Deadly Legacy Read online

  Deadly Legacy

  Number VII of Strong Women, Extraordinary Situations

  Margaret Daley

  Margaret Daley (2016)

  * * *

  Tags: Romance

  Romancettt

  Down on her luck, single mom, Lacey St. John, believes her life has finally changed for the better when she receives an inheritance from a wealthy stranger. Her ancestral home she'd thought forever lost has been transformed into a lucrative bed and breakfast guaranteed to bring much-needed financial security. Her happiness is complete until strange happenings erode her sense of well-being. When her life is threatened, she turns to neighbor and police detective, Ryan McNeil, for help. He promises to solve the mystery of who's ruining her newfound peace of mind, but when her troubles escalate to the point that her every move leads to danger, she's unsure who to trust. Is the strong, capable neighbor she's falling for as amazing as he seems? Or could he be the man who wants her dead?

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  The Inheritance Collection

  Strong Women, Extraordinary Situations Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  More Books in the STRONG WOMEN, EXTRAORDINARY SITUATIONS Series

  About the Author

  DEADLY LEGACY

  Strong Women, Extraordinary Situations

  Book Seven

  Margaret Daley

  Copyright

  Deadly Legacy

  Copyright © 2016 by Margaret Daley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  All texts contained within this document are a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons (living or dead), is entirely coincidental.

  The Inheritance Collection

  Strong Women, Extraordinary Situations Series

  Deadly Hunt, Book 1

  Deadly Intent, Book 2

  Deadly Holiday, Book 3

  Deadly Countdown, Book 4

  Deadly Noel, Book 5

  Deadly Dose, Book 6

  Deadly Legacy, Book 7

  Layton, Felder, Bach & Moore

  Attorneys-at-Law

  58 East 42nd Street, Suite 1800

  New York, New York 10016

  Lacey St. John

  670 David Ave.

  New Orleans, LA 70117

  Dear Mrs. St. John,

  I am acting as the executor of the estate of Mr. Harold Hopewell, whose Last Will and Testament was entered into probate in the Surrogate’s Court, New York County, State of New York. I write to inform you of certain assets bequeathed to you pursuant to Mr. Hopewell’s Last Will and Testament, to wit:

  Calvert Cove Bed and Breakfast in Calvert County in Maryland, the land it sits on, and all its content.

  I have enclosed the deed to the property and an inventory of items in the house and on the grounds. As per our conversation, this is the ancestral house and acreage your family owned until twenty years ago when Mr. Hopewell bought it. He wanted to return the place to you with the added possessions specifically bought for the bed and breakfast.

  Please do not hesitate to contact me with any questions.

  Regards,

  Frederick Bach, Esquire

  Chapter One

  Lacey St. John stared at the childhood residence she’d grown up in, now a thriving bed and breakfast, and fought the tears blurring her vision. This was her chance to turn her life around and provide a home for her son. Finally.

  She blew out a long breath, facing the massive restored three-story Victorian dwelling. It’s mine after almost twenty years.

  Her eyes slid closed. Memories of the last day she’d lived in this house flooded her mind. Packing up what belongings that hadn’t been sold to pay her father’s debts. Wondering if she would ever be able to come back—the only home she’d known for twelve years. As her dad had driven away, she’d turned and watched the house fade from her view. All their remaining possessions had been packed in boxes and bags that had been crammed into every available space in their van.

  “Mom!”

  A tug on her arm grounded her in the present. She glanced at Shaun, his big brown eyes wide as he looked at her.

  “We’re gonna live here?” her eight-year-old son asked, doubt dominating his features. “It’s big.”

  “That it is. When I lived here, there were a lot of great hiding places. My sister and I used to play hide and seek all the time.”

  “And it’s ours now?”

  Since her husband had died three years ago, she and Shaun had moved around a lot in New Orleans. Their last apartment had been in a dangerous neighborhood. Not a night went by that they didn’t hear a siren or gunshots. “Honey, yes. Thanks to Harold Hopewell. He left us Calvert Cove Bed and Breakfast.”

  “C’mon.” He dragged her to the porch that ran the length of most of the front.

  As she and Shaun mounted the steps, the carved and beveled glass door opened. A middle-aged woman with sandy blond hair in a tight bun and a bland expression on her face stood in the entrance. Lacey had called ahead to let the manager, Mrs. Bell, know they were coming. This lady must be her.

  Lacey marched forward with her hand held out. “I’m Lacey St. John. And this is my son, Shaun. Are you Harriet Bell?”

  The forty-something’s gaze remained on Lacey. “Yes. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.” She moved to the side to allow them inside.

  Lacey dropped her arm without shaking the woman’s hand. “How are the renovations coming?” Calvert Cove had been scheduled for an update before Mr. Hopewell died, and there were provisions for it to be completed while she took over ownership. It would allow her to become familiar with the bed and breakfast and the staff before guests returned in three weeks.

  “One of the painters came down sick and won’t be here today, but otherwise everything is progressing as it should.” Mrs. Bell shut the front door after they entered. “I made sure the carriage house was readied first. I thought you would like to live there rather than in here.”

  For the time being, Lacey kept silent, but once she was settled and the renovations were completed, she intended to live in the main house, if not before then. Mrs. Bell probably wasn’t aware of Lacey’s previous association with Calvert Cove.

  “I’d like to do a walkthrough after we unload the car.”

  “I can have my husband take care of unloading your car for you. I’ll let him know and be right back.”

  As Mrs. Bell left the large foyer, a vision of Lacey sliding down the banister flitted across her mind. She smiled. She’d done it when no one was around because her mother used to freak out at the thought of a scraped knee. Growing up here, she’d had her share of mishaps, especially when she tried to scale the small cliff behind her house or to clamber down the rope on the boom at the carriage house. Now she knew better, but back then, she’d been lucky she’d only fallen a couple of times—with no broken bones.

  Next to her, Shaun fidgeted. She grasped his shoulder as Mrs. Bell returned to the entry hall, which was almost bigger than their last apartment.

  The manager gestured toward the wide staircase. “We can start on the third floor and work our way to the basement.”

  “Are there guest rooms in the basement?”

  “Two. The Garde
n and Cliffside Suites along the rear. The rest of the basement is for storage and laundry.”

  “Where do you and your husband stay?”

  “In the Cliffside Suite. It comes with the job.” Mrs. Bell started up the stairs. On the midway landing, she went to the right then crossed the corridor to the steps that led to the third floor.

  When Calvert Cove was first built in the 1870s, the top floor was where servants lived. It had rarely been used when her family had lived in the house. “How many rooms are there?”

  “Four. When Mr. Hopewell had this house converted to a bed and breakfast, certain walls were knocked out and the layout changed from the original house.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Nineteen years ago this place became a bed and breakfast. I’ve been working in one capacity or another all that time. I started as a maid while Richard, my husband, arrived fifteen years ago as the Sous-Chef. Now he’s the Chef de Cuisine, and we serve dinner opened to the public five days a week while breakfast is only for the guests.”

  For a moment, Lacey wondered if there would be a place she could fit in at the bed and breakfast. She now owned it, but with Mrs. Bell, she got the impression everything was running smoothly the way it was, so what could she do to improve things? Lacey only had one year of college when she’d met Jason, a talented musician, and was swept off her feet. They married, and she went with him as he played in a band and traveled all over the world. Then everything changed when she became pregnant with Shaun. They settled down in New Orleans where Jason could play, but he had wanderlust in his blood and had never been happy in one place for long.

  “Your husband cooks?” Shaun asked as he passed them in the upstairs hallway and raced to the end to look out the big window. “Mom, I can see the water from here.” He tapped on the glass. “Is that the carriage house?”

  While Mrs. Bell, with her arms crossed and lips pinched, stopped at the nearest bedroom door, Lacey made her way to Shaun and leaned forward. “Yes, that’s it.”

  “What’s a carriage house?”

  “A fancy name for a garage. Back when this house was built, they didn’t have cars. They rode in carriages and on horses to get where they wanted to go.”

  “Why would we have to live in the garage? I thought you owned this house.”

  Lacey suppressed her smile and turned toward Mrs. Bell. “My son has a point. Why would we want to, Mrs. Bell?”

  Red suffused the older woman’s cheeks. “Personally, I thought you would want to have privacy from the guests who come. The carriage house gives you that. We still have work to do on the rooms on the first, second, and third floors, and the house tends to be noisy. The only places in the main house ready now are the two suites in the basement.” She bowed her head slightly. “Of course, you have the choice to stay anywhere on the property. But some of our rooms have been requested and reserved for some of the returning guests in the coming months. We have one couple that comes every year in the fall and stays in the Baltimore Oriole Suite.”

  “I’ll take the other suite in the basement for now. I have three weeks to choose where we’ll stay.” She walked back to Mrs. Bell. “I’m not here to sit and do nothing. I intend to take an active role in running the bed and breakfast.”

  Mrs. Bell raised her cold, gray gaze to hers. “I’m at your service. Now this room,” she opened the door and entered, “is called the Chesapeake Bay Suite because it has a good view of the water.”

  For a fleeting moment, Lacey shivered from a chill that swept through her.

  * * *

  Sheriff Ryan McNeil stepped out onto his deck to relish the warm April evening after a long day at work. At least he was home at a reasonable time today. Lately, he’d been tied up with a series of burglaries. He and his deputies had finally caught two guys this afternoon. Looking through the leafing white oaks along the back of his property, he glimpsed Chesapeake Bay. This was his haven, a home that had been in his family for over a hundred years.

  At the railing, he drew in a deep breath of the flower-scented air, enjoying the quiet. He’d spent the whole afternoon interviewing one of the two burglars, only to discover they were part of a larger ring. He’d deal with that tomorrow. For now, he needed to take Mick for a walk after being cooped up all day in the house.

  He went inside, called his mutt, and picked up his leash. Mick bounded into the kitchen, yelping. His dog was a combination of several big breeds with brown and black coloring. Mick never met a stranger. He loved people, sometimes getting carried away with his greetings. Ryan was working on that with Mick, but he had been for a couple of years.

  They headed out the front door and down the long bricked walk to the road. “Which way do you want to go, Mick?”

  His dog sniffed the air, looked up and down the street, and then went left. This was a daily ritual between them, but usually he chose right. What did he smell that made him pick this route?

  A minute later, Ryan discovered why he wanted to go this way. After passing the drive to the Calvert Cove Bed and Breakfast, Mick tugged him toward a row of three-foot-high scrubs along the street, part of the beautifully landscaped property.

  Ryan caught sight of something red among the greenery. He moved closer. Mick stuck his head into the middle bush, his tail wagging.

  “What did you find?” Ryan came nearer.

  A young boy shot up through the foliage and glanced at the house behind him. When he returned his attention to Ryan, the child said, “I’m hiding.”

  “You are? Why?”

  “I told Mom she wouldn’t be able to find me. She used to play hide-n-seek all the time here when she was a little girl.”

  “How long have you been hiding?” Ryan scanned the front of the bed and breakfast, not realizing the place was taking guests. He thought the renovation would last for several more weeks.

  The boy shrugged. “A long time.”

  Which in child speak could be anywhere from five minutes to five hours. Ryan smiled. He used to play all kinds of games outside as a kid with others in the neighborhood. He was trying to remember the family who lived here before the place was sold and turned into a bed and breakfast. The Randalls? Yes, that was it. There were two girls, but he didn’t remember much else.

  “I’m Ryan. I live next door.” He pointed toward the large white, colonial-styled house peeking through the trees.

  “Are you a policeman?”

  Ryan glanced at his tan uniform. “Yep, and this is Mick.”

  The child held out his hand for the dog to smell before he petted him. “I wish I had a dog.”

  “Where do you live?”

  The kid pointed to the house.

  “When you’re not on vacation?”

  “I’m not on vacation. Mom says I have to start school here on Monday. Yuck.” The boy puckered his lips as if he’d had too many lemons.

  Was his mother another live-in employee? He was usually familiar with the people who worked at the bed and breakfast. He didn’t realize there would be a new person. Richard and Harriet Bell were the only ones who lived on the property. He hadn’t talked to them in a week with his crazy long hours, but maybe he should. The Calvert Cove Bed and Breakfast was renowned in this region and had brought in a lot of tourists. He liked to stay on top of what was going on there.

  “Shaun! Where are you? The game is over.”

  The child whirled around. “I’ve gotta go.”

  Before Ryan could say anything, the boy shot out of the shrubbery and raced across the yard. The woman spied him plowing his way through a rose garden, mindless of the flowers he was trying to dodge and not always succeeding. Even from a distance Ryan saw the lady wince as Shaun leaped over the last bush and fell short.

  “What do you think, Mick? Should we introduce ourselves?”

  His dog barked once as Shaun picked himself up from the ground and continued forward, limping slightly.

  “Okay, since she and her son will be living here.” Ryan would forgo charg
ing through the row of scrubs. Instead he took the long way back to the driveway and strolled toward the porch.

  While he covered the distance to the woman with long blond hair pulled into a ponytail, he overheard her conversation with her son. She wasn’t too pleased that Shaun had hidden outside. Obviously she’d spent the last half hour searching the house.

  “Mom, you didn’t tell me I couldn’t go outside.”

  “You need to wash up. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  Shaun hung his head and shuffled toward the front door while the woman kept her blue gaze fixed on Ryan as he approached her.

  “I’m Sheriff Ryan McNeil. I live next door.”

  She shook his hand. “I’m Lacey St. John, the new owner of this bed and breakfast.”

  “Ah, that explains why your son said he lives here.”

  “Yes, we arrived earlier today.”

  “Welcome to the area. This part of the peninsula is usually quiet.”

  “That’s good.” She tilted her head to the side. “How long have you lived here?”

  “All my life, thirty-five years.”

  “Ah, that’s why your name sounds familiar. I lived here until I was twelve. I was Lacey Randall back then. My older sister had a crush on you.”

  “Your sister is—Laura?”

  “Yes, she was two years older than me and was boy crazy back then. Now she’s happily married and living in Colorado.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. How did you end up back here?”

  “Mr. Hopewell bequeathed the bed and breakfast to me in his will. It came out of the blue, but I thank God every day he did. Only a couple of days earlier there had been a murder in my apartment building in New Orleans.”