The Lawman's Legacy. Shirlee McCoy
to keep him out of her house, out of her life, out of her heart.
Above all, she had to keep him away from Tyler.
“Interview me about what? I’ve already told you what I know.” Even she could hear the desperation in her tone, and Douglas didn’t miss it. His gaze sharpened, and he stepped close, his expression taut and hard as he cupped her shoulders and looked down into her face.
“What are you hiding, Merry?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you so nervous?”
“Because Olivia is gone. Murdered, and I don’t know why. I can’t believe anyone would want to hurt her,” she responded truthfully, hoping it would be enough to assuage Douglas.
“Someone did hurt her though, and I’m hoping you can help us figure out who that was. That’s why I need to interview you.”
“I didn’t know her very well. Not well enough to tell you anything that could help.”
“You may be surprised at what you know and how much it helps. So, how about we stop arguing about this, and you go on home?” he asked, but it wasn’t a suggestion. He expected her to comply, and she knew she didn’t have a choice.
“We weren’t arguing. We were discussing.” She walked back to her car, giving up the fight to keep him away from her house. She’d just have to keep the interview focused on Olivia, keep it away from her past, her son, her secrets.
Douglas kept pace beside her, his silence grating her nerves and making her want to speak into it, offer more explanations for her reluctance, try to convince him that she had nothing to hide.
Because she didn’t.
Not anything that had to do with Olivia, anyway.
Several officers stood outside the door that led into Olivia’s tiny apartment in the cottage. Just a few hundred square feet, it consisted of a small living room, a kitchenette, a bathroom and a bedroom. Nothing fancy, but Olivia had made it homey and comfortable. Still, Merry had only visited once, Tyler’s rambunctious and busy nature making it difficult to relax in the confined area.
Visited once, but she’d walked through the apartment less than an hour ago. Touched the door handles, fingered the teacup that sat at the small kitchen table. Left prints everywhere.
The thought sent ice racing through her blood.
“What are they doing?” She gestured to Keira and another officer. Both were bent over the apartment door handle.
“Dusting for prints,” Douglas responded as he opened the station wagon’s door.
She didn’t get in. Terror froze her in place. “But Olivia died at the cliffs.”
“We don’t know where she died. We only know where she was found.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Why would you?”
Good question. One she couldn’t answer, because she was too busy watching Keira dust the doorknob and door frame. Too busy wishing she could run over and wipe away the dusting powder, wipe off any prints she’d left. Wipe away the traces of who she’d once been.
Please, God, don’t let them find any of my fingerprints. Please.
But they would.
How could they not?
She swayed, and Douglas grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. This is all just upsetting.”
“Sit down. You’re pale as paper.” He urged her into the car, leaned in so they were eye to eye. “Are you going to be okay to drive home, or should I ask someone to take you?”
“I’ll be okay.” But her voice shook and tears she’d been denying since she’d seen Olivia lying at the base of the cliff spilled out.
“Will you?” He brushed a tear from her cheek, and she wanted to jerk away from the warmth of his palm, look away from the compassion in his eyes.
Dangerous.
So, dangerous to let him into her life.
“Of course I will be.” She wiped away more tears, shoved the key into the ignition and started the engine. She had to be okay. Tyler was depending on her.
Douglas studied her for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
He closed the door and walked away, but the feel of his palm on her cheek lingered as she drove toward home, offering her a glimpse of what might have been if she hadn’t had to push Douglas away.
Comfort.
Security.
Someone to lean on.
She wanted those things desperately, but she wanted the life she’d created more.
She had to remember that. Had to get a handle on her emotions before Douglas’s interview. If she didn’t, she might give away too much of herself.
Four years, and she’d been fine.
Four years, and she’d kept Tyler safe.
She’d do the same for another four years and another and another.
She would.
All she had to do was keep her head on straight, focus on answering Douglas’s questions about Olivia without giving away anything about herself or Tyler.
All she had to do was continue to keep her secrets.
Only hers weren’t the only secrets she carried.
She had Olivia’s secrets, too.
Keep this for me, Merry. Don’t tell anyone you have it.
The words whispered through Merry’s mind, as clear as they’d been the day Olivia had spoken them, her lilting Irish accent charming and warm. They mixed with other words, another time, another place, another accent. Thick Bostonian. The same as the one Merry had worked so hard to rid herself of.
Keep him safe. Please, promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll keep him safe. Promise me.
So many promises, so many secrets.
Too many secrets.
And, Douglas Fitzgerald coming over to her house to ask questions.
Douglas with his winning smile and caring nature.
Douglas, who had taken her to lunch, looked deep into her eyes and made her feel beautiful and special and cared for. She couldn’t stomach lying to him, but she couldn’t ever tell him the truth.
Please, God, don’t let him ask me questions I can’t answer.
But Douglas would.
He had a reputation for fairness and honesty and dogged determination, and he had a way of looking at people and into them that made Merry nervous.
He would know she had secrets.
He probably already knew.
If he thought those secrets had anything to do with Olivia’s death, he’d dig until he knew everything. Every secret. Every lie. Every bit of what Merry had kept hidden.
He’d dig until he destroyed everything she’d worked so hard to protect.
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and, this time, she didn’t bother wiping them away.
THREE
Forty years.
That’s how long it had been since someone had been murdered in Fitzgerald Bay.
Scratch that.