Wait Until Dark: Carolina Moon Series, Book 3 Page 4

  “It’s a key. Where’d you get that?”

  Felicity frowned. There was no use acting like she was avoiding the question. That would only raise red flags. She needed to make it seem like the key was no big deal. “It’s nothing. A toy.”

  “Let me see it.” Before Felicity could stop her, Aunt Bonny snatched it from her hands. Her aunt studied it several minutes, grunting as she turned it, held it close, held it far away, and felt the various grooves. “It’s Blackbeard’s key.”

  Felicity laughed out loud. “Funny.”

  “I’m not laughing. Look at it. See that mark right there.” Bonny pointed to a tiny branding on the handle. “That’s Blackbeard’s symbol.”

  Felicity blinked when she realized her aunt was serious. She studied the small symbol, but it was so tiny she couldn’t make out any of the details. “That’s not Blackbeard’s symbol. In fact, I don’t even think he had a symbol.”

  “I know he did.”

  “Aunt Bonny . . .” she warned. Felicity knew exactly where this conversation would go.

  Her aunt didn’t back down. “Rumors have circulated for years that he roamed the waters around here. We know he took up residence down in Bath, but a lot of people think he came up here to Hertford too. You know the story . . .”

  Felicity frowned. “I’ve looked into that rumor myself, Aunt Bonny. There’s no proof anywhere that Blackbeard was married to one of our relatives and we’re in his lineage.”

  She shrugged, as if Felicity’s opinion meant nothing. “He had several wives, most of them off the books. I know you don’t believe me. You trust in your education more. But I’m telling you the truth. You know I was practically a historian.”

  “You worked at the visitor center,” Felicity corrected. Her aunt had held many careers in her life—and she’d been married three times. One of those careers was in a doctor’s office. She’d also traveled with a carnival for a summer.

  “Only in title. I would have officially been the historian if they’d had any money to pay me.” She let out a harrumph.

  Felicity sighed, not liking arguing with her aunt. But she’d heard the stories from her aunt all of her life. Bonny was determined that Blackbeard had docked one of his boats in the river right outside this home, and he’d fathered children with Felicity’s great-great-great-great-great-grandmother.

  The idea was crazy.

  Just to put the thought out of her mind, Felicity had researched her lineage for herself, and there was no proof of that. No proof at all.

  “Face it—we’ve got rebel’s blood,” her aunt said in a singsong voice.

  “You should say thieves’ blood—if it’s true.”

  Now her aunt had put a crazy idea in her head. Instead of thinking logically, Felicity was thinking about ancient pirates.

  Great. As if she didn’t have enough on her mind.

  A few minutes later, they sat down to an awkward meal around the farm-style table in the kitchen. Aunt Bonny had been simmering the family recipe: Brunswick stew. The tomato-based dish was thick with butter beans, corn, okra, potatoes, and chicken. The scent of it always made her feel right at home. Aunt Bonny had also put some fresh bread in the oven, and the yeasty goodness of it made Felicity’s stomach grumble.

  It was the perfect meal for the cold day.

  But Bonny was mad at Felicity; Felicity was agitated with her aunt; and neither of them trusted the stranger in their home.

  Felicity remembered the scar across his chest. It didn’t matter that beneath the scar he was sculpted with noteworthy pecks, as her aunt had so graciously pointed out. Men like Brody sought power and control. She didn’t have to know him to know that.

  All of that lent to awkward conversation—or lack thereof. Instead, Felicity stared at her stew. Out the window at the white that continued to blanket the darkening sky. At the tiny flakes that clung to the window, forming fascinating crystal patterns.

  A candle was lit on the table, and its flames flickered invitingly in the otherwise cringe-worthy mustard-yellow and pea-green kitchen. Felicity had always had an affinity for candles and lanterns and any other natural form of light. Her grandma had kept lanterns around the house, and Felicity had pulled a few out when she heard about the approaching storm.

  “I didn’t realize this was the home of Fanny Pasture,” Brody started. “She was quite the fixture around the area. I used to see her in town, and she’d always insist on getting a kiss on the cheek.”

  Felicity smiled. “That sounds like Grandma.”

  Brody sobered. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Felicity’s heart panged with grief. “Thank you.”

  “It was senseless what happened to her. I’m glad the man responsible is now in jail. He deserves to be there for a long time.”

  Her throat tightened at the memories. “He does.”

  He took another bite of the stew and wiped his mouth. “I don’t ever remember seeing you around town before. I guess you weren’t here often?”

  Familiar guilt twisted inside her. “No, not so much. Grandma always insisted she was fine. I . . . I shouldn’t have believed her.”

  “She wanted you to spread your wings,” Aunt Bonny said. “If she’d needed help, she would have asked.”

  A few minutes of silence passed. Felicity wished she believed her aunt’s words, but she didn’t. She never would.

  “This stew is good, by the way,” Brody finally said.

  She shifted again. This was the perfect time to find out some information about the man trapped here with her. After all, information was power, right? And Brody had known her grandma. Knowing that helped her to let down some of her guard.

  “Where are you from?” She sipped her water, trying not to look too interested. “You sound like a local.”

  He nodded. “I grew up here in Hertford.”

  “You’ve never left? Not many people can say that.”

  He shrugged. “Only for college.”

  “You must really like it here.” The town did have its appeal. There was a row of historic shops, all nestled next to the river. Historic homes decorated the streets, and the whole town gave off a friendly vibe that Felicity had always admired.

  He shrugged. Some of the uncertainty left his eyes, but he looked tired. “It feels like home.”

  “You have family?” Aunt Bonny tore off a piece of bread and slathered it with some butter.

  “Both of my parents are still here. And, by here, I mean they’re in Florida for the winter. They still consider Hertford home.”

  “How long have you been with the Coast Guard?” Felicity asked.

  “Seven years. It’s all I ever wanted to do. When I was a boy, I was on the Outer Banks and I saw the Coast Guard save this man from rough waters. They did a helicopter rescue. It was incredible. I knew from that moment what I wanted to do.”

  “It’s nice to find something you’re good at.”

  “It is.”

  She wished she could say the same. She’d thought she was good at her career, but in the end she’d become a laughingstock. How would she ever get past that and move on? No one in his or her right mind would hire her now.

  Before the conversation could go any further, the overhead lights flickered. Felicity braced herself. She’d known it was a good possibility that the electricity would go out. She’d only hoped it wouldn’t.

  Nearly as soon as the thought fluttered through her head, the house went dark. Only the brightness of the snow outside and the candle on the table offered any relief from the dimness.

  “It’s going to get cold in here pretty quickly,” Brody said. “Do you have any more wood to keep the fire going?”

  “We have some out back,” Felicity said. “It’s so wet from the nor’easter a couple of days ago I don’t think it will do any good. I already used the dry stuff.”

  “If it’s all we have, it’s going to have to work. How about if I go check it out?”

  She nodded, at once grateful he was here.
Aunt Bonny wasn’t as strong as she’d once been. The cold could bring on pneumonia, and her aunt might never bounce back.

  “Let me grab my coat.” He stomped across the rickety wooden floor to where they’d left his coat spread on the couch to dry.

  As he pulled it on, Felicity realized it wasn’t going to be enough. “Let me find you a hat, scarf, and gloves.”

  She hurried up to the room where her grandma had left her father’s clothing. Ignoring the tinge of grief she felt, she found some winter gear and hurried downstairs to give it to Brody. “Here you go.”

  As he started to slip the hat on, she grabbed his arm, her gaze fixated on his forehead. “Your bandage . . . watch out.”

  He offered a rueful smile. “Thanks.”

  As soon as she realized she was touching him, she jerked her hand away. She needed to stay far away from Brody Joyner. Once the snow cleared, he would be out of her life, and she could return to her life as a hermit.

  And that was exactly what she wanted for the future.

  Chapter Six

  Brody remembered the fleeting vulnerable look in Felicity’s eyes—and then how quickly she’d pulled away from him like a scared rabbit. What was hiding behind that mask she wore? She was fiercely trying to protect herself and remain guarded. It was understandable in one sense. She had a strange man in her home. It was prudent to be cautious. But . . . she seemed a little too jumpy and untrusting

  Whatever she was hiding, he found it fascinating—which wasn’t a good thing.

  Since Andrea had disappeared, he hadn’t really dated. Sure, he’d casually gone out a few times. He’d just started dating someone—if five dates counted as dating—when the investigation into Andrea’s disappearance had sprung up again and thrown him into a tailspin. He’d broken things off, feeling that familiar guilt in knowing he hadn’t been able to help Andrea when she’d needed him the most.

  Brody had known what Andrea’s family life was like. He knew her struggles. Yet he’d gone away to college and left her to fend for herself. He’d figured she’d graduate soon and be able to get out on her own. They’d get married. Start a new life away from her family.

  In an instant, all that had changed. Things would be different right now if he had been there to walk her home from school that day. But he hadn’t been, and now she was dead because of it.

  He’d carry that guilt with him every day for the rest of his life. Dating again—dating someone else—seemed a betrayal of her memory, for some reason. If he’d failed once, who was to say he wouldn’t fail again? No, he didn’t deserve another chance.

  He stepped onto the back porch and a gust of icy wind caught him. The conditions outside were brutal—the kind where he encouraged people to stay inside. But the snow did seem to be letting up some.

  Why had he been out in this? Was it like Joshua had said—was he on his way home from a rescue when he’d simply slid on the icy road? That made the most sense.

  He was generally more cautious, and he couldn’t help but think there must be more to the story.

  He stared into the winter wonderland in front of him and prayed he’d be able to find this firewood. As he took a step toward the edge of the porch, he paused.

  Was that a footprint?

  Anywhere else in the yard, the snow would have covered such a thing. But here, the overhang above the back porch blocked much of the snowfall. He stomped toward the impression and bent down to view it.

  It was fresh. Crisp. Small indentions through snow.

  Definitely footprints, he realized. Leading right up to the house. And they weren’t from a woman. These were too large.

  He walked over to where the prints stopped by the window and peered inside.

  From this vantage point, someone would have a perfect view of the home’s interior, from the kitchen table all the way into the living room. It wouldn’t make sense for either Felicity or her aunt to have left these tracks. They said they’d found him in the front yard.

  His spine stiffened, and he glanced around. Was someone out there? Would someone risk traipsing through the snow in order to get to this house? If so, why? And where was the guy now?

  He didn’t like this. He needed to get that wood and get back inside.

  He stepped off the porch into the deep snow. He hoped this storm let up soon. There were too many people in this town and in this county who weren’t prepared for weather events like this. And with the roads being closed, getting help would be hard.

  The wood was beside an old shed, just like Felicity had told him. He quickly grabbed an armload and hauled it back to the door. He kept his eyes open for danger as he worked, but he saw nothing, just a winter wonderland framed by the Perquimans River and empty fields where cotton had once grown.

  His gut still sloshed with unrest, though, every time he thought about those footprints. He hoped his gut was wrong and that danger wasn’t lurking close.

  But his gut, on more than one occasion, had been the only thing to keep him alive.

  Chapter Seven

  Felicity knelt next to Brody, trying to help him rekindle the fire. Though the electricity had only been off for probably fifteen or twenty minutes, coolness had already invaded the house. The place was rickety, at best. But without heat, it would soon be an icebox.

  “Say, did you walk across to your back porch any since the snow started?” Brody asked as he crumpled some newspaper beneath the wood.

  His voice sounded casual, but her instinct told her there was more to his words. “I stepped out once, but only for a moment. Why?”

  “Did you walk over to the window?” He shoved one more piece of newspaper beneath the logs and then reached for the lighter.

  His question struck her as strange. “Why would I do that? No, I just stepped outside and considered getting some wood. I decided not to. Bad choice, obviously.”

  He nodded slowly, igniting a flame. “Just wondering.”

  She rocked back on her heels and tried to figure out where he was going with this. “No, you’re not. What’s going on?”

  He paused as the newspaper turned a glowing orange. “Do you think your aunt went outside?”

  “And looked in the window? No. Why would she do that?” Her curiosity turned into irritation. She wished he would just tell her what he was thinking and stop going in circles.

  He turned toward her. Firelight made his face look warm and possibly kinder than he deserved. “There were footprints outside.”

  Footprints outside? That didn’t make any sense. “The snow would have covered any footprints.”

  “Not on the porch. The snow is blowing from the opposite direction.”

  Her spine pinched as the implications of his words sank in. “Why would someone be on my porch in this snowstorm?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me. Any neighbors who might be prowling around?”

  “No, there’s no one.”

  He poked the wood as sparks from the paper ignited it. As he did so, another cool draft swept through the house, reminding Felicity of just how cold it could get. This house was so drafty.

  Her mind continued to race. “Besides, if someone had been out there, why didn’t they knock or come inside? Why just peer into the window? Unless . . .”

  Unless someone was simply watching her. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. She shivered as she mentally finished her thought.

  “I’m going to go lock the doors.” She jetted to her feet and rushed toward the front of the house, turning the flimsy locks. She knew it wouldn’t do much good. The doors were nice and solid, but the hinges were old and rusty.

  Despite how futile it seemed, she slid and snapped and turned each of the locks in place on all three of the exterior doors. Thankfully, her aunt had gone to lie down for a few minutes so she wouldn’t ask any more questions.

  As she turned the last lock, she remembered the key in her pocket. Did this trouble have anything to do with it? Or was she reading too much into this?

&n
bsp; Maybe it wasn’t the key at all. Maybe it was Brody.

  Feeling another rush of nerves, she quickly closed all the curtains as well. The last thing she needed was a Peeping Tom, and, until she knew more about this situation, she needed to remain cautious.

  Of course, if Brody was a bad guy, that would mean no one could see into her house if she needed help. Who was to say Brody hadn’t left those tracks? Maybe he made all of this up.

  “Do you have any more guns in the house?” Brody stood from the fire as she walked back into the room. Thankfully, a small flame already blazed.

  Guns. Brody was asking her about guns. But what if he was the one she needed protection from? She couldn’t hand over her weapons to a man who might be dangerous.

  “My grandpa had some old rifles, I think, for hunting. But I doubt there’s any ammo. You really think we need guns?”

  His steely gaze met hers. “I think we should be prepared for the worst. Something doesn’t feel right in my gut. I don’t know what.”

  She shuddered, wondering exactly what “the worst” looked like.

  She didn’t want to find out.

  A nagging feeling remained in Brody’s gut. Something was wrong. Something had happened to make him crash his truck and end up here—something more than icy roads. He was sure of it.

  “How much longer are they calling for this snow?” Brody’s hands went to his hips as the fire warmed his backside.

  Felicity frowned. “Through the night, and then it’s supposed to taper off in the morning. Who knows how long this blanket of ice will stick around, though?”

  “Do you have enough food and supplies?”

  She cast a dirty look his way. “I’m not totally incompetent. In fact, we were getting along fine before I dragged you inside my house.”

  He raised his hands. “Touché, touché. Sorry. I’m just trying to assess what’s needed.”

  “I ran to the store when I heard a storm was coming. I think we’ll be okay. If not, I found some preserves my grandma made. I don’t know how old they are, however.”