Jayne Ann Krentz (16 page)

“Makes sense, doesn't it?” Walter asked. “He wouldn't want to leave any evidence around that might point back to him.”

“It's certainly an interesting theory,” Hannah allowed cautiously.

“That's all it'll ever be now,” Walter said. “Kaitlin's been dead and buried for a long time. No one's going to reopen that old case. Probably for the best.” He turned with military precision. “Well, you'll have to excuse us, we've got work to do. Don't we, Torrance?”

“Yup.” Torrance's head bobbed up and down half a dozen times with great enthusiasm. “Turnin' this place into an inn with a restaurant attached is gonna be a big project. But you know, it makes a lotta sense. What with the institute and the college and the plans to renovate the old pier and put in more shops, Eclipse Bay is attractin' a lotta visitors these days. Don't have many nice places for 'em to stay. Just the motel out on the highway. Way it is now, folks have to drive on up the coast to find a classy place.”

He swung around and lumbered off after his brother.

Hannah waited until both Willises were out of sight. Then she looked at Rafe.

“A sex maniac from Seattle?” she said softly.

“I have a hunch that everyone in town has a personal theory of what happened that night.”

“Frilly lingerie in sizes big enough to fit a man?”

“Don't look at me.” He held up both hands, palms out. “I never saw any of that stuff.”

“What about the videos?”

He shook his head. “Nope. No videos. Hannah, I only went out with Kaitlin a few times before it became real obvious that she was just amusing herself with me while she hunted for her real meal ticket. I never got to know her well enough to learn about her little quirks and eccentricities.”

“Hmm. You do realize what this means, don't you?”

He leveled a finger at her. “Nothing. It means absolutely nothing. We only have the Willis brothers' word on what they found in the wall behind her dryer. And no offense to either Torrance or Walter, but they're not the most sophisticated guys to come down the pike. I doubt if they've been any farther than Portland in their entire lives. What looked like kinky clothing and dirty videos to them might be nothing more than a little late-night entertainment to other folks.”

“Kaitlin wasn't exactly shy about her own sexual activities. I can't see her going out of her way to protect the reputations of the men she dated, either. If she went to the trouble of hiding that lingerie and those videos to protect a boyfriend, she must have had big plans for the poor guy.”

Rafe hesitated. “Kaitlin's supreme goal in life was to marry someone with enough money to help her escape Eclipse Bay.”

“So, maybe this particular boyfriend had money. Maybe she saw him as a hot prospect for marriage.”

“Why hide the undies and the tapes?”

“Who knows? Maybe he was already married. Maybe she wanted to protect him because she was hoping he'd get a divorce and marry her. Maybe—”

“Whoa,” Rafe said. “Lots of maybes here.”

She made a face and planted her hands on her hips. “You're right. Got a little carried away there for a minute, didn't I?”

“Imagination is a wonderful thing. But in this case it's wasted. It's been eight years. We'll never know for sure what happened to Kaitlin that night. Like Walter said, that's probably just as well.”

Reluctantly she pulled her thoughts back to the matter at hand. The instant she refocused on her chief problem, her irritation returned.

“Let's get something clear here,” she said. “You're not going to do anything to Dreamscape until you and I have come to some agreement about how to handle the legal aspects of Isabel's inheritance.”

Rafe pondered the view of the hall. “I could open the restaurant in my half of the house.”

“That's crazy. There's no way you can turn half of this place into a restaurant. How would we divide the kitchen? What about all the people who would use
my
half of this hall to get to
your
restaurant? And who gets the solarium?”

“I thought it would make a nice dining room. In the summer I'll set up tables outside on the veranda, too.”

“Not without my permission, you won't. Rafe, you just can't run roughshod over the legal technicalities of this inheritance. We're talking several hundred thousand dollars worth of mansion here. We have to settle things first. You know that as well as I do.”

“Well,” Rafe said a little too casually, “speaking of settling the minor details, I've got a suggestion.”

Sensing danger, she went very still. “What is it?”

“How about a partnership?”

She stared at him, momentarily speechless.

“You?” she managed at last. “Me? Partners in Dreamscape?”

“You don't think it would work?”

“What about last night? Are you just going to pretend it never happened?”

“What's last night got to do with it?”

Suddenly she could no longer breathe. “
Everything
. How can you talk about a business partnership after—” She waved a hand, unable to finish the sentence.

“Ah.” Understanding lit his eyes. “You're worried about us mixing business with pleasure?”

There was a distant ringing in her ears now. Was that all it had been to him? A pleasant interlude? She struggled to regain her composure.

“Aren't you?” she asked in as cold a voice as she could manage.

“Well, sure,” he said far too readily. “Naturally I'll have a problem with it because I'm a Madison. Madisons always have problems when they get their financial affairs mixed up with their sexual affairs. But it shouldn't be a stretch for you. You're a Harte. You can compartmentalize.”

He was goading her, she thought. She had to get out of here before she lost it. Hartes did not do that kind of thing. Not in public, at any rate.

“You're right,” she said. “I could probably handle it. But as you just pointed out, you're a Madison. You'd screw it up for sure.”

She spun on her heel and walked swiftly outside. Winston, ever faithful, trotted out of the kitchen to follow her. Together they went down the front steps without a backward glance.

She yanked open the car door. Winston bounded inside and took up his post on the passenger seat. She got in behind the wheel and slammed the door shut.

The last thing she saw in her rearview mirror was Rafe lounging against the porch railing watching her roar out of the driveway. He had enjoyed seeing her come so close to the edge, she realized. He had deliberately pushed her, just to see what would happen.

A wave of uncertainty swept through her. All of her grandfather's warnings about Madisons flashed through her mind. What kind of game was Rafe playing?

Rafe brought the Porsche to a halt in the drive, switched off the engine, and sat for a while, staring at the front door of Mitchell's house.

Asking his grandfather to come to dinner was a crazy idea. If he had any sense he would fire up the engine and drive straight back to Dreamscape. But then he would have to explain to Hannah why he had chickened out.

The thought of going through another scene with her after the one that had taken place this morning when she had arrived to find the Willis brothers hard at work was not appealing. He had taken a chance, pushed his luck, and, predictably enough, things had exploded in his face. He would be more cautious next time. Who said a Madison couldn't learn from his mistakes?

He climbed out from behind the wheel and walked toward the porch steps.

The front door opened just as he raised his hand to knock. A cadaverously thin figure with a buzz cut and a face that looked as if it had been hewn out of the side of a mountain stared at him.

Bryce had worked for Mitchell for nearly ten years. No one knew where he had come from. He had started out as a part-time handyman and had gradually carved out a position as full-time majordomo. If Bryce had a last name, it had been lost in the mists of time. As far as Rafe knew, he had no close relatives. Bryce had brought order to the chaos of Mitchell's household. He was unswervingly loyal to his employer. Beyond that, he was a mystery.

“Hello, Bryce.”

“Good afternoon.”

“I'm looking for Mitchell.”

“Your grandfather is out in the garden.”

“Thanks.”

Rafe nodded in a friendly manner and walked off down the porch. No point exchanging further pleasantries. Bryce was not one for extended conversations.

Rafe opened the gate and entered the lush wonderland. When he didn't see Mitchell, he took the narrow gravel path that led toward the greenhouse at the far end of the garden.

He found his grandfather inside the opaque structure, tending to a tray of plants. Mitchell had a long-spouted watering can in one hand and a small spade in the other.

Rafe took a breath and stepped into the humid atmosphere of the greenhouse. He recalled Hannah's comment.
Your interest in cooking parallels his in gardening. Creative outlets that you both approach with passion.

The idea of having something in common with Mitchell was a hard concept to digest.

“Lookin' good in here,” he said. He told himself Hannah would have been proud of him for trying to start things off on a civil note. Then again, maybe not. She was pretty pissed at him right now. “You ever think about opening a commercial nursery?”

“Hell, no. Last thing I want to do is turn a good hobby into a business. Ruin all the fun.” Mitchell set down the watering can with a thunk and scowled ferociously. “Speaking of business, what's this I hear about you opening an inn and a little restaurant out there at Dreamscape?”

“Word gets around fast.”

“If you wanted to keep it a secret, you shouldn't have called the Willis brothers out to give you an opinion on the condition of the plumbing and wiring in that old place.”

“You're right.” Rafe examined a row of tiny pots containing small green plants with glossy leaves. “On the other hand, not much point trying to keep the plan a big dark secret here in Eclipse Bay.”

Mitchell gave him a sharp glance from beneath bushy brows. “You're serious about opening an inn?”

“Yeah.” Rafe moved on to a tray of feathery ferns. “Been thinking about it for a year now.”

Mitchell whistled softly. “Well, shoot and damn. Why the hell didn't you ever say anything?”

“Got to work things out with Hannah first.”

“Huh. That's a fact.”

Rafe looked up from the ferns. “Aren't you going to tell me that turning Dreamscape into an inn and restaurant is just about the dumbest idea any Madison has ever had?”

“Dumb is beside the point. Madisons don't concern themselves with dumb. They concentrate on what they want.” Mitchell's eyes crinkled at the corners as he squinted at Rafe. “You really want this?”

“Yes.”

Mitchell studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded once and stripped off a garden glove. “Go for it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. If you want it that bad, there's no point in me trying to talk you out of it. You're a Madison. Nothing's going to get in your way. Hell, you've got a better chance of pulling off an inn out there at Dreamscape than most folks.”

Rafe was thunderstruck. He stared at Mitchell until he finally got his jaw back in place.

“Are you telling me you think opening an inn and a restaurant is a
good
idea?” he finally managed.

“Didn't say that.” Mitchell tossed the glove down on the workbench. “Don't know if it's a good idea or not, to tell you the truth. Just said I could see that nothing was going to stop you. You've got a good head for business when you choose to use it. You could make this inn-restaurant thing work.”

Rafe lounged back against a waist-high potting bench, slightly shaken. This was the first time that Mitchell had ever given even halfhearted approval for any idea that did not involve going to work for Madison Commercial.

“Where does Hannah Harte fit into this big plan of yours?” Mitchell asked.

Rafe did not move. He did not even blink. “What do you mean?”

“Last I heard, she still owned half of that old house. Has she agreed to let you buy her out?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell are you going to do with her?”

Rafe examined the hibiscus next to him. “I've suggested to her that we form a partnership to operate the inn and restaurant.”

“A
partnership
?” Mitchell's face worked in astonishment. “With Hannah Harte? Have you lost every damned marble you've got?”

So much for getting Mitchell's unqualified support.

“You don't have to shout,” Rafe said. “I can hear you just fine.”

“Now you listen to me. You're a Madison. You can't have a business partnership with a Harte. It'll never work. Never in a million years.”

“Okay, so it might be a little more complicated than the usual business partnership,” Rafe said.

“Well, shoot and damn.” Mitchell grabbed a pair of pruning shears. “The rumors are true, aren't they? You are foolin' around with her, aren't you?”

“We have started what some people might call a relationship. Sort of.”

“A relationship?” Mitchell went to work on the hibiscus with the shears. “That mean you're shacking up together?”

Rafe realized that he was standing closer to the hibiscus than was comfortable. He moved a couple of steps aside to give Mitchell and his shears plenty of space.

“I don't think I'd use that term.”

Mitchell snipped off a straggling branch and glared. “Well, just what term would you use?”

“Like I said, the situation is a little complicated at the moment.”

Mitchell aimed the shears at Rafe. “Pay attention for once in your life. What I got to say is important. That woman put her reputation on the line for you eight years ago. Saved you a lot of grief.”

“I know that.”

“You can't fool around with her. It's not right.”

“I'm not fooling around with her.” Rafe searched for the right words, but they eluded him. “Whatever is going on, it's serious.”

Mitchell frowned at him for a long, considering moment. “It sure as hell better be serious.” Abruptly, he turned back to his pruning. “Why'd you come here today?”

“Came over to see if you want to have dinner with Hannah and me tomorrow night.” Rafe hesitated. “Feel free to bring your friend Octavia with you, if you want.”

“Octavia's gone back to Portland.”

“Invitation still stands.”

“Huh.” Mitchell clipped off another small branch. “Hannah Harte can cook?”

“I don't know. She's never done any cooking around me. I'll be doing the cooking.”

“Should be interesting,” Mitchell said.

“Does that mean we can expect you for dinner?”

“I'll be there. Be a change of pace from Bryce's grub.”

Rafe exhaled slowly. “Okay. Fine.” He straightened and headed for the door. He felt as if he had just weathered a storm. “See you around six.”

“Should be
damned
interesting,” Mitchell muttered again.

Waste of time, Rafe thought. But what the hell. Maybe Hannah would cut him some slack. He should get some points out of this. After all, it had been her suggestion to invite Mitchell to dinner.

He wondered if it was a bad sign that he was trying to please her.

Rafe paused in the office doorway and studied the scene. There was a computer on the desk. The telephone had several lines. The hardware was nearly buried amid piles of notebooks, photos, and newspapers. The bookcase was crammed with volumes. Several framed front-page editions of the
Eclipse Bay Journal
hung on the walls. One of them featured a photograph of Trevor Thornley standing with the former owner and editor of the newspaper, Ed Bolton, and his smiling wife, Bev.

“I always wondered what a newspaper editor's office looked like,” Rafe said.

Jed grinned and leaned back in his chair. “This is what this particular newspaper editor's office looks like. Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Rafe cleared a heap of out-of-town newspapers off a chair and sat down.

“Want some coffee?” Jed gripped the arms of his chair as if about to push himself up and out of it. “One thing we've got a lot of around here is caffeine. Part of the mystique.”

“No, thanks.” Rafe glanced at the computer. The screen showed a page of text. He glimpsed the words.
“Thornley stated that he will run for the Senate on a platform that calls for social and personal responsibility.”

“You got a one-on-one interview with Trevor Thornley?” Rafe asked.

“Did it this morning before he left for Portland. I'm writing an editorial for tomorrow's edition.”

Rafe settled back into the chair. “What's it like talking to a future U.S. senator?”

“Not a whole lot different than it was talking to a future member of the state legislature eight years ago. Only he's much more polished these days. But it's still tough to get a straight answer out of him.”

“Probably why he's come so far, so fast.”

“Probably. Well, like they say, he may be a sonofabitch, but he's our sonofabitch. I think Eclipse Bay can count on him to remember his roots even when he winds up in Washington, D.C.” Jed propped his elbows on the chair arms and linked his fingers across his small paunch. “What brings you here today?”

“Idle curiosity.”

“The best kind, I always say. That's what makes good reporters.” Jed chuckled. “What are you curious about?”

Rafe steepled his fingers. The decision to pay a visit to the offices of the
Eclipse Bay Journal
had seemed a spur-of-the-moment thing. He'd been on his way back to Dreamscape when it struck. But now that he thought about it, he realized that it had been nibbling at the back of his mind all morning, ever since Walter and Torrance Willis had voiced their theories about Kaitlin Sadler having been murdered by a sex maniac from Seattle.

“I've got a favor to ask,” he said. “I want to take a look at some old editions of your paper.”

Jed's eyes darkened with sudden interest. “How old?”

“Eight years.”

Jed whistled tunelessly. “Well, I'll be damned. You want to see the coverage of Kaitlin Sadler's death, don't you?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Hell, no.” Jed's chair squeaked as he sat forward abruptly. He fixed Rafe with an intent look. “What's up?”

“Nothing. I told you, I'm just curious, that's all. I didn't pay any attention to the stories that appeared in the paper at the time. I was too busy trying to keep from getting arrested. As soon as I was cleared, all I wanted to do was get out of town.”

“An understandable reaction.” Jed picked up a pen and absently tapped the edge of the computer keyboard. “Sure you're not looking for something in particular?”

“I'm sure.”

“Hey, this is your old buddy, Jed Steadman, boy reporter and pool pal, remember? If you've got a line on what really happened that night, the least you can do is fill me in.”

“Think it would still be news after all this time?”

Jed raised his eyebrows. “If you've got anything to indicate that what happened to Kaitlin was something other than an accident, yes, it sure as hell would be news. No one here has forgotten that incident.” He paused. “We've only had one real murder in Eclipse Bay in the past decade, and that was when a couple of tourists got into a quarrel out at the RV park and one of them shot the other.”