Haven Read online

  The woman behind the desk was about Jessie’s own age, brown haired and brown eyed, and pretty in a pleasantly unremarkable sort of way. But her smile was friendly and her voice was innately warm, which undoubtedly made her the perfect innkeeper.

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat and looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, Miss Rayburn. I was just caught off guard by the resemblance. I mean, you’re fair and Emma is dark, but otherwise…”

  “Night and day,” Jessie said, keeping her voice light. “People always said. I spoke to my sister a few days ago to let her know I was coming, so—”

  “Oh, of course. I’m Penny Willis, the innkeeper, and we were certainly expecting you. Your room is ready. David will take your luggage up as soon as he parks the car.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re up on the family floor, of course,” Penny said to Jessie in that warm, friendly tone. She came around the desk and led the way toward the stairs. “I know Emma wanted to be here to meet you, but she’s out right now. Every morning and afternoon, she walks to the park with her dog. I’ll call her cell—”

  “No, don’t disturb her.” Jessie softened that with a faint smile. “I’ll take the chance to get settled in. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”

  She followed the innkeeper up the curving staircase, wondering just how significant it was that Emma wasn’t here when she had known exactly when Jessie expected to arrive at Rayburn House.

  And Jessie was right on time.

  IT HADN’T OCCURRED to him, when he’d first heard about it, that the homecoming of Jessie Rayburn would cause him any problems at all. Why should it? He’d been a clumsy brute back then, true enough, and things had not gone according to plan, but it was a long time ago, and besides, he’d taken care to make sure anything she did remember would be…confused.

  Assuming she hadn’t simply forgotten the whole thing completely, pushing it into the back of her consciousness where she wouldn’t have to deal with it.

  It was a characteristic of hers, if he remembered correctly. Ignore what she didn’t want to face. Pretend it hadn’t happened. And if that failed, run away from it, as she had several times run away from home as a child.

  She had definitely run away from something all those years ago. And if she had run because of what had happened at the party…if she was back now because she was beginning to remember…then she might just prove to be trouble, after all.

  So when he saw her arriving on Saturday, he quashed the reckless voice urging him to pay a casual visit to Rayburn House and say hello to her.

  No need to push his luck.

  If he encountered her casually during the two weeks or so she was supposed to be here, then so be it. But seeking her out struck him as a bad idea. For now, at least.

  Besides, he was a busy man.

  EMMA RAYBURN CHECKED her watch for at least the third time, then threw the Frisbee again for her eager Sheltie to race after. They had the small park to themselves, which was a bit unusual on a Saturday in June, but since the new children’s interactive “museum” was opening downtown this weekend, Emma assumed most of the kids were there. Snacks, entertainment, lots of interesting stuff to look at and do…It was any mother’s dream summer destination for kids out of school.

  The place was bound to be a hit.

  Emma should have been there herself, she knew, to show her support both as a patron of the museum and as a community leader.

  Funny how that label had stuck to her.

  She wondered if Jessie would laugh.

  They hadn’t been close even as kids, not the sort of sisters who shared confidences and borrowed each other’s clothes. Emma had been the tomboy, the one always out on a horse or hiking in the mountains or playing sports at school. Jessie had been more of a girly girl, interested in clothes and makeup and hair even before she hit her teens.

  Outgoing when part of a team, Emma had otherwise been a bit of a loner and casual about friends, letting none get too close; raised to be self-reliant, her first impulse was never to confide in others or ask for help.

  Jessie, on the other hand, had worn her heart on her sleeve. Impulsive and emotional, she had “run away” from home half a dozen times in childhood, and was always discovered hiking determinedly a mile or two from home, heading for anywhere but here. As a teenager, she had been flirty, with more male “friends” than girlfriends, always dressing to draw attention and seemingly comfortable handling that attention.

  She and Emma had been very different in every way except their nearly identical faces set off by the night-and-day coloring; emotionally, they might as well have been strangers, or just teenagers who happened to live in the same house and saw each other only at meals, if then. Toward each other they felt a kind of detachment that mirrored their father’s temperament, so perhaps that had been why.

  Emma didn’t know. Maybe that was it, that she and her sister had never been close because their father had expected them to deal with their own problems, to rely on their own smarts and strength rather than look to others. Even to each other. He had always traveled for business, sometimes gone for weeks at a time, and, an unaffectionate man, had viewed his daughters with something closer to detachment than even mild interest. And since their mother had died when Emma was eight and Jessie ten, that was all they had really known.

  Besides, it had been fifteen years. People changed. Emma knew she had. She assumed Jessie must have as well.

  So maybe Jessie wouldn’t laugh. Maybe she wouldn’t find it at all amusing that her younger sister had become a respected businesswoman in the community.

  Maybe she wouldn’t give a damn.

  Their phone conversation had been brief, and Emma hadn’t been able to read much in her sister’s calm, matter-of-fact tone. Jessie was coming home for a couple of weeks, just to visit. Just to see all the old, familiar faces and places. That was all.

  She never had been a very good liar.

  Don’t borrow trouble. Wait and see what’s on her mind.

  Good advice to herself, Emma reflected with a sigh. Until she knew just why Jessie had really come home, it was useless to speculate. She checked her watch again, threw the Frisbee for a final time, and, as soon as Lizzie came racing back with it, called the dog to heel.

  She met no one on the walk back home, which was probably just as well. It gave her time to practice her best pleasant, neutral expression, time to silently rehearse various things she wanted to say to Jessie.

  As if she hadn’t been doing the very same thing during the scant two days since Jessie’s call.

  Emma reached Rayburn House all too soon for her peace of mind, but was reasonably sure none of her misgivings showed on her face as she greeted a couple of guests out on the porch and then went inside.

  One glance at Penny’s face told her that Jessie had arrived, so she merely said, “I lost track of time. Is she upstairs?”

  “Yeah, for at least fifteen minutes. Said she’d unpack and settle in.” Penny shook her head. “Wow, you two really do look alike. Dark and fair, but otherwise…”

  “Night and day. We heard it since we were kids.”

  “So she said. She seemed very nice. Pleasant.”

  If there was a question in that, Emma chose to ignore it. “I’ll go up,” she said. “See you later.”

  “Okay.”

  Emma climbed the stairs, past the second-floor guest rooms and up to the third-floor family “apartment.” There was a broad, wide landing at the top of the stairs, with several doors opening off it. One led up to the attic used only for storage; one was for linens and other storage for this floor; and then double doors led into the family apartment.

  Beside the double doors was a discreet security keypad. Only Emma and Penny had the code. And now Jessie.

  Emma punched in the code and let herself and her dog into the apartment. It was a lot of space reserved for virtually no additional family members, and Emma had been toying with the idea of reconfiguring the space so tha
t the inn could boast at least a couple of third-floor guest suites with very nice views of downtown and the mountains.

  Maybe next year. She hadn’t decided.

  Her dog headed for the kitchen and her water dish, and Emma was left there hesitating for a moment. Her suite was off the right-hand hallway, and part of her wanted to retreat there. Put off the meeting with her sister for another hour. Or two.

  Idiot. She won’t bite you.

  Squaring her shoulders, Emma turned to the left and went down the hallway to Jessie’s suite. She didn’t let herself hesitate again, instead raising a hand to knock briskly and then barely waiting for the invitation to enter before opening the door and walking into the sitting area.

  She left the door partially open behind her, knowing Lizzie would eventually come in search of her, but her gaze was fixed on the woman coming out of the bedroom to greet her.

  A woman now, not a girl. Fifteen years was, after all, a long time. But she would have recognized Jessie, because that face and those eyes were very like her own, except that her sister was the fair one.

  Night and day.

  “Hey, Emma.” Jessie spoke as though those years had not passed, as though they had greeted each other only yesterday. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

  They had never been a hugging sort of family.

  “Well, it was too big for just me to rattle around in,” Emma heard herself respond just as casually. “This seemed the best idea.”

  “Clearly. I hear the tourists have discovered Baron Hollow.”

  “And just in the nick of time. With the mills gone and other industries deserting us, the town was in danger of becoming one of those sad places with boarded-up buildings and no people.”

  Jessie nodded slowly. “Good thing there are some artists and craftspeople to go with the nice scenery. And good that the old ghost stories can finally be useful for something other than scaring the kids.” She walked over to the very compact and efficient kitchenette along one wall and opened the fridge. “All stocked. You?”

  Blunt, Emma said, “I didn’t know if you’d want to be on your own or if you intended…”

  “Family time?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I haven’t been sure myself. Something to drink, Emma? I hear you’ve been to the park.”

  “I’ll take a soda.” Emma was, in a strange way, fascinated by the determined small talk. She took a few more steps into the room and sat down in one of the chairs flanking the sofa.

  Jessie joined her, choosing to sit on the end of the sofa nearest her sister’s chair, and handed over a frosty plastic bottle. “I’m sure there are glasses, but I haven’t explored yet,” she said.

  “This is fine.” No rings. I wonder if she ever married.

  “I never did,” Jessie said. “You?”

  A breath escaped Emma, and she busied herself twisting the cap off her drink. “No. So…you can still do that. I wondered.”

  It was the only thing demonstrating a kind of closeness, a connection, that the sisters had ever known, existing since their mother had died. And it was purely one-way; Jessie had been able to read Emma’s thoughts sometimes, but never the other way around—rough on the sister who was more private.

  It had made both girls uneasy from the beginning, and it was something they had rarely ever mentioned. If anything, it had helped to drive an even deeper wedge between them.

  Jessie frowned. “I shouldn’t have, actually. I’ve built walls, guards, and they’re all up. Nobody else’s thoughts have slipped through. I shouldn’t have been able to read yours.”

  “I guess some things don’t change no matter how hard we try to change them,” Emma said.

  “I guess not,” Jessie agreed, and her tone was grim.

  HE WAS STARTLED when he saw her walking downtown. Jessie Rayburn. Startled not because he hadn’t known she was coming home for a visit—everyone knew that—but because in his mind she was still seventeen.

  She had been thinner then, her fair hair longer, and she’d walked with more of a pseudo-sexy swagger that had been very much for show. Now she walked with a confidence he had a hunch was real and hard-won.

  Downtown was busy, so he didn’t feel anybody would notice that he watched her for at least two blocks. He watched her because something about the searching way she was looking around, studying the buildings and the people she passed, caused a queasy unease to stir deep in his belly.

  It had been easy to forget what they’d done all those years ago. Well, maybe not easy, not at first, but eventually he’d been able to push it from his mind and keep it gone. From his conscience. Because there hadn’t been any consequences, after all, not even visible…damage. To her, at least. Their victim. As for the consequences to him, they had been manageable, especially when he pretended that none of it had been his fault, anyway. And as the years passed, the memories had dimmed so much that he’d almost convinced himself it had been nothing more than a drunken dream.

  Nightmare.

  But here Jessie Rayburn was, home again, walking with her head up, her shoulders back, and her gaze searching. For what? For whom? For him?

  For them?

  His mouth was dry, and the queasiness in his stomach made it a sour dustiness.

  She could ruin him. She could destroy his life. Even now, even after all these years, she could punish him.

  Them.

  Because there was no statute of limitations on what they had done.

  She could destroy them all.

  DECIDING ON AN exploring walk downtown, Jessie had left Emma back at Rayburn House, both of them still stiff and a bit too casual with each other, both aware of an underlying discomfort that was more than their fifteen years apart.

  Jessie hadn’t picked up any more of her sister’s thoughts, but she wasn’t certain whether that was because of Emma’s walls or her own. Interesting if it was Emma; what Jessie knew now that she hadn’t known as a kid was that the majority of people who had mental walls had built them consciously or subconsciously because of psychic ability—active or latent.

  Was Emma psychic, after all? Jessie would have said not. Had said not, as a matter of fact.

  Part of her wanted to ask. Part of her didn’t.

  In any case, all she knew now was that there were too many unspoken things between them, too many years and too much differing life experience that separated them, and neither sister was willing to open that door.

  Not yet, at least. Maybe not ever.

  What if I’m putting us both through this for nothing?

  The thought of returning to Haven no better off than when she’d left was depressing. Damned depressing.

  Maggie had reminded her that she’d need to open herself up once she was here, and that was the one thing she’d resisted. She was still buttoned up tight.

  Jessie’s head told her that this was only her first day, after all, and that she had at least ten days, maybe two weeks, if she stayed as long as she’d planned. So there was time, surely. Time to let herself settle in, to talk to Emma—assuming she could. Time to feel more comfortable here before she allowed her walls to drop and her other senses to probe so that she could, finally, understand and face the truth of what had happened to her here all those years ago.

  There was time.

  “No. There isn’t.”

  Jessie had been strolling past an interesting break between the buildings downtown, wider than an alley, that had been turned rather creatively into a park-like or picnic-like space with greenery and flowers and little seating areas, both chairs with small tables and larger picnic tables.

  She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at the young woman standing near a stone bench maybe a dozen feet away from her. A young woman wearing winter clothing and a sad, anxious expression. A young woman Jessie could, faintly, see through.

  A spirit. A spirit she could see with greater clarity than she’d ever been able to see one before. With all her walls up. Without eve
n trying to see the dead, without even reaching out or opening a door.

  The dead had come to her.

  Jessie glanced around quickly, saw no one else near, and took several steps toward the spirit.

  “I shouldn’t be able to see you,” she said, low and fierce.

  “You see me because you have to. Because you’re here, and you’re the only one who can see. It’s bigger than you and your memories, what’s happened here. However it started, it’s so much bigger now. Bigger than your pain and your shame and your guilt. You have to help me. You have to help us.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You have to stop him before he goes on killing.”

  “YOU’RE SURE?” MAGGIE Garrett asked calmly.

  “Oh, yeah.” Jessie struggled to keep her own voice steady. “A young woman, dressed for winter in clothes about a decade out-of-date, sad face, almost transparent, creepy stuff to say. Definitely a spirit. And I wasn’t looking for one. At all.” Jessie had walked back to Rayburn House and managed to make it up to her room without encountering anyone who wanted to talk to her. Which was a good thing, since she felt jumpy as hell and doubted she was hiding it.

  She had always envied Emma her outward serenity.

  “Do you believe this spirit is connected to why you went home? Why you needed to?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t see how, but since I don’t really remember what happened except in flashes that make no sense to me, I can’t be sure of anything. All I can tell you is that she asked me to stop a killer, and I gather whoever she was referring to has killed more than once.” She kept her voice low, more out of habit than because she had any expectation of being overheard.

  “But there’s no evidence of a serial killer operating in Baron Hollow?”

  “I got on my laptop as soon as I returned here, and checked the Haven and SCU databases; there’s nothing about an active serial in this area, not even the suspicion of one. I also went online and checked the local newspaper archives, but they’re still working on getting most of the back issues digitized; for that older stuff, I’ll have to physically go to the library. Online, I could only go back a year or so.”