The Inn At Ocean's Edge Part 21

She gasped as another idea hit her. "Luke, what if Harry somehow bought a replacement child? All he wanted was to pacify Mom. So maybe he paid someone to attach Claire's name on my dress and leave me by the hotel."

"Honey, you're grasping at straws."

It made a horrible kind of sense to her. Subterfuge was her father's second language. He always said he had to be gifted in it to be so successful at business. If she didn't pin him down now, he'd be very difficult to talk to. And what if last night's attacker came back? "Think those posters are ready? We can put them up in the area."

He nodded. "On my way out here to meet Priscilla, I asked the hotel to beef up security on your floor. They agreed to do that as well as issue you a new key card."

He was doing a better job of ensuring her safety than the man she called Dad. She gripped his hands. "I'm glad you're here with me. I wouldn't know what to do."

His warm fingers returned the pressure. "Oh yes you would. You're amazing, Claire. This trial will only make you stronger. I'm glad I'm here, too, but if I weren't, you'd find a way to get to the bottom of this."

Warmth spread along her spine at the confidence in his dark eyes. This was a bigger test of her mettle than she'd ever thought to face in her life, but she could do it. She would do it. Someone had to have seen her. Luke had been through a lot this week too. Finding his mother had to have been traumatic.

His mother's murder. Her fingers tightened on his, and she gazed up at him. "Wait a minute, Luke. We're forgetting your mother's murder in all this."

One brow winged up as he peered down at her. "I'm not tracking with you."

"We thought all along the real Claire's disappearance and your mother's murder were connected. What if I'm mixed up in it somewhere too?" She held up her hand when he frowned. "Oh, I don't mean I had anything to do with her death. But maybe finding who killed your mother will solve everything. I think we should go talk to your aunt again."

His hand enfolded hers as they walked back toward the hotel. "You don't sound frightened anymore."

She pulled a lilac bloom from a bush and sniffed it. "I'm not. I'm going to find out what this is all about, and I'm going to figure out where I belong."

THIRTY-THREE.

The giant oak tree still held the swing Luke had played on as a child, and a new crop of children, his aunt's day care kids, squealed as they played in the side yard under the watchful eye of one of her workers. He parked in the drive behind his aunt's small blue car and glanced across the truck seat at Claire, who had her forehead pressed to the gla.s.s. She hadn't said much as they drove across town. Something was eating her, but she'd spill it when she was ready.

"Aunt Nan is expecting us. Ready?"

She lifted her head from the gla.s.s and reached for her door. "Okay." Her fingers curled around the door handle, then she stopped and looked across the gray seat at him. "I've been thinking about the possible scenarios here. I think he looked for a picture of a child that resembled Claire and paid for her to be left near the hotel for someone to find."

Though he'd pooh-poohed it the first time she brought it up, Luke absorbed her words, seeing it play out just as she said. "He'd have to know there was no hope of finding the real Claire."

Her blue eyes sparked with anger. "That's the conclusion I came to. Which means he knew the real Claire was dead. And how would he know that?"

He took a moment to think about it. The sun beat through the windows and heated the truck's interior. "He's got a lot of money, Claire. What if she was kidnapped and held for ransom and he knew the kidnappers killed her?"

"But why not reveal that to his wife?" She shook her head. "I think he's complicit in something and had to keep quiet about her death."

"Or else he killed her himself."

She looked out toward the children playing in the yard. "You mean he might have murdered his own child?"

"Maybe it was an accident, but he knew it would look bad. Or he knew his wife would never be able to live with him if she knew. So he let it appear she was still missing, hoping his wife would get over it."

Her hand went back to the door. "And when she ended up having a nervous breakdown, he knew he'd have to do something to bring her out of it."

"Maybe he did like you said and found a child who resembled Claire."

She opened her door. "Which means we still have no idea how to find my real family. If he paid money for me, my real parents aren't going to complain and they aren't likely to admit it either." She got out and slammed her door.

He exited the truck and jogged around to join her. The distant roar of a lawn mower and the scent of newly mown gra.s.s made the day seem so normal and ordinary when he knew her entire world had been shaken. A horn blew, and he waved at a friend as they walked across the yard to the porch where his aunt sat in a swing.

The steps looked a different color, and he caught the lingering scent of fresh paint. His aunt had a smudge of gray on her cheek. "Can we use these steps?"

Aunt Nan jumped up and put down her e-reader. "The steps are fine. I just finished the railing so don't touch that." She wore paint-splattered jeans and a pink sweats.h.i.+rt.

"Taking a little break?"

His aunt nodded. "Abigail has it covered." Her gaze swept past him to Claire. "Have a seat. I have iced tea and cookies ready."

"Of course you do." He dropped his hand on her shoulder as he pa.s.sed. "The porch looks nice. I like the gray."

"I was tired of plain old white." She gestured to the chairs on either side of a gla.s.s table that held gla.s.ses of iced tea and a plate of cookies. "I saw the newspaper this morning. I know why you're here."

He let Claire take the chair closest to the swing, then dropped into the other one and reached for a cookie. Peanut b.u.t.ter.

"Paper?" Claire's voice was husky.

Aunt Nan gave the swing a push with her pink-tipped bare toes. "And, Luke, the least you could have done was call me with the news that the real Claire's bones were found on your property."

He winced. "Sorry, Aunt Nan. It was in the paper? Danny said there would be no official announcement until the DNA came back."

"The reporter said she had a scoop. I would a.s.sume the sheriff is reaming out someone as we speak."

A child chasing a dog raced around the side of the house. The little boy's bright-red face held an ear-to-ear grin as he scooped up the puppy and carried it back to the side of the house.

Luke swiped the condensation from his gla.s.s. Danny was likely livid. Who had spilled the news?

Claire picked up her gla.s.s. "Do you have a copy of the paper? I'd like to see it."

"Got it right here." His aunt reached beside her and pulled a newspaper from under her e-reader. "Front page."

Luke watched Claire as she took the paper gingerly. "I wonder if someone leaked it to embarra.s.s your family. Maybe Andy Waters."

Aunt Nan tightened her ponytail. "Or Danny himself. You give the man too much credit, Luke. I wouldn't put something like this past him."

Claire pa.s.sed the newspaper to him. "Why would he leak it?"

"He doesn't like you much, Claire. Maybe he wanted everyone to believe you're an imposter." The picture beside the headline was of a little girl with blond hair. Claire at age four. He scanned the article and found one surprise. "The article confirms that Priscilla is the one who found you."

"I noticed that." Her eyes were shadowed, and she ran her finger around the beaded moisture on her gla.s.s. "Nancy, do you know if your sister ever met my parents?"

"Whoa, where did that question come from?" Luke laid the paper aside. "Of course not."

"Actually she did, Luke." Nan curled her legs under her. "Vicky and I both met your parents, Claire. I was helping her make cranberry jam when your parents stopped by with you in the car. They bought some things. Does it matter?"

"You said your sister heard a child crying. How tight was money back then?"

"Tight," Nan admitted. "The cranberries were just starting to produce."

He saw where Claire was going and it was crazy. "You can't seriously think my mother had something to do with young Claire's disappearance."

"Right now I don't know what to think." The warmth she usually showed him seemed lost in the steely slant of her mouth and the hardness along her jaw. "They were found together. What if my dad paid your father to hold the real Claire for a while?"

Her suspicions rocked him back in his chair. The problem was, nothing was off the table because nothing was as it seemed. "I think I'd better talk to Pop."

"And I'll talk to Harry."

Of course her father was golfing. Where else would he be but schmoozing on the golf course while her whole world fell apart? The wind at her back, Claire marched along the path to the greens. It wouldn't be the ideal place for a confrontation, but this morning's revelations had taken place in front of a dozen guests and hotel employees. Luke had gone to talk to his dad while she talked to hers.

She spied her grandpa's hat first. With his plaid beret c.o.c.ked at an angle and his matching knickers, he would have been at home on the greens in Scotland. Careful to avoid a spiderweb, she paused between two box hedges and watched them putt. Maybe Grandpa Timothy would tell her more than her father would.

Once her father sank his putt, she started forward. Her sandals sank into the soft gra.s.s, and her feet were wet by the time she reached their cart. "I need to talk to both of you a minute."

Her father frowned. "Can it wait, Claire? We still have nine more holes to play."

His terse tone tore at her heart. The last time she'd seen him he said he loved her, but there was no love in his cold blue eyes. "It can't wait." And to make doubly sure he knew she was serious, she moved in front of the cart. He'd continue only by running her over.

"Fine. What's wrong now?"

Her grandpa put his putter in the bag nestled in the back of the cart. "What isn't wrong, Harry? Have a little compa.s.sion for your daughter. She just found out you're not the man she thought you were."

Her dad's face went red, and he turned the key on the cart. "Get out of the way, Claire. Your mom has talked me to death. I can't discuss this anymore."

She stepped to the side of the cart, then reached in and turned off the key. She pocketed it, then folded her arms across her chest. "You lied to me, Dad. You didn't find me and rush me to see Mom. One of the workers here at the hotel found me and called you and the sheriff. It's all in the transcript."

Best not to mention she'd heard the first-person account from Priscilla herself. The last thing she wanted was to get the woman in trouble. The transcript was public record.

Grandpa put his big hand on her shoulder and squeezed rea.s.suringly. "I'm sure there's some answer, Claire. Give your dad a chance to answer without sending him to the gallows before he explains."

Any other time she would have tucked herself under his arm and looked up at him with adoration. He was one of her favorite people in the world, but everything felt off now. Different. He wasn't her jokester grandpa, the one she could come to with any problem. She wasn't even blood.

"Did you know about any of this, Grandpa? The affair, Kate's birth, the fact that I'm not really Claire?"

His hand left her shoulder and went to rub his forehead. His fingers left a smear of dirt on his skin. "I knew some of it, honey. I know it's been a shock. We've kept quiet all these years to protect your mother."

"Are you trying to give Dad time to concoct an answer?"

Hurt flashed through his hazel eyes, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Just trying to bring some balance to the discussion."

Nothing would ever be the same again. Not between her and her grandparents, not between her and her parents. Even Francisca and the rest of the Castillo family would keep their distance when the truth came out. She caught her breath at the sheer magnitude of how her life was likely to change.

She curled her fingers into her palms. "You know what really doesn't make sense, Dad? If you'd just said you got the call I'd been found and rushed to get me, I would have accepted that. But you brought up something even weirder. You said I looked like Claire so you just took me home. That seems to indicate that you likely knew you were never going to find the real Claire. Did you kill her?"

The words were out before she could stop them. A cry escaped, and she put her hand to her mouth. Until she'd spilled that accusation, she hadn't realized where her suspicions had taken her. But it made a horrible kind of sense.

"Don't be ridiculous, Claire." Her grandfather folded his long legs into the pa.s.senger side of the cart. "Give your father the key and go calm yourself before we talk about it anymore. I'm surprised you'd say something so outrageous after all Harry has done for you."

A band tightened in Claire's midsection. Her grandpa believed it too. She'd seen it in a flash before he turned away. "What happened, Dad? I'm sure it was an accident. I don't believe you're capable of murder." She leaned forward and put her hand on the steering wheel. "Who am I? I have to know."

Her father stared straight ahead, his jutting chin betraying his stubborn refusal to look at her or to speak. His lips were pressed together so tightly, they'd lost all color. He got out and stepped up to his ball. His jawline was as hard as the granite boulders around the golf course as he whacked the ball. It veered off to his right, and he muttered an expletive under his breath before climbing back in the cart.

She put her hand on his shoulder, then removed it when he flinched at her touch. Numbly, she dug the key out of her pocket and leaned over to put it in the ignition. Without saying anything more, she stepped away from the cart.

Harry's cell phone rang and he pulled it out. "That same number again."

Frowning, he touched the screen. "Dellamare." He listened for a moment. "Look, I'm not coming down there now. I'm sure I'm not a match anyway. Parents usually aren't, and I've got enough on my plate with this. Thanks for calling, Doctor, but it's not possible." He ended the call.

"Kate's doctor?" Claire couldn't believe he'd been so abrupt.

Her father shrugged. "She's getting a blood transfusion at the clinic in Summer Harbor."

"And you're not even going to go? She's your daughter!" Claire looked to her grandfather for support.

"Claire is right, Harry. You should go down there. You might be a match for her."

"It's not likely. She'll be fine, I'm sure." Her father started the cart and pulled away.

Claire stood with her mouth dangling open. If he wouldn't go, the least she could do was check on Kate. She took out her phone and called Luke, who was pulling up outside his father's house. He promised to meet her at the ferry in half an hour.

THIRTY-FOUR.

The living room held the odor of the beef and cabbage cooking in the Crock-Pot. Meg put down her book when Luke entered. She held up her finger to her mouth and shushed him, but he shook his head and went to stand beside their father sleeping in the recliner. "I need to talk to him. It's important."

Pop's lids fluttered at the sound of Luke's voice booming in the living room. He snuffled, then finally opened his eyes. He reached for the red hanky in the pocket of his overalls and dabbed his mouth. "Luke. What time is it?"

"About four."

"Need water." Their father made a grab for the gla.s.s on his side table and missed.

Meg got up and took it to him, then held the straw up to his lips. "Drink, Pop."