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

“Too many on the one hand, too few on the other.”

“Meaning domestic violence shouldn’t happen, ever, but it does and you want to get all the perpetrators.” Summers nodded with understanding. “Our hostess left an abusive marriage two years ago. She’s a very courageous woman. She’s come a long way in a relatively short time.”

Jess set her plate down, no longer hungry. “The scar above her eye?”

“Her ex-husband’s handiwork. He was convicted. He’s out of prison now. He was a businessman in Halifax, but he’s relocated to Calgary.” Summers’s expression didn’t change, but Jess could feel his sarcasm. “Apparently he said he needed a fresh start.”

“Not for her sake, I’ll bet.”

“He’s from western Canada originally. His reputation here was in tatters. People didn’t want to believe he was capable of abuse, but the knife cut ended their denial.”

Jess wondered why he was telling her all this. “It looks as if Marianne’s built a new life for herself.”

“She has. It wasn’t easy. She told me she used to worry constantly that he’d come back. On some level, I think she still does.”

“The emotional wounds of abuse can take a long time to heal.”

He looked away. “Sometimes I wonder if they ever do, if someone who’s been through that kind of horror can love and trust someone again—” He broke off, as if he hadn’t meant to go that far, adding sharply, “Marianne has put all she has—her time, her money, her energy, her love—into getting this place up and running, into her life here. She has friends, she volunteers at a local shelter.”

Something about his manner struck Jess as antagonistic, even accusatory. “Mr. Summers, we’re not here to upset anyone—”

“What happened to your friend Detective O’Malley? He’s had a recent brush with violence, hasn’t he?”

“You’re very perceptive. It wasn’t a major incident, fortunately.”

“But it wasn’t the first. Men like him—” Summers paused, seeming to debate the wisdom of what he wanted to say. “They’re magnets for violence.”

“Not O’Malley,” Jess said, although she didn’t know why she felt the need to defend him.

Summers looked past her. “I’ve been her only guest on and off since I arrived, especially during the week. Weekends she’s usually full.” But he had a distant look in his eye, as if he wouldn’t necessarily trust himself—or maybe Jess was reading something into his manner that wasn’t there because of O’Malley’s instant suspicion of him. Summers drifted off a moment, then smiled abruptly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.”

“You’re not the one who was rude.”

He almost laughed. “Well, I suppose we want a homicide detective to be of a suspicious nature. Does he give everyone the third-degree like that?”

“Actually, no. I think he’s just on edge.”

“It’s taken a lot of courage and effort for Marianne to build a life for herself that’s free of violence. See to it he keeps himself in check, okay?”

“Mr. Summers, Brendan has never lost control—”

“I’m sure he hasn’t.” He made a face, rubbing the back of his neck as he heaved a sigh. “And I’m sure Marianne would have a fit if she thought I was protecting her. She can take care of herself. She has a great group of friends. She’s one of the most positive people I’ve ever met.”

Jess smiled at him. “Smitten, are you, Mr. Summers?”

His cheeks reddened slightly. “I guess there’s no point in hiding it.”

“She’s not interested?”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t—” He frowned suddenly. “You must be a hell of a prosecutor, Ms. Stewart. I didn’t mean to tell you any of this.”

“Call me Jess,” she said. “And, yes, I do okay in my work.”

She joined O’Malley in the English-style garden, filled with pink foxglove, purple Jacob’s ladder, pale pink astilbe, painted daisies, sweet William, lady’s mantle and a range of annuals. He looked as if he could stomp them all into the dirt. Jess inhaled deeply. “I could get into gardening.”

“The guy’s lying about something.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t know that.”

He mock-glared at her. “Your gut’s telling you the same thing.”

“Maybe, but not all untruths are nefarious untruths. What set you off?”

“He’s been here a month, shows up looking like he could scale the Himalayas. This isn’t your ‘outdoors guy’ kind of place.”

Jess smiled, amused. “Because of the pink towels?”

“You know what I’m saying.”

“No, I don’t. You’re here—”

“That’s karma or something. I can’t explain it.” He grimaced, as if the thought of trying to explain how he’d ended up at the Wild Raspberry made him miserable. “Whatever Summers is hiding, it’s more than a social lie.”

“Like telling me you’re staying home in bed when you’re actually packing for Nova Scotia?”

“That was a strategic lie. I knew you wouldn’t leave me alone otherwise.” He had a sexy glint in his eyes that he seemed able to produce at will. “You didn’t, anyway.”

“You can be alone after you’re over the shooting.”

“I was over the shooting once I knew the bullet missed.”

Jess didn’t argue with him and instead related her conversation with their fellow guest. O’Malley looked disgusted. “I hate wife-beaters. I knew a guy my first year on the force who beat up his wife and kids. He was a good cop. No one wanted to believe it, but it was true.”

“What happened to him?”

“He went through anger management—after his wife packed up herself and the kids and got out of there before he could do more damage. He lost his job. He screwed up a lot of lives, including his own, before he figured out he was the one who had to change. Most guys don’t ever figure that out. It was an eye-opener for the rest of us, seeing that a guy we respected was capable of beating up on his wife and kids.”

Jess glanced back at the porch. “If Summers has a thing for Marianne and has lied—”

“She’s not going to like it.”

“He seems to admire her a great deal.”

“Maybe.” O’Malley tilted his head back and smiled. “The sun and sea agree with you, Stewart. You’re looking good this afternoon.”

“I wish I could say the same for you.”

“I don’t look so good?”