Secrets at Sweetwater Cove Read online

  Copyright © 2009 by Sally Roseveare

  All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 0-7414-5451-3 Paperback

  ISBN 978-0-7414-9462-7 eBook

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  In memory of my grandson

  Jonathan Stephen Joseph

  Born December 27, 2003

  Entered heaven January 13, 2006

  CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to Marilee Earle, Louis and Charlotte Fischer, my high school English teacher Dr. W. Frank Landing and his wife Carolyn, Micki and John Singer, Peg Breiholz, my daughter Christine Joseph, and my granddaughter Bailey Roseveare for reading my manuscript. I appreciate so much the editorial input, encouragement and suggestions all of you offered me. Thanks also to my friend Martha Stokes for a really cool idea, and to Amy Thomas for giving me more time to write.

  The gals in my real-life bridge club—Mary “Boo” Bane, Sue Griggs, and Helen Guthrie—are the complete opposite of the bridge club in my novel. For this I am truly grateful! Thanks, girls, for all the fun and laughter at the bridge table and elsewhere.

  The Lake Writers, sponsored by the Smith Mountain Arts Council, encouraged me and let me bounce ideas off them. Betsy Ashton, Becky Mushko, and Bruce Rae—fellow Lake Writers—read my manuscript and offered excellent advice. As with my first novel “Secrets at Spawning Run,” I laughed and learned every time Becky used her red pen to scrawl “Aaarrrggghhh!” and “Cliché!” Betsy and Marilee Earle also have active red pens. I honestly like red pens!

  I have a vivid imagination. At times it isn’t easy being around me, much less living with me. To my husband Ron Roseveare, thanks so much for your incredible patience and perseverance, your support, and for listening to all my “What ifs.”

  If not for all of you listed above, I may not have finished this novel.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Friday, September 22

  He turned left and drove past her car. Their eyes met. She shuddered, blinked, and he was gone, lost in the five o’clock traffic. Behind her, horns blared when the light changed to green. The black Lab in the back seat whined. Aurora Harris glanced in the rear view mirror. A driver yelled and shook his fist. Embarrassed, Aurora steered her Jeep through the intersection.

  She drove into a parking lot and shut off the engine, her knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel. Never before had she looked into such eyes—cold, calculating, dangerous. The eyes of the devil, she thought. Eyes she’d never forget.

  At home that evening, Aurora told her husband about the fleeting encounter.

  “So what color was his hair?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was he short, fat, what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Black? White? Mexican? Chinese? An extra-terrestrial being? Come on, Aurora.”

  “Sam, I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”

  “So you’re telling me that even though this man’s eyes scared you half to death, you have no clue what he looks like?”

  “Right. But if I ever see those eyes again, I’ll know him. He’s evil, Sam. And dangerous.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Friday, October 13

  Carole looked up from her desk and stared at the man in the doorway.

  “Well, hello there.” He flashed a toothpaste-commercial smile and closed the door. “I’m Winston—I. Winston Ford. Friends call me Win. Because I always do. Win, I mean.” He crossed the room, extended his hand over the desk. “And you are …?”

  “I’m Carole Barco.” Carole shook his hand. It was smooth, soft, perfectly manicured. Not like Luke’s work-worn hands. “Is there something I can do for you?” She fingered the diamond ring on her left hand.

  “I’m sure there is.” He remo
ved his sunglasses, smiled again and looked at her through gray eyes. “Actually, I’m here to buy some property. A lady I met at Gifts Ahoy suggested I come see you.” He handed her a box. “She said to give you this fudge, said it would sweeten you up.”

  “How nice.” Carole laughed, opened the box. Taking the plastic knife that came with the fudge, she cut off several pieces. “Help yourself, Mr. Ford. Their fudge is delicious.”

  “Thanks.” Win reached in the box, popped a piece in his mouth.

  “I’m sure we can find something to suit you, Mr. Ford. Please have a seat.” She gestured to the chair on the other side of her desk.

  “Call me Win. I intend to call you Carole. Only when a meeting’s all business do I call a foxy lady by her last name.” He sat, crossed his legs, looked into her eyes. “And I hope this meeting won’t be all business.”

  Carole ignored his comment. “What type of property do you want, Mr., uh, Winston?”

  “Win, remember?”

  “Oh, sorry, uh, Win.” She blushed, tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind her right ear.

  “I’m interested in something on the water, preferably four or five bedrooms with private baths, a great room with high ceilings. I own a big powerboat, so a large boathouse or covered dock is imperative. Can you find that for me?”

  “I’m sure I can, but it’ll be expensive. Smith Mountain Lake is one of the fastest growing areas in Virginia. Waterfront property here is pricey.”

  “The price isn’t a problem, Carole. I’m picky. I can afford to be.” He stared at her. “If I want something badly enough, I don’t stop until I get it.”

  Carole felt her cheeks turning pink. “Okay, then.” She put her palms together, touched her chin with her fingertips. “Sweetwater Cove has single-family homes and condos, all with great floor plans. New ones are being built all the time. Do you have a preference for new houses or older homes?”

  “Probably older ones that people are still living in. That way I can see how their boats fit the docks, get a better idea of how my boat will work. But I’m open to new homes, too.”

  Carol opened her planner, clicked keys on the computer. Options to select virtual tours appeared on the screen. “You can view some homes on my computer right now. Then this afternoon we’ll look at the ones you’re interested in seeing.”

  “I’m not a virtual tour kind of guy. I need to see actual houses. And what’s wrong with seeing them right now? No point in putting it off.”

  Carole looked at the wall clock and frowned. “I’m meeting someone in forty-five minutes.”

  Win reached for the phone on Carole’s desk and held it out to her. “Call him and cancel. It is a man, right?” She nodded and took the phone.

  “He’s not there,” Carole said after the sixth ring. “I’ll try his cell.” When Luke still didn’t answer, she hung up. She glanced at the clock again, then opened a yellow legal pad and started writing.

  “What are you doing now?” Win stood, jingled the keys and coins in his pocket, sat back down. “I’m ready to go.”

  “I’m leaving Luke a note in case he comes while I’m gone. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

  “Does this man, this Luke, have a key?” Carole nodded. “He must rate pretty highly, then.”

  “He does. We’re engaged.”

  “Pity.” Win picked up Luke’s picture on the desk, studied it, set it back down.

  “I’m almost ready. Just let me get a few things from the file room and I’ll be right with you.”

  After a visit to the bathroom, Carole retrieved her purse and keys from a file cabinet. She hesitated before shutting the drawer. Should she slip her .22 in her purse? After all, she reasoned, I know nothing about this man. He’s too cocky, too sure of himself. There’s something about him that bothers me. He could even be an axe murderer or something.

  “Carole, are you coming?” Win said from close behind her.

  Startled, she jumped and slammed the drawer shut. Her opportunity to carry a gun had passed.

  Win stared at Carol, shook his head. “Hmm-um,” he said.

  “What’s wrong?” She twisted around as best she could and looked behind her. “Please don’t tell me toilet paper is hanging out of my slacks.”

  He laughed. “No, there’s no toilet paper. And there’s not a damn thing wrong with you. From where I stand, everything looks absolutely perfect.” He licked his lips. Carole blushed and picked up her jacket.

  “You blush a lot, don’t you, Carole?”

  Her cheeks turned even redder. “Yes. I don’t like it, but I can’t help it.”

  “I think it’s charming.” Win took the jacket from her. When she slipped her arms into the sleeves, his hand brushed hers. She trembled.

  “That shade of brown looks good on you, goes well with your brown tweed slacks. You have excellent taste.”

  “Thanks.” She doubted Luke would have ever noticed that her outfit matched perfectly.

  “Let’s go. Time’s flying, and I want to find the perfect waterfront house. You can try your fiancé from the car if it makes you feel better.” Win held out his hand. She pretended not to see it and walked past him.

  “Good idea.” She opened the door and nearly bumped into Luke.

  “Hey,” she said. “I just tried to call you.”

  Luke kissed her gently on the lips. “Forgot my cell again.” He smiled sheepishly, looked from Carole to Win. “Going somewhere?”

  “I’m afraid so. Luke, this is Winston Ford.” Luke and Win shook hands. “Mr. Ford, uh, Win, this is Luke Stancill. Luke, Win wants to look at waterfront property. Thought I’d show him around Sweetwater Cove. I can’t go to brunch with you. That’s why I was trying to reach you. I’m sorry.” She saw the disappointment in his eyes. “Want to come for dinner tonight, instead? Around 8:00? I’ll cook something special.”

  “I’d like that. See you then.”

  “We better go,” Win said. Carole nodded and headed toward her car. Win grabbed her arm. “We’ll take mine.” He put his hand on Carole’s back, steered her toward his black Porsche.

  Win called out the window to Luke as the Porsche pulled onto the highway, “I’ll take real good care of her.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Luke mumbled as he memorized the Porsche’s license number.

  CHAPTER THREE

  At 8:45 p.m., a black-paneled van backed down the rutted drive to the garage. The driver shut off the engine and listened for several minutes. Satisfied he and his two buddies wouldn’t be discovered, he opened the door and climbed out. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Inside the nearly completed house, the men turned on their flashlights. “Keep ‘em beamed low. Don’t want anybody driving by to get suspicious,” said Butch.

  “So who does this house belong to?”

  “To the contractor himself, so let’s give him some extra special surprises besides the usual vandalism. Let’s go do some damage.” He grinned.

  Otis wrapped a hammer in a towel and hurried upstairs. Downstairs, Shorty yahooed each time he heard Otis knock a hole in a wall. Meanwhile, Shorty beat the heart pine floor in the great room with a chain, poured bleach on it.

  “Okay, Butch, we’ve left our surprises. You got anything else planned?” asked Shorty.

  Butch grinned. “Yep. You’ll like this one. Wait here.” He hurried out to the van and returned with a plastic grocery bag, pulled out raw chicken parts.

  “Where’d that come from?” asked Otis.

  “Grocery store.”

  “Whatcha gonna do with it? Cook supper for the man?”

  “Nope, just you watch.” In the master bedroom, Butch removed the covers from two heat vents and stuffed the chicken down the holes. “That fowl’s gonna smell mighty foul when the heat comes on.” They laughed.

  A few minutes later, the three men stood together in the kitchen. “Should we bust the gas lines?”

  “Nah,” said Butch. “We got the appliances. Been here long enough. Don’t
wanna git caught. Let’s go.”

  In the van’s front seat, Butch laughed. “Good job tonight. They’ll get a big surprise come Monday when they discover the appliances delivered today are missin’.”

  “Hey, my girlfriend Monique’s been wantin’ a freezer. Maybe the boss will let me have this one instead of us selling it or tossin’ it down a ravine,” said Otis.

  “Maybe so. He could call it a ‘fridge’ benefit.” They laughed.

  “I’d give anything to see Southerland’s face when and if it dawns on him that the fire last month was no accident,” Butch said. “You know, Southerland should appreciate the fact that we didn’t burn his house down tonight.”

  “But Butch, he don’t even know how the other fire started.”

  “Right. And we ain’t gonna tell him. Open that jar of ‘shine. We’ll have a quick one or two to celebrate the lootin’ of another house in Sweetwater Cove.”

  Half a mile away at Sweetwater Country Club, a man tapped his wife on the shoulder. She finished dealing and glanced up at him. “What is it, Tom?”

  “How much longer will you girls be playing?”

  Blanche looked at her three companions. “It’s nine now. Probably another hour, don’t you think?” The women nodded.

  “About an hour,” she said to her husband. “Why?” She finished dealing, organized the cards into suits and counted her points.

  “I’m going outside for a smoke,” he said. “Might drive over to the house to check on things. Be back by ten or a little before.”

  “Okay, ‘bye. I bid one spade,” Blanche said to her friends. She didn’t look at her husband as he left.

  “How’s the house coming, Blanche?” asked Mary Ann. “Will you be moving in soon?” She studied her cards, bid two hearts.

  Blanche’s partner bid two spades. “We only need two for game,” Lillian explained.

  “Pass,” said Estelle.

  “I don’t know,” said Blanche. “We’ve had one problem after another with that house. I thought it would be my dream home; it’s turned out to be a nightmare.” She looked at her hand again and passed. Mary Ann led the ten of diamonds. The board played a low diamond. Estelle, her hand poised to scoop up the cards, threw the ace of diamonds on the table and smiled.

  “Not so fast,” said Blanche. She laughed and put a low trump on the trick.