Книга - A Lasting Proposal

A Lasting Proposal
C.J. Carmichael


He made her an offer she couldn't refuse–but did she ever try!Jake Hartman's heli-skiing operation in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies has been hugely successful. But because of the major outlays he now wants to make, he needs a capital infusion. A bank loan is a nonissue–Jake's not keen on debt. But a silent partner would do the trick.Widowed Maureen Shannon, eldest of the Shannon sisters, has just moved back to the sleepy town of Canmore, hoping that slow-paced living will help mend her deteriorating relationship with her twelve-year-old daughter. Jake's proposal sounds good.But then Jake makes Maureen a second offer–a lasting proposal she's much more reluctant to accept….









“What’s got you all worked up?” Jake asked


He rested a hand on her shoulder as though that was the most natural thing in the world for him to do.

“You’ve never had sisters,” Maureen replied. “So you wouldn’t understand.”

“You were talking about trust—I know that. You were wondering how Cathleen could’ve trusted Dylan so much that she always believed in him—always believed he didn’t commit that murder.”

“Yes. So?”

“Well, it’s got me thinking that’s our problem, too. I hurt you and broke your trust. Now I need to earn it back again.”

“That’s one way to look at it, “she agreed. “Or we could just count our losses and move on.”

“But how would that get us any further ahead? Maureen, no matter who you end up with, eventually, at some point, he’s going to let you down. The right person, though, will try to make up for it when he’s made a mistake.”

The right person. Was it really as simple as that? And if it was, how was a woman supposed to know when she’d found him?


Dear Reader,

As I contemplate this last book of my trilogy, I remember how daunted I felt when I began to write it. My first obstacle related to the murders of Jilly Beckett and Rose Strongman, which occurred in A Second-Chance Proposal. I’d come to realize that the person I’d thought responsible really wasn’t. My readers deserved the truth…but what was the truth?

Next, I worried about Maureen, the firstborn of the Shannon sisters. With this character I knew I’d be addressing deeply emotional issues. Her sisters had always seen her as forceful and confident, but Maureen was plagued with insecurities about her failed first marriage and the strained relationship she had with her twelve-year-old daughter, Holly. I wanted Maureen to find peace and happiness in a new relationship with a special man. But the hero I’d selected—Jake Hartman—balked at just the wrong moment. For a while I feared all was lost.

I sat in front of my computer day after day, writing paragraphs, only to delete them an hour later. Less than three weeks remained before the deadline when insight struck. Suddenly, I knew whodunit and why. And that Jake really was the right man, the lasting man, for Maureen. From that point on, writing the book became joyful and very satisfying. I hope you’ll experience those same emotions as you settle in to visit with the Shannon sisters one last time.

Sincerely,

C.J. Carmichael

P.S. I’d love to hear from you! My mailing address is 1754-246 Stewart Green, S.W., Calgary, Alberta T3H 3C8. Please send an e-mail to: cjcarmichael@shaw.ca and by all means visit me at www.cjcarmichael.com.




A Lasting Proposal

C.J. Carmichael





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This trilogy is dedicated to my editors,

Beverley Sotolov and Paula Eykelhof,

with my thanks and affection.


Thanks to those who assisted me in my research, in particular, Corporal Patrick Webb of the RCMP in Calgary, Constable Barry Beales of the RCMP Canmore Detachment and Lynn Martel, a reporter with the Canmore Leader.




CONTENTS


PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN




PROLOGUE


Fall, 1999

IT WAS A NIGHT OF ORANGES, golds and blood, blood red. The sun had not quite set on the Thunder Bar M ranch outside Canmore, Alberta. Yet already clinging to the foothills on the eastern horizon was the harvest moon, heavy and florid. Aspens, dripping in their amber foliage, framed the old log ranch house. At the center of it all raged a bonfire. Prongs of orange flames and spears of thick, black smoke lashed out at the darkening sky.

Two groups, mostly men, stood on opposite sides of the blaze. The oilmen versus the ranchers—a centuries’ old animosity.

Max Strongman knew that the men on the other side of the fire saw him as a sellout. He was married to the woman who owned this land. Today he hoped to finalize a deal on her behalf with Beckett Oil and Gas to explore, develop and produce the black gold upon which the wealth of Alberta was based. The CEO of the company, Conrad Beckett, stood beside him with his teenage daughter, Jilly.

There were others. Max’s grown son, James. Harvey Tomchuk, Max’s retirement-age accountant. Several executives from the oil company, too, as well as lawyers and investment representatives from the nearby city of Calgary.

A deal was imminent, despite Beckett’s unexpected posturing as they’d discussed terms a few hours earlier. Max hoped that good food and plenty of expensive wine would nudge the executive in the right direction. Inside the ranch house, his wife and the caterer had huge beef ribs marinating in a smoky-red barbeque sauce, next to salads, breads and more. When the fire died down a little, he would start cooking.

Or so he’d planned. But fifteen minutes ago a gang of men had marched up the lane from the public access road. His wife’s son, Dylan McLean, a dark-haired, fiery-tempered man with strong opinions on the heritage of the land his great-grandfather had homesteaded, led the entourage. With Dylan was his cousin, Jake Hartman, a towering blond mountaineer. They were at the forefront of the group of neighboring ranchers and local environmentalists who opposed the deal Max had worked out with Beckett.

This problem Max didn’t need right now. The deal just had to go through! He’d staked his future and his son’s on this land. Together, they would earn millions—

A movement distracted him. Mick Mizzoni, editor of the Canmore Leader, had just stepped forward to whisper something to Staff Sergeant Thad Springer of the local Royal Canadian Mounted Police detachment. Rumors of trouble had drawn both men tonight.

But it was Mick Mizzoni who concerned Max the most. The journalist had been against him from the first day Max had been elected as the mayor of Canmore. Undoubtedly Mizzoni was itching to portray him unfavorably yet again.

Max couldn’t let that happen. He had other plans for this land—beyond the oil wells—that required he keep town council and public opinion on his side.

He needed something, anything, to make the protesters appear unsympathetic. Earlier in the day, he’d talked the situation over with the woman he loved, and with his son. They’d agreed that for now all he could do was try to appear more calm and rational than the other side. But was that really his only option?

A fifteen-minute tirade by one conservationist ended. Then an experienced trail guide got up to give his spiel. Would they never shut up? Max could see Beckett growing increasingly anxious. Conrad had his arm around his daughter, and the girl had started shooting some pointed questions to her dad about his company’s environmental standards.

Maybe it was time for Max to have his say. He slipped a hand into his jacket pocket.

A second later, a streak of silver flashed against the carbon sky. Loud pops sounded as a firecracker blazed in a celebratory arc above the crowd, fizzling out just meters above their heads.

After the unexpected explosion came a short second of silence. Then a father’s anguished cry filled the void.

“Oh, my God! My daughter’s bleeding—she’s been shot!”

Crimson blood appeared almost black in the fading light. The liquid seeped over Jilly’s chest, over-flowing to her father’s arms.

There was another second of silence as Conrad Beckett’s words, and the image of the wounded girl, penetrated the stunned minds of the surrounding men.

And then—chaos. Someone with first-aid experience rushed forward. Staff Sergeant Springer began barking orders to the crowd. Confused and frightened, everyone was talking, shouting.

Max alone didn’t move. Coolly, he analyzed the incident and its most likely aftermath. Jilly Beckett had been shot—but the intended target had surely been her father, Conrad. The cops would figure that the firecracker had been a decoy, covering the report from the gun. But who would be blamed for the shooting?

Someone—dared he hope Dylan—from the group of ranchers and environmentalists was the obvious answer. Max held back a smile. His prayers had been answered. Public opinion would be on his side now, his and Conrad Beckett’s.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Beckett. Your daughter is dead.”

Max heard the pronouncement and the crowd’s answering gasp. He remained still as a new possibility suddenly occurred to him. For the first time, fear squeezed his heart, bringing pain to his chest. He scanned the crowd anxiously, unable to single out James in the melee.

Where was his son?




CHAPTER ONE


Two and a half years later

BREAKFAST FOR HOLLY, SHOWER, dress…don’t forget the papers you took out of your briefcase last night… Maureen Shannon was lost in her mental checklist as she opened the door to snag the morning paper. Clutching the lapels of her old flannel housecoat, she stared at the front-page headline: Oil Tycoon Beckett Commits Suicide.

“Dear God…”

Maureen slipped off the elastic band and unfolded the paper, her fingers suddenly clumsy.

Underneath the headline was a picture of sixteen-year-old Jilly Beckett, the same photo the Calgary Herald had used when covering her murder almost two and a half years ago. Next to it was a smaller snapshot, grainy and out of focus. Still, Maureen recognized Jilly’s oil-executive father, Conrad, smiling beside his wife, Linda.

Maureen scanned the first paragraph. The facts were blunt. Conrad was dead; he’d killed himself. Maureen curled her bare toes against the cold of the concrete landing of her Mount Royal home. The Becketts lived in her neighborhood, about six blocks to the north. Their social circles had intersected; she and Linda had worked on a few volunteer committees together.

It was a cool May morning and a westerly breeze tossed Maureen’s uncombed hair into her eyes. She flipped it out of the way, then remembered she was dressed in only her thin housecoat.

She withdrew inside, skimming through the rest of the article as she made her way back to the kitchen. Conrad had died in the three-car garage of his showcase-perfect home, sitting in the driver’s seat of his idling dark blue Jaguar, while noxious carbon monoxide had pumped into the enclosed space. The suicide was attributed to unrelenting depression over Jilly’s death.

Conrad, even more than Linda, had never been the same after it. He’d retired from the board of Beckett Oil and Gas—a company that he had founded and intended to pass down to his only offspring. Then he’d sold all his shares to one of the big American companies—Exxon or Shell, she couldn’t remember—

Maureen stopped reading to sniff. That smell… Oh, no, Holly’s breakfast! She tossed the paper on the counter and ran to the toaster. Too late. Both slices of bread were edged in black. Knowing her daughter wouldn’t eat toast this way, not even if Maureen scraped off the burned part, she threw the pieces out and slipped two fresh slices into the slots.

She eyed the paper, then the clock on the stove. If she didn’t leave in fifteen minutes, she’d be late for the office. And she wasn’t even dressed. She’d have to finish reading the article later.

Ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach, she jogged up the stairs.

“Holly? Are you finished in there?” At moments like this Maureen would have given up her prestigious address and original oak woodwork in a moment for a second bathroom. Rod had always planned to renovate one day, but he’d never gotten past the looking-at-glossy-brochures stage.

No answer from the bathroom, only the sound of water streaming into the sink. Well, she’d have to skip her shower this morning. Back in her bedroom, she grabbed the first suit and blouse that came to hand, then yanked matching shoes from the shelf above them.

Catching her reflection in the mirror on her dresser, she frowned. The only way to deal with her cowlick was to put up her hair—another five minutes lost there….

Hair fixed, she tore back down the short hall. The bathroom door was still locked, and she could smell—

Damn it to heck!

Maureen raced down the stairs in her low heels and tossed the second batch of ruined toast into the garbage. She checked the clock again. Five minutes.

Back up the stairs.

“Holly, I can’t go to work without brushing my teeth and washing my face. And you need to eat. The toaster isn’t working so you’ll have to have cereal.”

The twelve-year-old didn’t answer.

Maureen rested her head against the paneled door. From inside, she heard some suspicious sniffing. Holly crying once more. A familiar, helpless pain sapped the energy from her limbs.

“Are you okay?”

The water came on again, blocking out the quiet sobbing.

Maureen knocked. “Please let me in. Holly?”

Still no answer. From past experience, Maureen knew there probably wouldn’t be. Holly needed comfort, but she’d never take it from her mother.

Silence descended as the water was turned off. Maureen made quick use of the opportunity to be heard. “Hey, kiddo. You planning to spend the day in there? Want me to rent a video? We could put the TV by the tub. Maybe fill the sink with popcorn.”

“It’s not funny, Mother.”

Maureen flinched. When had her daughter perfected that icy, cutting tone?

“I know it’s not funny. But I’m going to have to book an extra cleaning with my dentist if you don’t let me in soon.”

Something slammed. The toilet seat? The medicine cabinet? A second later the door opened, and Maureen lurched forward. Holly stepped back, unwilling even to touch her.

Indeed she’d been crying. Eyes red, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. Maureen longed to hold out her arms, but she knew—oh, how she knew—that her daughter would just back away.

“What is it, sweetie?” A familiar song on the radio, a dream about the old days—either of these, or any of a number of triggers—could have set her off.

“You are so insensitive. I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Maureen stepped to the side so Holly could leave the bathroom. A familiar sense of helplessness had her longing for the simplicity of a two-year-old’s temper tantrum.

“It’s a year today,” Holly burst out. “You didn’t even remember. Did you?”

In her mind, Maureen saw the date on the top of the newspaper she’d looked at earlier: May 3. Why hadn’t it clicked sooner? She was sure she would have remembered eventually. Maybe when she pulled out her Day-Timer at work or booted up her computer.

“I’m sorry, Holly.”

But her daughter had already taken off down the stairs. A second later, the door slammed.

Maureen swallowed an urge to scream, then went to the front window. She caught a glimpse of Holly from the back as she ran across the street toward school. Poor kid—she missed her father so badly.

One year ago today. It was hard to believe.

To Maureen, it felt as though Rod had been dead much longer.



TWO MINUTES AFTER SHE WAS in her BMW, Maureen was on the cell phone, the tiny attached speaker plugged into her right ear. At a red light, she speed-dialed her secretary.

“Looks like I’m going to be a little late for the partners’ meeting. Could you pull the files I was working on last week? And order me up a latte, would you, please?”

Next she dialed her youngest sister, Kelly, who lived with her new husband and his young niece and nephew in Canmore, a mountain haven about an hour to the west.

“Sis? Holly threw another crying fit this morning. Should I try a different grief counselor?”

Holly hadn’t seemed to benefit from sessions with two previous psychologists and Maureen had given up. But maybe she needed to try therapy one more time…

“It’s a year today, isn’t it?” Kelly said.

“Yeah.” Jeez, even her sister had remembered. What was the matter with her that the date hadn’t registered until Holly had pointed it out?

“It’s pretty normal for her to be upset. Honestly, sometimes it’s you I worry about more. You’re so busy being strong for Holly—”

Yeah, right. If Kelly only knew…

“She’s just twelve, Kelly. And she’s confused. She and Rod were close.” From Maureen’s point of view, almost too close. But that was just sour grapes, probably. Maureen couldn’t pinpoint the moment her doting toddler had begun running to Daddy when she had a problem, instead of Mommy. When Rod died, Maureen had desperately wanted to be there for her daughter. But Holly wasn’t interested in a substitute.

“Of course I understand how hard this is for Holly. But you have to consider yourself, as well. You’ve been working so hard, for so long. Rod had insurance, right?”

“Yes.” And lots of it. But only because she’d filled out the application for him, made him sign it, then paid the premiums every year. She’d discovered early in their marriage that she couldn’t count on Rod for anything.

A lesson Holly had never learned. No way could she admit that her darling father had died as a result of his carelessness. No. In her mind, his death had become her mother’s fault. As if Maureen had wanted him to climb that bloody mountain in the first place!

“Well, why don’t you take some time off work. You could use the break, and having you around more might help Holly.”

“I’ll think about it.” Maureen hung up the phone, dissatisfied. The answer wasn’t for her to spend more time with Holly. The last person Holly wanted to be around these days was her mother.

With the entrance to her underground parking lot in sight, Maureen switched lanes. Now her mood finally lifted. Soon she would be in her office, her sanctuary. Any problem that came up there, she would know how to handle.



THE LOUSY START TO THE DAY had been portentous. At the partners’ meeting, Maureen was urged to take on a new child custody case that would have her spending significant time in Edmonton, three hours north of Calgary. She used up her lunch break on the phone with Rod’s mom, who called from Winnipeg to commiserate on the sad anniversary.

Maureen listened, feeling for the woman’s pain, never letting on that their marriage had been less than perfect, that Rod had been other than the ideal father or that the accident had been anything but bad luck.

Maureen knew better, of course. Because, after almost fifteen years of marriage, she had known Rod.

Her husband had been addicted to extreme sports. Eighteen months ago, he’d decided he had to tackle Mount Everest. In preparation, he’d signed on with a team to climb Mount Aconcagua, a less-demanding peak in the Andes.

At more than twenty-two thousand feet, Aconcagua was the highest mountain in the world, except for those in the Himalayas. Though the ascent didn’t require technical expertise, it would give him an opportunity to see how his body reacted to the drop in oxygen at high elevations.

Unfortunately, altitude sickness had stricken him early on in the climb. Instead of moderating his ascent, Rod had tried to speed up. When his companions noted his growing disorientation, they’d urged him to slow down. But he’d refused until it was too late.

Death, Maureen was told later, can come quickly to those who ignore the early warning signs.

If Rod had gambled with only his life, Maureen could have forgiven him. But his loss had devastated their daughter, and that was hard to absolve.

Especially when Holly’s grief seemed to increase its hold with time rather than ease. First she’d lost interest in her friends; a few months later she’d dropped out of the school band. Her latest report card had revealed falling grades, and during parent-teacher interviews Maureen was told that Holly rarely paid attention in class and almost never handed in assignments on time.

With Rod gone, who, what, could help her now?

During dinner that evening, Holly was silent. When Maureen suggested they watch some home videos of her father after dessert, she relented enough to sort through the row of black cases in the bottom drawer of the entertainment unit.

Maureen stretched her feet out on the sofa as her daughter pressed Play. Seeing Rod’s face suddenly appear on the TV screen made her entire body tense. Across the room on the love seat, Holly pressed a tissue under her eyes.

Maureen had taken the footage from the back deck a couple of autumns ago as Rod and Holly were horsing around in the abundant piles of raked leaves that Maureen hadn’t had time to bag for composting. On the screen father and daughter tumbled and wrestled and shrieked with laughter. But in the tidy family room Maureen and Holly watched in silence.

Maureen was aware of Holly’s quiet weeping. She, however, didn’t shed a tear. Not until the camera caught Rod smiling at his daughter, reaching out to touch a strand of her almost white hair. The expression on his face was absolutely doting.

The dull pain in Maureen’s chest tightened. The video confirmed what she’d always known. Her husband had loved Holly. When he’d been around, he’d treated their daughter like a princess. And that was what Holly remembered about her dad.

Maureen pulled a tissue from the pocket of her jeans and blew her nose. No wonder Holly was so devastated by his death. What man would ever adore her the way her father had?

At ten o’clock Holly went to bed, and Maureen had the house to herself. She put away the videos, stacked a few glasses in the dishwasher, then brewed herself a little coffee, which she mixed with half a cup of hot milk and a teaspoon of sugar.

Memories of Rod and worries about her daughter were too painful to face. Instead she picked up the paper, and in a flash it came back to her. Conrad Beckett’s suicide. How could she have forgotten?

Now she read the article again, every word this time. The reporter had been thorough, delving into the event that had led Conrad to the breaking point—his daughter’s murder almost three years ago. Maureen had some personal knowledge of the case, since the tragedy had occurred on the ranch of her brother-in-law, Dylan McLean, several years before he’d married her middle sister, Cathleen.

It seemed impossible that in a crowd the size of the one gathered at the ranch that night no one had seen anything. Yet, that was what all the witnesses claimed. The weapon was never recovered. Kelly had been one of the RCMP officers assigned to the homicide. In her opinion, the case would probably never be solved.

That didn’t stop everyone in Canmore from having views on the matter. Initially, Dylan McLean had been the number-one suspect. Then later, when James Strongman ran off to Mexico rather than submit to police questioning regarding the subsequent murder of Rose Strongman, James was seen as the most likely villain. But his guilt remained unproved. Also unknown was whether Jilly had been an accidental target. Most people assumed that the shooter had been aiming for her father and missed.

Jilly’s death had been such a senseless act of violence. Who could have guessed that the barbecue would get so wildly out of control? What kind of monster brought out a gun at an event where a young girl was present?

Rubbing her eyes, Maureen sighed. Just the prospect of walking up the stairs and preparing for bed exhausted her. Some days it seemed such a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. She could almost understand how Conrad had felt….

Out of habit, she placed her mug inside the dishwasher and then set about getting ready for bed. As she brushed her teeth, she avoided her reflection in the mirror, just as she knew she’d avoided the truth about her daughter for months.

Physically, Maureen still had Holly by her side. But emotionally, they’d lost contact years ago. And Maureen had no idea how to go about regaining it.

Kelly thought Maureen needed to work less, be home more. They’d discussed this before today’s phone call. Given the demands of her law firm, Maureen knew that if she wanted to work less, the only option was to quit.

But then what would she do? Without her six-figure income, they couldn’t afford to stay in this neighborhood. They’d have to move—but where?

Only one place made sense. The mountain town where she’d grown up—and left to go to university—where her two sisters and their husbands now lived: Canmore.

She could start her own legal practice there. It would be much smaller and less stressful than her work here in Calgary. Equating to more time spent at home with Holly.

But Holly didn’t want to spend time with her mother. She’d probably hate the idea of moving. And surely an upheaval, just when she was beginning to adjust to junior high, would be a mistake.

Maureen left the bathroom and collapsed on her bed. God help her, she didn’t know what to do. All night, she tossed and turned. Finally, just before dawn, she dropped off. Her last thought was a prayer.

Send me a sign. Tell me the right thing to do for my daughter.




CHAPTER TWO


“YOUR PROFITS HAVE BEEN very healthy, Jake,” Harvey Tomchuk said between sips of his coffee. “But given the capital outlays you want to make this year, you could use a cash infusion.”

Jake Hartman liked the sound of the phrase. Sort of New Age—like a vitamin or herbal infusion. “Are you talking about a bank loan, Harvey? You know I’m not keen on debt.”

“No debt.” His accountant helped himself to another cup of coffee from the machine on the counter, next to the Dutch oven that Jake hadn’t gotten around to putting away after dinner. “I’m thinking of equity here, as in cash provided to the business by a new investor. Simple enough for you yet?”

“Oh, sure. Now I get it. You want me to find someone with half a mil to invest in my heli-skiing business. That should be a snap.”

“You could always ask Patricia.”

Jake snorted. He’d rather see his business fold than go into partnership with his mother. Not that he didn’t sympathize with her. She’d lost her husband when she was only thirty, and been left to raise on her own a rowdy boy she’d never been able to understand.

That had been tough for her, especially since she’d been determined to shape and mold that boy, who’d happened to be him, in the image of her late, idealized husband. And she’d never let her son forget what a terrible disappointment he’d turned out to be. He’d demonstrated no head for business, hated cities and was awkward and disagreeable at the society functions his mother planned her life around. For all his growing-up years, Jake had resented his mother’s efforts to control what he wore, how he spoke, the way he cut his hair.

The only times he felt free and happy were on his summer and Christmas holidays, which he’d spent with his uncle Bud McLean’s family, on the Thunder Bar M in Alberta. So it was no surprise he’d moved out here the day he’d finished high school.

His mother was furious and refused to so much as visit him. Out of guilt more than affection, he made an annual pilgrimage east so she could frown at him and heave great sighs of disappointment. Once a week he called to assure her he hadn’t killed himself on some godforsaken mountain.

Ask his mother for money? No way.

“I guess I’ll think of something,” he said. “How much, exactly, should I be looking for?”

Harvey circled the bottom number in a long line of figures. Jake winced.

“Of course,” Harvey pointed out, “you could avoid all this by lowering your standards just a tad. No one expects real linen in a remote mountain lodge.”

“Not a chance.” Jake wouldn’t even consider that option. Grizzly Peaks was his baby, his life. Already clients came from all over the world, willing to pay thousands of dollars for the opportunity to ski in the backcountry wilderness of the Rocky Mountains.

But he wanted more. Not necessarily bigger—in fact, definitely not bigger—but the best of everything. One day Grizzly Peaks would be the premier heli-skiing operation in North America.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something. You always do. By the way, planning any mountain climbing this summer?”

“My knees have really been bothering me lately.” A reminder that he was closing in on forty. Now he needed the four-month summer break from skiing to rest his old ligaments and joints.

Compounding the problem with his knees was his difficulty in finding a buddy to climb with these days. Slowly but surely his friends had gotten married and started families. A day off for climbing was a luxury they could rarely afford.

“You talk like you’re old, Jake. Wait until you’re in your seventies like me!”

“At least you picked a good profession. You’ll be able to keep running your business as long as your mind remains capable of adding and subtracting.”

“Yeah, but the question is, will I want to?” Harvey finished off his coffee. “Well, I guess we’re done here. I’ll put together the final financial proposal, then you can go out and try to find your money.”

Harvey gathered the papers into his briefcase, leaving a copy of the statements on the table for Jake. After a warm handshake, he shuffled out the door. Jake thought he’d left, but moments later the older man poked his head back inside.

“You forgot to take in your newspapers.”

There were two in the box. Jake subscribed to the Calgary Herald as well as the Canmore Leader. After waving off his friend, he took them both to the living room.

The headline in the Herald startled the hell out of him. Conrad Beckett had killed himself? God, what a nightmare that whole episode was turning out to be. Jake read the print on page one, then followed the story to page three. Most of it was old history; he knew the case well. In fact, he’d even started a scrapbook.

Now he went to the kitchen to get the scissors and tape, then to his desk, where he pulled out the binder he’d used to collect articles such as this one.

It wasn’t morbid fascination that drew him, but a combination of personal interest and family obligations. At one time popular opinion around Canmore had it that his cousin, Dylan McLean, was responsible for Jilly Beckett’s death. Now almost everyone thought James Strongman had done it.

James’s father, Max, was the current mayor of Canmore. He’d married Dylan’s widowed mother, Rose, a long time ago. After Jilly’s death, he’d convinced Rose to make out her will entirely to him, cheating Dylan of his father’s inheritance. Then, just when Rose had seemed about to change her mind and revisit her will in Dylan’s favor, she’d been murdered.

At first Dylan, who was known as a hothead, had been suspected again. Then evidence proving that he’d been set up was found. James, who had no alibi for the night Rose was killed, was the most likely culprit. But he’d escaped to Mexico rather than face police inquiries, and hadn’t been seen since.

A convenient and tidy impasse in Canmore’s two unsolved homicide cases. Jake, however, wasn’t so sure that James was the guilty party. Or if so, that he’d acted alone. And others in town shared his doubts.

Carefully, Jake cut out the article and the attached photos. He paused to examine them. First Jilly, then Rose, now Jilly’s father. Too many deaths, shrouded in too much uncertainty, for one small mountain town of only ten thousand people.

Jake picked up the local paper next. Ironically, on the front page of the Leader was a shot of Max Strongman and a bold heading: Canmore Mayor Won’t Run Again In Fall Election.

Well, that was good news. Jake snapped the paper, then peered again at the picture of Strongman. The man had a distinguished, statesmanlike air, but he was as wily as an old coyote, and manipulative to boot. Jake read about his plans to retire from public office to pursue “other interests.” Hah! Jake reached for the phone to call his cousin.

“Did you hear the news about Strongman?” he asked once Cathleen had passed the phone over to her husband.

“Wish I could say it was good news,” Dylan said. “But you know, the minute he’s no longer mayor of Canmore, he’ll be pushing that damn recreational housing project on my father’s land.”

“Next to the oil wells?”

Dylan’s laugh was bitter. “If he goes ahead with this, the development will cut right across the natural wildlife corridor along Thunder Creek.”

“We’ve got to stop him somehow.”

“Don’t I wish,” Dylan agreed. “Our best hope is that we elect an antidevelopment mayor who throws so many roadblocks in Strongman’s way he hasn’t a chance.”

But that wasn’t likely. Feelings both for and against development in Canmore ran strong, but lately the tide had definitely been in favor of development. Plus, a new man was in the wings—a shoe-in for the job if Max retired. And he was prodevelopment, too.

“Any other options?” Jake asked.

“Let me see. Why don’t we prove Max planned both my mother’s and Jilly Beckett’s deaths, and that James was merely a pawn in his hands. Once Max is in jail, he’ll have a hard time presenting his development plans to town council.”

Jake sank into a nearby chair. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Actually, the two men had discussed the possibility of Max’s involvement in Rose’s murder to the point of exhaustion. They each suspected that James had tossed that firecracker as a diversion for his father to shoot Jilly. Odds on proving that, however, were slim at best.

After a depressing pause, Jake told his cousin about the plans for upgrading Grizzly Peaks.

“So you need a silent partner, do you? Let me think about that. I may know just the person.”

“That sounds intriguing.”

“Oh, she is. But I have to go, buddy. Cathleen’s giving me that look….”

“Say no more.” Jake hung up, knowing his cousin was referring to the look that every man longed for. The look that meant Come to bed, darling.

Lucky guy. Jake hadn’t been the recipient of the look in a long time. In fact, how long had it been?

Sprawling out on the sofa ten minutes later, with a beer and the remote control, Jake tried to recall the last woman he’d had in his bed. Over the years he’d gone through a series of relationships with a number of women. Each time there’d come a point when demands were made that he’d felt unable to meet. The last one’s name had been…Terri-Lynn.

The next one would be…who? The pickings were getting meager, Jake had to admit. Most women around his age were married. He was willing to date younger ones. But even the women in that group were mostly paired off now.

Maybe he’d missed his chance. Yet Jake didn’t regret ending any one of his failed relationships. So maybe he was born to be a bachelor. It wasn’t the worst fate for a man…especially one as busy as he was. Grizzly Peaks took a lot out of him. And now he had to find the equity partner Harvey was talking about.

Jake picked up his copy of the financial papers and scanned the bottom line. Who did Dylan know with that much money available?



MAUREEN WENT TO Conrad Beckett’s funeral Tuesday afternoon. She sat near the back of the Riverview United Church, the same church where services had been held for her husband, little more than one year ago. And previous to that, for Jilly Beckett.

Many of the people filling the pews today had attended those funerals, as well. Certainly Linda Beckett had been at both. Maureen remembered her stopping to speak after Rod’s service.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, Maureen,” she’d said, squeezing her hand hard, “I’d be glad to help.”

Linda’s well-meaning kindness had made Maureen feel guilty for not having offered the same to Linda after Jilly’s funeral. She’d assumed that family members, and more intimate friends, would be filling that role in Linda’s life. And Conrad’s. But maybe they hadn’t.

The service was over at four. Maureen doubted that Linda Beckett even recognized her when she stepped up to give her condolences. The new widow seemed disoriented. Her sister had guided her through every step of the service as carefully as if Linda had suddenly gone blind.

Maureen left the throng of people with a sense of unease. She’d hoped attending the funeral would provide closure in the whole affair, but she was left feeling even more unsettled.

From the comfortable leather-covered driving seat of her BMW, she was tempted to return to the office but instead went to the Safeway and picked up a rotisserie chicken, rolls and a bagged salad. Usually she had a housekeeper half days, so someone would be home when Holly came from school. But they were between employees right now—the last woman had quit when Holly had tossed her dinner in the garbage without even giving it a taste.

Just as Maureen was pulling into her garage, the cell phone rang. She attached the small speaker into her ear and pressed Talk.

“Hello?” With her free hand, she grabbed the bags of groceries, then entered the house.

“It’s me. Cathleen. Dylan asked me to let you know about an opportunity. It’s with his cousin, Jake Hartman. Do you remember him from our wedding?”

As it so happened, Maureen did remember Jake—a big man with dark blond hair. She’d caught his gaze on her a few times during the ceremony, then later at the reception. At the time she’d been vaguely uncomfortable with the man’s open scrutiny.

Now she was curious. “What about Jake?”

“He’s looking for new capital for his heli-skiing business. It sounds frivolous, but trust me, it’s extremely successful. His profits are amazing.”

“So?” Maureen set the grocery bags on the counter. She could hear the muffled, pulsing bass of Holly’s music coming from upstairs. Her daughter craved awful stuff these days, heavy metal from bands like Faith Warning and Bitter End. Maureen had asked Holly not to buy those kinds of CDs, so instead she borrowed pirated copies from kids at school.

“I thought you might be interested. You have that money from Rod’s life insurance, and I know how pitiful interest rates are these days.”

Maureen pulled out a bowl for the salad, then a knife to carve the chicken. “You think I should invest Holly’s inheritance from her father in a heli-skiing business? Cathleen, that’s nuts!”

“Why? Jake’s a great guy and Grizzly Peaks has a world-class reputation. With your cut of the profits, you probably wouldn’t have to work anymore, unless you wanted to.”

Maureen wondered if this could be it—the opportunity she’d been waiting for. “Well, I have to admit, I’ve been thinking of quitting my job.” The new case requiring all that travel to Edmonton had done it. Or maybe it was Conrad Beckett’s funeral. Or the lyrics she’d listened to on Holly’s ghetto blaster last week when her daughter was out of the house.

“Then you should definitely check out Jake’s proposal. If it appeals, you could move back to Canmore. You’ll make a ton of money selling your house, too.”

“How much capital is Hartman looking for?” It couldn’t hurt to check this out. Although the idea of being partners with Jake was a little…disturbing.

Hard to say why exactly. Just that something about the man had set her nerves on edge. The way he kept watching her…

Yet for every time his gaze had been on her, her gaze had been on him. Even during the service, when she should have been concentrating on Cathleen and Dylan. She remembered thinking, that man knows.

He knows I’m only pretending to mourn for my husband.




CHAPTER THREE


JAKE WAS PLEASED THAT HE’D managed to snag an outdoor table in front of the Bagel Bites Café. From the tray in his hand, he unloaded two coffees in foam cups and two toasted bagels with cream cheese. Out of the back pocket of his jeans he pulled a one-page partnership agreement.

He smoothed the folds from the paper, then placed it on the table in front of the unoccupied chair.

Maureen Shannon was ten minutes late.

No big deal. She was driving from Calgary, so it had to be difficult to time her arrival exactly. He had coffee, a comfortable place to sit and warm sunshine on his face. Settling in his chair, he stretched out his legs and told himself he didn’t mind waiting.

“Something wrong, Jake?” One of the women who worked behind the counter was clearing tables. “You seem a little edgy. Mind moving your foot so I can get by?”

Jake shifted his legs and frowned. He wasn’t edgy. It was just that these damn plastic chairs were too small for someone his size. And his new hiking boots weren’t as comfortable as his old ones. And he hadn’t put enough cream in his coffee….

Okay, so he was nervous. Embarrassing to admit, but true. He tapped his foot and checked his watch again. Fifteen minutes late.

He didn’t know why he was uptight about this meeting. If this didn’t work out, he’d find another investor.

Yeah, right. They’d be lining up at his door, checkbooks in hand.

Jake sipped his coffee while he scanned the people passing by. Monday mornings in May were pretty quiet in Canmore. Few tourists this early in the season. And the regulars had their jobs—many of them commuted to Calgary.

He wondered what Maureen’s plans were. According to Cathleen, she was toying with the idea of moving. Somehow he couldn’t picture her living here, though. Unlike her two sisters, she was obviously a city woman.

Of course, he’d only met her a few times, the last occasion being Cathleen and Dylan’s wedding. Her husband had been dead just a few months, so he’d expected her to be pretty shaken up. But she was so together it was almost scary. She’d reminded him of the plastic Christmas trees he saw every season in department store windows. Everything about her was so perfect she didn’t seem real—from her appearance, which was all big-city polish, to her take-charge manner, to her perfect composure throughout the ceremony.

She’d been one of the few not to tear up during the exchange of wedding vows. Jake had recognized the cynicism he’d glimpsed within those china-doll blue eyes—he, too, held little faith in happily ever after. But he’d never been married, and Maureen had. What life experiences had put that chilly smile on her soft, pretty lips?

And what was going on between her and her daughter? The only time Maureen displayed any vulnerability was when she was watching Holly. But Holly studiously avoided her mother’s gaze at all times. Something was definitely wrong there.

Out on the street a black BMW slowed. The driver skillfully maneuvered the vehicle into one of the parallel-parking spots half a block down from the café. The car shouted “big city,” so he wasn’t surprised when Maureen Shannon stepped out from behind the steering wheel. Holding her blond hair back with one hand, she checked for traffic before hauling a big leather briefcase from the back seat.

Early thirties, he figured, knowing she was the eldest of the Shannon sisters. She had the composure of a mature woman, and the stride of someone with no time to lose. He watched her approach, appreciating her tall, long-limbed form. She wore a black pants suit with a white blouse. Sunglasses hid her eyes. He removed his own, preparing to flag her down.

She seemed to be talking to herself. As she neared, he saw she was speaking into a small microphone attached to the phone in her other hand.

“Didn’t you get my e-mail?”

He could hear her now.

“Don’t worry. After this meeting I’ll go to my sister’s and connect my laptop. You’ll have another copy before lunch.”

Then she was at his table and smiling brilliantly. “Jake Hartman?”

He stood to take her hand.

“Good to see you, Maureen. How was the drive from Calgary?”

“Beautiful. Absolutely stunning.” She removed her glasses to look at him, but the sun was so bright she crinkled her eyes and put them back on. “Great weather, isn’t it?”

He agreed, pulling out her chair.

Maureen glanced at the table and frowned. “You ordered for me?”

He shrugged. “To save time. How’s your daughter doing—Holly, right?”

Maureen shifted her gaze uncertainly. “She still misses her dad.”

“I guess that’s to be expected.”

Settling her briefcase at her side, Maureen sat. “Cathleen tells me you have a business proposition.”

So there was to be no more time wasted on chit-chat, Jake surmised. It wasn’t his style; he preferred to ease into serious subjects the way you waded slowly into a cold lake.

No, the deep plunge wasn’t his way. But he could be flexible. “I have plans for upgrading my heli-skiing business—Grizzly Peaks. Problem is, I’ve never liked dealing with banks, so my accountant suggested I look for an equity investor—” what had Dylan called it? “—a silent partner.”

“Right. Tell me a bit about yourself, Jake. When did you start this business? What do you see as your strengths and weaknesses?”

She was making him feel like a job applicant. It was amusing in a way. He’d earned enough of a name for himself at Grizzly Peaks that most people around here were well aware of his reputation. But Maureen wasn’t from Canmore, and she had every right to know about the man she was considering investing her money with.

“I started Grizzly Peaks about ten years ago on seventy-five hundred square kilometers of untouched backcountry. Our customers fly in by charter helicopter to home base. And they’re treated to the best. Besides a hundred thousand feet of vertical skiing, we provide guides, gourmet food and lodging. We’ve even got hot tubs and saunas and a complete health club in our main lodge.”

“Rod always wanted to try heli-skiing,” she muttered, tearing off a small corner of her bagel and eating it tentatively, as if she expected it to be laced with cayenne pepper or something.

“It’s a total blast. I’ll take you and your kid on a complimentary junket one day.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“It’s not dangerous if you’re with an experienced outfit.”

“I’ve heard that line once too often in my life.” She picked up the partnership agreement he’d written and read it through.

Jake leaned back and sipped more coffee. Basically the agreement stated that in exchange for her money, he’d provide annual financial statements and a cut of the profits equal to her stake in the business. He hadn’t seen any need to make the agreement more complicated than that.

Watching her read, he felt a new tension, unrelated to the business prospects of this meeting. Damn, but she was gorgeous. Without her daughter around, though, there was no hint of the vulnerability he’d thought he’d glimpsed at the wedding. This woman was tough, he conceded. Yet something about her tight smile and the defiant angle of her chin made him want to touch her hand reassuringly.

He had little doubt she’d slap him if he dared.

“Well?” he asked when she appeared to be done.

She dropped the page on the table with no comment. “You said your accountant prepared some financial projections?”

“Oh, yeah.” He’d almost forgotten about them. Now he reached into his back pants pocket and pulled out the folded square package. Seeing Maureen’s mouth droop at the sight, he regretted not heeding Harvey’s advice and having the report printed and bound professionally. With care he pressed out the stapled sheets, then passed them over.

“Thanks.” Maureen checked everything very carefully. As she read, she tore away at the bagel, eating it molecule by molecule. She was only a quarter of the way through the bread when she was done with the documents.

“What about years with poor snowfall?” she asked.

“Hasn’t happened yet. Before choosing my location, I researched the weather patterns. We get the best precipitation in the Rockies.”

“I see.” Maureen didn’t look at all impressed. “Also, when you mention sharing profits, I assume that would be before depreciation and amortization?”

He realized she was trying to bamboozle him. Just because his presentation was a trifle unsophisticated didn’t make him a fool. “No,” he said firmly. “I can’t pay out profits without making provision for replacing my equipment as it wears out.”

She gave a slight smile. “Fair enough.”

“So…” He waited as she took another nibble from her bagel. “What do you think?”

Her head dipped in a cautious nod. “Your numbers are fantastic. And Cathleen and Dylan have every confidence you can continue to deliver in the future.”

“So will you before this season is out.”

She slid the sunglasses down her nose a fraction of an inch and peered over the top of the frames. “You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

“Really? I was thinking you could give me a few lessons.”

Maureen laughed and it transformed her entire face. The tension he’d felt earlier tightened like a belt across his chest. He thought again about how long he’d been without a woman….

Then told himself he was a raving lunatic even to entertain the thought. This lady was the antithesis of what he looked for. He preferred women who dressed for fun, not business. Women who could let their hair down, who took nothing seriously, especially not him.

This woman had baggage. She was a widow with a troubled daughter. Most scary of all, she brought out feelings in him he couldn’t understand, let alone name.

And she had the power to write him a check for several hundred thousand dollars. He couldn’t forget that.



MAUREEN WAS SO ENGROSSED in her conversation with Jake that at first she didn’t notice the man by the window staring at her. When she gave a casual glance to the side and their gazes connected, she felt a fissure of distaste, and a sense of having seen him somewhere before.

He was tall, in his late fifties, and looked like a golfer, with his overly tanned skin, cotton pants and short-sleeved T-shirt with a collar. Caught staring, he wasn’t at all abashed. Just nodded and grinned. Smug. Arrogant. She turned her back and waited a moment before asking.

“Who’s that man? Sitting by himself at the window…”

“That’s our mayor,” Jake said. “Max Strongman. Surely Dylan and Cathleen have told you about him.”

“Oh!” She took a second look and was relieved that he wasn’t watching her anymore. “Yes, of course. I think we met once, many years ago.” She lowered her voice. “Dylan believes Max put James up to killing Rose.”

“So do I,” Jake said frankly. “James came out for a week of heli-skiing two winters ago. While no coward, I wouldn’t call him a deep thinker. He’s the kind of man easily influenced by those around him.”

“Do you feel he was behind Jilly Beckett’s murder, too?”

“That’s trickier, although I wouldn’t put that past him, either. Both he and his father seem to have a vendetta against Dylan.”

“Which makes sense,” Maureen pointed out, “when you consider Dylan has always been their only real obstacle to the McLean property.”

“And all the money from the oil wells and future property development,” Jake agreed. “No doubt they’d love to see him behind bars. I think Jilly’s death was supposed to be a setup for Dylan. At any rate, it stopped the protest that might have delayed their oil deal.”

Maureen tried another taste of the bagel. It was good, but she didn’t care for the cream cheese slathered on top. Mention of Jilly reminded her of Linda, who was rarely out of her thoughts these days. One day soon she had to call her….

“I was at Jilly’s father’s funeral last week.” She had no idea what had prompted her to tell Jake. But he leaned forward with apparent interest.

“Yeah, I read about Beckett. Very sad.”

“I have this strange feeling that we haven’t yet uncovered the truth about the night Jilly was killed, and there may be more lives lost because of it.” Maureen paused, wondering whether Jake had any clue what she meant, or if he was nodding to be polite.

“I feel the same way. When I see Max Strongman walking the streets of this town, living off the gravy from his dead wife’s oil wells, well, I tell you, it just doesn’t sit right.”

“Even before you told me his name, I had this antipathy toward him.”

“That proves you have good instincts.”

Maureen knew she did, and for that reason she almost always went with her gut feeling when it was strong. As it was about Jake Hartman.

That was why, despite the potential problems with this heli-skiing business, she’d decided to go ahead with the deal. It would take most of Rod’s insurance proceeds, but if the returns were as good as expected, the risk would be well worth it.

Her only hesitation came from the prospect of working with Jake. It concerned her that as a supposedly mature man he was still devoting his life to the toys and games that belonged to youth.

Just like Rod.

Ah, but she wasn’t marrying Jake, was she. Merely going into partnership with him. It didn’t matter that he was so damn attractive. Or that he seemed to have an uncanny ability to read her mind.

“Cathleen tells me you’re considering moving to Canmore?”

“Considering,” she emphasized. “If I can sell my place in Calgary, work out a deal with my partners at the law firm, find the right place to buy here in Canmore.” She smiled ruefully at all the uncertainties yet to be faced.

“Do you have a real estate agent looking for you?”

“Yes. My sisters have hooked me up with Beth Gibson. She used to run a catering business, but I understand she’s been in real estate for several years now and is one of the top selling agents in town.”

“As well as being an alderwoman on town council,” Jake said. “She’s quite an amazing person, all right.”

Maureen’s cell phone on the table rang. With an apologetic shrug, she turned it off after checking the display to see who had called.

“I guess we’d better get our papers signed,” he said. “If you don’t have any more questions.”

Maureen picked up his one-pager, which she’d already scanned, then handed it to him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of bringing my own agreement.”

He seemed apprehensive as she unsnapped her briefcase, and his eyes definitely widened as she pulled out the twenty-five-page document she’d drafted at home on her laptop last night.

“Why don’t you have your lawyer check through this before you sign,” she suggested. “Initial any changes you’d like to make, and I’ll consider them.”

Jake took a few seconds to absorb all this. “And the money?”

“As soon as I receive the signed contract, I’ll transfer the funds directly to your bank.” She stood, whisking up her briefcase and the phone. “Nice to meet you, Jake.”

“You haven’t touched your coffee.”

“I don’t drink regular coffee. For future reference, I prefer lattes. Double espresso and skim milk.”

After a brief pause, Jake responded mildly, “I’ll make note of that.”

Had he thought her rude? “It’s just that I can’t take coffee without milk anymore.”

“Stomach problems?”

She didn’t answer, annoyed once more that she’d let their conversation turn too personal.

“Or maybe just too much tension in your life? You know, moving to Canmore would definitely help you with that.”

Somehow Jake’s eyes seemed to be saying more than his words. As if he wanted her to make the move, for his own personal reasons. For a moment she felt a buzz of uncertainty.

This was what she’d been worried about. This undercurrent between them…almost as if…

But no. It couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be.

“Goodbye, Jake,” she said firmly. It was past time for this meeting to end.




CHAPTER FOUR


MOVING INTO CATHLEEN AND Dylan’s B and B even temporarily seemed a terrible imposition. Unfortunately, Maureen didn’t have much choice. Since that first meeting with Jake two weeks ago, fate had pushed her to Canmore. Maureen felt like a reluctant swimmer asked to jump off the diving board at the deep end of the pool.

Seconds after parking her BMW next to her sister’s Jeep, Maureen was lugging the top suitcase from the trunk, while Holly ran inside the B and B to announce their arrival. Maureen took the opportunity to grab a few breaths of fresh air. Any second now, chaos would erupt again….

The madness had begun with a phone call she’d placed shortly after signing the agreement with Jake, to a real estate company in Calgary about listing her home. It just so happened that the agent had a buyer willing to pay top dollar for immediate possession. Given twenty-four hours to think about it, Maureen had talked to Holly and her teachers.

Holly claimed not to care what Maureen did. The teachers considered a change might be in her daughter’s best interest.

That had left dealing with her partners about leaving the firm. Here again she’d met with less resistance than she’d expected. They’d been very open-minded about a year’s leave of absence. Of course, she would have to finish up a few cases personally. But by and large, the other partners were willing to take on her clients, including that new case in Edmonton.

Now she was more unfettered than she’d been since Holly was born—and scared to death about it. What was she going to do with her time? Certainly not spend it all with her daughter, as Kelly had suggested. On the drive up, Holly had barely spoken. Their relationship was getting worse with every passing day, it seemed.

At the sound of the screen door opening, Maureen braced herself.

“You made it!” Cathleen burst through the door and came barreling toward her. She was wearing jeans, a white shirt and brown boots, her dark hair a tumble of waves framing her wonderfully expressive face. “Oh, Maureen, this is going to be such fun!”

“I’m not sure Canmore is big enough for the two of us, let alone this house of yours.” Maureen gave her sister a tight hug and a peck on the cheek. “But we do appreciate your hospitality, that’s for sure.”

“Don’t be silly. The lodge is huge. We have lots of room. Here’s Dylan. He was working on the books, so don’t mind if he’s grumpy.”

“You’re the one who gets crotchety doing the books, darlin’. Not me.” Dylan stepped off the porch, toward the car. “Hey, Maureen. Let me get those for you.” He took a suitcase in each hand, then glanced back at his wife. “Which rooms?”

“Teddy Bear for Holly,” she said. “Which would you like, Maureen?”

“The Three Sisters room. If it’s free.” Located at the front of the second story, the suite had a big bay window with a view of the triple-peaked mountain that the Shannon girls liked to pretend had been named for them.

“All the rooms are empty this week,” Cathleen said. “It’s still a little early in the season.”

“Well, hopefully we’ll be out of here before summer,” Maureen said. She felt bad about taking up two rooms as it was, especially as both Cathleen and Dylan had refused to accept payment for this stay.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you, understand, but the cutest town house just went on the market. Beth Gibson phoned this morning, and Kelly and I want to show you later. Come inside and let’s have a coffee. Poppy’s been baking.”

Poppy was always baking. Poppy was their grandmother on the paternal side of the family, but none of them had known about her until she’d arrived on Cathleen’s doorstep last summer. The redheaded seventy-year-old had claimed she was a cookbook author who needed a place to stay and work on her latest project.

Not once had any of the Shannon girls suspected that this woman was in fact the mother of their vagabond father, who’d deserted their family shortly after Kelly’s birth.

Once Poppy had admitted her true relationship to them, she’d provided the girls with the missing pieces of the puzzle. Apparently, after leaving his family, their father had returned home to the Maritimes and never mentioned his wife and three daughters. Only after his death in a car accident had Poppy discovered the truth.

She’d found it easy to track her three granddaughters to Alberta, but hadn’t risked contacting them directly, worried that negative feelings for their father might make them unreceptive to other members from that side of the family. So she’d booked into Cathleen’s bed-and-breakfast as a guest, to see how things went from there.

Frankly, Maureen wasn’t all that impressed with the subterfuge. But her sisters had taken to their new grandmother unreservedly, to the extent that the elder woman was now an integral part of their lives. Poppy had been managing the kitchen at the B and B since the first day she moved in. And now she baby-sat Billy and Amanda on the afternoons that Kelly had to work and Mick was at the paper.

Poppy was pulling butter tarts from the oven just as Maureen stepped into the kitchen. Holly was at the large oak table, a glass of milk already in front of her. Poppy glanced up from the hot tray with a welcoming smile.

“It’s so good to see you, Maureen. My, but you’re thin.”

“And it looks like you have just the remedy.” Maureen accepted Poppy’s kiss without reciprocating. Scents of vanilla and toasted pecans emanated from the small baked pastries. “Cath, how do you keep your figure with this woman’s cooking to tempt you all the time?”

“Oh, we believe in lots of vigorous physical activity around here.” Dylan came up from behind with the suitcases. He winked at Cathleen, whose suddenly pink cheeks told the whole story.

Maureen laughed, then helped herself to a mug. She poured it half full of coffee, topped it with milk, then stuck it in the microwave for forty seconds.

“Can I ride Cascade every day now that we live here?” Holly asked her aunt.

“You bet, kiddo. She’ll love the extra attention.”

Maureen noticed a beautiful white cat peeking out from under Cathleen’s chair. She bent to the floor.

“Hey, pretty kitty. Who are you?”

“Oh, Crystal was Dylan’s mother’s cat,” Cathleen explained. “He found her out on the street the day of his mother’s funeral.”

“Max kicked her out? Oh, you poor baby.”

Coaxed from her hiding place, Crystal allowed Maureen to scratch her under the chin before scurrying from the room.

Three beeps from the microwave announced that Maureen’s coffee with milk was hot. She cupped the mug in her hands, then stood to one side as Holly chatted happily with Poppy and Cathleen. It was great to see her daughter so animated. So she could be happy. When the right people were around.

Unlike many girls her age, Holly still didn’t care much about fashion or her looks. She wore her blond hair short, hadn’t asked to pierce her ears and still chose clothing with comfort in mind. Today she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and thick gray socks.

Maureen supposed she was a bit of a tomboy, as Kelly had been at that age. Which Rod had definitely encouraged Holly to be.

Another sip of coffee went down like sulfuric acid. The pit of her stomach felt like a witch’s cauldron today. Must be the anxiety of the move…wondering whether or not she’d made the right decision. Maureen tossed the remaining contents of the mug down the drain and poured herself water, instead.

“I’ve put out plates and forks because the tarts are still so warm,” Poppy said, serving Holly first. Maureen noticed that Holly didn’t slide away when Poppy put a hand round her shoulders. “You’ll be starting at the Laurence Grassi Middle School, will you?”

Holly nodded. “I guess.”

Dylan had come downstairs from depositing their luggage. Maureen noticed him trying to catch her eye, his expression unusually serious.

“What’s up, Dylan?”

“I was wondering if you went to Conrad Beckett’s funeral,” he said. “Cathleen and I debated whether or not to attend. In the final analysis we decided against it.”

She understood his dilemma. He wouldn’t want to stir up old memories of Jilly’s murder. “I did go. Linda looked pretty rough.”

Guilt nudged as she recalled her good intentions of phoning before the move. But she hadn’t had five minutes to spare in the past two weeks.

“Do you think we’ll ever know who killed Jilly?” Holly asked.

“Knowing and proving are two different things, kiddo.” Dylan ruffled the curls on Holly’s head, then straddled the chair next to hers. Again, Maureen noted how her daughter didn’t seem to mind being touched, this time by her uncle.

How long would it take, she wondered, until everyone living in this house realized how much her own daughter despised and avoided her? Then one of her little secrets would be out….

That competent, capable Maureen was a lousy mother.



HOLLY LOVED HER NEW BEDROOM. It was a little young for a twelve-year-old, but she didn’t care. Each teddy bear in the room had its own personality. She’d named many of them on previous stays. Now she took Stanley off one of the shelves and propped him on the bed next to her.

“Hey there, Stanley. Want to know something? You and I are going to figure out who murdered Jilly Beckett.” All great detectives had a sidekick, right? Sherlock had Watson. Poirot had Hastings. She would have Stanley.

The bear stared back at her. She imagined him nodding his approval. Yes. I think I can work with you.

She pulled her backpack up from the floor and dug out the detecting kit her parents had bought for her eighth birthday. She’d told them she was going to be a detective when she grew up. They—especially her mother—thought it was just a phase, but it wasn’t. She was serious, and Jilly’s murder was the perfect opportunity to prove it.

The detecting kit was actually pretty cool, even though it was meant for little kids. It had a tape recorder that really worked, a flashlight and a camera small enough to fit in her palm. She checked all the batteries to make sure they hadn’t gone dead, then returned them to her pack.

She tossed the magnifying glass—it had nothing on a decent microscope—and opened the spiral-bound notebook to the first page. To begin, she jotted down the date—she’d seen her aunt Kelly do the same in the book she kept on her job. Then she started listing all the facts she knew about the night Jilly had been murdered.

Soon she had pages of information. When her mind was finally as empty as the drawers in the bureau where she’d been asked to unpack her clothes, she gave up.

“We have a lot of research to do, Stanley.”

She tucked the bear under her chin and rolled over onto her back. The ceiling was white. Just like at home. If she tried real hard, she could almost pretend…

No. The ceiling was the same, but the smells here were different. For starters, no one ever baked at her house. And the sounds—rather, the lack of them—were strange, too. No cars, or sirens, or rumbling old buses.

Close your eyes and pretend.

It was her favorite game. Pretend Daddy was still alive. That he’d been away on a long vacation and now he was back. He’d pull open her bedroom door and say, “How’s my little angel?” He always called her that, as if she was something wonderful, almost magical….

How’s my little angel? Kind of babyish for a twelve-year-old, maybe. But she hadn’t minded. Now no one would ever say those words to her again.

Holly could feel the sadness flowing. It always started this way. The aching would pour into all the empty spaces in her like water, until she was certain she would drown.

But she never did. All she did was cry. Sob and sob, until her head ached and she was tired enough to sleep.

She held up her bear so she could see his eyes. “Maybe you can cry with me sometimes, Stanley. You have a cute little face, but it’s sad, too.” She hugged him to her.

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. Come back, Daddy.



MONDAY MORNING, AFTER Maureen had dropped Holly off at her new school, she went with Cathleen to see the town house for sale. The complex was in a cul de sac, backing onto Policeman’s Creek, a small branch of the Bow River.

“It’s nice here,” Maureen commented, turning in a full circle. Tall pines screened the development from the rest of town, and the sound of rushing water was audible from the street. The morning was sunny, and while the air was still cool, the day held the promise of the summer to come. The town homes were stained cedar, with generous windows, and each had its own driveway and attached garage, a welcome luxury in the long, cold winters.

Cathleen stood in front of the unit with the For Sale sign pounded into the small, square lawn. “Beth Gibson said she could get us inside later this afternoon. I suggested just after three-thirty so that Holly could come, too.”

“Perfect.” Maureen shoved her hands into the pockets of her fleece jacket. She’d slept better than she had in months in the down-duvet-covered bed at the B and B, and her sister and Dylan had done nothing but make her feel welcome. Still, she was used to her independence and longed to get set up in her own home as soon as possible. Plus, she wanted to free up the bedrooms of the B and B for the hordes of summer guests who would soon flock to the mountain town.

Three doors down, someone came out the front door. Maureen and Cathleen turned together, in time to catch Jake Hartman’s startled expression.

“Well, hello. Did you come to see me? If so, you went to the wrong number.” He had on a thick wool sweater and carried a leather portfolio in one hand. After locking his door, he strolled toward them.

“We were checking out this place that’s for sale,” Cathleen said. She flashed innocent round eyes to her sister. “Didn’t I mention that Jake lives in this complex, too?”

“What a coincidence. No, I don’t believe you did.” Maureen placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder and dug her nails in, even as she smiled at her new business partner. “I would’ve pictured you in an isolated rustic cabin up in the mountains.”

“You’ve just given a perfect description of the lodge at Grizzly Peaks. Because I sometimes spend weeks away from home, I need a place that doesn’t require much in the way of upkeep.”

Of course. She’d forgotten she was dealing with someone who played for a living. At least he deserved credit for recognizing his limitations. When she’d become pregnant, Rod had been eager for them to buy a house. But when it came time to mow the lawn or paint the fence, he’d never been around.

“I was just on my way to get new brochures printed,” Jake explained. “But if you’d like a quick tour of my place, I believe its floor plan mirrors the town house you’re interested in.”

“How nice of you to offer.” Cathleen sidestepped away from Maureen’s grip.

“Brochures?” Maureen asked. “Could I look them over?”

Jake’s pleasant expression stiffened slightly. “Sure. If you’d like.”

“Definitely. I have a good eye for graphics. I helped Cathleen with the promotional materials for her B and B. Didn’t I, sis?”

“I’ll show you the brochures after we go through the house,” Jake said. He led the two women up the walk and unlocked the front door.

Maureen wasn’t so sure she was still interested in the property for sale, now that she knew Jake would be her neighbor. Sneaky Cathleen, not mentioning a word… But there was no way to turn down his offer without sounding churlish.

All three of them removed their shoes in the foyer. Maureen noted the generous front closet, then followed Jake to the main sitting area. Of course there would have to be a gorgeous slate fireplace.

“Is this an upgrade?” she asked, running a hand down the rough, gray-speckled stones.

“No. All the units have them.”

Damn.

“Come see the kitchen.”

The cabinets were light maple, the countertops large blue tiles. Maureen traced the white grout with her index finger. “I guess this must be hard to keep clean.”

“Not really.” Jake smiled. “A little soapy water and a dishcloth do the trick. Want to have a look at the bedrooms?”

Just as Maureen had her foot on the first tread, she heard her sister say, “You two go ahead. I need to make a phone call, if that’s okay, Jake?”

“No problem,” Jake called back, already halfway up the stairs.

Gritting her teeth at her sister’s latest—obvious—maneuver, Maureen followed him. All the way she admonished herself not to notice the snug fit of his jeans, the narrow line of his hips and legs, the tiny red label that identified the make of his pants, the way the denim was fading at the stitching points of both pockets….

Good job not noticing, she congratulated herself at the landing. The hall was small, but the town house had three bedrooms, and the master was extremely generous.

“Sorry it’s a bit of a mess.” Jake gestured for her to enter his room first.

The king-size bed drew her glance. The comforter had been pulled up in an attempt at neatness, but the lumps and bumps suggested his pillows and sheets were not exactly where they were supposed to be. Maureen had a flash of two naked bodies, dim lights, soft music in the background….

Lord, what was she doing? Focus on the rest of the room, woman! Look at those clothes strewn on the floor. Doesn’t that remind you of Rod? You were always picking up after him….

“There’s a view of the creek,” Jake pointed out. “At night you can hear it.”

Maureen crossed to the window, unable to believe how perfect everything was. “The sound of the water must be very soothing….”

“Have trouble sleeping, too, do you?”

She ignored his all-too-accurate deduction and checked out the closet. It was spacious. Then the ensuite. Luxurious. Finally, when they reached the extra bedrooms, she identified a problem. “These rooms are way smaller than Holly’s back home. I don’t think she’d be very happy.”

Jake tapped the dividing wall. “You know, this isn’t weight-bearing. Dylan and I could probably tear it down for you and make one big room with two closets. What girl wouldn’t love that?”

“Holly’s not into clothes,” Maureen said, although it was beside the point. Chances were most town houses would have small secondary bedrooms. And Jake was right; combining the two rooms would be easy enough. To suggest he would help was generous of him, although of course she could never let him.

Back downstairs, Maureen found a note from Cathleen on the table. Figured you guys would have business to talk over, so I’ve driven to Kelly’s for coffee. Meet me there.

“She’s gone.” Maureen waved the note in the air, then scrunched it into her pocket.

“Those newlyweds are the worst, aren’t they?” Jake grinned, making it clear that he’d recognized Cathleen’s attempts at matchmaking.

Maureen groaned and sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m the eldest. I’m supposed to be the bossy one. But ever since Rod’s accident, my sisters have treated me like the baby in the family. First they pressured me into returning to Canmore. Now they want you and me to practically move in together.”

“Moving in might be a little hasty, but would three doors down be so bad?” Jake settled in the chair opposite hers, folding his hands on the table and leaning in close.

Years and the weather had marked Jake’s skin. Yet this made him no less attractive. Although she guessed he was nearly forty, his hair was still unmarred by gray, and his blue eyes were a startling shade, much lighter than her own.

In the curve of his mouth and the directness of his gaze, she saw honesty, humor and just a touch of wariness, as if he hadn’t quite made his mind up about her, either. Well, that was good. She’d lent him quite a bit of money. Keeping him on his toes was wise.

“Let’s see that brochure.”

Jake blinked and sat taller in his chair. “Sure.” He opened his leather portfolio, which he’d been carrying around, and out slid the prototype for their main advertising pamphlet. “It’s basically the same as my previous one, only updated with the improvements we’re making this summer.”

Maureen reached for the buff paper, prepared to be disappointed. She’d expected lots of gloss and color. But this was a very plain product. The front cover bore the title “Grizzly Peaks.” Below that was a black-and-white photo of a solitary skier in a mass of virgin snow.

She could see the brochure’s appeal; it had a certain understated style. But would it attract attention sitting on a rack of similar brochures, all vying for the eyes of the winter tourists?

“Well?” Jake prompted.

“Two points concern me right now. First, if I hadn’t happened by this morning, you would’ve had these printed without running them by me first. I’m not sure that’s a very good start for our partnership.”

She suspected she’d annoyed him, but when he replied, his voice was calm. “I hadn’t counted on you being involved in the day-to-day decisions.”

“Really? I don’t remember any limitations on my involvement in our partnership agreement. But back to the brochure… It lacks visual punch, don’t you think?”

“Visual punch?”

“I pictured something eye-catching, of obvious quality. An offering that would stand out from the racks of brochures you always see at the information center.”

“And I think that when you print on recycled paper, you send out a message about the environment. All my booklets, cards and stationery are on this type of paper.”

“Okay, I can concede that point. But I still believe we could do a more effective sales job with our copy. Frankly, we could use a good slogan. Something to pique the readers’ interest the moment they pick up the brochure.”

“I suppose…”

“Plus, the information and fee structures in here are all geared to the individual. Have you thought of trying to appeal to families? Or even couples looking for a different, yet romantic, getaway…? Say!” An idea hit her. A good one. “We could even offer a wedding service, a full-package deal. I’ll bet there are people who’d love to get married on a pristine mountaintop. What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Jake drummed his fingers on the kitchen table. “Interesting idea, I suppose, but have you considered the difficulties? Flowers, for instance. Flying flowers up the mountain would be damned expensive.”

“Jake, it almost seems as if you’re not interested in my ideas.”

“Well, of course I am.”

He put a hand to his face. Was he covering a smile?

“I just didn’t expect you to have so many of them.”




CHAPTER FIVE


“ISN’T THIS GREAT?” Kelly said, bringing a third coffee mug to the table. “Now that you’re back, Maureen, we’ll be able to get together all the time.”

“It is great,” Maureen agreed. She’d refused Jake’s offer of a ride, instead choosing to walk the six blocks from the town house complex to Kelly and Mick’s home. She’d found Cathleen and Kelly in the kitchen, sitting at the table by a big bay window, watching Billy and Amanda. The five-and three-year-old were outside kicking around an old soccer ball.

“They’re such independent kids,” Kelly said. “Very easy to take care of.”

Of course they’d learned that independence the hard way. Their mother, an alcoholic, had eventually abandoned them. Recently she’d asked her brother-in-law, Mick, and Kelly to take permanent custody.

“They seem much happier than they did at Christmas,” Maureen noted.

“A lot has changed since Christmas,” Kelly said. Maureen noticed her fingering her new wedding band. Kelly and Mick had married last December. It had been an expeditious union, undertaken for the sake of the children, or at least that was how it had started out.

“You’re really happy, too, aren’t you?” Maureen asked.

Kelly nodded and smiled. “Mick is the most amazing man. And the kids…”

“You should see them when they visit,” Cathleen said, watching as Billy held the ball in place so Amanda could give it a good whack. “Amanda is developing into a real tomboy. And Billy is so helpful. He always insists on cleaning out Cascade’s stall.”

“What about Sharon? Have you heard from her lately?”

Kelly sighed. “That’s my biggest concern these days. She hasn’t called the children in about three weeks, even though she knows we’re happy to pay for the charges. She’s living at the ski resort in Whistler, working in one of the bars. The worst lifestyle for someone with her drinking problem. Mick and I worry so much….”

Maureen gave her a hug. “Nothing you can do about it, Kel. Sharon’s a grown woman.”

“I know. I just think those kids deserve more from their mother. Anyway…enough doom and gloom. Tell us what you thought of the town house.”

Maureen leaned back in her chair and fixed Cathleen with one of her best, superior, big-sister glares. “Why don’t you two level with me? It’s not real estate you want me to buy. It’s a man.”

“It’s been over a year since Rod died,” Kelly said tentatively. “We thought it might be time.”

“Maybe. But Jake Hartman? Honestly, just because we’re both available doesn’t make us a winning combination.”

“Have you got something against blond, rugged good looks?” Cathleen asked. “Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s tall, obviously in excellent condition and, did I mention, running a very successful business.”

“Oh, he’s a hunk, all right,” Maureen conceded. “And he may even be well-off. But dig a little deeper and what do you find? A man near forty whose life revolves around fun and games. Definitely not my type.”

Kelly looked across the table at Cathleen and shrugged. “Well, what about the town house?”

“That had possibilities,” she admitted. More than possibilities—it was practically perfect. But she still had to get her head around also being three doors down from Jake Hartman.

Never in a million years would she admit as much to her sisters, but what really bothered her was that she did find the man attractive.

Maureen considered herself an intelligent woman. She didn’t like to think she was the type to make the same mistake twice. But perhaps something in her genetic makeup drew her to good-looking yet immature men. How else to explain the erotic thoughts that had struck the minute she’d stepped inside Jake Hartman’s bedroom? Thankfully the man was not a mind reader, or she’d be too embarrassed to work with him.

Her sisters, however, were proved mind readers. And the way they were smiling at each other right now confirmed that her hormonal impulses had shown.

The best defense… “I insist that you put a stop to this matchmaking business. Jake and I are business partners, and only business partners. Besides…” She had a trump card, and now was the time to play it.

“Holly is still so broken up about Rod’s death. I honestly don’t think she could cope if I started dating again.”



MAUREEN PICKED HER DAUGHTER up after school that afternoon, planning to drive straight to the town house to meet the real estate agent.

“How was the first day?” she asked.

Holly had just flung her backpack into the rear seat. Now she did up her seat belt, bending her head so that her blond curls screened her expression.

“Okay.” She leaned forward to change the radio station. Abruptly, the raw edgy music of the Tragically Hip replaced Glenn Gould’s performance of Bach’s D minor piano concerto. Maureen didn’t mind. Nothing on Canadian airwaves could be as bad as what Holly chose to listen to in the privacy of her bedroom.





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