Wounded Hearts

By J.S. Marlo

Faced with the impossible choice of hurting the man she loves, or leaving him forever, Rowan Kendrick flees Iceland for Prince Edward Island, Canada. Heartbroken, and unable to forget him, she finds refuge at The Buccaneer, a bed & breakfast recently willed to her by an estranged aunt.
Haunted by a fatal shooting, Avery Stone seeks his escape in Buccaneer's attic room. Despite himself, he is drawn into the peculiar circumstances behind the previous owner's death and the strange bones exhumed by Rowan. His dislike for the doctor befriending her turns to mistrust as matters unravel.
Rowan struggles to cope with difficult guests, the puzzling Mr. Stone, and her increasingly complicated family secrets. When she unearths a murderer, is she doomed to death like her aunt? Or will the men in her life, including the love she left behind, set aside their own troubles and band together to help her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9780228622055

J.S. Marlo

JS lives in Alberta with her hubby, and when she's not visiting her children and little granddaughter, she's working on her next novel under the northern lights.

Book preview

Wounded Hearts

Love & Sacrifice, 2

J. S. Marlo

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-0-2286-2205-5

Kindle 978-0-2286-2206-2

PDF 978-0-2286-2207-9

Print ISBNs

BWL Print 978-0-2286-2209-3

LSI Print 978-0-2286-2210-9

Amazon Print 978-0-2286-2208-6

Copyright 2022 by Marlene Garand

Cover art by Pandora Designs

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Dedication

To Auntie Sunshine

Chapter One

I don’t rent rooms by the minute or the hour. Appalled at the caller’s audacity, Rowan Kendrick slammed the handset of the landline phone onto its base, rattling the saltshaker standing beside it on the kitchen counter.

She inherited The Buccaneer, a cozy bed and breakfast on Prince Edward Island, not a dump in Brothelville. Mosquitoes would stop biting before she served that kind of clientele.

Not another one of those inquiries, was it? At the other end of the counter, Gail kneaded bread dough. The plump woman spoiled the guests with her delicious creations and pampered them with her excellent housekeeping.

"Yes, another one of those. Downhearted, Rowan pulled out a kitchen chair and slumped in it. Did Aunt Mattie ever welcome that kind of clientele?"

Goodness gracious no. Flour flew in the air. "We’ve hosted some interesting characters over the last ten years, but none of the indecent kind. Come to think of it, I don’t recall your aunt ever receiving such inquiries."

Gail lived on the premises and woke up at dawn every morning. Not much escaped her. She would have been privy to some, if not most, of Aunt Mattie’s calls.

If the calls started after Mattie’s death, then something triggered them. That trigger could also explain why Rowan hadn’t hung the No Vacancy sign yet.

When I took over, Buccaneer was booked solid until September. In the last few weeks, Rowan had processed more cancellations than bookings. Now I face empty rooms in June. I must be doing something wrong, but I have no idea what.

Mattie’s excellent records made Rowan’s steep learning curve more manageable, but she still had much more to learn. Her one-month on the job had only shown her the tip of the iceberg. I could have used your help, Aunt Mattie. Why did you have to fall from that ladder and die before I had a chance to meet you?

Buccaneer may not be a luxury hotel, but I know our guests enjoy their stays. Most of them give us a five-star rating when they leave. The buoyant woman transferred the dough into a deep bowl. Buccaneer is listed on many booking sites. Is it possible you forgot to renew some of those listings?

Listings? Rowan racked her brain and came up blank. The topic about listings belonged in chapters still hidden under water. I’ll be in my office. Busy learning about listings and rebuilding an elusive future.

A solid oak door blocked the guests from accessing the private quarters she shared with Gail. Rowan pushed the heavy door open. Since there were no guests on the premises, she didn’t bother closing it behind her.

Her office resembled a janitor’s closet. She had added a fresh coat of white paint and replaced the fluorescent lamp, but to her disappointment, the improvements didn’t compensate for the lack of a window.

Her laptop rested on a cluttered desk, a relic from Mattie. Seated on a comfortable, but ugly, yellow armchair, Rowan opened her Internet browser. Her homepage, set on Icelandic Daily News, appeared on her screen.

One headline, followed by a short paragraph, caught her attention.

Tourists trapped inside volcanic cave – Day 19 (updated at 2:14 p.m. on June 11th)

Updated nine minutes ago, the news was as fresh as Gail’s coffee and bread.

As the rescue team attempted to extract the two Spanish tourists from a deep, narrow crack, they experienced another setback. A pulley snapped from the portable crane they were using to lower a rescuer inside the crack. Fortunately, the man wasn’t injured, but it will be hours before the pulley is fixed and another attempt is made.

In her heart, Rowan knew Bjorn was part of the rescue effort. He wouldn’t have abandoned his two tourists, but he would have tried calling her.

Good luck reaching me. The old crow had hidden Rowan’s phone somewhere in the cottage. I had to buy a new cell phone and get a new number after returning to Canada, but I’m sure your granny will be thrilled to talk to you on my old phone. I bet she won’t tell you she never approved of me, a foreigner.

Rowan punched the words Bed & Breakfast websites in her browser tab.

She wanted me out of your life, Bjorn. The old crow didn’t even have the decency to wait until Rowan felt better to boot her out. And you gave her the perfect opportunity when you asked her to take care of me during your absence.

A list of websites appeared on her screen.

Tears blurred her vision. I wanted to stay, but how could I tell you what your granny did? Rowan loved him too much to force him to choose between her and the old crow who raised him.

Blinking away the tears, Rowan clicked on the website at the top.

Her choice to leave Iceland could backfire, and cost her the man she loved, but it was the right decision. The only decision I could make without hurting you.

Relieved to see that Buccaneer Bed & Breakfast was listed on the site, Rowan scrolled down to the review section.

My brain tells me I won’t hear from you until the rescue is over, but my heart hopes against hope.

The more recent reviews appeared first.

Her jaw dropped reading the titles. Food not worthy of my dog. Bed lumpier than oatmeal. Bathroom worse than outhouse. Best place to take a hooker.

These slanderous reviews suggested she either ran a dump or a bawdy house. Aunt Mattie would roll in her grave if she knew about those reviews, but they explain the cancellations and the weird phone calls.

Rowan crosschecked the names of the complainers—the ones who didn’t hide behind the name Anonymous—with the guests who stayed at The Buccaneer in the last two years.

One name matched, Brown, but it couldn’t be the same Brown.

B. Brown posted his baseless review a month ago, after Mattie’s untimely death, but Aiden Brown only left The Buccaneer four days ago after a five-day stay with his wife Kellie.

I don’t get it. Why would anyone waste time posting falsehoods? Don’t they realize they’re ruining Buccaneer’s reputation?

* * *

Hoping to clear her mind, Rowan went jogging along a red dirt path atop the ocean cliff.

On her left stood The Buccaneer.

The exterior paint peeled from its cedar siding. The weathered black asphalt shingles curled on its rooftop. Battered shutters framed the windows of the first and second floor. And the small attic windows, with a lone crooked shutter on the left side, bulged out from its roof.

Lots of costly repairs loomed on the horizon.

In her will, Aunt Mattie had also left Rowan a small amount of money, but not enough to cover all those repairs. If I can’t generate additional revenues, I’ll face bankruptcy, and that will be the end of that venture.

Her aunt wasn’t a scrooge when it came time to furnish and maintain the interior of the bed and breakfast, and yet she spent little on the exterior. The guests’ comfort take priority over Buccaneer’s appearance. I get that, Aunt Mattie, but you were ready to throw money at the gazebo instead of redoing the roof. Seriously?

A cloud of red dust trailed in the wake of a yellow convertible speeding up the hill toward The Buccaneer.

No guests were scheduled to arrive today, not that any of her guests drove sport cars. Her curiosity aroused, Rowan veered inland, slowing her pace as she climbed the gentle slope toward her bed and breakfast.

A tall and lanky visitor exited the car parked in front of the garage. He walked past the stairs and strolled down the front lawn, catching up with her where the grass became sparse. Miss Rowan Kendrick?

Surprised to hear her name, Rowan turned her back to the sun and pushed her sunglasses up in her hair. Yes?

I’m Dr. Chris Callaghan. He gazed at her with a benevolent smile. I’m delighted to finally meet Mattie’s secret niece. Please accept my heartfelt condolences. Your aunt was a wonderful lady. Her death at such a young age was a tragedy.

Maybe not a tragedy, but a tragic accident that could have been avoided. Nice meeting you, Dr. Callaghan. Rowan knew next to nothing about her father’s side of the family. Learning she had an aunt named Mattie had been a surprise and to inherit from her a shock. Did you know my aunt well? Would you know how old she was when she died?

Please, call me Chris. With his curly blond hair and engaging personality, the doctor exuded trust and friendliness. "I’ve known your aunt all my life. She used to be my grandpa’s patient. When I took over his clinic, she became my favorite patient. I believe she was in her late forties or early fifties, but I would need to check her record if you’re looking for her exact age."

No, that won’t be necessary. I was just curious to know if Mattie was younger or older than Dad. Rowan couldn’t imagine being estranged from her only brother, but family could be complicated, like Bjorn’s grandmother had painfully demonstrated. So, what brings you here, Chris?

Like I said, Mattie was an exceptional lady, but running the bed and breakfast was taking its toll on her health. I often worried about her. He spoke softly, almost in confidence. As I’m sure you discovered, there are many things to handle, enough to overwhelm Mattie on a bad day. I wanted to make certain you were faring well, not that I don’t have faith in you. Quite the contrary.

That’s very kind of you. Her aunt’s struggles gave Rowan a different perspective on her own problems. Did Mattie ever talk to you about some of the difficulties she faced?

On many occasions. Sometimes I wondered if she faked an ailment just to come at the clinic so she could unload or bounce a new idea off me. With a sweep of his arm, the doctor gestured toward the gardens in a silent invitation to follow him. Is there something bothering you? Maybe I could provide some insights.

Well... Rowan walked by his side, matching his leisurely strides. Some individuals posted nasty reviews on the websites listing Buccaneer, but as far as I can tell, they never actually stayed here. The bookings have been plummeting ever since.

That’s awful. For a split second, shock flitted across his face. Unverified reviews shouldn’t be allowed, and I don’t doubt these were all unwarranted. The Buccaneer would be the first place I would recommend to any visitors. Have you tried contacting the webmasters and requesting they be taken down?

Yes, I did. Irked by the false and anonymous allegations, Rowan had written a lengthy complaint letter to the webmasters. I’m confident they will be removed, but the damage has already been done. I’ll have to spend lots of money on advertising and postpone some repairs.

The doctor’s gaze wandered toward The Buccaneer. The roof appears to be in dire shape. Was it a repair you intended to tackle this summer?

Roof, shutters, windows, exterior paint... Her list of repairs extended as far as her eyes could see. So much to choose from, so little money to go around. I won’t deny I’m disappointed Aunt Mattie ignored these repairs to focus her attention instead on the gazebo. Moving it closer to the cliff in order to make room for a vegetable garden seemed like a waste of energy and money.

Mattie wanted to move the gazebo so she could grow carrots? His surprise mirrored Rowan’s when Gail told her about Mattie’s Pet project. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but that’s a terrible idea. If she’d mentioned it to me, I would have tried to dissuade her. In any case, I agree with your priorities, Rowan, if I may call you Rowan.

Yes, you may. She was glad and relieved that an unbiased and objective individual shared her opinion. The gazebo isn’t going anywhere, but I would have liked to re-shingle the roof of the house before it starts leaking.

You’re a very sensible woman, Rowan. Between you and me, I like the gazebo where it stands. He led her toward the subject of Mattie’s odd obsession, an octagonal pavilion erected off the flower garden and nestled in the shadows of the woods. It adds charm to The Buccaneer. Once you fix the exterior of the house, you will attract more guests, but I realize money might currently be an issue. He paused near a flowerbed overflowing with blue and pink flowers. Ever since your aunt passed, I’ve searched for a special way to pay her tribute. As her heir, would you kindly accept an interest-free loan to restore The Buccaneer? I can’t think of a more appropriate way to honor her life and protect her legacy, can you?

No. I can’t. Astonished by his generous offer, Rowan resisted the temptation to hug him. I’m grateful. Thank you.

* * *

After supper, Rowan informed Gail and Bill of her plan to renovate The Buccaneer, starting with the roof.

From the seat he occupied at the end of the table, The Buccaneer’s handyman and gardener rubbed his bushy white beard. And where will you find the money?

Money was at the center of Bill’s every objection. In his early seventies, the bald man always worried about cost, expenses, and repairs. His peculiar behavior baffled Rowan. Back home on her mother’s ranch, handymen were more interested in spending money than saving it.

Rowan resisted a smile. Dr. Callaghan stopped by this afternoon and kindly offered an interest-free loan.

Gail’s squeal of excitement didn’t drown out the snarl that rattled Bill’s throat.

Puzzled by his negative reaction, Rowan fished for an explanation. I take it you don’t approve?

No, I don’t. I don’t like Callaghan and don’t trust him. Someone else should have performed Mattie’s autopsy. Bill drew a cap over his naked scalp and stood. In the morning, I’ll price the supplies for the roof. Good night. And thanks for supper.

The door banged behind him before Rowan returned his farewell. What was that about?

The good doctor wanted to buy Buccaneer. Gail removed a tray of cookies from the oven, and the sweet aroma of chocolate rose into the kitchen. He made a big offer, but Mattie was reluctant to sell. In the weeks leading to her death, I often heard her argue with Bill about the doctor and the money. I think Bill regrets some of the things he said, and he feels responsible for her death.

Why? What was wrong with the autopsy? Something felt amiss in Mattie and Bill’s employer-employee relationship, not that Rowan could put her finger on the reason behind that feeling. Wasn’t Mattie’s fall an unfortunate accident?

Climbing up that ladder and destroying that nest should have been Bill’s job, not Mattie’s. I think he was hoping Dr. Callaghan would find a different reason for Mattie’s death, something like a heart attack that could have made her fall and break her neck... anything to make Bill feel less guilty. A quiet sigh shook Gail’s shoulders. If Mattie had waited, this tragic accident could have been avoided, but she didn’t. We can’t change the past, can we? Gail scraped the cookies from the tray, placing them onto a cooling rack, within reach of Rowan’s hand. Careful, they’re hot.

And gooey. And delicious. The melted chocolate dripping on Rowan’s fingers tantalized her taste buds. She opened her mouth in anticipation.

The older woman chuckled. The good doctor must fancy you if he gave you free money.

Stunned by the insinuation, Rowan stilled. The cookie froze two inches from her lips. Don’t go daydreaming a cheap novel, Gail.

Why not? He’s in his mid-thirties, tall, handsome, charming, and single. A good catch if you ask me.

I didn’t ask you. I agree he’s charming and all that, but he’s not my cup of tea. Rowan preferred outdoorsy men. Men like Bjorn. Despite her bad flu, she should have gone with him on the expedition. Darn crack. The tourists were still trapped in the guts of the cave. A change of conversation was in order before she dwelled on her unresolved love life again. While I was outside, I was thinking about Mattie’s vegetable garden. It’d be less work to transform one of the flowerbeds into a garden than to move the gazebo.

And kill all those beautiful flowers? Gail waved her hands. Her oven mitts flew across the kitchen counter. Nonsense. That vegetable garden was a foolish idea. If I want fresh tomatoes, I’ll go to the market, which reminds me, someone called during your absence.

The mysterious connection between the tomatoes and the caller escaped Rowan. Who? A green pepper?

A green pepper? Gail shook her head, dislodging some white hair from the bun pulled tight behind her head. A guest, Rowan, and he’s planning on arriving this weekend. He wanted to know if we had any monthly rates. Do we?

No, but if someone wants to stay a month, I’ll give him a rebate. I’ll figure something out.

I gave him a description of the rooms. Care to guess which one he preferred?

Each guestroom was named after a marine creature: the Squid Room, the Lobster Room, the Oyster Room, and the Starfish Room.

Rowan chose the only room with a private bathroom. The Squid Room?

No. Her cook tossed the mitts in a drawer. The Starfish.

Really? Relegated to the attic, the Starfish was their smallest room. Did you tell him about climbing into the attic and sleeping in a single bed?

Sure did, but he didn’t care. Gail pulled a scrap of paper from the pocket of her apron and placed it on the table. His name is Avery Stone, and that’s his phone number.

* * *

Bjorn bounced on his seat with every bump the suspension of his Jeep couldn’t handle. The road is getting worse, or I need to book an appointment at the garage.

His grandmother still lived in the cottage where she was born, surrounded by a lava field covered with green moss. Her father had built it, and for over a century, the gray cottage had blended with the beautiful, eerie landscape.

What possessed his grandmother to repaint the façade orange and the window trims purple was a mystery Bjorn could never unfold. It’s been five years, Amma. It’s time to add a few more coats of paint from the opposite side of the color spectrum.

His twelve-day expedition inside the volcanic caves turned into a thirty-five-day nightmare. That cave should have been safe. He explored it dozens and dozens of times, never seeing evidence of fractures on the floor or the main walls.

Cracks aren’t supposed to appear out of nowhere, but tourists aren’t supposed to pluck hammers from their backpacks and pound the ground to dislodge colorful fragments of rocks either. Next time I’ll check their bags.

The rock-diggers escaped unscathed. Instead, the cave swallowed two nice guys who obeyed every directive. Bjorn couldn’t abandon them.

For twenty-four days, he remained at the edge of the crack talking and lowering water, food, and first aid supplies while the rescue team attempted to get them out.

Next time I venture into the caves, it’ll be with Ro. Bjorn couldn’t wait to show her the new chamber he discovered. With its dramatic lava stalactites and stalagmites, it was the perfect setting to propose.

Months ago, he had bought a delicate jade ring for the occasion. The color of the ring matched her beautiful eyes.

No more dawdling. Tonight’s the night I invite her for a special walk under the stars. With any luck, the northern lights would witness his proposal.

Parked at the edge of the lawn, a blend of green moss, yellowed grass, and stubborn weeds, he stretched his legs before collecting his gear from the trunk.

During his absence, he phoned Rowan to keep her apprised of the situation in the cave, but his calls were few and far between. It annoyed him that his grandmother answered every time and he never got to talk to Rowan. You’re not angry at me for staying, are you?

His grandmother’s tabby cat Alfie slept on the veranda. Bjorn dropped his gear near its tail. The cat hissed and moved away from the screen door.

Ro? Amma? Anyone home?

The door opened.

Bjorn? The withered face of his grandmother welcomed him with a weak smile.

Hello, Amma. He opened his arms, but she retreated inside before he could hug her. Puzzled by her strange behavior, Bjorn followed her into the living room.

I thought you’d never come home. Amma sat in her favorite rocking chair near the wood-burning stove. It’s about time they got the two tourists out. Will they survive?

They’re both expected to recover. A gaudy elephant figurine rested on the coffee table in place of Rowan’s books. Where’s Ro? Did she go back to her apartment?

A bad flu had prevented Rowan from joining his expedition. Worried about her, Bjorn had insisted she stayed with his grandmother during his absence. He should have guessed that Rowan would leave the cottage as soon as she felt better.

Please, have a seat, Bjorn. A solemn veil cloaked Amma’s expression.

The keys slipped from his fingers and clunked on the wooden floor like broken icicles. Did Ro’s flu get worse? Is she in the hospital? Was it the reason she couldn’t come to the phone?

She flew back home to Canada.

She what? Rowan and he were supposed to fly to Canada to visit her family, but not until July. Why? Did something bad happen?

Rowan wasn’t blind, Bjorn. Her gaze locked on her shriveled hands, Amma clasped and unclasped them over her lap. She saw how you look at Fridrika every time she stops by with her grandmother.

Fridrika? Their grandmothers were best friends. Out of curtesy to them, Bjorn feigned interest in the teenage girl’s outdoor activities when she visited. Nothing more. She’s just a friend, Amma. He picked up his keys and sat on the armrest of the couch. What’s going on? When did Ro leave?

Rowan realized how important your heritage is to you, so she set you free. I know I told you she was still here but too busy to come to the phone. I lied. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.

What? The surreal conversation baffled his mind.

"She gave me her phone before boarding her plane on May 14th. Rowan has been gone a