Secrets Between Them

Tea stretched out so long, it became dinner. Jennifer poured tea and refilled the jars of cream and jelly several times. Two sisters in their sixties, introduced to him as Ruth and Eileen Tisdale, returned exhausted and anxious for an early night after a day spent hiking in Arbutus Grove Provincial Park.

An hour later, a couple from Vancouver celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary, returned from their dinner at the Owl’s Nest. They were in their late forties, but they were so vibrant and fit they seemed much younger. They chatted only briefly, before disappearing up to their room.

Determined to get Jenn to himself for a bit, Nick kept talking until he’d exhausted even Philip March’s interest in history. When Annie announced it was her bedtime, Jennifer’s father reluctantly pulled himself out of his chair and said his good night, too.

At last Jennifer and Nick were alone.

The house was dark except for the dimmed light from over the table. The only sounds were the groans of old plumbing, the creaking of a house settling for the night.

Jennifer seemed a little uptight as she tapped her fingernails on the scarred wood table. He wondered what would relax her.

“Do you have any music?”

She looked relieved as she got up to turn on the stereo. “What do you like? Rock, country, classical, jazz? We have it all.”

“Do you have any of your friend’s CDs?” He cursed himself as her shoulders tightened. “But anything jazz would be good,” he amended.

She slipped on a disk from another Vancouver artist he recognized: Diana Krall.

“I picked up a case of wine after I crossed the border. How about we open a bottle?”

“That sounds nice.”

Encouraged, he ended up bringing in two bottles and once Jennifer had a glass in her hand, she finally seemed more at ease.

“I like this,” he said.

She must have thought he meant the music, because she replied, “Simone used to complain that this CD was too bland.”

Nick couldn’t have asked for a better opening. “I can see why she would say that. Simone’s music really stood out.”

Jennifer took another sip of her wine.

Nick hesitated. Decided to give it another try. “Forget Me Not, Old Friend, for instance. That was a real groundbreaker.”

The song had catapulted Simone to instant fame. Many critics still considered it the best piece of music she’d ever produced.

Of course one of the reasons the song was so unforgettable was because of the question it posed.

You see a comet cross the sky, you make a wish, it passes by; but will you remember me at the brilliant end?

Forget me not, my one true friend.

Who was the one true friend Simone had been singing about? After years of research, Nick was almost certain it had to be one of the gang from Summer Island.

But which one? Harrison, the ex-husband? Emerson, the man who had been so obsessed with Simone he’d been driven to murder? Gabe, the spurned lover? Aidan, the loyal friend of the husband?

Or Jennifer, Simone’s closest—and perhaps only—girlfriend?

Nick knew he couldn’t finish his book until he had the answer. But it didn’t seem he’d get any clues from Jennifer. At least not tonight. She still hadn’t replied to his comment about the forget-me-not song and he worried that he’d get her suspicious if he raised the subject again.

Be patient, Lancaster, he counseled himself. After all, he had a month to get what he needed.

CHAPTER THREE

JENNIFER OPENED HER EYES, certain that the announcer on her radio alarm had made a mistake. It couldn’t be quarter to eight. She never slept in.

Morning was the craziest time of Jennifer’s day. She usually prepared as much as she could the night before: setting the table, mixing the dough for muffins or scones, filling the coffeemaker with fresh grounds and water so all she’d need to do was press a button in the morning.

But last night she’d done none of that. She and Nick had talked until past midnight. Since she’d been too tired to deal with her usual late-night chores, she’d set the alarm a little earlier for the next morning.

But somehow she’d slept through it. Jennifer rubbed her eyes, then confirmed the time for herself. Damn. She only had fifteen minutes until she was supposed to serve breakfast to her five guests, plus her father and aunt.

She pulled herself out of her warm, lavender-scented sheets. Winced. Her head ached.

Then she remembered the wine she and Nick had shared last night.

When was the last time she’d had more than one or two glasses? She couldn’t remember.

She grabbed jeans and a fresh T-shirt, then slipped out to the bathroom. Sounds of someone cooking came from the kitchen. Miracle of miracles, her father must be up preparing the breakfast. She washed quickly, then hurried out to help him.

“Good morning, Jennifer.” Her father peered over his bifocals at her, then blinked as if he couldn’t quite focus this early in the morning.

He looked like a crotchety old man with his disheveled gray hair and whiskers bristling on his chin. His lean frame was lost in an oversize sweatshirt and pants that seemed as if they’d fall to the ground given one good tug. But he was definitely her hero this morning.

“Thanks, Dad.” She gave him a kiss, then checked the coffee machine. Good, he’d already switched it on. She pulled out place mats, then set the table. Her father tossed a spoonful of salt into a big bowl of batter. “What’s on the menu?”

“Pancakes with fresh blueberries. I picked ’em this morning.”

“That sounds great.” Jennifer pulled out the blender to make smoothies…one of the B and B specials. She grabbed bananas and strawberries from the freezer and blended them with vanilla yogurt and milk.

The first of the guests came into the kitchen just as she was pouring thick smoothies into tall glasses. Steve and Laura Waterton were looking forward to renting kayaks and heading for the Broken Islands.

As Jennifer answered their questions about the weather forecast, the Tisdale sisters came down.

“How did you sleep?” Jennifer asked as she poured them each a cup of coffee.

“The birds were dreadfully noisy,” Ruth said. “The racket started before dawn.”

“I thought the singing was lovely,” Eileen said. “We have so few songbirds in the city, anymore. Just robins and sparrows, really. The odd chickadee.”

Jennifer wasn’t surprised that they each felt differently about the morning birdsong. The sisters seemed to be direct opposites in everything from looks—Ruth was long and lean with angular features, while Eileen was short and plump and pretty—to temperament.

“I suppose I’ll have to sleep with the window closed tonight.” Ruth slid into the chair with the best view of the gardens.

Eileen, unperturbed by her sister’s grumbling, smiled and took the seat across from her sister.

The final guest appeared then. “Good morning, everyone.”