Waterford Point
Down, girl.
Rachel stared at a man in jeans and work shirt coming down the stairs. He was about thirty-three and darkly handsome, with what looked like several drops of Native American blood in his veins. He was a good six foot two with broad shoulders, working man’s hands and startling brown eyes that, despite her better instincts, made Rachel’s heart stutter.
“There’s nothing going on that a little tried-and-true police work won’t fix.” He held out a hand. “I’m Nick Chavaree, the local sheriff. I’m staying here while my house is being…” He paused, frowned, withdrew the hand. “You look familiar to me. Do I know you?”
Rachel was pretty sure that if she’d seen him before she’d remember. He was that good-looking. “No, I don’t think so.”
His demeanor abruptly shifted from friendly to hostile. “You’re here about the murders, aren’t you?”
“Murders?”
“Don’t be coy.” He moved toward her now. “That’s why you picked this place to stay. You thought you could get some inside information from me. That’s not going to happen.”
ALANA MATTHEWS
WATERFORD POINT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alana Matthews can’t remember a time when she didn’t want to be a writer. As a child, she was a permanent fixture in her local library, and she soon turned her passion for books into writing short stories, and finally novels. A longtime fan of romantic suspense, Alana felt she had no choice but to try her hand at the genre, and she is thrilled to be writing for Harlequin Intrigue. Alana makes her home in a small town near the coast of Southern California, where she spends her time writing, composing music and watching her favorite movies.
Send a message to Alana at her website, www.AlanaMatthews.com.
Books by Alana Matthews
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
1208—MAN UNDERCOVER
1239—BODY ARMOR
1271—WATERFORD POINT
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Rachel Hudson—She came to Waterford Point to escape her past, and found herself caught up in someone else’s.
Sheriff Nick Chavaree—A puzzling murder investigation threatened his career, but could Rachel help him ferret out the truth…and steal his heart?
Maddie—She kept herself busy running the Waterford Inn, but what dark secret was she hiding?
Deputy Charlie Tevis—He returned to Waterford Point after an extended absence and wondered if he should have stayed away.
Mayor Bill Burgess—An officious fool who was more concerned about Waterford Point’s tourist trade than its own citizens.
Caroline Keller—The first in a string of murder victims who heard someone crying in the night.
Weeping Willow—Did her spirit come back to Waterford Point looking for revenge?
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Prologue
The crying was what awakened her.
For a moment she thought she was dreaming; the sound circled inside her head like a persistent insect, refusing to go away. But as she fully awakened, she realized that it was all too real, a muffled but unmistakable keen coming from outside her bedroom window.
She abruptly pulled herself upright and strained to hear, a vague uneasiness simmering in her chest.
Was it an animal of some kind? A bird? An injured deer?
No.
This was definitely human.
And female.
Feeling a knot in her stomach, she swung her legs around and stood, surprised by the chill of the polished wooden floorboards beneath her bare feet.
This wasn’t her first night here, and she knew she should be used to her surroundings by now. But it seemed that every time she got out of bed, she anticipated the feel of warm carpet—the carpet in her own bedroom in D.C.—only to be startled by this cold bare floor.
Padding to the window, she undid the latch and pushed it open, letting in the night air. The sound floated in just beneath the whisper of the wind—
The sobs of a broken girl.
A soul irrevocably wounded.
It came from a forest of Eastern pine that stood just forty yards away from the old house, across a rustic backyard. A thin mist hung in the air around the trees, the forest dark and foreboding.
Her heart thumped wildly as she listened to the sobs, and with sudden dread she knew she’d made a mistake coming home again.
The stories she’d heard were true.
This wasn’t make-believe. A fairy tale. A quaint little piece of local folklore. And as much as she might try, she knew she’d never be rid of her past.
It was right outside.
Haunting her.
Waiting for her in the trees.
Chapter One
By the time the ferry reached the dock, Rachel Hudson was a little queasy.
She didn’t travel well on water. Although the trip across the bay hadn’t taken more than fifteen minutes, her stomach wasn’t exactly rock solid these days, and she thought for a moment she might lose the salad she’d had for lunch.
Thank God for dry land.
Rachel had never been to Waterford Point before. Had never been to Penobscot Bay or farther north than Connecticut, for that matter. But the photos she’d seen on the internet had convinced her that this was where she needed to go. That Waterford Point was exactly the place she should be right now.
Her means of escape.
Her bastion of refuge.
An isolated fishing village-cum-tourist destination on an island off the coast of Maine, it was a place where she could forget about the chaos that had swirled around her in California and finally decide what to do with her life now that Dan was officially out of the picture.
As the ferry gate opened, she moved with the handful of homeward-bound commuters and rolled her suitcase onto the dock, looking out toward the village.
It was quite a bit larger than she had anticipated and she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend her next few weeks here getting around on foot.
As the others moved toward their cars in the parking lot, Rachel turned to the dockworker who was manning the gate. He was an elderly man with a weathered, sunbaked face, and she had no doubt that he’d spent many years on a fishing boat.
“Is there a place around here I can rent a car?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pointed toward a cluster of wooden shacks to the right of the dock. “They’re on the far side of that last building, just around the corner. You can’t miss ’em. And they’ll be glad to see you, too.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Not too many visitors around here lately, what with all the commotion.”
“Commotion?”
He shook his head then; he’d said too much. “Nothing to be concerned about. You just enjoy yourself and be sure to spend lots of money.”
He grinned, and Rachel felt compelled to push him further, but she resisted the urge.
She had come here to get her head together, not work. Work was the last thing she needed to be thinking about.
THE CAR RENTAL AGENCY was an eight-by-ten office with an efficient-looking beanpole of a kid manning the counter.
The old guy at the dock had been right. Rachel’s arrival seemed to be the high point of this young man’s evening, and he cheerfully rented her a Ford compact, which was parked along the side of the building amidst a couple dozen identical cars.
Despite his cheerfulness, there was something off about the kid’s demeanor. A nervousness behind the smile. He was trying too hard, Rachel thought, and she again found herself feeling the urge to ask about it.
But again she resisted.
He wasn’t a witness to a crime, or a convict staring out from behind a Plexiglas wall. He was an overly enthusiastic rental clerk and she was letting her natural curiosity get the better of her. What was going on inside his head was really none of her business.
She needed to relax and forget who and what she was for a while.
For the sake of the baby, if nothing else.
RACHEL’S PREGNANCY had come as a complete shock.
One night of mechanical sex—protected sex at that—did not often have such stupefying consequences, and while bearing a child was something she had dreamed of for many years, she’d always shoved the thought aside in favor of her career.
But now that motherhood would soon be a reality, Rachel was overjoyed.
Unfortunately, Dan hadn’t shared in that joy.
“You’re what?” he’d said when she broke the news to him.
She had asked to meet him for dinner, but he’d opted for a cup of coffee instead. An entire meal was too much of a commitment.
They sat in a trendy roasting house in Hollywood on a busy Tuesday afternoon and despite the lunch-time chatter around them, Dan’s voice cut straight through and hit her right in the gut.
“Pregnant,” she repeated, feeling annoyed by his reaction. “You want me to spell it for you?”
But just as he’d made it clear that he no longer loved her, Dan made it equally clear that he had no interest whatsoever in being a father, and had flat-out refused to believe that it was his child growing inside her.
Rachel knew, of course, that the baby didn’t belong to anyone else. She hadn’t slept with another man since the divorce, hadn’t even dated, for godsakes.
So whether he liked the idea or not, Dan was indeed the father.
She could easily convince him with a paternity test, but what was the point? If he had no interest in loving and caring for their child, no blood test in the world would change his mind.
Or, more importantly, his heart.
So she knew she was on her own. Not an ideal situation emotionally, but she was fairly thick-skinned and she’d done well enough in her profession not to have to worry about income for several years.
And while raising a child alone was not something she was thrilled about, she knew she could manage. Even if it meant putting her work on hold for a while.
Still, Rachel couldn’t help feeling a little lost and lonely, and she sometimes wished she had a partner to share this joy with. A man who would love her, unconditionally, and welcome her child into the world with open arms.
Good luck with that one.
THE DRIVE TO THE WATERFORD Inn took her less than ten minutes.
A large, refurbished Victorian, it stood at the end of a long block that was bordered by a hillside studded with trees. It was late in the day, and everywhere Rachel looked, those trees seemed to be shrouded in mist.
Hopefully tomorrow would bring some sunshine.
The house itself stood in stark contrast, its freshly painted pastel-blue both homey and inviting. But as she stepped out of the car and locked her door, Rachel didn’t feel welcome at all.
Sensing someone watching her, she turned to find two women staring at her from across the road as they walked together toward the center of town.
There was mistrust in their expressions, a look that made her feel instantly uneasy. Was this simply the usual locals-versus-tourist hostility, or something else altogether?
To Rachel’s mind it looked more like suspicion.
Or even fear.
The two women looked away from her now, chattering quietly as they walked. She had no idea what they were saying and didn’t really want to know.
It couldn’t be anything good.
Ignoring them, she took her suitcase from the trunk and moved up the front steps of the inn.
A moment later she was inside a quaint, old-fashioned foyer with a small reception counter on one side and shelves full of books on the other. Beyond, through a wide doorway, was a dining parlor and a polished wooden staircase that led to the second floor.
Rachel heard a faint grunt and moved up to the counter. A woman in her mid-forties was crouched behind it, searching through a low drawer, all of her concentration centered on the task.
Rachel cleared her throat and the woman jerked her head up and sucked in a breath, touching her chest in surprise.
“Oh, my,” she said. “You scared the bojangles out of me.”
Rachel offered her a sympathetic smile. “I was hoping you heard me come in.”
“I can’t hear a thing when I’m concentrating.” She gestured to the open drawer. “And I can’t seem to find my scissors, either. You wouldn’t happen to have a pair on you, would you?”
Rachel shook her head and smiled. “The one thing I forgot to pack.”
“I don’t know where they got to. Maybe in back, by my bed. I don’t like to sleep without some kind of…” She glanced at Rachel’s suitcase and frowned. “Who exactly are you?”
It was Rachel’s turn to be surprised. “Rachel…Rachel Hudson. I have a reservation?”
The woman took a moment to make the connection, then raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t get my message?”
“Message?”
“I told you not to bother coming, dearie. We’re not taking in guests for a while.”
“What? Why?”
The woman was about to respond when her gaze shifted to a spot behind the counter. “There they are!”
She reached forward and brought out a pair of sharp sewing shears.
“I didn’t get any message,” Rachel said. “And I need a place to stay.”
The woman was holding the shears just below the handle now, her fingers wrapped around it as if it were a dagger. She made several practice stabbing motions in the air, her eyes fixed on the blades. She seemed to have forgotten about Rachel altogether.
“Hello?”
The woman looked up sharply. “I know you came a long way,” she said, sounding only slightly apologetic, “but if you had any sense in you, you’d turn around right now and go back home.”
“Why?”
She lowered the scissors and leaned forward, gesturing for Rachel to come close.
Rachel hesitated, not sure the woman was all there. Then she did as she was asked and the woman whispered, “It’s for your own good, my dear. This place isn’t safe. She won’t rest until we’re all dead.”
Rachel was confused. “She?”
The woman straightened again, forgetting all about the apparent need to whisper. “You haven’t heard about her?”
“Who?”
“Weeping Willow, that’s—”
“All right, Maddie, enough.”
Rachel turned to find a guy in jeans and a work shirt coming down the stairs. He was about thirty-three and darkly handsome, with what looked like several drops of Native American blood in his veins. He was a good six foot two with broad shoulders, workingman’s hands and startling brown eyes that, despite her better instincts, made Rachel’s heart stutter.
Down, girl.
“Quit scaring the guests,” he said to Maddie. “How do you expect to make a living, chasing people away all the time?”
“She needs to know what’s going on around here.”
“There’s nothing going on that a little tried-and-true police work won’t fix.” He held out a hand for Rachel to shake. “I’m Nick Chavaree, the local sheriff. I’m staying here while my house is being…” He paused, frowned, withdrew the hand. “
You look familiar to me. Do I know you?”
Rachel was pretty sure that if she’d seen him before she’d remember. He was that good-looking. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Wait,” he said, then crossed to the bookshelves. He searched for a moment, then pulled down a worn paperback that Rachel knew all too well.
A Dangerous Mind.
Her first bestseller.
Flipping the book over, Chavaree studied the photo on the back—an old one that needed to be updated—then looked at Rachel. “Tell me this isn’t you.”
“Sometimes I wish I could.”
Even after three books in the top ten, she still wasn’t used to being recognized. Most writers remain anonymous their entire lives. But she’d spent enough time on the cable networks and the morning talk shows to become something of a celebrity.
She half expected Chavaree to ask her to sign the book, but his demeanor abruptly shifted from friendly to hostile. “You’re here about the murders, aren’t you?”
“Murders?”
“Don’t be coy.” He moved toward her now. “That’s why you picked this place to stay. You thought you could get some inside information from me.”
She had no earthly idea what he was talking about, but had a feeling it explained a lot. These murders obviously had something to do with the so-called “commotion”—and probably the looks she’d gotten outside—but she wasn’t interested in finding out.
“I’m just here for a little rest and relaxation,” she said. “Nothing more.”
“Uh-huh.” Not bothering to hide his skepticism, Chavaree tossed the book on the counter, then took a jacket out of the closet. “I admire your talent, Ms. Hudson. Your books are always compelling. But I’m gonna say this just once, okay?”
Rachel frowned. “Okay…”
“You’re not wanted here. I’ve got enough problems to handle without you sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“I just told you, I’m here for a vaca—”
“Don’t even bother,” he said, then yanked his jacket on and went outside.