Deadly Homecoming. Barbara Phinney
when she walked by and why the officer had automatically assumed she was guilty after hearing about her past.
Oh, well, sometimes you had to sing for your supper.
After she set her new items on the kitchen counter, they left. Lawson locked the door, took the key off his chain and gave it to her. She untied her leather necklace and slipped the key on to dangle beside a small, crudely carved wooden cross. Then the whole thing went back down under her blouse again. “I feel like a latchkey kid.”
He smiled. “Just do your homework, and the only television you’re allowed to watch is PBS.”
She laughed back. “When I was growing up, we could only get one station and it wasn’t PBS. In fact, for a while, my aunt Linda didn’t bother with a TV.”
They returned to town. And as the Jeep barreled straight into the village, she realized the stupid mistake she’d made.
The island had only one café. Suddenly, all the old fears and memories swept back over her. The handcuffs, the shame and the terrible sense that no one cared.
Oh, yes, the café was the last place on the island she wanted to be.
THREE
They found a table in the back, deliberately ignoring the two curious strangers parked by the window. Spying the large duffel bag with a TV station logo between them, Peta knew the man and the woman were reporters.
The small café had been redecorated sometime in the last ten years. Gone were the plastic tablecloths and brown wallpaper in that dated eighties style. Instead, the place had adopted a whale-watching theme, with old-fashioned spyglasses and framed newspaper articles hanging on the pale blue walls.
Who was responsible for this? Not too many islanders would appreciate the touristy feel. And she had yet to see any obvious tourists. Reporters didn’t count.
Was this place still owned by Trudy Bell? Sitting down, Peta glanced around hesitantly. The sun that had been streaming in the long, six-paned windows suddenly dipped behind a cloud. The door to the kitchen swung open, and a waitress trudged out.
She held her breath. Trudy’s longtime employee, Ellie, now made a beeline straight for them, and her expression wasn’t welcoming.
She held her menus tight to her sturdy frame as she spoke to Lawson. “We’ve got a good clientele here, Mr. Mills. Trudy’s already told me not to serve the likes of your guest.”
Peta shut her eyes as the heat surged into her face. Of course Trudy would think that way, after the vandalism.
Lawson stood slowly. “In that case, Ellie, you won’t be serving me today, either.” He walked around to the back of Peta’s chair and pulled it out, with her still in it. “It’s a shame you only serve perfect people. I’ll be sure to recommend this place to the next one I meet.”
Her jaw sagging, Peta rose. Lawson’s hand gripped her elbow as he practically dragged her out of the quiet café. Even the reporters up front gaped at the scene.
Outside, he let her go. “We didn’t have to leave, you know,” she said quietly, though not wanting him to think she was ungrateful. “Ellie would have served us. Her bark is worse than her bite.”
“If she wants to act like a dog, then she shouldn’t be in the hospitality industry. I’ve worked all my life in a restaurant, at all levels, and believe me, you don’t turn customers away.”
He turned around, a questioning frown creasing his forehead as he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Are you for real?”
“I’m as real as you are,” he said.
“I mean, as a Christian. You just told off that woman. And basically called her a dog!”
He smiled briefly. “I think you did first. All I said was if she wanted to act like one she shouldn’t be working in a café. My family runs—ran—a restaurant for years. You don’t treat your patrons like that.” He shook his head. “Peta, being a Christian doesn’t mean you should be a doormat. Or allow injustice to stand.”
“But what you said—”
His jaw tightened. “Maybe I sounded a bit harsh to you, but that’s the way I feel.”
She thought of her congregation in Toronto, an ethnically mixed group of caring people. How would they react to hearing that she’d become a suspect in a murder? How would her minister react to what just happened in that café? He wouldn’t have taken it lightly, either. “You sound like my pastor. He recently said, if I remember correctly, ‘Resistance to tyranny is obedience to God.’”
“He was quoting Susan B. Anthony, an American activist,” Lawson said. “So where’s your church?”
“In Toronto. Downsview, actually, the north part of the city. The church I attend has a lot of immigrants, so my pastor finds himself battling intolerance from a lot of different angles. But what I meant was, so many Christians just try to maintain a strong, silent presence for the Lord. I’ve both admired and scoffed at that.” She blinked, amazed. “I always thought I was the one more likely to overturn the tables in the temple than just make a quiet statement.”
He tipped his head. “What makes you think you’re a disruptive person?”
She shrugged and kept on walking. “I used to be. Hence the shunning here.”
“People change.” They’d reached his Jeep, and for the first time, Peta noticed the mud and peat splashed onto the fenders. No one really needed a car on the island. Twice a week—Monday morning and Friday evening, if she remembered correctly—the car ferry came over for those who needed to head to or return from the mainland. Today was Tuesday. Would she see many cars this Friday night? Would she even be here then?
Lawson opened the passenger door for her. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Is there another restaurant?”
“No, so we may as well go back to my house.”
She climbed in and looked up at him as he still held the door. “You don’t have to feed me.”
“What kind of Christian would I be if I walked away from you now? Besides I’m hungry and you must be, too, because you didn’t buy any food at the store.”
A practical man—and a compassionate one—she decided. As she watched him open his door to climb in, she found herself glad that he’d stood up to Ellie.
But who was he? What had brought him here?
Once buckled in, he drove through the village, past Danny’s house and up a side street that led to the fishing weirs. In the time she’d been gone, a few homes had been built on the once-empty road. Years ago, Danny’s parents had owned all the land up this way. She and Danny and others used to head here on warm summer nights to party, and plan the trouble they’d eventually get into.
She hated those memories and the guilt they heaped on her now.
The driveway Lawson pulled into led to a modest, modern home. She liked the house immediately. Built of logs, it seemed to be more an appendage of its environment than a building. The rustic cabin swept down on the south-facing side, while keeping the north face tucked into the dense mix of spruce and pine.
She looked around. The house had no yard. It wasn’t as if, being new, the yard might still need to be landscaped. No, the house was deliberately nestled in the crowded woods that were still standing as they had for years. Odd that someone wouldn’t want even a small lawn.
She looked over at him. “Did you build this house?”
“No, I rent it.”
She frowned. “This was Danny’s folks’ land. Did you rent it from him?”
“Danny used it as income-generating property.”
She nodded. Danny preferred