A Bullet to the Heart Read online

  Jo hoped Jackson was still at Wyn’s office and willing to give her a ride to the house. There was no way she’d be able to walk the mile home on her ankle.

  Jo had just reached Pebble’s Beauty Shop when Annabelle Smith stepped in front of her, barring her path. “Hello, Josephine.” Her face was stiff as chiseled stone.

  “Oh, Mrs. Smith.” Jo smiled. “How are you?”

  Annabelle bristled with hostility. “I’ll get right to the point, Miss Weatherford. I don’t appreciate your playing with Wyndel’s affections.”

  Jo’s mouth fell open. She’d never confided her feelings for Wyn to anyone. And Annabelle was the second person to confront her with her feelings. Jo snapped her mouth shut and drew on her years in finishing school with the most austere demeanor she could muster. “I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “And I’m sure you do. He doesn’t need you or your false promises. Look, Miss Weatherford, I’m only telling you to steer clear of my son. It’s for your own good.”

  “But—”

  Her expression hardened. “Stay away from him, Josephine. He doesn’t need you or your ilk. I don’t care if Victor was your uncle or not. Wyn belongs on this island, here with people of his own kind.”

  Ice hot fury flashed through Jo. “Or what, Mrs. Smith?” She was tired. Tired of people telling her how she should feel, like Lydia and her feelings about Eleanor. How she should talk to Eleanor. Victor dictating where she should work. If she should work. Even in death, he’d forced her out of her job at the museum. She’d loved that job. Now, to be accosted by Wyn’s mother?

  “You’ll stay away from him, or you’ll pay. Again.”

  Shock whispered through Jo. Again? “Are you…threatening me, Mrs. Smith?”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get supper on the table.” Annabelle Smith stormed up the street past the Cobblestone, turned on a side street at the top of the hill.

  Stunned, Jo gazed after her until she disappeared from Main. After a moment, Jo carefully turned on her sore ankle, facing the direction of the sheriff’s office still too stunned to move. What had she ever done to Annabelle Smith? Everyone knew Annabelle had been really young when she’d had Wyn. While there was a history between Victor and Wyn’s mother, Jo had always admired her. For one specific reason: Annabelle Smith had never let Victor Montgomery intimidate her.

  Jo stood there a long minute, attempting unsuccessfully to put the confrontation from her mind. Finally, she moved slowly making her way down the slight slope toward the corner. The winter weather stole through her wool coat, the quietness of the street sending a frisson of apprehension over her, raising the hair on her neck. There was nothing to fear, she told herself, shaking off the sensation. Montgomery Island was the safest place in the world—except Victor had been murdered here and she’d been shot at.

  Jo reached the corner and let out a trembling breath. She started across the street still shaken by Annabelle’s threat—

  Her head shot up. A late model automobile bore down on her, rendering her immobile.

  A second later she was on the side of the street near the curb, a blinding pain throbbing behind her eyes. “Dear God. Jo.”

  “Wyn?” she whispered, her body quivering with uncontrollable fear.

  “It’s me,” Wyn said. “Are you hurt anywhere?” With gentle fingers, he checked her arms and legs for broken bones.

  Jo lifted her hand to her temple and could already feel a lump forming. “I-I don’t know. I think I hit my head.”

  He helped her to a sitting position. “Take it slow, babe, all right?”

  Melinda came tearing out of the Cobblestone. “Who was that?”

  Nancy and Garrick appeared from the Rock Tavern Grill and ran down the street towards her followed, by what had to be every patron from the establishment. “What happened?” Nancy yelled.

  Even Cornelius stood in front of her holding a wrench. “Heavens. Miss Weatherford? Who would do this?”

  Wyn touched Jo’s neck. “Blood. Let’s get you to the doc’s office.”

  Fortuitously, Dr. Max’s office was located on the opposite corner of the sheriff’s office.

  “Clear the way, folks. Let her breathe. Let her breathe.” The townspeople backed away and Wyn swooped her from the ground.

  Melinda stepped forward with Jo’s purse. “Here you are, hon. I tried to get it all, but I’m not sure I found everything.”

  “Thank you,” Jo whispered, hugging her bag to her chest, wishing the sidewalk could just swallow her up.

  Wyn strode down the street with her in his arms as if she weighed but a feather.

  “I’ve lost a shoe,” she said, unable to keep the tears from her voice. It seemed such an incongruous thing to say.

  “You don’t need it. I’ll get you home. You’re not walking anywhere.” His jaw looked clenched tight enough to shatter, yet he handled her as if she were a delicate piece of china.

  She buried her face in his shoulder to avoid the prying eyes. They were everywhere. She wished she could plug her ears from the footsteps that clopped along after them as they neared Dr. Max’s office. Nothing stopped the throbbing at her temple.

  Wyn halted just short of the clinic doors. “All right, everyone. Go about your business. If you have any ideas who was driving like a bat out of hell down Main Street, stop in my office and let Dorothea know,” Wyn said.

  “Don’t worry about comin’ in tomorrow, Josie. Me and Davin, we’ll manage,” Melinda called out.

  “We’ll hunt him down, Sheriff. Not many on the island have a ’34 Packard,” Cornelius said.

  ’34 Packard. That was important but it was beyond Jo to articulate the reason why at the moment.

  The ferry’s horn blasted, that drummed the inside of Jo’s head, signaling its departure for the mainland.

  “Well, hell. Bastard probably made the last ferry.”

  “Packard? Jackson drives a Packard,” Jo said.

  “So does your pal, Julius Styles,” Wyn responded.

  17

  W

  hat the devil did you do to bump your noggin’?” Dr. Max probed the swelling with gentle fingertips.

  It still hurt. “I’m not five,” Jo grumbled. “I crossed the street and fell.” She flinched at his ginger touch. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard the commotion. Everyone else in town had.

  He speared her with a sharp look.

  “A car came out of nowhere…”

  He dabbed at her chin with a cotton ball of rubbing alcohol. “The blood is from a small abrasion on your chin,” he told her. She hissed at the sting. “You’re lucky you weren’t flattened, young lady.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Dr. Max grabbed a penlight. “I need to check your eyes. Look up. Focus on something over my shoulder.”

  “You might as well have a look at her ankle while she’s in here,” Wyn said.

  She focused on Wyn with a heartfelt glare. “It was fine until my unfortunate fall. Just a little sore.” She’d never be able to keep a job at the rate she was going.

  “Any nausea?”

  “No.” Not yet.

  He set the penlight aside and picked up a small rubber hammer. “Let’s check your reflexes.” He tapped the soft part below one knee-cap. The reflex was a tickling sensation and the whole bottom part of her leg jerked in a kick. Then the other. “That’s a good sign. Do you know my nurse’s name?”

  “What a ridiculous question.”

  Both the doctor’s and Wyn’s eyes watched her with an intensity that unnerved her. “Della,” she mumbled.

  “Can you remember what you were doing just before you fell?” Dr. Max said, still piercing her with that severe acuity.

  “Of course,” she said coolly, watching Wyn. “Annabelle Smith stopped me on the street to…talk.”

  Surprise crossed Wyn’s features.

  Max appeared to assess her words in what seemed for
ever before lifting her foot to probe at her swollen ankle. “What happened to your ankle?”

  She swallowed the curse of pain. “I fell.”

  “I don’t remember you ever being so clumsy, my dear. It needs ice.”

  “I had ice on it. For two days. I must have tripped on the curb and reinjured it.”

  “It doesn’t appear broken, just some swelling that should go down in a day or two.” Frowning, the doctor turned her foot, examined the swollen flesh around the bone. “When did this happen?”

  “Last Saturday.” Heat flamed her face. Victor and Max had been friends over the course of a lifetime. “I, uh, started a job at the diner.”

  The doctor looked up, startled. “Victor wouldn’t have liked that, young lady.”

  “Well, he’s not here, is he?” she said peevishly. The man was as old-fashioned as her uncle. He pursed his lips, showing her what he thought of her sulky tone. An expulsion of resignation rushed from her. “Sorry, Dr. Max. I’m afraid I haven’t been myself lately. With Victor’s death and…and everything.”

  “Now, now.” He gave her knee an awkward pat. “Don’t you fret, Josephine. Regarding your foot, I don’t think there will be permanent repercussions. Did you pass out when you fell outside just now?”

  “She didn’t,” Wyn told him.

  “The good news is that your vision appears normal. But I want you to stay awake for several hours when you arrive home. Eight, if you can manage it. And call if you feel the slightest bit nauseous.”

  He glanced over to Wyn. “You taking her home, Sheriff? She needs to stay off that foot.” He gave Jo his sternest doctor-face. “No working in the café, and no walking home for you. Not for several days.”

  “Yes, Dr. Max,” she said meekly.

  “Come on, Jo. Time to go.” Wyn strode over to pick her up.

  Dr. Max stopped him. “Where are her shoes?”

  “Ah, yes, her shoe,” he responded, not bothering to hide his amusement. He reached behind him and produced one scuffed-up flat. “I believe we’ve found your slipper, Cinderella.”

  Heat crawled up Jo’s neck.

  Dr. Max’s puzzled expression would have been laughable if Jo hadn’t felt like bursting into tears. News of this entire situation would be all over town by nightfall. “Where’s the other one?”

  Della, Dr. Max’s nurse-receptionist, peered inside the room holding Jo’s completely unwearable other flat. “Here you are, dear. Cornelius dropped it off a few minutes ago. Said he found it in the gutter.”

  Jo took it, blinking rapidly. “Er, thank you, Della.”

  “Della, would you mind calling the manor house to let Esther know to watch for us?”

  “Certainly, Sheriff.”

  “Remember what I said, young lady. Stay off that foot.”

  Wyn picked her up. Of course, they had to leave the clinic and go back across the street to the sheriff’s office, and while the street was cleared of do-gooder townspeople, it still felt as if the whole town were peering through creases of curtains as she and Wyn made their way from one place to the other.

  Rather than going inside the sheriff’s office, Wyn strode around to the back of the building and deposited her in the passenger side of his parked squad car.

  Once inside, he put the key in the ignition and cranked it. The drive to the manor house took less than ten minutes. He turned the car off and sliced her with the stormy depths of his gray eyes. “My mother stopped you on the street. To talk.”

  Jo clamped her mouth into a tight line, still smarting from his adolescent treatment of her in front of Dr. Max.

  Wyn turned to exit it the car.

  Jo put her hand on his arm to stop him from leaving. The strength in his bicep reached her through his coat. “Yes. Annabelle told me it would be in my best interest to steer clear—of you.” Until she spoke the words aloud, she hadn’t realized how much they hurt. “Is there any reason your mother would have to warn me away from you?” she demanded softly.

  His jaw firmed. “Of course not. It wouldn’t matter anyway,” he growled. He shoved the car door open. “We’d best get you inside.”

  Esther met them at the door. “Josephine Ophelia, what on earth happened? Get in here, right this minute.”

  “She needs an ice pack.” Wyn started for the stairs. “Make that two. One for her head.”

  Wyn’s take-charge presumptuousness startled Jo. “What are you doing?” she hissed, then winced as the throb in her temple doubled in tempo. “Just take me to the library.”

  Of course he ignored her. Arrogant male. “Hold still. You’ll make me drop you.”

  Like that would ever happen.

  “You need rest and food…” then added, “…and ice packs.”

  “What’s going on out here?” Tevi called from the foyer. “Where are you taking Jo? Wait just one minute, Wyndel Smith, Jr. Why are you carrying her? You didn’t marry her, did you?”

  “Oh, God,” Jo muttered.

  They reached the landing. “Which one’s your room, Miss Weatherford?”

  “Last door on the right.”

  He kicked the door back, startling Frizzle. “Hey, boy. Gotta delivery for you.”

  “Just set me on the chaise.”

  “What’s going on?” Tevi demanded.

  Lydia crowded her in the doorway.

  Jo met Wyn’s gun-metal grays, willing him silent.

  He answered with a raised brow.

  She cleared her throat. “Nothing.”

  Tevi marched in with Jo’s now pathetic shoes and scuffed handbag. She held them out, examining them. “You sure have been clumsy lately for a ‘big nothing.’”

  “My ankle swelled up from being on it all day.”

  “Is that why the rumors circulating around town are that a Packard almost ran you down?”

  Jo swore under her breath, then caught Wyn’s aggravating amusement. “God, I hate this island,” she said.

  Wyn’s mask of indifference slid into place in the instantaneous blink. “Where’s Jackson? I need to talk to him.”

  “He’s not here,” Lydia said. “He hasn’t been home since he gave Jo a ride into town this morning. He said he was meeting with you after he dropped her off at the café. What’s really going on, Jo?” She hurried over and eased down on the edge of the chaise, reaching for Jo’s hand.

  In a smooth diversion by running her fingers in her hair, she avoided her touch. “I don’t know. Someone driving a Packard didn’t see me and almost hit—”

  “—they saw her,” Wyn corrected.

  “We don’t know that.” Jo dropped her gaze to a frayed portion of her now-ruined skirt.

  “Jackson drives a Packard,” Tevi said.

  Wyn took in the feminine abode with a feeling of sinking loss. Seeing Jo in her natural habitat reminded him just how far apart their worlds were from one another. “You need something to eat.” He was practically growling at her for something that was clearly not her fault.

  “People need to quit telling me that,” Jo bit out.

  Frizzle padded over to her and laid his abnormally large head in her lap.

  The gesture sent a shock of envy straight through him.

  Jo absently rubbed the hound’s head.

  “Maybe it’s because no one sees you eating.” Lydia rose and headed for the door “I’ll tell Esther to prepare a tray.”

  “And ice,” Wyn said. “I need to make a phone call.” He escaped the lavish room before he choked on the image of lace curtains, velvet upholstery, and silk bed coverings, more details designed to invade his dreams to deprive him of sleep every night for the next forty years.

  He encountered Esther laden with a tray of food and two ice packs in the hall outside Jo’s room.

  “That girl needs to eat more,” she said with a defensiveness that had him hiding a sudden grin behind his compressed lips.

  “I need to use the phone.”

  “Use th
e one downstairs in Victor’s study.” She disappeared into Jo’s room just as the telephone’s bell blasted the upstairs hall.

  Tevi barged out the door, ran to a cut out nook in one wall and grabbed the receiver. “Hello?” Her shoulders tensed. “She can’t come to the phone. Someone tried to run her over. I can’t help thinking it was you.”

  Now, what the hell could Jackson want? The man’s timing was as suspicious as ever. Hadn’t he shown up minutes after Wyn had found Penelope Knox all those years ago?

  “Fine. Just quit yelling.” Tevi set the receiver down and disappeared into Jo’s room.

  While the telephone in Victor’s office was a separate line, Wyn forewent his own call and waited outside Jo’s abode in a convenient and shadowed corner. A couple of minutes later Lydia, Tevi, and Esther exited the room in single file, happily noting Esther had left the tray behind. Maybe now Jo would eat with no one hovering over her.

  Tevi broke from the group and went over to the telephone. She picked up the receiver and put it to her ear. After a second, in a huff, she said, “Fine,” then slammed the receiver on its hook.

  “Why the devil does he want to speak to her privately?” Tevi grumbled.

  Exactly what Wyn was curious to know.

  The ladies filed down the stairs. Wyn took the opportunity to go to Jo’s door and placed his ear against the oak, like a common eavesdropper. He couldn’t hear a thing.

  Lydia took two steps down, turned, pinning him with her odd discerning gaze. “Coming, Wyn?”

  He faced her head on. “No.” He opened Jo’s door and slipped inside.

  18

  J

  o covered the speaker end of the telephone receiver, waiting until the others were well and gone. The noise in the hall died away, and she put the piece to her ear. “What’s going on, Jackson?” she said coldly.

  “You’ve got to help me, Jo.” His panicked trill sent shards of ice over her nerve endings. “I stopped for gas and someone stole my car.”