More Than Words: Stories of Strength: Close Call / Built to Last / Find the Way

She helped herself to a bowl of cut fruit—including raspberries—that Marianne had already put out on a sideboard. The breakfast room was as quirky and cheerful as the rest of the house, done in yellows and blues with raspberry accents. Summers’s grumpiness was out of place.

Sitting at the farthest table from him, Jess decided to confront him. “Mr. Summers—”

He sighed audibly, folded his newspaper and set it on the table. “Something’s wrong with Marianne. She’s on edge. She wasn’t like that when I first arrived.”

Given Marianne’s personal background and her talk of snoops and treasure with O’Malley, Jess was especially interested in Summers’s observation. “How long has she been on edge?”

“A week or so.” He eyed Jess a moment, as if she were responsible for their hostess’s mood, then sighed again. “I’m sorry. I wanted to blame you and your cop friend, but she’s been jumpy since before you two arrived.”

Jess could understand his desire to blame her and O’Malley. A cop and a prosecutor could remind an abuse survivor of her past, dredge up fears and insecurities she thought she’d put behind her. It would make Marianne’s uneasiness easier to explain. But it wasn’t the case.

“You’ve been here a while,” she said. “Any idea what’s going on?”

Summers didn’t answer at once, then lurched to his feet, muttering, “I hope it’s not me.”

Not one to let a comment like that go, Jess leaned back in her chair, chose a fat raspberry from the top of her fruit and watched Summers’s stiff back as he grabbed a small glass bowl. “Why would it be you?” she asked.

He glanced over at her. “I’ve been here too long.”

“Hiking?”

“I think of it as exploring.”

He loaded up his bowl with fruit and took it out to the back porch without a word.

O’Malley came downstairs and sat across from Jess. He was showered and dressed, but he hadn’t shaved, which didn’t help her already supercharged reaction to him. The dark stubble on his jaw somehow made the scar forming on his forehead from the bullet graze stand out even more.

She pushed her bowl toward him. “Help yourself. I got too much.”

“What’s with Summers? Doesn’t like to talk to people in the morning, or did you irritate him?”

“Perhaps both.” But she told O’Malley about Marianne and Summers’s reaction to her jumpiness, then added, “I wonder if something is going on around here. Do you think the ex-husband could be back? Abusers generally don’t respect law and authority. And they don’t like to give up. He could have got to thinking about her, found out what a success she’s made of this place and decided to come back and resume control over her and her life.”

“It’s possible.”

“But you don’t think so.” Jess sighed. “Neither do I.”

“Maybe Summers and Marianne have a thing for each other and don’t know what to do about it.” His dark eyes lifted to Jess. “Sound familiar?”

“I don’t have a thing for you, O’Malley.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t give me that dubious tone—and stop with the sexy twitch of the eyebrows.”

“I had an itch.”

“Ha.”

“You just think everything I do is sexy.”

It was true, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “We’re friends. We let our friendship get out of hand. Insisting I’m falling for you is just another way for you to avoid dealing with the real issue.”

“Which is what? That I almost got my head blown off the other day?”

She bit off a sigh. “Bravado, bravado, bravado.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Tell me more about Summers.”

“He’s tense, he’s abrupt and he’s more on edge than our hostess.”

“Who is making up a hell of a breakfast this morning from the smell of it.”

“Brendan—”

“I have no authority in Canada. Neither do you. If we have reason to suspect something’s going on, we can call the local police, just like anyone else. That’s it.”

“You still think the guy’s hiding something?”

“Yep.” O’Malley held a raspberry up to one eye and examined it as if it were a diamond. “I think there’s a worm in it.”

“There is not—”

He popped it into his mouth and grinned at her. “Let’s hope you’re right. What do you want to do today? Go kayaking, or discuss my post-traumatic stress symptoms?”

“Both.”

“Can’t do both. What else?”

Jess lowered her voice. “I thought we might sneak up to the attic—”

“And search our fellow guest’s room? You’re going to get us arrested.”

But she could tell he’d already thought of it, too. “Not if we’re right and he’s hiding something.”

Summers returned from the porch in a moderately better mood, and Marianne set out an enormous breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, grilled tomatoes, corn muffins, streusel muffins and jam. Marianne’s friend Pat, who also did the cleaning, had made the muffins. There was coffee, tea, juice and hot chocolate. Jess figured if she ate even a little of everything, she’d have to do a lot of kayaking to burn up the calories.

Hiking up the steep stairs to the attic wouldn’t hurt, either.

When Summers retreated to his room after breakfast, O’Malley and Jess postponed checking out their fellow guest and instead went kayaking. Marianne provided all the equipment they needed—kayaks, paddles, life vests, emergency whistles, dry packs—and suggested several scenic routes that would take the many where from a couple hours to all day. O’Malley picked one that would have him in a restaurant, eating fresh scallops and drinking beer, by lunchtime.

After watching Jess drop her behind into the cockpit of her kayak and paddle two strokes, he forgot all about the scallops and beer and started looking for a secluded beach.

She seemed to sense his thoughts as they made their way along the shallow, rocky shoreline. “It’s a romantic spot, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.”

“Is that why you picked it?”