The Village of Gerard's Cliff Read online

  Chapter XII

  Connor lay in his bed, his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. What had he done, he thought as he went over the uncomfortable memories of the last hour. He rubbed his forehead again, then his aching eyes. He was an idiot, pure and simple. He'd reached for her hand without even realizing he was doing it.....had known from the moment she'd answered the front door, that first night, that he was attracted to her. There was just something about her that was eons apart from any other woman he had known. But how could he foul it up so badly? He rubbed his brows again, more than frustrated with his own stupidity.

  He was starting to get a headache. He suspected that she was going to ask him to leave at some point, probably in the not too distant future. Why would she want him here, alone with her, now? He imagined how strained his staying here would be....for both of them. Getting up from the bed, Connor went to the closet, and pulled out his suitcase. Might as well be prepared, he reasoned grimly. He laid it on the foot of the bed, and started pulling items of clothing from the dresser. He cursed under his breath, as he remembered that he was supposed to go back to Max's Bar that night. It would have to be tomorrow, then, he thought, cursing himself again. He threw a couple of pairs of socks and some underwear into the suitcase.

  Feeling exhausted from the drive into town, the unrelenting cold, the miserable rain, and especially, the unfortunate events with Allie, made him pause and rethink his actions. The splitting headache on top of it all sealed his decision. Connor laid back down on the bed, and, despite his headache, promptly fell into a deep sleep.

  "Connor..."

  He thought he heard his name and a light tapping on his door.

  "Connor...!"

  There it was again. He rolled over on his side, and propped up on an elbow, drowsily opening his eyes and peering at his door, still aware of a massive headache. Hell, What time was it? He rubbed his forehead. He heard a different whispered plea this time

  "Please, Connor, open the door, it's urgent."

  He rushed to the door, opened it, and saw Allie standing there, her hair loose, and flowing down her shoulders and back. She was wearing rose colored pajamas, and was slightly huddled at his door, her hands clasped in front of her chest, her feet bare, looking chilled.

  "What happened?" Connor noticed the worried look on her face.

  "There's someone trying to break in, right outside my bedroom window," she whispered. "I stopped at the desk to call the police, but I don't know how long it will take them to get here, we're so remote. I didn't want to stay downstairs." She looked down the hall toward the stairs, then fixed her eyes back on him. "Can we stay together until the police arrive?" Still whispering, "We've never had this happen here before."

  By way of answer, he put his hand on her back and steered her into his room, staying at the door to peer down the hall. As he quietly closed the door, he noticed her eyeing his suitcase, still lying open at the foot of his bed. They both knew, he was sure, that this was the least of their problems, at this point. He was still fully dressed from the night before, too exhausted to even remove his tennis shoes before he fell asleep.

  "See if you can spot anything from my window," he suggested.

  She walked to the shuttered window, and peered out between the slats into the inn's backyard. While her head was turned, he took the opportunity to pull his Beretta from the side table drawer. He checked the magazine, shoved it into the grip, then slid the gun down into the waist of his jeans. He walked over to the closet and pulled out a short brown jacket, and put it on, hoping she hadn't noticed anything unusual.

  "I don't see anyone." Allie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she continued to peer out the window. "What I heard was muffled...kind of a thunking sound. I've never heard it before."

  "Okay, well, I would think the police should be here soon." He tried to sound reassuring. "I'm going to check outside again." He turned before leaving. "The inn has a basement, right?"

  "Yes, with half windows."

  "Where are the entrances?" he asked her quickly.

  "Inside there's a narrow door in the hallway at the back of the kitchen, and outside there's a walk-down a little ways from the porch door."

  He opened the bedroom door carefully, and went out into the hallway. Pressing his shoulder to the wall, he walked slowly and softly down towards the stairs, keeping his feet as close to the floor moulding as he could. He glanced back and saw Allie looking out into the hallway, tightly holding a tan blanket around her shoulders. Connor reached the top of the stairs, leaning down to try to hear any sounds inside the house. He started to slowly descend the stairs.

  Outside, a wailing siren split through the air for just a moment, then stopped abruptly. Connor, now on the landing, could see its flashing lights through the window by Allie's desk. Hearing footsteps, he turned to see Allie running down the hall. She looked up at him for a second, then ran down the stairs, the blanket billowing behind her.

  Allie opened the front door just as the policeman was walking up the steps. Through the open door, Connor could see her telling the cop what she'd heard. The cop pulled out a flashlight, leaving to check out the back of the house. For a moment, Connor considered putting his gun back in the table drawer, but decided to keep it on him, just in case. He stood in the landing, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched Allie close the front door, and either from nervousness or chill, lightly begin to rock on her heels.

  Connor heard the cop's boots stomp up the porch, and Allie opened the door. He heard him tell Allie that he couldn't see anything suspicious, suggesting that it could have been an animal, since he'd noticed that the lid of the trash can in the back had been knocked over. They would patrol more often for the next couple of nights, the policeman informed her. Allie thanked him, and still holding onto the blanket, shut and bolted the door. She turned around and shivered.

  "Well, so much for our intrepid police department," Allie noted sarcastically, as she pulled the blanket around her more tightly, looking up for Connor.

  "I want to check things out for myself," Connor said, and she jumped. He had descended the rest of the stairs while she was closing the door, and was standing near her desk, hands on his hips.

  "My God, you scared me half to death." Allie yelled, immediately feeling better at not having to whisper any more. "I'm coming with you," she added soberly, as he headed into the dining room.

  When she caught up to him, Connor looked down at the blanket still around her, and smiled, his eyebrows raised in amusement.

  "All right, let me put a jacket and shoes on first." Allie gave him a sarcastic look, and sighed loudly.

  With Connor walking ahead, they passed through the kitchen into the back hallway, Allie nervously glancing around her.

  "I'll wait here." He stopped in the hallway, and she hurried past him into her bedroom and shut the door. He thought of something and walked over and tapped her door.

  "Where are your flashlights?"

  "In the kitchen drawer under the coffeepots." Allie called back. Before he'd gotten back to the hall with the two flashlights, he saw her emerge from her room, tying her hair back into a ponytail. She had changed into her sweatpants outfit from the night before, and thrown on a short black jacket, and white tennis shoes.

  "What do you want to check out first?" She took the flashlight he held out to her.

  "Basement first, I think."

  "Ok, just to let you know, I detest that basement, actually, any basement." She shivered. "It's horrible. I've only been down there twice in the last seven years."

  At Connor's questioning look, she continued. "Once when we first moved here, and the last time was after Patrick died."

  She motioned with her flashlight toward the narrow basement door, painted white as all the doors and trim were at the inn. She had hung a small twig wreath on the door, in an attempt to make it appear more cheerful. Connor saw her look of dread as he placed his hand on the do
or knob.

  "You can sit at the top of the stairs, if you want, and I'll look around." he offered, smiling.

  "That's okay...I can handle it." He heard her take a shaky breath.

  Connor opened the narrow door, and pointed the flashlight beam down the stairway, noticing that it was very old, and crudely built with exposed lumber. He'd been in several basements, at one time or other, but this one did indeed, look pretty bad. Allie turned her flashlight on as well, shining hers down beside his. They both leaned back in disgust, reacting to the damp, musty smell that wafted up to them.

  "Let me go first," Connor suggested.

  "Be my guest," Allie laughed. "Oh, there's a light half-way down," she added.

  He ducked his head as he eased his tall frame down the stairs, almost hitting his head on a low-lying pipe. Allie followed, leaving the door ajar. Encountering the dangling bare light bulb, he pulled the string, and realized that its glow was just enough to give the basement a disconcerting, eerie play of light and shadow. He took the last steps quickly, then turned to her.

  "I'm going to check the door and windows."

  Allie plopped down on the third step from the bottom, glad to let him take charge. She glanced nervously up behind her, expecting either the door to slam shut at any moment...or to see someone at the door watching her. Connor had disappeared around the stairs to her left, keeping his flashlight on. She could see the light flickering in the darkness, since the one bulb did not illuminate the entire basement. She knew there was another dangling bulb in the other direction.

  "So far, so good." Connor emerged to her left. He started past her. "Are you coming?" He glanced back.

  "I suppose so." Allie reluctantly stood up from her disagreeable perch on the neglected stairway, and descended the last two steps, turning on her flashlight. She caught up to him, and they moved slowly through the dark basement. Allie looked up at the maze of low-lying pipes and ductwork that hung from the joists, and noticed that several of them had long strands of cobwebs draped on them. Feeling much colder in the basement, Allie wrapped her free arm around herself as she ducked her head.

  Connor, in a crouching position most of the time, started inspecting the narrow windows, as she stood behind him, shining a beam of light on the wall beside him.

  "Looks good - nobody's tampered with anything that I can see so far." He was feeling around the wood and metal frame.

  "Good." Allie had just noticed Patrick's fishing gear propped up against the wall of an alcove behind her. Bending down, she checked out the fishing poles, nets, and tackle box, shining the light over them. She reminded herself to take them to a donation center in the village as soon as possible. She spun around as light flooded their immediate area, and realized that Connor had found the other dangling light bulb.

  Connor walked around cautiously, peering around boxes, and looking under shelves. Allie spied her Christmas boxes in a corner and immediately had an idea.

  "Connor, would you mind helping me get these boxes upstairs when we go back up?"

  She looked around for him, and saw him peering intently into another alcove which was bare except for a small table and chair. He turned on his flashlight and a sent a beam of light across the wall, feeling the rough plastered surface with his hand. What was he looking for there, she wondered absently, more intent on getting her boxes upstairs, now that the windows and door seemed secure.

  "Sure." Connor was bent over the small desk, opening the front drawer.

  "What are you looking for in there?" Allie moved over to stand beside him.

  "Oh, nothing, it just caught my eye." He immediately moved over to another area, and after shining his light around for a minute, turned to her.

  "All clear down here. I want to check outside though. It's starting to get light." He put a hand on his hip, thoughtfully. "I'm not entirely convinced that it was an animal." He looked at the stack of boxes. "Well, let's get these up and I'll go outside after that."

  It took them two trips each to lug the various sized boxes, some overflowing with decorations, up the unsteady stairs, and up to the kitchen, where they set them in the corner by the porch. Allie stayed in the kitchen, looking over the contents of one of the boxes, while Connor went outside with the flashlight. In the purplish tinge of pre-dawn, she could see the faint yellow beam of light flickering, as he crunched around the parking area and into the backyard.

  Then she jumped. There it was - the same thunking sound she'd heard during the night.

  A moment later, Connor walked back in through the porch door. "Okay...the cop was wrong."

  "I heard that sound again." Allie felt herself shudder.

  "It wasn't an animal. Someone was trying to break the metal handle on the basement window near your bedroom. It's damaged. I don't know how the cop missed it. You can tell someone had been kneeling in front of the window, too."

  "Oh." Allie's new-found feeling of relief was immediately replaced with a new, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Connor walked past her to the island, leaned on it with his back to her, and began tapping the end of the flashlight on his palm. "I suggest you call the police and have them come back out and check for fingerprints." He looked down at the flashlight, continuing to tap it.

  "Gerard's Cliff is such a safe place to live." Allie lamented. "You never hear of anything like this happening here." She shut her eyes for a moment.

  "Allie, do you own a gun?"

  Allie's eyes shot open and she stiffened, not expecting this. She looked at his tall frame, and strong, broad shoulders, his head slightly bowed as he still stood with his back to her. She pondered his question. He swung around.

  "Do you own a gun?" Connor seemed annoyed with her, his voice rising. She blinked, her eyes widening, suddenly wary of him.

  "Yes...um. Patrick had one," she stammered. "It's in the safe under the desk." She was starting to feel very worried. "I haven't gotten it out myself..."

  "Do you know the combination?" he interrupted her.

  "Of course..." She rubbed her lips together.

  "Then...go. We need to get it." Connor swung the flashlight in an arc toward the kitchen door. Allie put down the ornament she was holding and hurried past him toward the dining room.

  When they reached the desk, Allie knelt down to a small, gray metal safe that was bolted to the floor under the overhanging desk, and pushed several buttons, and the safe door popped open. But, she wasn't going to pick up the gun. She hated guns. She got up and Connor moved into her place, wedging his much larger body down into the cubby of the desk, until he was laying on his side. He inspected the contents of the safe, then got up, holding a .32 caliber revolver in his palm, and, in his other hand, a container of bullets.

  Allie took in a deep, troubled breath, and blew it out. She hated guns with a passion, had vowed never to shoot one. She and Patrick had gone target practicing once on their property, when there were no guests, but she refused to go again. He would go out occasionally, usually when she was off painting, and she would always cringe when she heard the shots. She had not grown up around guns, and equated them with killing. She would never like them, or think of them as something for sport.

  She watched Connor silently as he inspected the gun, making sure the chambers were empty. She thought that he seemed awfully familiar with it, which made her feel both comforted, and uncomfortable at the same time.

  "Do you...shoot...guns..very often?" Allie suddenly felt like she was talking to a different man. He was clearly in charge now, and very quiet, and brusque.

  He continued checking the gun, not looking at her, his jaw tight.

  "Sometimes." His short, gruff answer made Allie feel impatient, and she fiddled with the edge of the desktop as she watched him. He checked down the barrel of the gun.

  "Are you sure we need that?" Did he really expect that she would need to shoot an intruder? Suppose she shot an innocent person by mistake?

  He turned sha
rply, and stared at her. "Yes...you do. Do you know how to shoot this?" His tone of voice was making her very nervous. She wasn't sure she knew how to take this new Connor. He was trying to help, she knew, but he was scaring the hell out of her. He glared at her impatiently.

  "I practiced with it once...with Patrick. Shooting at tin cans on a log." Allie felt sick at the thought of pointing, what was sure to be, a shaking, loaded gun at another human being. "I didn't do very well..." she trailed off. But, she thought suddenly. She was ready to hit Ethan over the head with whatever she could grab, wasn't she, in order to protect herself. If she'd found her scissors, somehow, wouldn't she have stabbed him? If it had come down to either Ethan or herself, if he had gotten more violent, Allie knew she would have done whatever it took to protect herself and her property. It had never really been an issue before now. Until Patrick had died, she hadn't been worried about being safe at the inn. She decided that if this was what it took, she could handle it.

  "I'd like to try again." Allie looked up at Connor, her brown eyes determined. "Will you show me?"