Bay Hideaway

Are you absolutely positive?” Nathaniel Whithorne gripped the desk with one hand and sank slowly into his expensive desk chair.

“It’s her!” the male voice at the other end of the line answered. “It’s your wife.”

The leather creaked softly as Nathaniel swiveled the chair toward the floor-to-ceiling plates of glass overlooking the city of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The bright sun bounced off an adjacent building, reflecting shards of light into his office. For a moment he was speechless. What could he say? He let the back of his knuckles slide back and forth against the square of his clean-shaven jaw. How could he believe the unbelievable in spite of his suspicions?

“Representative Whithorne?” the voice continued. “Are you still there?”

The spray of light coming through the windows slowly seeped out of the room, and Nathaniel’s reflection in the glass began to take form. He stared back. His thick black hair was now peppered with gray—a change his regal mother would say enhanced his already aristocratic features. But his features were more haggard than ever and he knew it. He’d aged more over the past two years than during his entire forty.

Suddenly, he swung the chair back toward the massive mahogany desk. “Where is she?”

“On a small Ohio island off Lake Erie,” answered the man. “It’s called Bay Island—a touristy type place for summer travelers.”

“And you’re sure it’s Judi?”

“I’ve seen her, sir!” the man assured confidently. “There’s no mistake. She’s going by the name of Amanda Judith Rydell, but the islanders call her Judi. There are photos I can send you.”

“Where’s she living on the island?”

“North Shore Condominiums.” The sound of shuffling papers came across the line. “The actual address is 791 Wind Surf Drive, Unit E.”

Nathan penned the address onto an ivory writing pad. “And her work?”

“Working as a church secretary, sir.”

“Church secretary?” Surprise riddled Nathan’s voice.

“Yes, sir!”

“Book me a place to stay and ground transportation for this Bay Island place,” ordered Nathan. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

“But, sir—”

“Use your name for the reservations,” Nathan went on uninterrupted. “Under no circumstances do I want her knowing about my arrival.” He paused a moment. “And, Thomas?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I don’t think I need to tell you how important it is for you to keep this information under wraps. Do you understand? No leaks.”

“Yes, sir!”

“You’ll need to cancel my appointments for the next few days.” Nathan flipped open his daily planner. “Make my apologies and reschedule what you can.”

“What about House Bill 65?” questioned Thomas. “It’s due for a vote on Thursday.”

Nathan groaned. “See what you can do to stall the vote. I can’t miss that bill when it hits the floor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Thomas?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You don’t have to keep addressing me as
sir
in private.”

“I know, sir.”

Nathan gave a sigh of resignation. “One last thing—hand deliver all the original photos and information you have. Don’t make copies.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks for covering this, Thomas.”

“My pleasure, sir. Will there be anything else?”

Nathan tapped his pen on the desk as he thought a moment. “No. If you get my transportation and reservations in order, I’ll take it from there.” He leaned back in the chair. “I’ll call you as soon as I know how much time I’m going to need. It’s not a small matter when it comes to raising the dead.”

“Sounds gruesome, sir.”

“I’m sure it will be!”

Judi Rydell casually looked up from the computer screen as the church office door swooshed open. Her fingers stilled, hovering lightly over the keyboard, her finely manicured nails making light contact with the keys.

“Good morning,” called the blond visitor with obvious enthusiasm, his tall figure striding purposefully through the doorway and straight to the waist-high, natural oak counter. His smiling, raven-haired wife followed.

“You’re both early,” Judi commented with a slight smile. “What’s the occasion?” She watched in amusement as the man’s gaze darted sharply toward the clock above her.

A playful smirk crossed Larry Newkirk’s lips. “It’s Wednesday and ten o’clock. What more do you want?”

“Nine fifty-nine if you want to be exact.”

He consulted his gold wristwatch. “According to my precision-made Swiss timepiece, it’s ten to be exact—and hence, a moot point.” His mischievous eyes dared her to contradict, and when she only shrugged, he continued. “Got anything for us?”

Judi pushed her chair back and lightly stretched as she stood. “Actually, I do have a fax for you.” She turned and plucked a paper from the wire basket next to the printer. “Here you go!” With ease, she leaned over the counter, the ends of her hair sliding forward across the padded shoulders of her milky-white blouse. “Also, the folks from the lumberyard called this morning,” she announced. “They’ll be on the noon ferry.”

Larry took the paper and glanced at the clock again. “Good! I’ll meet them as soon as they arrive.”

Becky sidled up to her husband and silently scanned the typed information while Judi watched the couple. His militarystyle crew cut made him seem that much more in command, and she thought, yet again, how fortunate Becky must feel.

Looking pleased, Larry neatly folded the sheet of paper into a perfect square and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. “The new camp buildings are moving according to schedule.”

“Ahead of schedule, actually,” Becky corrected with a smile. She turned to Judi. “Thanks to a wonderful secretary who doesn’t mind keeping the contractors on their toes.”

“Someone has to keep them in line,” Judi answered with feigned sternness. “And I’m sure Larry is ready for a full and accurate accounting.” She gave Becky a knowing glance and then dutifully looked at Larry expectantly, waiting for the barrage of questions sure to follow.

Larry retrieved a small pad of paper from his shirt pocket and flipped it open. “Did the window orders make it in?”

“Done!”

“Heating and cooling?”

Judi smiled. “Done!”

“Bids for plumbing?”

“One is in and two by the end of the week.” She lifted her eyebrows a fraction at his impish expression.

“Is there anything you haven’t completed?”

“You act surprised!” She laughed, sitting back in her chair. “Church secretaries are always on top of their game, and in your case, on top of the construction process.”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a lopsided grin. “And some secretaries are even known to keep a private stash of fudge.”

Becky shook her head and laughed. “Real subtle, Mr. Newkirk.”

“Your lucky day; I just happen to have a box.” Judi smirked.

She reached deep into the recesses of the bottom desk drawer and pulled out the black-and-white checkered box. “You two are the only ones who truly appreciate this delicacy besides me.”

Larry procured two pieces from the offered box and passed one to his wife before carefully removing the cellophane from his own piece. “If you’d just tell me where you get this stuff, I’d buy it for myself instead of pilfering from you.” With practiced precision, he plopped the chocolate square into his mouth.

“Sorry,” she told him with pleasure, unable to count the number of times this particular conversation played out. “It’s an old family secret.” Carefully, she replaced the box.

“It’s not like you make it,” he grumbled teasingly. “You buy it!”

“It’s all the same to me!”

“What’s the name of it again?” he asked.

“Angelic Hash!” She gave a mock sigh. “Really, you should write it down.”

“I’ll remember it next time around,” he promised.

Judi knew better. He’d ask again—and again. Becky only rolled her eyes.

“So you’re not going to tell where you buy the fudge?” Larry asked again, obviously choosing to overlook their amusement.

“Nope!” Judi reached around the desk and pulled out a large cylinder. “But I will give you this.”

Larry caught the yellow cardboard tube she rolled across the countertop. “It’s not exactly fudge, but I guess it will do.”

A hollow, cannonlike thump reverberated throughout the room when he popped the top. Tightly rolled drawings spilled out into his hands as he tipped the bottom of the canister toward the ceiling. Judi watched as he unraveled and smoothed out the building plans on top of the extra desk in the outer office.

He was tall and handsome, especially on the days he wore his police uniform. All the women in the church loved him. He was gallant, caring, and most of all—handy. Not just a few women were disappointed, she mused, when he married. Actually, he and Becky were still newlyweds. Judi was happy for them—truly. They were such a good match and seemed to work together well. Since the two began working jointly on the Christian camp project, the idea of Thunder Bay went from dreams to paper to life in remarkable time. Most of all, their romance and subsequent marriage took pressure off Judi.

Larry had asked Judi out twice when she first came to the island, practically producing a spontaneous heart attack each time. It wasn’t just their age difference. She had at least five years on the man. No, it had nothing to do with Larry at all. By now he probably thought her a bit odd—and rightly so. Surely Larry must have been puzzled by the contrast of her warm office demeanor versus the social ice queen act she put on to discourage all romantically inclined men.

But it had to be that way.

Judi could never date and certainly could never marry again. She drew a deep and painful breath.

Distrust ruled her life. Like an anaconda, suspicion continued to keep a constricting cord around her throat. It threatened to tighten without warning. Just seeing Larry Newkirk in his police uniform for the first time filled her with such panic she’d thought the church secretary job would have to go. Larry was working on various camp details in her church office at least three times a week. Thankfully, she concluded early on that Larry was completely harmless, saving her the heartache of finding a new job.

Besides, it wasn’t just Larry. Even the most innocent probing of the church members into her personal life sent a rush of adrenaline speeding through her veins like a frenzied monster.

Still, she was free! The official documents proved it. Yet, if her mind was convinced, why did her incredibly terrified soul fail to believe? All the bases were covered—twice over. Very few could accomplish the meticulous process required to rebuild a new life, a new person. Not even the federal witness protection program promised as much.

The church phone rang, dragging her thoughts back to earth. The friendly voice at the other end offered the same weekly reminder she’d come to expect.

“I’ve ordered two dozen banana nut and one dozen blueberry,” Lottie BonDurant announced. “Don’t let Bette charge more than twenty-seven dollars. Sometimes she forgets to give the discount.”

Judi promised to be diligent in her weekly pickup and quietly replaced the receiver. The ladies’ Red Hat Club pickup at Bette’s Bakery was the highlight of her week. The trip wouldn’t be complete unless she purchased Bette’s most delicate of creations for herself—the chocolate éclair. She had to laugh at Lottie. Poor Bette practically gave away the muffins at what she usually charged, but Lottie made sure the price never wavered.