Page 172 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

“She called this morning. She’s got a flight into Detroit in three weeks. We may both end up on your doorstep by this time next month.”

Becca groaned. “I’d better work fast.”

CHAPTER SIX

Tate was swilling down a martini when Becca went inside. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “You Christians are all alike—out to suck the enjoyment out of life.”

“And are you enjoying life?” Becca asked steadily. “You look like you’re trying to drown your misery, but it’s always there waiting for you when you sober up.”

“A sermon. Just what I didn’t need.” He took another gulp of his drink. “Are you here for a reason or just to make me feel guilty?”

“I was looking for Max.” Becca could see Tate was in no mood to listen to reason. The teasing man he’d been the night before as he joked with Molly was nowhere in evidence.

“His highness is in his office slaving over his book.”

“I thought you were going to do some work too. Just what is it you do?” Becca wished she could reach her cousin. She remembered the carefree child he used to be.

“I have an online investments firm. That’s about all I can do holed away on this island.” He put his empty glass on the buffet and grabbed the pitcher.

Becca sighed. If she wanted to talk to him, she’d better do it now. He’d be drunk by dinner time. “I was just talking with Shayna about the boat accident. Sad thing.”

“Yes, it was.”

Amazingly, she could see tears in his eyes. He seemed to have some feeling for her parents. Unless he was a good actor. In this place, nothing was certain.

“Did you know them well?”

“No, but it brought back bad memories of when my dad died. The second generation is all that’s left of the Baxters. Us and Gram.” He took a swig of his drink. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He turned so quickly, he sloshed his drink on the floor. Stumbling over the corner of the rug, he almost ran from the room.

Becca felt almost sorry for her cousin, though she couldn’t figure out why he would be so emotional about an aunt and uncle he hadn’t spent any time with. Maybe there was more to Tate than the shallow playboy façade he liked to project.

She mopped up his spill then went to Max’s office. A scowl on his face, he sat at the computer typing furiously. Becca had never seen a man type so fast. The way he banged on the keyboard told her he probably went through one every few months.

“I’m bored,” she told him. “I might as well work.” Besides, she’d questioned everyone in the place except Max. This might be as good an opportunity as she got.

“Fine. You’ve got some color in your cheeks at least.”

She sat at the desk and pulled a book toward her. “Where’s Molly?” She picked up a fountain pen.

“That’s mine.” He leaned over and plucked it from her hand. “No one borrows my pen.”

“Sorry. You didn’t say where Molly was.”

“At a sleepover with her best friend from town.”

“I haven’t been to town yet. What’s there?” She had only dim memories of Turtle Town.

“Not much. A couple of rundown stores, five or six houses and a dock for the fishermen. A small school for the island children and two churches, though neither one pulls in enough parishioners to keep repairs done. Don’t waste your time going there.”

“It’s clear on the other side of the island anyway.”

He nodded. “And not worth the half hour’s drive to get there.”

He was going to a lot of trouble to convince her to stay away. Becca had to wonder if he was trying to hide something. “I might like to see it anyway. Want me to pick up Molly?”

“She’s not due back until Monday morning, but sure. Knock yourself out. You can take my car. It’s the Cadillac in the barn.”

“You don’t seem the Cadillac sort,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

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