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

tours. Did research for the copy the museum used to create brochures for upcoming exhibits. That sort of thing. Victor hated that I worked there. But I loved it.” Her job had given her a sense of independence, despite knowing the contrary. And purpose. She’d liked having purpose.

Jackson halted and leaned away, looking at her. A range of emotions crossed his features she couldn’t read. “We’ve never really talked have we.”

She was surprised to see that he was—at the moment—being the bigger person and decided to let that statement go. Then, she changed her mind. “Well, in your defense,” she responded with a wry smile, “you were drunk on most of the time.”

He ignored her insult and clarified. “I meant even when we were kids.”

Jo had no idea how to respond to that. She thought back to when Victor brought her and her sisters to live with him and Aunt Mary. She had been nine at the time. Jackson was five years older and she’d been terrified of him. But then she’d been afraid of everyone. “What happened with Penelope Knox? I think I was eleven when she…died.”

“You’ll have to ask your friend Wyndel Smith,” he retorted. He pulled her up next to him again and they continued their slow trek up the trail to the house.

Frizzle stayed right at her other side.

“You were horrible to us,” she told Jackson.

“I was fourteen. That’s what boys do—they terrorize little girls. Especially little girls who invade their home when their own father prefers them over his own son.”

“Aunt Mary didn’t. She spoiled you rotten.” Her voice softened. “She didn’t do you any favors, you know.”

He stopped again, this time jerking away from her.

She had to balance herself against Frizzle to keep from falling.

“Who are you to talk to me like that, Josephine Ophelia? No one, do you hear?”

“I hear you. How could I not with you screaming in my ear?” Frizzle shifted and she grappled for her balance. Jackson caught her before she toppled to the ground.

Neither spoke in the ensuing silence. The only sounds were of the trees rustling in the wind off the Atlantic and the waves crashing against the surf.

“Look, Jackson. I don’t know how to tell you this, but…when my mother—when Eleanor remarried after my fath—” Jo stopped and breathed in the piercing cold, heart pounding an erratic tattoo from inside out. “—Wallace Hayes was a…a terrible person. Uncle Victor saw that and saved us. He didn’t do it to spite you, do you understand what I’m saying?”

Jackson turned gradually, facing her as shock moved over his features. “That bastard. I’m sorry, Jo. I-I had no idea.” His expression shifted to understanding, then shrewdness. “Have you told Wyn this?”

She stumbled, and he caught her, again. “What? Why?”

He lifted one brow. “Don’t be obtuse, Jo. It’s insulting. It’s no secret to anyone how you feel about him.”

Everyone? Wyn? This was horrible. Why had she said anything? Wyn would never understand. Never. “I thought you said I should be wary of him. Make up your mind.”

He shrugged. “You’re not exactly known for your meekness. You run roughshod over anyone in your path.”

“Like who?” she demanded.

“Lydia. Tevi. I’m sure you’ll give your mother an earful before long—”

“Just forget it. Can we go home now?”

He burst out laughing then yanked her up to his side. “Yeah. Come on. Let’s go home.” After a bout of silence, he said, “You think we’ll ever be able to put the past where it belongs.”

She responded softly. “Maybe. I’d like that.”

“Maybe then home might start feeling like home.”

“That would be nice.” They reached the clearing that led to the servant’s entrance. She touched his hand. “Don’t tell anyone about…about Wall—” She couldn’t even say his name. “Please, Jackson.”

He shot her a quick glance with a smirk. “About what? Wyn or—”

“Any of it. Just…don’t say anything.” She choked out surprised by the unfamiliar emotion surging through her—camaraderie.

“I was just kidding with you, Jo. I won’t say anything. I promise.”

A lump stole her breath, her words; a sting pricked her tear ducts. “Thanks.”

“You really do need to tell him, Jo.”

Wyn strode into town, down the hill, and straight to his office, fingering the bullet in his pocket. He couldn’t get the image of Jackson’s arm around Jo. He was angry and…scared. Someone had the nerve to shoot at Jo on his watch. Someone shot at her. He felt nauseous.

“Hey, Sheriff.”

He grunted a short greeting as he walked past Dorothea’s desk into the office behind, rattling the opaque glass in the door with a slam. It didn’t take a genius to assume Victor’s death and the shot at Jo were likely connected. The last murder on the island was Penelope’s, and that was fourteen years ago. He went to his desk and dropped into the chair behind it, elbows atop, and steepled his fingers. Victor had a million and one enemies. His business interests were international. But why shoot at Jo?

He pulled out a pad of paper, picked up a pen and started on a list of possible enemies from the island. Wallace Hayes, then Eleanor Hayes. Ha. Jackson Montgomery. Julius Styles, Lydia, Tevi, and cringing, he wrote down Jo’s name. Hell, he might as well write down his own. And his parents, and Theo, Felix, Garrick. Yep, everyone on Montgomery Island had a reason to love and hate Victor Montgomery.

The smart thing was to start at the top. It was clear to Wyn that Wallace Hayes had not been welcome at the reading of the will. He hadn’t seen the man since he’d escorted Hayes from the manor house. The first thing was to find out if Hayes was still on the island.

Wyn glanced at his watch. Thirty minutes until the ferry’s next run to the mainland.

He jumped from his chair and hurried out. He stopped at Dorothea’s desk. “Call the Island Inn and the Pebble Shores Hotel. Find out if Wallace Hayes is registered. I’ll be back.” He rushed out the back for his car