Jayne Ann Krentz (23 page)

“I was afraid you'd say something like that. Let me guess what you mean by ground rules. Separate bedrooms, right?”

“I think it would be best,” she said very primly. “This thing is getting very complicated.”

“And sharing a bedroom with me on a routine basis makes it even more complicated?”

She narrowed her eyes. “An occasional night of…of—”

“Wild passion?” he offered helpfully.

She stiffened. “As I was saying, an occasional night together is one thing. But sharing a bedroom feels more like…like—”

“Like a commitment?” he supplied with an air of amusement.

“Yes,” she shot back, goaded. “Like a commitment. Which, I might add, neither of us has made.”

“The subject has not arisen.”

“That's not the point.” She could hear the waspish edge in her own voice. “If I'm going to stay here, it will be on my terms, and that means separate bedrooms.”

He moved his hand in a suspiciously careless manner. “Whatever you say. I'll drive you back to your place and give you a hand with the packing.”

“That's not necessary.”

“It's the least I can do if you're going to help me with the dishes.”

Suspicion flickered briefly. He was being entirely too cooperative, she thought. But when she searched his gaze she saw nothing but mocking amusement.

Much later that night she awoke quite suddenly, aware that something was wrong. She stared at the ceiling for a while before she realized that she could not feel Winston's familiar warmth at her feet.

There was a soft whine in the darkness. Alarm zapped through her. She sat straight up in bed and switched on the light.

Winston was sitting in front of the bedroom door. He looked impatient to get out.

“Oh, damn.” She shoved aside the covers, grabbed her robe, and hurried toward the door. “What is it? Is there someone out there watching us here at Dreamscape? I thought we left that problem behind when we moved out of the cottage.”

Winston scratched politely at the base of the door. She flung it open for him. He trotted out into the unlit hall. She followed quickly.

On the second floor landing she paused. “We should wake Rafe. He'll want to be involved in this, whatever it is.”

Winston ignored her. He trotted down the next flight of stairs to the first floor and disappeared. Hannah peered over the railing to look for him and saw a glow coming from the kitchen. Rafe was already awake.

She hurried downstairs, crossed the hall, and walked into the kitchen. She stopped when she saw Rafe standing in front of the counter with a knife in his hand. He had taken the time to pull on a pair of jeans, but that was all. His sleek shoulders gleamed in the kitchen light. His bare feet looked strong and supple and very sexy.

There was a chunk of leftover feta cheese on the plate that sat on the drainboard. Winston was positioned at Rafe's feet, looking expectant.

Hannah came to a halt in the doorway. “What's going on here?”

“Couldn't sleep,” Rafe said. He dropped a bit of the cheese into Winston's waiting jaws. “Came down here to get a bite to eat.” He held up the knife. “Want some?”

“No, thanks.” She was torn between the urge to let him drop a bite of cheese into her mouth and the knowledge that if she had any sense she would hurry back upstairs. As was so often the case when she was caught between two equally opposing forces, she did nothing. “I was afraid that Winston had heard a prowler outside.”

“Nope.” Rafe ate some more cheese. “He must have heard me come downstairs a few minutes ago. How about you? Sleeping okay up there on the third floor?”

“I was sleeping just fine until Winston decided to follow you down here.”

Rafe studied her with an unreadable expression as he munched cheese. “Hey, that's just great. Lot of people don't sleep well in a strange environment, you know? Sometimes they just lay there staring at the ceiling and think about things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah.” He sliced off another bit of cheese. “Things.”

“Right. Things.” The dangerously enigmatic shimmer in his eyes was starting to worry her. It was definitely time to retreat, she decided. She gripped the lapels of her robe and took a step back. “Well, as long as everything is okay down here, I'll go back to bed.”

“You ever do that, Hannah? Just lie in bed and think about things?”

She hesitated. “Sometimes.”

“I've been doing it a lot lately.”

“Is that so?”

He put some cheese on a cracker and then popped the whole morsel into his mouth. “Aren't you going to ask me what kind of things I think about?”

She took another wary step back, not trusting his odd mood. “None of my business,” she said crisply.

“Don't be so sure of that. Tonight, for instance, one of the things I was thinking about was who, besides Bev Bolton, might be able to give us a few insights into the bedroom lives of our friends and neighbors here in Eclipse Bay. I had an idea.”

She folded her arms and propped one shoulder against the doorjamb. “Don't tell me one of your buddies is the local Peeping Tom?”

“He would be highly offended at the suggestion. I always had the impression that he sees himself as a lone crusader for freedom, privacy, and the First Amendment.”

“I assume we are not talking about the head of the public library.”

“Nope.” Rafe ate more cheese. “I'm going to talk to my potential informant tomorrow while Mitchell is in Portland.”

“I'm probably going to regret this, but I want to be there when you talk to this person.” She paused delicately. “Who is it we're going to see?”

“Virgil Nash.”

She winced. “I don't suppose there's any way we can talk to him without someone finding out.”

“Doubt it. Still want to come with me?”

She decided to be philosophical about the situation. “Ah, well. It's not as if I have anything but a few tattered threads left of my reputation here in Eclipse Bay, anyway. What do I care if the whole town finds out that I was seen entering the local porn dealer's shop with you?”

“That's the spirit,” Rafe said with enthusiasm. “Virgil's Adult Books and Video Arcade is just the kind of place folks would expect me to take a nice girl like you.”

“Nobody ever said you didn't know how to show a lady a good time.” She turned away to seek the safety of the third floor.

“I was thinking about something else besides Virgil Nash,” Rafe continued in a conversational tone. “I also thought a lot about phobias.”

Her mouth went dry. So he had overheard her awkward conversation with Mitchell. An ominous sensation rolled through her. She turned very slowly in the doorway to face him.

“I was afraid of that,” she said.

“You know, my grandfather may be right. Perhaps the best way to get over a phobia is to confront it head-on. Just do it, you know?”

She cleared her throat. “I'm no expert on phobias, but it seems to me that that approach would be likely to trigger severe panic attacks.”

“Hadn't thought of that.”

“I suggest you do think about it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to bed.”

“Hannah?”

She looked back unwillingly. “Now what?”

“If I'm the one with the phobia, how come you're the one who looks panicked?”

“Good night, Rafe.” She fled toward the stairs.

Winston did not return to the third-floor bedroom right away. When he finally did come back upstairs, his fur was cool and damp. Hannah realized that Rafe had taken him outside for a late-night walk.

“What did you two talk about out there?” she whispered.

Winston did not reply. He settled into position at the foot of the bed and promptly went to sleep.

“Guys always stick together.”

She tried to go back to sleep. It was hard work. For a long time, she just stared at the ceiling and thought about things.

Virgil's Adult Books and Video Arcade was located less than a hundred feet beyond the official boundary of the town of Eclipse Bay. When he had established his business fifteen years earlier, Virgil had been careful to select a location that was just outside the reach of local reformers, civic activists, and members of the town council who saw running the local porn store out of town as a sure ticket to reelection.

“It's the old law of real estate,” Virgil had once explained to Rafe. “Location, location, location.”

While convenience had been of paramount importance, Virgil had also realized that most of his clientele would also appreciate a measure of privacy while they made their purchases. With the aim of providing customers with that treasured commodity, he had placed the small parking lot behind the shop rather than in front, where familiar vehicles might be noted by neighbors, business acquaintances, and parents who happened to drive past.

“I can't believe I'm taking my dog into a place like this.” Hannah scowled at the sign over the shop's rear entrance as she snapped the leash onto Winston's collar. “I can only hope that he doesn't realize what sort of business this is.”

Rafe took the keys out of the ignition and unbuckled his seat belt. “It was your idea to bring Winston along.”

“I refuse to leave him home alone until we find out who tried to murder him.” Hannah glanced swiftly around the nearly empty parking lot. “Thank goodness there aren't too many customers here at the moment.”

“There aren't
any
other customers here,” Rafe said.

“That van in the corner belongs to Virgil.”

“Oh. Hard to see how he stays in business. It's two o'clock in the afternoon and there's no one here.”

Rafe cracked open his door. “Virgil doesn't get busy until after dark.”

“How do you know that?”

“Everyone knows that.” He got out of the car and closed the door very quickly before she could think of any more questions.

Hannah opened her own door and climbed out warily. “All right, Winston, let's go. But whatever you do, don't touch anything. Understand?”

Winston sprang lightly out of the car. And immediately paused to sniff curiously at a small plastic wrapper that lay on the pavement.

Hannah glanced down to see what had caught his interest. She gave a half-strangled shriek of dismay. “Good grief, that looks like a used condom. Didn't you listen to me, Winston? I said,
don't touch anything
.”

Rafe watched her drag Winston away from his investigations. “Are you two going to fool around out here all afternoon?” He opened the rear door of the shop. “We've got business to do.”

Hannah gave him a ferocious glare. She stalked to-ward him with Winston in tow. “You certainly seem to know your way around the premises.”

“Spent some extremely educational afternoons here when I was a young man.”

“I'll bet.”

“Virgil always was a pioneer in the field of sex ed.”

“Sex ed, my left pinkie. Virgil sells dirty books and movies. I refuse to dignify his profession by referring to him as an instructor in the field of sex education.”

“Suit yourself.” Rafe led the way into the shop. “But I think you'll like Virgil once you get to know him.”

“I doubt if I'll be coming back here much in the future,” she said austerely. She followed him into the shop and let the door slam shut with a reverberating bang.

“Okay, be that way,” Rafe said.

She did not dignify that with a response. Her attention was on Winston, who was busily sniffing around a display of what looked like small bottles of whipped cream. Rafe glanced at the sign above the display.
PAS
-
SION CREAM
.
FOUR EROTIC FLAVORS
.

Winston appeared to be particularly fascinated with the Cherry Pie flavor.

“Winston, leave that alone.”

Rafe had a feeling that Hannah was going to be saying that a lot while they were in the shop.

“Rafe.” The elegantly modulated voice emanated from the far side of the shop. “Heard you were back in town. Good to see you again.”

Rafe turned around and greeted the thin, slightly built man seated in the large wing chair near the window. “Hello, Virgil. Been a while.”

“It has indeed.” Virgil put down the book he had been reading and stood up. “And judging from the latest gossip, I assume that the charming lady at your side is Hannah Harte?”

“Hannah, meet Virgil.”

Hannah managed a smooth, brittle smile. She did not give Virgil her hand to shake. Instead she managed to make it appear as though she had all she could do to hang on to Winston's leash and her purse at the same time.

“You haven't changed a bit, Virgil,” Rafe said. “I think I recognize that vest.”

Virgil's gray eyes twinkled a little behind the lenses of his reading glasses. He glanced down the front of the frayed green sweater vest that he wore over a plaid shirt. “You may be right. Can't even recall when I got this. Probably a birthday gift from some dead relative whose name I have apparently forgotten. Where does the time go, eh?”

There was an oddly ageless quality about Virgil. His background was as cloaked in mystery as Arizona Snow's. No one knew where he had come from or what he had done before he set up the porn shop just outside the town limits. With his gaunt frame, neat silver goatee, slightly stooped shoulders, and thick glasses, he had the look of an absentminded professor who had spent too much time indoors with his books.

The scholarly impression was not far off the mark, Rafe thought. Somewhere along the line Nash had acquired a fine classical education. Virgil's personal library, a sophisticated collection of history, literature, and philosophy, was extensive. Rafe knew that because he had spent a lot of time in it.

Virgil was not anyone's idea of a porn dealer, but he considered himself a professional in a sadly underappreciated line of work. He had once told Rafe that he had dedicated himself to the business of selling what he liked to call erotica years ago and had never wavered from his career choice.

Virgil glanced from Rafe to Hannah and back again. His silver brows rose inquiringly. “I am delighted that the two of you found time to pay me a visit. I've heard all about your plans for an inn and a restaurant out there at Dreamscape. I think it's a wonderful idea.”

“Those plans have not been finalized,” Hannah said brusquely.

“I'm sure everything will work out.” Virgil smiled at Rafe. “Heard you did all right for yourself.”

“Didn't go to jail,” Rafe said.

“Had a hunch you would turn out okay.”

“I understand Rafe spent a lot of time here in the old days,” Hannah offered.

“Yes, indeed,” Virgil said with paternalistic pride. “I sold him his first condom. Taught him how to use it properly, too, before he left the store.”

“I see.”

Rafe winced. “Now, Hannah, it wasn't like I came in here every week. Besides, none of the guys wanted to risk buying condoms at the local drugstore. The word would have been all over town by nightfall. Here at Virgil's there was a lot more privacy.”

Hannah raised her eyes to the ceiling. “I'd rather not hear too many details about your past, thank you very much.”

Virgil chuckled. “Looks like your aunt Isabel was right all along. The two of you were obviously meant for each other.”

Hannah stared at him. “You knew Aunt Isabel?”

“Yes, indeed. We had some mutual interests.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

Virgil arched a brow. “Did you know that she collected eighteenth-century erotica?”

“Uh, no.” Hannah cleared her throat. “She never mentioned it.”

“Yes, indeed. I helped her build her collection. I have some excellent contacts in the rare book business, you see. I'm sure you'll run into Isabel's old books and prints when you two start going through her things at Dreamscape. Whatever you do, don't toss or sell any of those books and things until you check with me. Some of those volumes are worth several thousand dollars.”

“Good grief,” Hannah said weakly. “I'm suddenly getting a whole new picture of my aunt.”

Rafe tried not to laugh. It wasn't easy. The bewildered, bemused expression on Hannah's face was priceless.

Virgil crouched and held his hand out to Winston. “Lovely dog.”

Hannah frowned as Winston trotted forward to sniff politely. When the dog appeared satisfied, she hesitated and then said, “Thank you.”

She still sounded stiff, but Rafe could tell she was softening. Virgil put his hand in the small of his back and straightened with great care.

“Arthritis,” he explained. “Or the old war wound. I can never tell the difference.”

“Which war?” Hannah asked warily.

“Does it matter? They're all the same, aren't they? At least, they all look the same when you're standing in the middle of one.” He looked at Rafe. “What can I do for you? Something tells me that the two of you are not here to purchase the latest issue of
Fetish
magazine or to rent
Alice Does Wonderland
.”

Rafe leaned back against a counter stocked with rainbow-colored plastic dildos arranged in order of size. He shoved his hands into his front pockets and plunged straight into the tale.

“This is about what happened the night Kaitlin Sadler died,” he said. “Hannah and I have some reason to think that her death might not have been an accident.”

Virgil nodded somberly. “Yes, of course.”

Hannah shot him a quick, frowning glance. “You don't look surprised, Mr. Nash.”

“Why should I be surprised? I've heard the rumors.”

“Exactly what rumors have you heard?” Rafe asked.

Virgil raised his thin shoulders in a small shrug.

“Everyone knows that the two of you went to see Dell Sadler yesterday. Given his history with you, Rafe, there could be only one reason why the pair of you would sit down and talk after all this time.”

“Okay,” Rafe said, “I'll cut to the chase. A few things have happened lately that make us think that someone doesn't want the old investigation reopened.”

Virgil said nothing. He just waited.

“We've picked up some indications,” Hannah added, “that Kaitlin Sadler may have been blackmailing someone in town. If it's true, it might mean that same someone killed her to silence her.”

Glittering curiosity flared without warning in Virgil's gaze. “You don't say.”

“We don't have anything solid to go on yet,” Rafe said. “But it looks like the blackmail material might have had something to do with someone's sex life.”

“It often does.” Virgil paused. “But in this day and age, it would have to be a particularly interesting sex life to be worth blackmail payments or murder.”

“That's why we came to you,” Rafe said. “Know any men in town who like to wear ladies' underwear?”

“At least half a dozen names come to mind,” Virgil said without missing a beat. “If that's all you've got, you'll be at this investigation for a very long time.”

“You're kidding,” Hannah said. “You know half a dozen men in Eclipse Bay who have a penchant for female underwear?”

“The fetish for women's undergarments is not all that rare or unusual.” Virgil adopted a professional tone as he warmed to his lecture. “It is generally considered a harmless quirk, as these things go. Indeed, the history of prominent men dressing in lingerie goes back for centuries. There have been kings, generals, presidents, statesmen—”

“But of the six men here in Eclipse Bay who like to wear lingerie which one would be seriously horrified if the news got around?” Rafe asked before Virgil could get sidetracked by his professional interest.

“I imagine that they would all be embarrassed, to varying degrees.”

Hannah looked at him. “Think any of them would be so humiliated that he would pay blackmail or kill to keep the secret?”

Virgil stroked his goatee while he pondered that. In the end, he shook his head decisively. “Frankly, I don't see any of them in the role of murderer. But one never knows, does one?”

“Six men,” Rafe repeated.

“Those are just the ones who come to mind immediately because I have had some contact with them over the years,” Virgil said. “There are no doubt several others who don't shop at my store.”

Hannah sighed. “It's hopeless. Sounds like we can't even get a complete list, let alone verify the whereabouts of all the men on it for the night Kaitlin died.”

“You don't need to find all of them,” Virgil pointed out. “Just the ones who knew Kaitlin intimately.”