Behind the Curtain

“Don’t you want a coat?” Claire eyed up Danny’s t-shirt as she slipped on her gloves.

“Nah, but hang on.” He went to his room and she winced.

“I’m sorry,” she called, thinking of the underwear she’d tossed on the floor. “I forgot to clean up my-my stuff.”

Danny’s throat cleared before, he said, “Not a problem.”

He came back out with a navy slouchy beanie, his cheeks a little more rosy. “My ears are the only part of me that gets cold in this mild weather.”

Maybe that’s why his ears were red too? They were hit with a blast of cold wind.

“Mild?” Claire said.

Danny grinned and tapped a fist on his chest. “Solsken Viking, M.C.C.”

She laughed, and he held the gate open for her, motioning in their direction.

The first thing they came upon was what looked like multiple homes built into each other. Each one was a different size, starting with a small stone cottage on the left and ending with an estate-looking building with three high columns guarding the entrance.

“Solsken Inn,” Danny said. “Another Larsson establishment.” He waved to an older man walking behind a frail-looking woman in a wheelchair. “Good to see you, Uncle Nils. How’s Aunt Mathilde this morning?”

“Having a good day, Danny. Having a good day.”

“Is your aunt alright?”

“She had a stroke some years ago,” Danny said quietly as he watched his uncle wheeling her along a winding path. “Left her paralyzed on her left side and her health’s deteriorating.”

“Isn’t there any place that could help her?”

“On the mainland, but my uncle never admitted her. Said she’d never forgive him for taking her off the island. So,” he sighed, “he left his children to run the inn while he takes care of her. Well, more like Em runs the inn while her brother Johan does whatever the hell he wants. I do what I can, when I can, to help her though.”

Claire went quiet, studying him. He was an endless well of goodness, she decided. The kind of rare, pure goodness just because. Not expecting anything in return.

Following down the twisting, unpaved Main Street, Danny pointed to a small barn next to Solsken Medical Center where a giant dappled gray head poked out, chewing hay. Claire cooed and stepped toward him.

Danny touched her elbow, easing her back. “Don’t let that sweet face fool you. Gus is a biter unless you’re Annie. He’s her pet and the literal horsepower of our ambulance sleigh when the snow gets too deep. So, he may be a cranky old bastard, but he’s dependable.”

Across from the medical center in the town center, he stopped next to a tall tower made of stacked dry stones with a weathered bell crowning the top.

“This here is Old Governor.” Danny rested a hand on one of the gray stones. “The oldest piece of construction on the island. During the busy tourist months, we have a temporary doctor that helps out at the medical center. But Doc Clark and Annie are the only ones who live here year-round.” He looked up reverently. “In the winter, when the bridge closes, this bell is how we sound out emergencies because cell phone towers are unreliable in severe weather and not everyone has a landline phone. It’s saved many lives over the years.”

Claire patted the old giant. “I like you,” she whispered, and Danny smiled.

They came upon a large facility with a bank of thick glass panels lining the front. Magnificent copper stills in a row stood like silent watchmen behind them. “McClellan Distillery, or Ian’s second home,” Danny said. “If you ask, he’ll give you a very detailed, very lengthy tour and insist you try all the whisky.”

She covered her mouth, whispering, “Don’t tell him, but I don’t like whisky.”

“Pretty sure even that wouldn’t change his mind about you being his favorite.”

She laughed and wiped fake sweat from her brow. “Where’s his first home?”

“It’s on the other side of the island.” He went quiet for a long moment. “But he mostly stays with me when he’s not at seminary.”

Claire sensed he was holding back information but respectfully didn’t push for more.

“Here we are.”

They came around the winding main street to Ylva’s Bakery Café. A quaint cottage made of gray stone, adorned in bright-blue shutters with painted yellow flowers. Matching empty flower boxes sat under each windowsill with electric candles behind the divided light windows. A weathered Swedish flag and a newer American flag flapped on either side of the door.

Claire clapped her hands together. “Could this place be any cuter?”

Danny pointed out a Swedish word etched over the doorway. “Recognize that?”

“That says, welcome. Right?”

“Mycket bra.” He smiled. “Very good.”

“Do all you Larssons speak fluent Swedish?”

“Normally, yes,” he said. “My dad spoke it occasionally, but my mom, who’s half English, chose to only speak English. So, I understand more than I speak.”

She gestured to the café. “And is Ylva your cousin too?”

He shook his head. “Ylva is one of Solsken’s many transplants. She grew up in Sweden.”

A bell jingled as he pulled open the door, letting her walk in front of him. Claire gasped, taking in the rustic wooden tables and wrought-iron chairs filled with rosy-cheeked customers chatting happily over steaming mugs of coffee and plates full of baked goods. Tealight candles in snowball shaped glass sat at every table, and paintings of bright yellow fields beneath clear blue skies hung over them.

“Hej, Daniel.” A middle-aged woman with cropped, golden-blond hair smiled at them from behind a glass counter.

Danny waved. “Ylva, roligt att se dig.”

Her clear blue eyes fell on Claire and brightened.

He introduced her. “I was giving her a tour of the island. She loves your baked goods.”

“Tack s? mycket.”She smiled at Claire, and to Danny, she raised one eyebrow.

Claire smiled back and turned to take in more of the café.

“Hon ?r v?ldigt vacker,” Ylva said to Danny.

“Ja.” He cleared his throat. “Men hon ?r bara en v?n.”

“Just a friend, indeed,” Ylva said under her breath.

Danny pinched his lips closed when Claire faced them again.

“What did you say?” she asked.

Ylva smiled. “That you are very beautiful.”

Claire’s cheeks warmed. “Oh, thank you.” She’d never been great at compliments and refocused on the painting of a Swedish countryside.

“Vad kan jag g?ra f?r er?”Ylva asked.

“We too late for breakfast?” Danny said.

“Never, v?lkommen.” She showed them to a two-seater table. “Sit, sit.” She motioned to the chairs and placed down a small basket with hard crisp bread and limpa inside with a bowl of butter. “Vars?god.”

Danny pointed at the tabletop menu. “She has more than Swedish foods here. There’s also a full Scottish breakfast, or eggs any way you like, with fruit and oatmeal if you prefer.”

“All of it.” Claire grinned. “I can’t eat it all, but I want all of it.”

He laughed and ordered a total of three breakfasts with a serving of kanelbullar. “I can see that feeding you is going to be a hell of a lot of fun.”

She smiled, but his faltered, his fingers going to the slouchy with a small tug.

“Daniel I ... you’re under no obligation for me to stay with you.”

His eyes snapped to her. “You’re having second thoughts?”

Second, third, and even tenth thoughts. “Are you?”

His steady gaze remained on her. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”

Breakfast came, breaking the moment, and Claire welcomed it with a small clap of her hands. “Ylva, this looks delicious.”

Ylva beamed with a small bow of her head and ordered for them to “Eat, eat.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask for extra plates.” Claire peered around, looking for Ylva, who disappeared into the kitchen.

“We can share.”

She went still. She’d tried that with Brandon, once, on their honeymoon. The night she’d also unknowingly conceived Greyson. She’d been so happy. Finally loved. But he’d been so repulsed by her doing that, he refused to eat the rest of his food. “It doesn’t bother you if I touch your plate?”

“Did Brandon—” His mouth snapped closed, and he blinked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t mind, if you don’t.”

To prove his point, he took a large bite of oatmeal topped with walnuts and raisins and offered her the bowl.

She wasn’t sure what to make of him, but when she searched his eyes, he only smiled with a nod. Cradling the bottom of the spoon, she gently blew away the steam and curled her lips over it. Honey with nutty sweetness melted on her tongue, and she closed her eyes. “Mmm.”

When she opened them, Danny’s frozen gaze on her mouth quickly dropped, and he cleared his throat.

“Okay,” he said. “I have to ask.” He dug into the oatmeal, right where her spoon had been. “The note on your stove with the dragon. Was that because the flame burst when you tried to light it?”

“Yes.” She leaned over the table. “It was awful.” And so, so scary.

The corner of his mouth lifted as he scooped some eggs. “I’m assuming you’ve never cooked on something that old before. It’s tricky.” He held out the plate of eggs to her.

She took them with a wince. “I haven’t really cooked on anything before.”

“You eat out mostly?”

“Actually no, but I’m afraid my reason is going to make you think I’m quite a snob.”

“You seem to think I’m thinking a lot of things I’m not.”

She didn’t know how to answer that.

He forked some black pudding and said, “What’s your reason?”

She covered her lap in a napkin and fingered the edge. “Well, growing up, we always had a cook. It was considered improper for me to learn to cook or clean, but I’m trying.” She met his eyes and dropped them again. “I also had a maid, a nanny, and a driver.”

She paused, glancing up again, and he tilted his head, waiting for more.

“When I married Brandon, it stayed the same. So, I never learned to do any of it. When I came here, I thought I could magically learn to do those things on my own.” She sighed. “But I couldn’t even make macaroni and cheese.”

Incapable Claire. She lost her appetite and laid down her fork.

Daniel stopped chewing and rested his elbows on the table. “Still waiting for the snob part.”

“I just told you. I had a cook, maid, nanny, and a driver.”

“With the amount of money you grew up with, that’s normal right?”

She nodded.

“Being born into a wealthy family doesn’t make you a snob. But what I’d like to know is ... ” He wiped a napkin across his mouth.

She held her breath. It was coming. The interrogation about her upbringing. The questions of what it was like to be so “pampered.” Which would lead to her having to disclose how her family was nothing like his. Being a Cooke meant a name and status, not affection or a support system. Then his criticism would kick in and—

“Claire?”

“Huh, what?”

“You alright? Still have a headache?”

She dropped the hand rubbing her temple. “No. I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked you if there’s anything you wanted to learn to do that I could help with.”

It took her a few moments of stunned silence for her to realize she never answered. “Oh, um, macaroni and cheese. Do you know how to make it? It’s my favorite.”

He slowly smiled. “I think I know what’s for dinner.”

Danny tore off his beanie when they entered the police station and ran a hand through matted, blond strands. “I’ll be waiting out here when you’re done.” He looked for a chair.

“Oh.” She stopped short. “Are you not coming with me?”

He shot back up from his seat. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“You don’t have to.” She placed her feet together.

“I know I don’t, but I will if you want me to.”

They were back to shifting feet and hands jammed into pockets with stolen glances.

Claire forced a smile. “You’ve done enough for me, thank you.”

Officer Murphy cleared his throat, and they both turned. A small smile twitched under his bushy mustache. “You’re not under any investigation, Ms. Cooke. Or do you prefer Mrs. Johnson?”

“It was Cooke-Johnson, so Cooke is fine.”

He nodded. “Danny can come along unless you prefer to keep this conversation private.”

“Oh, no. I’m okay with it not being private, if he wants to come.”

Danny ended the misery for both of them and stepped up next to her.

Tom went down a yellow-stained, linoleum-clad hallway where one florescent light in the middle flickered.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she whispered.

“I’m sure.” The warmth of Danny’s hand soaked into the small of her back as he directed her in front of him. When his fingers dropped away, a small part of her withered. It was getting harder and harder to convince herself that being alone was best. And how much harder was it going to be staying with a man whose touch did that?

She sighed.

“Have a seat.” Tom motioned to chairs in front of his metal desk. “Do you need anything to drink? Some water? Coffee?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

He rested his elbows on the desk and his intelligent, kind eyes studied her. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Good. Well, I won’t keep you long. With the evidence we’ve collected, it’s clear the break-in was intended to frighten you and maybe even harm you.” He looked up from his notes. “Do you know anyone who’d want to do that?”

She rubbed her palms together, skin suddenly clammy. Her mind raced to where she never wanted to be again.

The weight of his body ... the stench of his breath ... pain slicing through her wrist ...

“Claire?”

Danny’s whisper tore her from the memory, and she dropped the hand rubbing her scar and slid it over her phone. The true assurance she had that he was gone. “Alive? No.”

Tom’s eyes flicked to Danny, who stayed quiet. “You think someone who’s dead is doing this?”

“I only know that whoever did it said things only my deceased husband knew.”

“Like what?”

“Like the promise I made when he died that I’d never take the wedding rings off.”

She removed her gloves, and Danny’s expression shifted into something unreadable. His gaze glued to the large diamond on her finger.

Tom leaned back and studied her. “Even if that’s true and this was a phantom, I think whether you wore a ring or not would be the least of his worries.”

“I know how this makes me sound.” She swallowed and spun the ring on her finger. “But when this person or spirit spoke, his voice was everywhere yet nowhere at the same time. Sometimes it was beside me, then behind me. Other times all around me. I looked, Officer, no one was there. But when I went out the door, the voice still followed me. Can someone alive do that?”

Tom’s bushy brows shaded his eyes. “How long did the voice follow you?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I was yelling so loud, I-I didn’t notice when it stopped.”

Tentative, warm fingers slipped over her shaking ones, and when she looked up, Danny gave them a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know how he spoke to you like that.” Tom folded his fingers together. “But I’d bet my entire career that it’s flesh and blood, not a ghost.”

Claire dropped her eyes to her hands.

“I know this is difficult, Ms. Cooke, but in order to understand why someone would be threatening you with something your husband would say, I need to talk about your husband’s death.”

A shudder ran through her, and Danny’s hand squeezed. “What do you need to know?”

“Well, anything that may point us to why this is happening.”

“It’s happening ... ” The words came out strained, and she closed her eyes, forcing the rest out. “It’s happening because it’s my fault he died.”

She felt a jolt in Danny’s hand and quickly pulled away before he could.

“Ms. Cooke, there’s no record of foul play in your husband’s case. I read it. It said it was accidental.”

“Yes, it was.” She stared down at her fingers, pinching and squeezing the tips. “He had a hard day and took some extra anti-anxiety medicine to relax. He fell asleep and drowned in the bathtub.”

“How is it your fault, then?”

In the slow parting of his lips, Claire knew Danny had put it together before she even said the words.

“Because I didn’t look behind the curtain.”