting it to the burial area, if she’d been doing it alone.

  Because this reality was so entrenched in her mind, she didn’t tell him good-bye when they reached the bottom of the walkway. Instead, she sat down on the bottom step leading down to the sand, and he sat down next to her.

  “Damn,” he said after taking a swig of water. “That’s not what I expected to be doing this morning.”

  She felt a stab of guilt, which was both ridiculous and unfamiliar. “You didn’t have to help me.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I know that. I wanted to help. I wasn’t complaining. I could hardly leave you to do it all by yourself, could I?”

  “Of course you could. I’ve done it myself before.”

  “A deer?” His eyes were very wide.

  She frowned. “Yes.”

  “How long did that take you?”

  “A long time,” she admitted. “All day. But I did it. I could do it again.”

  “You look so delicate,” he said in a different tone. She knew he was thinking about how her body looked under the shower.

  “I’m not delicate.”

  “No, you’re not. But it must be hard out here, on this big piece of property, all by yourself.”

  “How do you know I’m by myself?” She had a suspicion about how he knew, but she might as well find out if it was true.

  He gave her a sheepish look—one that was so obvious it must be intentional. “That’s what people said.”

  “Who said?”

  “Folks in town. My uncle. A couple others.”

  “What did they say about me?” She knew people talked about her, but she also knew they didn’t know anything truly important. She didn’t care if everyone thought she was crazy. As long as they didn’t know the truth.

  “They said you live all by yourself out here, ever since your mother left, and no one knew anything else about you.” He was eyeing her now with blatant curiosity but a friendly, harmless kind.

  “That’s true.” She hesitated before she decided to ask, “Is that why you ended up next door?”

  He chuckled, not looking particularly guilty, as if his maneuvering wasn’t really something to be ashamed of. “Well, it might have had something to do with it. I was looking for somewhere to hang out for a few weeks on my own, and they said you lived near Bob’s place, so I decided that’s where I’d choose. I figured I could relax, do some fishing, lie on the beach, and maybe run into you.”

  “Why would you want to?”

  “Because you’re gorgeous and you interest me. I’m a man who likes beautiful, mysterious women.”

  She was vaguely surprised that he’d said it directly, without even a flicker of his eyes. It was almost nice, that someone could be so open and blunt.

  She knew he was attracted to her, so that part rang true. And she supposed it was possible that he was bored and looking for something to fill his mind. Maybe all he needed was a strange, reclusive woman to pique his interest and divert his attention.

  He had nothing to do with any of her ghosts, certainly not the one from the middle of the woods where she never went.

  Whatever else he was, Cade wasn’t a danger to her.

  “I’m not as mysterious as you might think,” she said at last, realizing he was waiting for a response.

  He shook his head and smiled, holding her gaze with his. “Oh, Holly, I’m pretty sure that isn’t even close to being true.”

  Six

  Cade stretched the conversation with Holly as far as he c
ould make it go, but he recognized the signs that she was ready for it to be over.

  She started to shift restlessly, stretching and then folding her legs in front of her. And then she began staring out at the bay instead of meeting his eyes.

  He wanted to talk to her more, but he was smart enough to know that pushing it now would end up defeating his purpose, so he made himself stand up, stretching as his tired muscles resisted the move. “Okay,” he said, smiling down at her, managing to keep his gaze from slipping to her breasts, which were still quite visible beneath the damp fabric of her dress. She didn’t wear a bra. That was more than obvious. “You probably have things to do today.”

  He hoped the words would prompt her to give him information about what she was planning to do with the afternoon, but she just looked up at him, relief clear on her face. “Yes.”

  He waited for a second to see if she would continue, but when she didn’t, he nodded. “Okay,” he said again. “I’ll take off then. Hopefully, I’ll see you around. I have the house for the rest of the month.”

  Her eyes widened slightly, perhaps at hearing the extent of his “vacation,” but all she said was, “Maybe.”

  He couldn’t tell from her expression whether this was a brush-off or genuine response, and since she didn’t continue, he couldn’t linger any longer.

  He turned away from her, giving her another smile and a wave. Then he walked across the sand toward his stretch of beach.

  His walk was more of a shuffle than he would prefer, but there was no way to be dignified in sand this loose.

  All in all, he decided, it was a good day’s work. She’d accepted his company and had allowed him on her property, which was evidently farther than anyone else had gotten with her in years. He couldn’t expect for her to unload all her secrets in one conversation. It had happened to him before—with other people he was interviewing—but they were always people who were burdened with knowledge, just waiting for the opportunity to finally tell someone.

  When he was researching his first book about the Fall River rapist, he’d gone back to his hotel room emotionally battered after hearing the stories the women told him. A few of them had refused to talk to him, but others had started hesitantly and then just spilled it all out. Maybe it was a cathartic release for them—since he was asking about the human side of it, rather than the nuts-and-bolts details law enforcement had needed. He’d had to drink through more six-packs of beers than he liked to think about in order to get through some of the nights that followed since the stories, their faces, their suffering, wouldn’t leave his mind.

  He’d been relieved when he was able to bring more objectivity to his future books. Otherwise, his career would have led to either alcoholism or an emotional breakdown.

  Holly wasn’t like some of those women though. She didn’t seem to be unconsciously longing for someone to listen to her story.

  But that made Cade want to hear it even more.

  He had no idea what was driving her, and he definitely needed to find out.

  Maybe she would swim this evening, as she had yesterday. That would be his next opportunity. He planned to be on the beach at about six, just in case she came down to the bay as she had the day before.

  And, if she wore that little bikini again, well that was just an added bonus.

  His body reacted automatically to the memory of her body—nearly naked on the sand, under the spray of the shower, through her soaking wet dress. It would have been better if he wasn’t so viscerally interested in her—investigation was a lot easier if only one’s mind was involved—but there was nothing to do about that.

  Both his body and his mind were engaged in this pursuit, and the feeling was new and strange and almost thrilling. The only thing similar he’d experienced had been his first true crime book, and this was much better since he was energized rather than despairing.

  He returned to where he’d left his beach chair first thing this morning, and he realized he’d left his phone there too. He must have put it down before he’d walked over to the dead deer.

  He was never without his phone for so long, so he felt a strange surge of panic. He snatched it up and checked messages.

  One from his agent—checking in, asking how things were progressing on the new book. Cade had put his agent off for months now, mostly because he had no idea what to write about, and he knew the woman was about to give up on him. He’d call her back in a day or two when he got a better sense about where this new concept was going.

  Another message was from a woman he’d gone out with a few times back in New York. He just deleted it since he wasn’t planning to call her back. There was nothing wrong with her—she was attractive and knew how to flirt—but she was just like all the other women he’d dated for the past several years. He was bored with them.

  He’d rather think about Holly.

  The third message was from his old high school girlfriend who was now a realtor in town. “Hey, Cade. It’s Missy. That property you were wondering about is owned by a Margaret Chaney. It was transferred to her by a Ronald Chaney—her father, I’m assuming—and before that it was passed down through the Chaney family for several generations. The utilities are all in the name of Margaret Chaney too. That’s all I’ve got. Let me know if that’s any help. We should grab a drink sometime before you head back north.”

  Cade’s pulse sped up as he listened, although this only confirmed what his uncle and Mr. Redding had told him. Margaret Chaney was obviously Holly’s mother, and the house and utilities were evidently still her in name, so she couldn’t have died or cut ties completely. It couldn’t be too hard to find information on Margaret Chaney since she’d evidently been raised in Cape Charles.

  He dialed a friend of his at the local police station as he lugged his stuff back up to the house and asked him if he could do a search on police records connected to Holly or Margaret Chaney. His friend couldn’t just hand over police files, but he could at least point him in the general direction of the background he needed.

  Then Cade dialed his mother.

  “Cade,” she said on picking up the phone. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

  “No. I’m not in trouble.” He shook his head, used to this form of greeting. “Do you know anything about a Margaret Chaney? I think she must have grown up around Cape Charles.”

  “There are the Chaneys who live in the Bay Creek area. They’re a really nice couple—they moved here about fifteen years ago when he retired. They’re from South Carolina.”

  “No, no. I don’t think it would be them. The names I have are Margaret Chaney and Ronald Chaney.”

  “Ronald Chaney.” His mother’s voice was thoughtful. “Oh, yes, Ron and Maggie Chaney. I knew them. They were kind of quiet and retiring but always very polite. They lived in the prettiest pink Victorian you ever saw—down on Russell Street. Then it was sold, and the new owners basically rebuilt it. Such a waste of a lovely house. Anyway, the Chaneys were a little older than me.”

  Too old to be Holly’s parents. Maybe her grandparents? “Did they have any children?”

  “Oh, yes, Meg Chaney. She was named Margaret after her mother, but everyone called her Meg. She worked in the library. She was a really pretty, quiet thing. She never got married, though—at least as far as I know.”

  That must be the Margaret Chaney who owned the house and was Holly’s mother.

  “What happened to Meg?”

  “I don’t really know. She left town for a while and came back to live in that beach house, but she was hardly ever seen in town after that. They said she ran off with a fellow, but I never noticed her dating anyone. She was over thirty, and I never saw her step out with a man at all, so I was surprised by that story.”

  “Did she have any children?”

  “Yes, she had the little girl. You can still see the girl around town sometimes, although she never talks to anyone.”

  Cade had made it to the house, where he dropped the chair and set his binocula
rs on a rickety table. “But she never got married?”

  “No. I was really surprised she had the daughter. She was always very respectable.”

  “But she ran off with her boyfriend?”

  “Yes, that’s what they said, but I never believed it. It didn’t seem like her at all. She was very devoted to her parents.”

  “When did she run off?”

  “Oh my, I’m not sure. It would have to have been twenty or twenty-five years ago. You were just a little boy.”

  “Who might know more about her? I assume her parents aren’t around anymore.”

  “No, they died a long time ago. Oh, I know who you might ask. Dougie Harris. He was Meg’s supervisor in the library. He’s retired now, of course, but he’s still around.”

  “Great. Do you have his number?”

  “Not off the top of my head. I know he volunteers down at the wildlife reserve during the week. He’s probably there this afternoon.”

  “Okay. I’ll see if I can run him down. Thanks, Mom.”

  “Are you sure this is worth your time?” his mother asked slowly. “I mean, you have a book to write, and I’m not sure—”

  “I’m working on it,” he said, feeling bad about cutting her off but not having the patience to deal with it at the moment. “I’ll be back late this evening, so don’t wait up for me.” He might be renting the beach house, but he wasn’t about to spend the nights there without air-conditioning.

  “Okay,” his mother said with a sigh.

  Cade thought for a minute, trying to decide what to do. He hated to leave the property in case there was an opportunity to see Holly again. But she wasn’t likely to be around right away. She’d obviously had enough of his company for the time being. It would almost certainly be better use of his time to track down Dougie Harris and see if he had any more information about Meg Chaney.