Devlin's Light (17 page)

Rummaging in her suitcase, India found a nightshirt and set off for the bathroom at the end of the hall, the farthest from where her aunt and Corri lay sleeping. She wanted a quick shower to rinse the salt from the heavy marsh air from her arms and her hair. Then she would sit up in bed and make notes of all the information she had learned tonight. As the hot water pelted her skin, she began to compile a short list of possible suspects. Manning, certainly, needed to be talked to. Hatfield, possibly. And there were still some
who thought that Kenny Kerns belonged at the top of that list.

It was no secret that Kenny has a trigger-quick temper, she reminded herself as she turned off the hot water and stepped onto the nubby dark green bath mat that lay across the cool white tile. She pulled two towels from the rack and wrapped one around her head before wrapping the other around her body. Drying her legs and her feet, she opened the door quietly, releasing steam and heavy warm air into the cool of the hallway.

Kenny may have been hotheaded, but she’d never heard of him being violent. Had the thought of Darla marrying Ry pushed him over the line? Indy grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed where she’d left it. As she did so, something rolled past her feet. She jumped back in surprise, then bent down to pick up a small round black vinyl disc.

Funny, she hadn’t noticed it earlier.

She turned the 45 RPM record over and looked at the label. An old Jackson Five hit.

Corri must have been going through Ry’s record collection and for some reason picked this one out to play and forgotten to put it back.

India shrugged and placed it on the desk, then returned to the bathroom to towel-dry her hair. There was a lot to think about tonight. Starting with the man out beyond the marshes who was very slowly beginning to turn her inside out. She certainly hadn’t planned for it to happen, but Nick Enright was simply too much to ignore. Too kind. Too thoughtful.

Too adorable.

Too much man.

That was the bottom line here. How much longer could she pretend that Nick was nothing more than her brother’s best friend? Kissing him tonight had certainly made it abundantly clear that he was not a man to walk away from. Indy tried to recall the last time a man had taken her breath away with his kisses, or had lit a spark so deep inside her that it seemed the glow had found and warmed her very core. She wasn’t sure that she had ever felt what she’d felt when Nick Enright had begun to nibble on her lower lip, but she sure as hell hoped she’d get to feel it again.

India hung the damp towel over a metal bar, then turned off the bathroom light and slipped back across the hall to her room. Too tired now, her written list of suspects and other pertinent information would have to wait until tomorrow. Turning off the light, she tried to settle in for the night but was distracted by the images running at full tilt behind her eyes.

Nick as he looked when she arrived at his cabin, his easy smile and soft eyes watching, welcoming her. Almost as if he’d been waiting for her. As if he’d wished her there.

Corri’s pert little face, watching India from across the dinner table, studying the way Indy had absentmindedly stirred her iced tea before mimicking the motions.

Darla’s efforts to start her own business, encouraged by Ry to take her incredible baked goods on the road, so to speak, and begin to market her craft.

Ry’s plans to renovate the Light, to provide a space for Darla to have a home for the business she had always dreamed of.

India bit her lip and stared at the ceiling. She owed it to both of them—her brother and her best friend—to try her best to make that happen. It had obviously been important to Ry that he give Darla this freedom. She, India, could do no less. How to make that happen from Paloma? The weekends were short enough as it was, with trials coming up and Corri to think about. And Nick.

India turned over and punched her pillow. Life was complicated enough right now, she told herself sternly, without getting tangled up with Nick Enright.

She could have laughed out loud. If she wasn’t well on her way to tangling with him, what exactly would she call it? Her fingers traced the path his lips had made along the side of her face. She could almost feel his tongue teasing at the corners of her mouth.

Yeah, that was
tangling
, all right.

With a sigh, India threw back the covers and stood up in the cool of the night. Grabbing a fuzzy blue mohair afghan from a nearby chair, she wrapped it around her shoulders and eased onto the window seat that her father, years earlier, had built for her with his own hands. She smiled at the memory of her white-haired, scholarly father, his glasses
perched upon his nose as he meticulously measured the space beneath the window and drew a corresponding diagram upon a sheet of blue-lined notebook paper. He had approached the project as he researched points of law, all his tools lined up ahead of time, in order of their anticipated usage. India had never before nor after seen her father work with his hands to cut wood and hammer it into place. He had done it for her, and he had felt that had been enough to prove he could—if he wanted to. He had simply never wanted to again.

India had spent so many hours curled up just so, she mused. Weeping over school-girl crushes or planning her career. For years she had sent her prayers off, heaven bound, from this very spot. And for years she had come to this very window to look out at the night, when the nightmares came and refused to give her peace.

India shivered and shook her head as if to clear it. With a sigh of exasperation, she pulled the afghan more closely around her and sank back against the wall, alone with the night and with her thoughts.

“What do you think, Indy?” Darla passed a small white plate upon which sat a plump, fragrant muffin into India’s waiting hands.

“I think it smells incredible.” India lifted the plate to her nose for a closer whiff. “What kind is this one?”

“Raisin pumpkin. And these,” she said, removing a muffin tin from the oven and placing it upon a rack on the counter, “are raspberry cream.”

“Heaven!” India all but swooned. “Sheer heaven. Don’t wrap them all up. I may eat one of those too.”

“Wow. A two-muffin morning. You must have heavy doings on your mind.” Darla tucked a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear and watched Indy’s face for subtle changes, those little telltale signs of trouble or stress. There, there it was. Barely imperceptible, but to one who knew India as well as Darla did, the shadow that had crossed Indy’s face was unmistakable.

India shrugged and reached for the butter dish.

“How’s your new case going?” Darla tried to sound casual.

“Umm, okay. I think we have enough to get a conviction.”

“When does that trial start?”

“Two more weeks.” India nibbled at the edge of the muffin. It was dribbly with butter and tasted the way an early fall morning should taste. “Dar, I love these. These are my favorites.”

“I thought the strawberry cheesecake were your favorites.”

“Them too.” India licked crumbs off her fingers.

“Then what about the chocolate mocha?”

“Umm, right. Those.”

Darla laughed. “I wish you’d come home more often, Indy. I need your enthusiasm.”

“Oh, come on, Dar. I can’t believe that you’d need anyone to tell you that you bake like no one else. I’ll bet there’d be an endless stream of volunteers to taste-test your experiments.”

“Yeah, but I need that Devlin palate to do it right.” Darla sat down and rested her chin in her hand. “I miss Ry, Indy. I miss him more and more, not less and less.”

“Me too.” India sat her coffee mug down quietly on the table.

“We had the best plans, Indy. We had it all worked out. We were getting the Light all fixed up, repaired and painted and restored. We were going to do a sort of cafe in the two rooms downstairs, just simple fare that would be appropriate for a little morning munch or an afternoon tea. It was going to be so much fun. It was Ry’s idea that I sell my muffins and breads and stuff. He had a great advertising campaign all worked out and a marketing strategy.” Darla sighed and shook her head.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about all that. I think we should proceed just as you and Ry had planned.”

“It won’t be the same.”

“Of course it won’t be the same. Dar, nothing will ever be the same again. But that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t follow through with it. We both know that Ry would have wanted you to do this. That he did want you to have this. We’ll just finish the job ourselves. It may take a little longer,
but I want to do it. I want the Light restored, Dar, if for no other reason than because Ry wanted it restored. That was his dream, and we will do it for him.” India closed a hand over Darla’s, which were clasped as if in prayer before her on the table.

“India, are you sure you don’t want to think this over? This was not an inexpensive project.”

“What’s to think over?” India shrugged. “It’s Devlin trust money, anyway. Ry’s and mine. I can’t think of a better way to spend it.”

“Would you want to see the plans Ry had drawn up?”

“Sure.” India nodded enthusiastically. “There’s no time like the present.”

“I’ll be right back.” Darla stood up, her shoulders still sagging from the weight of her sadness.

“We’ll fix it, Ry,” India whispered aloud as she poured herself another cup of coffee. “I can’t bring you back, but maybe I can help bring the life back into Darla’s eyes. Maybe we can get her business going so that she can support herself and the kids and maybe someday she’ll even be happy again. Maybe, with your help, we can make it happen for her.”

“Here’s Ry’s briefcase.” Darla swung the black leather satchel onto the kitchen table and unsnapped the closure. She opened the lid and swung it around so that it stood open to India’s scrutiny.

Inside lay folders, dark brown heavy cardboard secured with black elastic to keep the contents in. Each was named, the inch-high letters printed in Ry’s neat hand, in black felt-tipped pen. India’s fingers walked through the stack, scrolling the files.

Her brother had been meticulous in his research into the restoration of the Light. One file held paint chips and paint charts from several manufacturers of historic colors. India smiled. It was exactly Ry’s style to try to match both the exterior and interior shades as closely as possible.

Another file held a diagram of the massive fireplace that stood between the two main rooms of the Light’s first floor, as well as detailed photographs of every aspect of the structure. Several business cards of masons who specialized
in brick restoration were paper-clipped to one side of the folder. A hand-printed list of books relating to historic fireplaces was included in the file, as were Ry’s sketches of how he saw the rooms once the renovations had been completed.

Ry’s optimism, his plans for his life with Darla lay before India’s eyes in the thin, penciled lines hastily sketched upon white construction paper. It pulled at her heart, which she had thought to be beyond breaking any further. In Ry’s hand, the rooms had become beautiful again in their simplicity, with small round tables and mismatched wooden chairs. Those same windows, which had not, to her knowledge, been opened in more than a hundred years, stood open to the sun and the soft salty breezes off the bay. She saw the Light through her brother’s eyes and knew that it was all exactly right, exactly the way it should be. The way it had to be.

India slid the sketches back into the folder and replaced the elastic before carefully opening the next folder. Ry’s plans for the Light itself. Restored and opened for small tours, from spring through November. Another folder held his budget for the projects. Darla had not exaggerated. Ry was preparing to spend a lot of money on the restoration and to start up Darla’s business. India tapped her fingers on the table as she studied the figures. More than she had thought. Mentally she shrugged, knowing Darla was watching her face. It was Ry’s money, his portion of the trust. If that’s how he had wanted to spend it, that’s how it would be.

“Was anyone working with Ry on this?” India asked Darla.

“Just me.” Darla sat blotting soft tears from her face. “And sometimes Nick.”

A flicker crossed India’s face at the mention of Nick’s name, a fact that was not lost upon Darla.

“Maybe we should ask him to help us,” Darla suggested.

“I think Nick has his own work to do.”

“Oh, I don’t know. He likes a nice diversion now and again. And he’s been working on that thesis for quite some time, you know. He can’t spend all his time working. And besides, Ry trusted him. They were like two sides of the
same coin sometimes,” Darla said softly, then smiled and added, “Sort of like the way you and I are, Indy. Nick and Ry were best friends in the truest sense. They liked and respected each other. They helped each other. I do not know what I would do without Nick, Indy.”

India looked up at her friend, questioning without meaning to.

“He just always seems to know when one of us is hurting. He stops at August’s several times a week, did you know? He has tea with her in the afternoon sometimes. He stops here to see if I need help getting my orders out. To see if Jack wants to throw a ball around or go down to the beach and talk. He never stays too long and he never asks anything from anyone. He’s just there and lends a hand and then goes about his business. Like he’s taken us all under his wing and watches out for us.”

“He seems to be a very good man.” India measured her words carefully.

“A very good man,” Darla repeated evenly, then after a moment’s silence between the two of them, she burst out laughing.

“India, Nick Enright is a hunk. He is sexy, he is smart. He is thoughtful. He is fun to be around. You are probably the only woman in Devlin’s Light who has
ever
described him simply as a very good man. Now, I do not recall you ever having been totally blind as far as handsome men are concerned. So stop being so coy. Would you please admit that you are interested in the man as something more than a source of information?”

“I’m interested in the man as something more than a source of information,” India repeated.