Deadly Homecoming. Barbara Phinney

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      Her jaw sagging, Peta rose. Lawson’s hand gripped her elbow as he practically dragged her out of the quiet café. Even the reporters up front gaped at the scene.

      Outside, he let her go. “We didn’t have to leave, you know,” she said quietly, though not wanting him to think she was ungrateful. “Ellie would have served us. Her bark is worse than her bite.”

      “If she wants to act like a dog, then she shouldn’t be in the hospitality industry. I’ve worked all my life in a restaurant, at all levels, and believe me, you don’t turn customers away.”

      He turned around, a questioning frown creasing his forehead as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

      “Are you for real?”

      “I’m as real as you are,” he said.

      “I mean, as a Christian. You just told off that woman. And basically called her a dog!”

      He smiled briefly. “I think you did first. All I said was if she wanted to act like one she shouldn’t be working in a café. My family runs—ran—a restaurant for years. You don’t treat your patrons like that.” He shook his head. “Peta, being a Christian doesn’t mean you should be a doormat. Or allow injustice to stand.”

      “But what you said—”

      His jaw tightened. “Maybe I sounded a bit harsh to you, but that’s the way I feel.”

      She thought of her congregation in Toronto, an ethnically mixed group of caring people. How would they react to hearing that she’d become a suspect in a murder? How would her minister react to what just happened in that café? He wouldn’t have taken it lightly, either. “You sound like my pastor. He recently said, if I remember correctly, ‘Resistance to tyranny is obedience to God.’”

      “He was quoting Susan B. Anthony, an American activist,” Lawson said. “So where’s your church?”

      “In Toronto. Downsview, actually, the north part of the city. The church I attend has a lot of immigrants, so my pastor finds himself battling intolerance from a lot of different angles. But what I meant was, so many Christians just try to maintain a strong, silent presence for the Lord. I’ve both admired and scoffed at that.” She blinked, amazed. “I always thought I was the one more likely to overturn the tables in the temple than just make a quiet statement.”

      He tipped his head. “What makes you think you’re a disruptive person?”

      She shrugged and kept on walking. “I used to be. Hence the shunning here.”

      “People change.” They’d reached his Jeep, and for the first time, Peta noticed the mud and peat splashed onto the fenders. No one really needed a car on the island. Twice a week—Monday morning and Friday evening, if she remembered correctly—the car ferry came over for those who needed to head to or return from the mainland. Today was Tuesday. Would she see many cars this Friday night? Would she even be here then?

      Lawson opened the passenger door for her. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Is there another restaurant?”

      “No, so we may as well go back to my house.”

      She climbed in and looked up at him as he still held the door. “You don’t have to feed me.”

      “What kind of Christian would I be if I walked away from you now? Besides I’m hungry and you must be, too, because you didn’t buy any food at the store.”

      A practical man—and a compassionate one—she decided. As she watched him open his door to climb in, she found herself glad that he’d stood up to Ellie.

      But who was he? What had brought him here?

      Once buckled in, he drove through the village, past Danny’s house and up a side street that led to the fishing weirs. In the time she’d been gone, a few homes had been built on the once-empty road. Years ago, Danny’s parents had owned all the land up this way. She and Danny and others used to head here on warm summer nights to party, and plan the trouble they’d eventually get into.

      She hated those memories and the guilt they heaped on her now.

      The driveway Lawson pulled into led to a modest, modern home. She liked the house immediately. Built of logs, it seemed to be more an appendage of its environment than a building. The rustic cabin swept down on the south-facing side, while keeping the north face tucked into the dense mix of spruce and pine.

      She looked around. The house had no yard. It wasn’t as if, being new, the yard might still need to be landscaped. No, the house was deliberately nestled in the crowded woods that were still standing as they had for years. Odd that someone wouldn’t want even a small lawn.

      She looked over at him. “Did you build this house?”

      “No, I rent it.”

      She frowned. “This was Danny’s folks’ land. Did you rent it from him?”

      “Danny used it as income-generating property.”

      She nodded. Danny preferred the easy life, leaving her to wonder once again why he’d remained on this sparsely populated island that had so little action. She turned to Lawson. “Why rent the lighthouse cottage, too? This place looks better.”

      A pause. “A change. The cottage has a lot of history.”

      His answer didn’t make much sense to her. But something in it hinted that she shouldn’t push the issue. Instead, she asked, “What brought you to Northwind, anyway?”

      Another distinct pause. “My parents died and I needed to de-stress.”

      The answer was curt and brief. And a little too pat, she thought. There was clearly more to it, but she dropped the subject. She liked her privacy and would return the same courtesy.

      Lawson shut off the engine. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make us some sandwiches. I can even give you some food to hold you over until you get to the store.”

      “Thanks.” It was hardly his responsibility, but she appreciated the gesture. Lawson was being very kind to her. Too kind, almost, but after what happened at the café, she wasn’t about to bite the hand willing to feed her.

      Her pastor often said that to allow someone to minister to you was as good as ministering to others. Accepting help was a part of glorifying God.

      Who felt rather far away right now.

      Inside the house, she glanced around. Spartan, almost, with little furniture. Next to the dining room table stood a desk, on which a laptop sat closed, and papers lay scattered in an arc around it. In a far corner was a large metal detector. Beachcombing, to de-stress, or was it for something else? Beyond was the living room, also sparsely furnished with just a couch, a chair and a side table.

      After starting a pot of coffee, Lawson set everything needed for sandwiches on the dining room table. Peta, hungrier than she realized, made herself a large sandwich. They ate in silence, the only sound the coffee as it percolated and dripped into its pot.

      “You know I’m going to ask why everyone on this island hates you,” he said mildly СКАЧАТЬ