A Bullet to the Heart by Kathy Wheeler (most read books of all time .TXT) 📕

broad to cross. She might even be engaged. The thought sickened him and pissed him off.

What a wreck he was. The smart thing to do was to let go of his feelings and concentrate on his job, like learning who had killed Victor Montgomery, and finding out if Mary Montgomery had indeed been poisoned.

Yeah. No. He went up the veranda steps and slipped inside where no one was guarding the door.

Wyn followed the chatter to a large, well-lit room off the foyer and glanced in. Catherine was talking to Wilbur the postmaster, and to Melinda the owner of the Cobblestone Café on Main Street. Wyn noted that his mother had opted not to attend the celebration for Victor’s life. She and Wyn’s father had gone home after the graveside service. Not much of a surprise there, she wouldn’t attend if his father wouldn’t. They probably argued about it all the way back to town. Luckily, that was only a five-minute drive.

Wyn spotted all four of Victor’s heirs near the hearth and stiffened. He started in that direction, but Jo broke away, so he changed course and followed her to the food. He came up behind her and breathed in the soft floral scent of her short blonde curls. “Hello.”

She spun back, startled. “Good heavens, Wyn. What are you doing? You scared the life out of me.”

He gave her an unrepentant grin. “Must be your nerves.”

She spun back around, extended a long very slender arm, and picked up a plate. She hadn’t been eating enough.

“Are you really engaged?”

“No, I’m not engaged.”

“Then why is Styles in town?”

“He’s in town?” She frowned. “Oh, I didn’t know.” She filled her plate.

Wyn stared at the three crackers, dab of brie cheese, and the two tiny pieces of fruit she gingerly set on her plate. He plopped a spoonful of some non-descript casserole in the vast empty space alongside the fruit. “Why would Kingsley say that then?”

Her eyes fell to her suddenly weighted-down plate. “What are you—how should I know?” Her jaw tensed, but she sniffed her disdain. “I think it might be your nerves unraveling, not mine.”

Wyn didn’t take the bait. He picked up another plate and started filling it for himself. “There’s something about that guy that bothers me.”

“Again with the nerves,” Jo bit out. She stopped and her plate landed on the table with a thud, sending a couple of grapes rolling off onto the floor. “You’re talking about my father.”

Setting down his own plate, he reached for her hands, but she quickly pulled them behind her. Pride straightened his spine into a steel pole. “So, you’re ashamed of me now?”

“No!”

“Then tell me what the problem is?”

“There’s a lot going on, that’s all. Like—” she let out a frustrated sigh that he breathed in and held. “As it turns out, I will be moving back into the house.”

He grabbed her plate up and handed it back to her, doing his best to quell the thrill that shot through him. “Then I guess we’ll be seeing each other around town,” he said softly. He picked up his own plate and went back to adding food to it.

“Victor made a provision in his will that forces his heirs to make the manor their primary home.”

So, she wasn’t coming to the island to stay by choice. Disappointing. He waited, foreboding swirling his insides.

“Lydia, Tevi, Jackson, and me.”

He froze. “I’m sorry. Did you say Jackson?” Wyn’s thoughts went back to the night they’d found Penelope Knox. He wasn’t entirely convinced Jackson hadn’t killed her. “That doesn’t sound necessarily safe,” he said slowly.

“There’s no other option.”

“Or what? I can’t see you staying in the same house with him.”

“Or all four of us lose our inheritance.”

He choked. “Lose—”

“Yes. And not just one of us.”

He rubbed his hand over his chest. “For how long? I hate to ask.”

“Until each of us marry. Within a year.”

“Marry…” Great. Just great. And he’d never asked her. How was he supposed to now? She would think it was her money he was after. Damn you, Victor Montgomery.

10

U

p to now, Jo had managed to avoid Eleanor despite Lydia’s constant cajoling for the two to interact now that they were all ensconced in the same house with nowhere to run. She looked out at the drab gray skies. The frigid rain had stopped for the time being, but winter was fast on their heels, making it too dangerous to walk the path along the cliffs. Still, she couldn’t bear being cooped up much longer.

The day after the reading of Victor’s will, Carver, Victor’s in town chauffeur, had driven Jo and Lydia to the city to pack some of their clothes and other belongings for the move to the manor house. Waiting for Jo had been a very convenient note from the museum. Along with their sincere condolences were her walking papers, a notice of termination. So now she was officially unemployed.

She was going crazy in this mausoleum. Frizzle nuzzled her hand, and she rubbed his neck. He needed a break, too.

Jo stalked to the closet, the hound right on practically tripping her. She took out her heaviest wool coat.

“Josephine? Where are you going? I thought we could talk?” Eleanor stood at the top of the staircase where even her feeble voice carried in the large hall.

Jo fanned her coat out behind her and slipped her arms in before turning to face her mother. “I’m going for a walk. The house is stifling.”

“Can’t it wait? It’s dangerous—”

“No. It can’t wait. I don’t want to talk now. Where is Lydia? She should be the one you talk to. Or Tevi. You probably have lots to tell Tevi.” Jo didn’t wait for an answer, instead stealing out the front door with Frizzle, taking exquisite care not to slam it behind her.

The invigorating walk to town was exactly what she and Frizzle needed. The air was brisk, cold, and damp. She didn’t care, at least now she could finally breathe. She’d be lucky if she