Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO CAME BEFORE MORNING
Alexander moved before Clare could stop him.
He picked up the heavy iron fireplace poker beside the kitchen hearth and motioned for her to stay behind the island.
Clare ignored that part.
She dialed 911 while following him at a distance.
“Clare.”
“I am not sitting alone in the kitchen while there's somebody in your house.”
His whisper was furious.
“That's exactly where I need you.”
“And if there's another person behind me?”
That apparently hadn't occurred to him.
He looked toward the rear door.
Clare won the argument without another word.
The dispatcher answered.
Clare gave the address as quietly as possible.
This time she made absolutely certain to say North Haven.
Alexander entered the hallway.
Rain blew through a broken window in the study.
The curtain lifted and fell like a ghost.
A desk drawer hung open.
The room was empty.
Alexander went directly to the desk.
“Damn it.”
“What?”
He began opening drawers.
“What did they take?”
“The deed.”
Clare stared at him.
“Someone broke into your house during a storm to steal a deed?”
“And another folder.”
“What folder?”
He didn't answer immediately.
“Alexander.”
“The original documents from when I bought the family shares.”
That sounded considerably more important.
Headlights appeared through the rain ten minutes later.
Two sheriff's deputies searched the house, basement and property.
They found muddy footprints outside the study, a cut generator cable and a section of fence bent near the north boundary.
No intruder.
No deed.
By three in the morning, Clare was sitting at the kitchen island wrapped in a blanket while Alexander spoke to Deputy Morales.
“You have any idea who'd want those documents?”
Alexander looked toward Clare before answering.
“Grant Hayes.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yes.”
“Still in town?”
“I don't know.”
Morales clearly did.
“He came back two weeks ago.”
Alexander's expression hardened.
“You're sure?”
“Saw him myself at Frank's Market.”
“Why didn't anybody tell me?”
The deputy gave him a tired look.
“I wasn't aware we were operating a cousin notification service.”
Even Clare almost smiled.
Alexander didn't.
Morales promised to contact Grant.
After the deputies left, Clare found Alexander standing in the study looking at the broken window.
“You can go back to bed,” he said.
“So can you.”
“Not tired.”
“Neither am I.”
He looked at her.
“You were supposed to have a quiet vacation.”
“Apparently I selected the home-invasion package.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
Then disappeared.
Clare leaned against the doorway.
“What happened with Grant?”
Alexander didn't answer for so long she assumed he wouldn't.
Finally he said, “The house belonged to my grandparents. When they died, shares passed to my mother, her brother and their children. It was a mess.”
“And you bought everyone out?”
“Eleven years ago.”
“Including Grant?”
“His father controlled their share then.”
“And Grant thinks that was wrong?”
“Grant thinks anything is wrong when it stops him getting money.”
There was more.
Clare could hear it.
But she had known Alexander less than twelve hours.
She wasn't entitled to all his ghosts.
“Try to sleep,” he said.
“What are you going to do?”
“Replace the window.”
“At three thirty in the morning?”
“Seems healthier than murder.”
She left him to it.
By eight, the storm had passed.
The Atlantic remained violent, but sunlight broke through clouds in thin silver streaks.
Clare slept perhaps two hours.
When she came downstairs, Alexander was outside boarding the study window.
His shirt was damp with sweat despite the cool air.
Coffee was waiting in the kitchen.
Beside it sat a note.
THAT CUP IS SAFE.
Clare smiled before she could stop herself.
She poured coffee.
Her phone rang.
Her mother.
Clare declined it.
Then another call came from Shoreline Stays.
Megan had found a small motel forty minutes inland.
“I'll take it.”
“There is one complication.”
Clare nearly laughed.
“Megan, I'm beginning to believe that phrase is your company's official slogan.”
“The room isn't available until tomorrow. We can reimburse you for tonight's lodging wherever you choose to stay.”
Clare looked through the window.
Alexander was carrying broken glass toward a trash bin.
“Wonderful.”
She ended the call.
A truck came up the driveway fifteen minutes later.
Alexander saw it first.
He set down the plywood.
The truck stopped.
A man stepped out.
Mid-thirties.
Expensive boots that had never seen actual work.
Tan jacket.
Sunglasses.
His smile appeared before he reached them.
“Alex.”
Alexander didn't move.
“Grant.”
Clare stood inside the screen door.
Grant noticed her immediately.
“Well.”
His smile widened.
“So the rental worked.”
Every muscle in Alexander's body tightened.
Clare opened the door.
“What did you say?”
Grant removed his sunglasses.
“I said I heard about the rental mix-up.”
“No,” Clare said. “You said the rental worked.”
For one brief second, Grant's expression changed.
Then the smile returned.
“You must be Clare.”
Now even Clare went still.
“I didn't tell you my name.”
Alexander crossed the distance between them.
Fast.
“Get off my property.”
Grant held up both hands.
“Still dramatic.”
“You broke into my house.”
“You've always had an imagination.”
“The deed is missing.”
“Then you should be more careful with important things.”
Alexander grabbed Grant's jacket.
Clare hurried down the steps.
“Alexander.”
Grant didn't look frightened.
That frightened Clare more.
“Go ahead,” Grant said softly. “Hit me. Give me exactly what I need.”
Alexander's fist tightened.
Clare touched his arm.
“Don't.”
His eyes stayed on Grant.
After several seconds, he released him.
Grant smoothed his jacket.
“Good advice.”
“What do you want?” Alexander asked.
“The same thing I've wanted for years. A fair settlement.”
“You received one.”
“My father did.”
“He was the legal owner.”
“He was dying and medicated.”
“Your lawyer reviewed every page.”
“My father's lawyer.”
Alexander's face turned cold.
Grant looked past him at the house.
“Blackwell Development made an offer.”
“No.”
“You haven't heard the number.”
“I don't care.”
“Four point eight million.”
Clare blinked.
Alexander didn't.
“For this parcel?”
“And the two neighboring properties. They want the entire point.”
“Then buy the neighbors.”
“They did.”
Alexander looked toward the northern bluff.
Something in his expression shifted.
Grant saw it.
“You're the last piece.”
“Still no.”
Grant sighed.
“Your problem is you've confused sentiment with principle.”
“And your problem is you've confused money with oxygen.”
Grant laughed.
Then his eyes shifted to Clare.
“Careful with him.”
Alexander stepped between them.
“Leave.”
Grant put his sunglasses back on.
“You'll hear from counsel.”
He walked toward his truck.
Then stopped.
“Oh, Clare?”
She hated the way he said her name.
“Your rental company will be refunding you.”
“How generous.”
“I'd take the motel tomorrow.”
Alexander's voice dropped.
“Grant.”
Grant looked at him.
“Because this house is about to become very unpleasant.”
He drove away.
Clare watched the truck disappear.
“Tell me you heard that as a threat.”
“Yes.”
“Good. I was worried Maine hospitality was confusing me.”
Alexander pulled out his phone.
“I'm calling Morales.”
Clare stared toward the road.
A second vehicle was approaching.
Black SUV.
Boston plates.
It slowed at the driveway.
Something in Clare's stomach turned over.
“No.”
Alexander looked at her.
“What?”
The SUV stopped.
The driver's door opened.
A man stepped out wearing navy trousers, a white shirt and the expression Clare had once known better than her own.
Ryan Parker.
Her former fiancé.
The man she had driven four hours north to escape.
He looked first at the house.
Then Alexander.
Then Clare.
Every trace of professional confidence vanished.
“Clare?”
She couldn't speak.
Ryan stared at her as though she were an impossible object that had appeared in the middle of his morning.
Alexander slowly turned toward her.
“You know him?”
Clare felt the last peaceful piece of her vacation die.
“Yes.”
Ryan took one step closer.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Clare looked at the Blackwell Development folder tucked beneath his arm.
Then at Grant's disappearing truck.
And suddenly she understood something even worse.
May you like
Ryan hadn't come to Maine looking for her.
He had come for Alexander's house.
