But what if her life was in danger? What if Finn talked to someone, to the wrong person, and let it slip who Charmaine was—that she was a Hilton, and Helen Hilton’s heir? They might figure out she’d inherited the jewellery, and if it was worth as much as she thought it might be, she could very well be in trouble.
She rolled her bike down the track to the cottage, then jumped off and set the bike against the wall. Inside, Watson greeted her with an arched back and a lazy yawn.
“How’d you go, boy? Miss me? Sorry I don’t have any leftovers for you tonight, but I can probably find you a can of cat food if you’re hungry.”
The cat followed her to the pantry, and she opened a can into his bowl. Her back slid down the cabinet, and she sat on the floor beside Watson and stroked him as he ate. His body rose to meet her hand.
“What am I going to do about those jewels? They’re safe for now, but maybe I’m not.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her thoughts jumbled and pained over the idea of leaving Coral Island behind forever to keep herself safe as her mother had done before her.
There was a sound outside on the front porch. Something clattered. Then there was silence. Charmaine’s heart jumped into her throat, pounding.
What was that? Maybe it was the killer, come to get the jewellery that was safely stowed in the bank vault in Kellyville.
Heart still pounding, she crawled on hands and knees to the front door. Then there was a great bang, and something shattered. She leaned her back against the door. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. Perhaps she should make a run for it. She reached up and turned the lock in the doorknob by her head. Then she slowly inched her way up the door to peer through the base of the windowpane.
With bated breath, she peered to the left, then to the right. Her bike lay on its side on the front porch. There was an overturned potted plant nearby in pieces. And right beside it, a possum stood on its four legs, peering directly at her.
Laughing with relief, she straightened her back and pressed both hands to her chest, willing her thundering heart to return to its normal rhythm. Then she flicked off the porch light and headed for bed. She’d had enough excitement for one night.
Nine
Taya staredat the cursor on her computer screen. She blinked. The cursor blinked. What should she write? She needed to draft a companywide email to communicate with the staff about her father’s passing and what it would mean for the group, but she couldn’t find the words. There had been an announcement the day after his passing but she wanted to draft something more heartfelt now that the funeral was over. How should she describe a man who formed a company out of nothing and built it to be one of the country’s most successful resort chains in history? A man who knew most of the employees by name and cared about their lives, who’d given his everything to be their employer, provider, friend?
She blinked again then turned away to cross her arms and stare at her office wall. Already her assistant had asked when they would be moving her to the CEO office down the hall. She didn’t have an answer. She didn’t want to go in there, let alone set up her workspace there. She missed her father so much, it still hurt in the base of her throat whenever she thought about it. He’d only been gone three weeks. How would she cope with a year, ten years?
Susan poked her head through the office door. “I’m going to lunch. Can I get you anything before I go?”
Taya shook her head. “I have to write this email. Any ideas?”
“Be yourself. People like genuine warmth, and you have plenty of that.”
“Thanks,” Taya replied. “Is Andrew in the office yet?”
“I believe he’s been at his desk for about half an hour. Do you want me to ask him to meet you?”
“Yes, please. See if he’s free for lunch.”
“Will do.”
Susan pulled the door shut behind her. Within a few moments, the phone rang. It was Susan calling to say that Andrew would stop by her office to take her to lunch. Taya hung up the phone and stared at the blank screen. She typed two words.
Dear employees,
Then she deleted it and chewed on her lower lip. “Employees” was too impersonal. She should use a more congenial term, like “fellow workers” or “staff.” Fellow workers? She wasn’t writing a communist manifesto. She groaned and pressed both hands to her face. This was impossible. The thing she dreaded most was that she was bound to burst into tears halfway through the email, and she’d cried so many tears in recent days, she was exhausted. She didn’t have the energy or the fluid reserves for more.
There was a tap at the door, and she called, “Come in.”
Andrew walked in with a smile on his face. His dark brown eyes glowed, and his black hair fell smoothly on either side of a part. He strode with purpose to her desk, took her hand, and pulled her up into his arms. She fell against his chest with her eyes pressed shut. It felt good to be held, as though the troubles in her life might fade away for a single moment and she could relax and be at ease.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she said. “I hope you weren’t busy.”
“Not too busy to see you.” He kissed her.
“I’m trying to write the email to the company, and it’s taking me longer than I thought it would. I have so much to get done, I don’t know how I’m going to manage it all.”
“Is there anything I can help with?” he asked.
She sighed. “Not really. I’m complaining, and you’re a good listener. It helps more than you know.”
