Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry Read online

  And one of them, Emily thought grimly, might even have committed murder.

  In spite of the sunshine streaming in through her windshield, she shuddered. It was a day to go berry-picking and cloud-watching. Not a day to have murder on one’s mind, but, unfortunately, Emily couldn’t seem to think of much else. Especially since her conversation with Matthew that morning.

  She pulled her car into the parking lot of the Paradise Town Library, which was situated two blocks over from Main Street and near the park. The library was housed in a charming little redbrick building that had once served as a one-room schoolhouse. An old-fashioned bell still hung near the entrance to the building, and the trees sprawling across the spacious lawn still bore the scars from dozens of initials painstakingly carved into their bark.

  Inside, however, the library was surprisingly modern, even computerized, and Nella Talbot, the librarian, was more than eager to help. She stood over Emily’s shoulder as Emily scrolled through screen after screen of fifteen-year-old newspaper articles.

  “What exactly are you looking for?” Nella asked.

  “I wish I knew.” Emily looked up and smiled. She hadn’t seen Nella in years, but the woman hadn’t changed much. She was still extremely thin, with the quiet, athletic grace of a ballet dancer, and her fair hair was pulled back from her face and secured with a plain silver barrette. She wore glasses, which Emily didn’t remember, but instead of detracting from her appearance, the lenses seemed to magnify the violet-blue of her eyes, giving them a dreamy quality.

  Everything about the woman was soft and quiet and understated—exactly the attributes one would desire in a librarian.

  Nella said shyly, “I wondered when you’d come by.” She shifted the heavy reference book she carried from one arm to the other and gave a sheepish little shrug. “I happened to be at the meeting last night. I heard what you said about solving the Wilcox murder.”

  “I suppose you’ve read the paper this morning, as well,” Emily said dryly.

  A smile hovered at the corner of Nella’s lips. “It was hard to miss,” she admitted. She set the book on the table beside her, then, hesitating for only a moment, sat down beside Emily at the computer. “I think it’s great what you’re doing. Solving an old murder. It’s so exciting.”

  Nella Talbot was full of surprises. She was the first person in town to show Emily the least bit of support, and that made her instantly warm to the librarian.

  “Not many people in Paradise share your opinion,” Emily replied. “I think a few would even like to string me up for causing so much trouble.”

  “But that’s the way you’ve always been,” Nella said. Emily glanced at her, but from the placid expression on Nella’s face, Emily could tell the comment wasn’t meant to be mean.

  “I guess I have always been a bit of a rabble-rouser,” Emily agreed.

  Nella’s eyes gleamed. “I remember hearing about some of the things you used to do in high school, organizing sit-ins and walkouts and what have you. I could never do anything like that.”

  “All it takes is a lack of good judgment.”

  Nella laughed quietly as she adjusted the skirt of her blue shirtwaist, then crossed her legs primly, as if she were settling in for a nice long chat. It came to Emily suddenly that the woman must be lonely. There probably wasn’t much traffic at the Paradise Town Library, and as best Emily could remember, Nella had always been something of a loner anyway. An outsider who never quite fit in. Emily felt a certain kinship with her for that.

  Nella said, “What made you come back to Paradise, anyway? I mean, there aren’t exactly a lot of opportunities around here.”

  “No,” Emily agreed, “but it is home.”

  Nella nodded vaguely. Her eyes were trained on the computer monitor, and Emily turned. The screen had stopped on an article about the Wilcox murder. The picture above the text was of Miss Rosabel Talbot, and the young woman beside her was Nella.

  “You were there, weren’t you?” Emily asked.

  Nella’s blue eyes took on a faraway look, much as Miss Rosabel’s had the day before, when she related the details of the murder to Emily and Mike Durbin.

  “It was terrible,” Nella said, in a soft, anxious voice. “Horrible. It’s something I’ll never forget. All that blood…”

  “Your aunt said the same thing,” Emily told her. “I drove down to Batesville to visit with her yesterday.”

  Nella looked surprised. “You did? But…why?”

  “She seemed the obvious person to talk to first.” Emily paused for a moment, then said, “Were you with Miss Rosabel when she discovered the body?”

  Nella shook her head. “I’d already left for school. I didn’t hear about the murder until later that day, but I…I helped Aunt Rosabel clean the room once the…investigation was over.”

  Emily grimaced, imagining what it must have been like for a seventeen-year-old to have to deal with something so grisly. Jenny Wilcox had been stabbed fifteen times. The walls and floors must have been splattered with blood. “Your aunt said you two witnessed a fight between Tony Vincent and Wade Drury the night before Jenny Wilcox’s body was found. Do you remember much about it?”

  Nella pushed her glasses up her nose with one slim finger. “I remember that Tony had been drinking. He was drunk, in fact, and when Tony drank he became…unreasonable.”

  “Violent?”

  Nella shrugged. “I’d heard so, but that night was the first time I’d ever seen his temper firsthand. I really thought he was going to kill Wade Drury. He probably would have, if it had been anyone else, but Wade knew how to handle himself. He wasn’t as strong as Tony, but he was smarter. Tony had worked himself into a drunken rage, and he let his emotions get in the way. But Wade was so cool. Like ice water. He could have killed Tony if he’d wanted to.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “No. When he knew Tony had had enough, Wade just got up and walked away.”

  “Doesn’t sound like the actions of a cold-blooded killer,” Emily mused.

  “But then, no one knows exactly how a killer acts, do they? Until he murders someone, I mean.” Nella stood and brushed the wrinkles from her cotton skirt. “Well, I’d better get back to work. If you need anything else, just holler.” She picked up the reference book from the table, and started to turn away. Then she said hesitantly, “I wonder…that is…would you mind if I dropped by your inn sometime? I haven’t been in that old house in years, and I’d love to see how you’ve fixed it up. With your flair, I’m sure it must look wonderful.”

  Emily couldn’t help being flattered. It was the first time anyone in town had shown the least bit of interest in her renovations to the Talbot house. She smiled warmly. “I’d love to have you drop by. Come anytime. Maybe we can have coffee or something.”

  Nella’s own smile seemed shy and almost pathetically grateful. “I’d like that,” she said. “Well, back to work.” She patted the encyclopedia in her arms, then turned and disappeared into the rows and rows of books.

  Emily went back to her own work. Absorbed in the articles, she hardly noticed the shadow that fell across the computer screen a few minutes later. The deep voice that spoke behind her, however, could not be ignored. He said, “Any luck?”

  Emily turned and found Matthew lounging against the desk behind her. A little thrill raced through her as she took in his appearance—the leather jacket, the jeans and the boots. The half smile playing at the corners of his tempting, tantalizing mouth.

  Be still, my heart, she thought as she tried to remain outwardly calm. “Not much,” she told him. “The local newspaper accounts were pretty sparse.”

  He straightened and moved toward her. Emily could smell the wind on his clothes as he bent over her shoulder and scanned the article she had pulled up on the screen. “What about the Little Rock papers?”

  His breath was warm on her neck. Emily thought the hairs at her nape must be curling. Not to mention her toes.

  “The major papers only
go back ten years.”

  “Too bad. We’ll have to look elsewhere for a lead, then.”

  Emily turned her head just a fraction. It was thrilling how close they suddenly were. So close, Emily could see the tiny lines that fanned out around his eyes and mouth, and the faint masculine shadow of his beard. So close, she could look deep into his eyes and see the hint of secrets that lurked somewhere in those intriguing gray depths. So close, everything stilled within her.

  “We?” she breathed.

  As if the proximity were getting to him, too, Matthew straightened and backed away. He sat down in the chair Nella had vacated, sprawling his long legs in front of him. “I told you this morning I might be able to help you.”

  “Yes, you did,” Emily said. “But I’ve been wondering since then why. Are you a reporter?”

  “No.”

  “A cop?”

  “I just like mysteries.”

  “And you came all the way from Memphis to Paradise, Arkansas, just because you read about an old murder in the paper?”

  “Well,” he said, “there was a picture of you with the article.”

  Emily said, “Oh,” and quite literally felt as if the breath had been knocked clean out of her. Matthew’s smile deepened, and she thought, Please, no more. I can’t take a killer smile on top of so much charm.

  The combination was positively lethal, and Emily had no doubt that at any moment she’d say or do something to make a complete idiot of herself.

  So she said nothing at all. Did nothing at all. And meanwhile, her heart raced inside her chest.

  Matthew cocked his head slightly. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, it’s just—”

  “You still don’t trust me.”

  “Well—”

  “I understand. I’m a stranger, and from what I’ve seen, strangers aren’t exactly welcomed with open arms in Paradise. At least not all strangers.”

  “You have to look like a tourist,” Emily explained. “And you don’t.”

  “Should I be hitting all the art galleries? Browsing the craft shows? Taking long walks in the woods and gathering wildflowers?”

  It was an incongruous picture. Emily said bluntly, “It wouldn’t help. You’d never pass for a tourist.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you look too—”

  One dark brow arched. “Too what?”

  She searched for the right word. “Intense. Brooding. You don’t look like you’re on vacation. You look like a man with a mission.”

  The amusement in his eyes vanished. His features seemed to harden before Emily’s eyes, and she shivered, glimpsing a darkness inside him that she had no wish to see. Matthew Steele had seen things, done things. It frightened Emily to think of what sins his immortal soul might harbor.

  “You look like a man with a definite purpose in life,” she said softly, mesmerized in spite of herself by the very qualities inside him that frightened her.

  He shook his head. “I might have once,” he said, with what sounded like regret to Emily. “But not anymore. I’m free to do whatever I want, and right now, all I want is to help you solve a fifteen-year-old murder.”

  “Which brings us back to my original question,” Emily answered. “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  Because she didn’t know anything about him, Emily told herself. She didn’t even know whether Matthew Steele was his real name, or what his real purpose for coming to Paradise was. Stuart would have a conniption if he knew she was contemplating spending time alone with this tall, dark, handsome stranger who might or might not be a murderer.

  And, after all, Stuart had been right about Eugene Sprague all those years ago. He’d warned Emily that Eugene was no good, and his assessment couldn’t have been more on target. If Emily had listened to her brother back then, she might have saved herself a lot of grief.

  Emily knew what Stuart would say to her if he was here right now. He’d tell her to run as far and as fast as she could from a man like Matthew Steele. He’d tell her to use her brain instead of her heart for once in her life. He’d tell her she’d be a fool to be taken in a second time by a good-looking man who practically oozed sensuality.

  Emily’s gaze met Matthew’s. Her mind was made up. She knew what she had to do. She took a deep breath and said, “I think we should go talk to Miss Rosabel Talbot again. She may have remembered something else since Mike and I were there yesterday.”

  “Let’s go, then,” Matthew said, standing.

  “Just let me clean up a little here first.” Emily turned back to the computer. A loud bang at the front of the library startled her, and her fingers slid off the keyboard. Both she and Matthew whirled toward the noise.

  Nella Talbot stood in the doorway of her office, wearing an expression Emily could remember having seen only once before in her life, when a deer had been caught and paralyzed by the headlights of her car.

  Like that deer, Nella remained motionless, mesmerized, staring straight at Matthew Steele.

  Lying at her feet was the stack of books that had tumbled from her arms.

  Chapter Five

  “What in the world was that all about?” Emily asked as she and Matthew left the library. “Did you see the way she was staring at you?” Granted, Emily liked looking at Matthew herself—who wouldn’t?—but Nella’s stunned expression had hardly been one of admiration.

  Matthew stopped beside his motorcycle and turned to her. “Maybe she didn’t hear me come in. She was probably just startled to see someone else in the library.”

  Emily wasn’t convinced. She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, she was surprised, all right, but she was staring at you as if she recognized you.”

  Matthew shrugged. “I have the kind of face that always reminds people of someone they know.”

  Emily started to contradict him. Matthew Steele reminded her of no one but himself. She’d never met anyone even remotely like him. But he was handing her a helmet. Emily gazed down at it. “What’s this for?”

  “We’re going to see Miss Rosabel, aren’t we?”

  “On your motorcycle?”

  “Why not?”

  Emily stared at the Harley. She’d always wanted to ride on the back of a bike, but now that she was actually confronted with the opportunity, the thing looked huge and powerful, and Emily realized she had no idea what kept it from toppling over.

  Matthew straddled the bike. “Ready?” He sat there waiting for her, his black leather jacket gleaming dully in the late-afternoon sunlight and his mirrored sunglasses revealing only a distorted image of herself. Emily had no idea what he might be thinking.

  She took the helmet—she noticed he didn’t have one—and tugged it on her head. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” She climbed on the back of the Harley, fumbled for the correct place to put her feet, then slipped her arms around Matthew’s waist.

  “Hang on.”

  He didn’t have to tell her twice. Emily clung to him for dear life as he gunned the engine and put the bike into gear. Then, with a jerk and a roar, they were off.

  Nella stood watching them from the front window of the library, and Emily wanted to wave, but she didn’t dare release her death grip on Matthew. Nella didn’t wave, either, merely stared after them as they left, and Emily wondered again about the librarian’s strange reaction to Matthew.

  Actually, Emily was having a pretty strange reaction to him herself. She found she liked being this close to him and having her arms around him. She liked the way his body felt against hers. It was a nice place to be, she decided. A very nice place to be.

  As they rode down Main Street, Emily glanced up at the window of her brother’s office, wondering what he would think if he could see her now. He wouldn’t be surprised. Nothing she did would surprise him anymore, just as nothing she did would ever please him.

  She felt a pang of sadness at the thought. Stuart was the only family she had left, and the distance between them hurt her. She
wished things could be different, but, unfortunately, the fourteen years separating their ages made Stuart seem more like her father than her brother. It was his nature to try to tell her what to do, just as it was Emily’s nature to rebel against his advice.

  The houses thinned as they neared the highway, the pastel colors and flower boxes giving way to graying wood, peeling paint and ragged yards strewn with bicycles, tire swings and dirty toddlers grubbing about in sandboxes. In a way, Emily had always liked this section of Paradise better than the picture perfect image of downtown. It was more honest. More real.

  Within moments, they were out on the highway, passing the sign that still bore the graffiti message Welcome to Hell. Matthew turned his head and shouted something to her, but over the roar of engine and wind, Emily couldn’t hear him. She shrugged, and Matthew turned his attention back to the road.

  Chiseled through the rocky hillside, twisting and turning, the road was buttressed on the right by soaring, jagged limestone bluffs, while on the left it fell away to a steep embankment jutted with boulders and tree trunks. The highway had recently been paved, so the surface was smooth and unblemished.

  Matthew drove fast, handling the Harley with what seemed to Emily terrifying competence, leaning into the curves, opening the throttle on the tiny stretches of straight road, barely slowing for the breathtaking rollercoaster plunges downhill.

  The stunning fall scenery passed by in a red, gold and apricot blur. Emily’s heart stayed in her throat, but she still loved the sensation. It felt as if they were soaring through time and space, riding the waves of some vast and invisible sea. The feel of the wind in her hair and the vibrating speed of the powerful bike were both terrifying and exhilarating.