Free The Heart of Christmas by Brenda Novak Page B

contained venomous recriminations against John Hatfield, who was wealthy and austere and not particularly well liked. Although Eve couldn’t say there were any solid leads in those journals, she’d kept copies of everything she’d come across relating to the history of the B and B. She even had a laminated photocopy of a newspaper from the late 1800s that regurgitated the story, and a box of research material
Unsolved Mysteries
had given her when they were done with the shoot.
    She went to her office to get the box but she couldn’t find it. So she’d brought back only the things she’d collected over the years.
    “I can’t imagine where I put the stuff
Unsolved Mysteries
left,” she told Ted.
    “But you’ll find it for me?”
    “I will. I’ll check the attic when I have a minute.”
    He accepted what she did have. “You seem to go back and forth on this, but, for the record, do you think the inn is haunted?” This had always been a difficult question for Eve. She didn’t want to commit herself because, crazy though it sounded, sometimes it
did
seem as if Mary’s spirit lingered. She told him about the drapes moving without being touched, about various doors closing and other noises she’d heard when there shouldn’t be anyone else about. One time, she was positive she’d heard someone moaning in the basement. That had been chilling. Unless there was something she absolutely
had
to get, she never went down there alone.
    “I honestly don’t know. But I feel angry with whoever killed Mary and I hope justice will, somehow, some way, prevail, even at this late date,” she told him.
    “Do you think the father did it?”
    “I think Mary’s mother believed he did.”
    His eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”
    “She wouldn’t speak a word after Mary’s death.”
    Ted leaned forward. “I’ve never heard you or anyone else say that before.”
    “I just found out about it. It was in an email I received a few days ago from a couple who come here every summer—a historian and his wife who once had family living in the area. He stumbled across a letter from his great-great-grandmother dated several years after Mary’s death. It refers to Harriett Hatfield and her enduring silence, and he thought I might be interested. According to this letter, Harriett became a hermit and would scarcely go out after that, which is probably why more people didn’t mention it. They didn’t really have any contact with her.”
    “Her silence and withdrawal could be a reaction to her grief,” Ted suggested.
    “True, but she could also have been an abused wife, rebelling in the only way she could without risking her own life.”
    “It’s something to consider.” He stood and slipped his phone in his pocket. “That’s it for today. I’ll call if I need anything else.”
    She gave him a weak smile. “You know where to find me.”
    “Are you looking forward to going out for your birthday tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.
    A trip to San Francisco didn’t sound as enjoyable as it had before last night. Although she’d get to see Baxter, who used to be part of their group but moved to the city two years ago, she’d had about as much of turning thirty-five as she could take. Still, she lied to protect his feelings. There was nothing to be gained from making her friends feel sorry for her. “I am.”
    “You don’t sound too enthusiastic.” He stopped her as she opened the parlor doors. “Are you planning to tell me what’s going on?”
    He knew her even better than the rest of their friends did, since they’d once been lovers. But that was exactly the reason she no longer felt comfortable confiding in him. “No. Thanks, anyway.”
    “Regardless of what you might be feeling right now, Sophia and I care about you,” he said. “We all care about you.”
    He was referring to their entire circle. “I appreciate you saying so.”
    “Hmm...a polite dodge.” He retained his hold on her arm.