He needed to keep her safe from Kenny. The divorce was still the only answer.
CHAPTER TWO
When Beckett pushed through the screen door into the rustic dining hall, he found the place unchanged. He was greeted by dark woods, the enormous stone fireplace and long family-style tables that had been there since Beckett’s father bought the hotel and grounds. He breathed it all in with mixed pain and pleasure, the aroma of the place that used to be home. His eyes sought the wooden shelf he’d built where there had been a silver-framed picture of him and Laney on their wedding day. The photo had been removed. It probably brought Laney a boatload of pain looking at the man who she’d thought had been her life partner. Little did she know he’d be jailed less than two months after their wedding and filing for divorce in four.
A dog with a sausage-shaped body scurried to him, rising up on arthritic hind legs to paw at his shins. He was a weird conglomerate of dachshund, Chihuahua and something fuzzier. Smiling, he took a knee. “Hey, Admiral. Have you been helping your mama?” His mama was and always would be Laney, the primary object of his adoration. He scratched behind the dog’s fox-like ears until the bulging brown eyes glazed and a pink tongue unrolled through the spot where a missing front tooth should be.
He flashed back to the day he’d run into Pete Parson, the town vet, guzzling coffee in the local java joint, grumbling how a visitor through town had taken their ill senior dog to the vet and abandoned him there rather than foot the bill. Pete was already the owner of five dogs and three cats. The softhearted vet was struggling with the decision to euthanize the unwanted animal. Beckett had spoken about it at the hotel, and Laney, a part-time housekeeper, overheard. She promptly burst into tears, phoned the vet and begged him to keep the dog safe until she could earn the money to pay the bill and adopt him. His heart throbbed, remembering how she was halfway through a double shift scrubbing floors at the hotel when Beckett presented her with the dog and a fully paid vet bill.
Laney had again begun to cry and he realized he’d never known such a beautiful woman both inside and out. She’d looked at Beckett like he was a hero, and he’d never forgotten it.
“His new name is Admiral Nelson,” she’d announced later as she carefully applied drops to the dog’s only working eye. “A thirteen-year-old dog should have a dignified name, don’t you think? I was reading about the real admiral’s naval victories in a book Aunt Kitty gave me. The human Admiral Nelson had only one working eye too,” she’d said, kissing the dog on his nose.
Both Beckett and the dog lost their hearts to Laney Holland right around then. He gave the dog a final pat. At least Admiral would never abandon Laney. As he straightened, he noted a middle-aged woman in the corner with a book in her hand, her hair braided into a long dark column down her back.
When she saw he’d noticed her, she dropped her attention back to the open book. There was something odd about her. His instincts prickled. Was she simply curious about a newcomer? Or did she believe the town gossip about who he was…the monster returned to his killing grounds?
Another theory presented itself. A sliver of cold pierced his innards. Had Kenny sent an advance team? Perhaps this woman had been the one to put a snake in the van on Kenny’s orders?
Paranoia or reasonable suspicion? He didn’t know anymore. The sun blazed through the front window, and the old air conditioner fought to keep up. He recalled the day in June when his life exploded. The dining hall had been similarly empty then as well; only a few guests were brave enough to hazard Death Valley in late spring. He’d found the folded note on the bulletin board, pinned there with his name on the front. He’d gotten up earlier than usual that day to surprise Laney with her favorite doughnut from a shop in town. Chocolate old-fashioned. He’d spotted the note on his way into the kitchen.
I have to talk to you. Urgent. Come as soon as you can to the creek.—Pauline.
What he’d found at that creek, which had been dry for months, was Pauline Sanderson’s body, throat ringed with bruises, back of her skull oozing blood. He’d tried CPR, called for help and stayed with her. As he sat next to her body, part of him knew nothing would ever be the same. About that, he’d been right.
Why had Pauline left him the note?
Why hadn’t he told his wife where he was going?
He had no answers for the police.
He had no explanations either for how Pauline’s bloody sweater got into the front seat of his vehicle.
The woman sipped her coffee. Avoiding his gaze? It occurred to him just then that it had been a very long time since she’d turned a page. She stood, closing her book, and left.
Was she a threat or an innocent tourist? He simply could not tell.
Figure it out, Beckett. Laney’s life might depend on it.
* * *
Don’t you cry, Laney, do you hear me? Don’t you dare.
Blinking hard, Laney braced her palms on the kitchen counter. At the moment she didn’t care what Beckett had to say, or Jude, or anyone else on the planet. Her only desire was to get through the door, scurry out back to the cottage she’d shared with Beckett for five precious weeks and lock the world away. That plan was squashed when she saw that the tables hadn’t been wiped down after the lunch service. With a sigh, she tied an
