Secret Sisters (27 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

The late-afternoon temperature had hit eighty degrees, but the desert cooled down rapidly after dark. Still, Madeline was comfortable lounging on the patio in trousers and a lightweight pullover. The outdoor heaters kept the slight chill at bay.

The home of Jack and Abe's parents was a graceful combination of modern and traditional Southwestern design that looked as if it had been sculpted out of desert rock. It was located on a hillside overlooking the town of Sanctuary Creek and commanded sweeping views of the valley and the mountains beyond.

Not everyone appreciated having unexpected houseguests thrust upon them, but Charlotte and Garrett Rayner could not have been more welcoming.

Spring nights in the desert were very different from nights in the Pacific Northwest, Madeline thought. The vast evening sky; the scents of the wild, rugged landscape that was never far away, even in an urban area; the calls of the creatures that buzzed, chirped, and howled into the darkness: It all made for a different world—her world. She was
home, even if she was going to be spending the night in someone else's house, and it felt good.

She was not alone on the patio. Charlotte and Daphne were with her. It occurred to her that neither she nor Daphne had been alone at all since Jack had arrived on Cooper Island to take charge of the investigation.

Jack, Abe, and Garrett were in the kitchen, working on dinner. From time to time masculine laughter spilled out onto the patio. Max, the friendly beast of a dog, had joined them. Something told Madeline that Max was no fool. He had obviously figured out that the kitchen was the source of his next snack.

Garrett Rayner had proven to be a man straight out of the Old West. One glance at him and it had been obvious that Jack had inherited his lean, tough build, his edgy profile, and his hard-to-read eyes from his father.

Charlotte was a vivacious woman with a flair for the dramatic. Tonight she wore a long sweep of a maxi dress in the brilliant, bold colors of a Southwestern sunset. Her black hair was shot with silver. She wore it tied back at the nape. Gold and silver bangles clashed musically whenever she moved one of her graceful hands to underscore a comment.

Two bottles of white wine on ice sat on a nearby table. One bottle was empty. Madeline was pretty sure that no other wine had ever tasted so good. She knew it was the knowledge that Cooper Island was far away and that she and Daphne were safe among newfound friends that made the difference.

She met Daphne's eyes and realized they were both thinking the same thing. It was so easy to read each other's thoughts, just as they had done when they were girls. She raised her glass a couple of inches in a wry toast.

“To the end of a very, very long day,” she said. She smiled at Charlotte. “And to the very, very kind people who have welcomed a couple of strangers into their home.”

“I'll drink to that,” Daphne said. She raised her own glass and downed a healthy swallow.

“Thank you,” Charlotte said. “But rest assured, we are all delighted to meet you. From what Jack and Abe have told us, you have all been through some extremely exciting times in the past few days. Fires. Explosions. Murders. It must have been downright horrible. Who knew the hotel business could be so dangerous?”

“I promise you, our problems are not the norm in the field,” Madeline said.

“You know, when Jack told us that he was going to quit the FBI profiling work and start a high-tech security firm with his friend, we all figured he'd be bored to tears within months,” Charlotte said. “But that didn't happen. Then his friend was killed in a diving accident and the business went bankrupt. Garrett and I were sure Jack would go back to the profiling work at that point. Instead he told us he was going out on his own. It's been a struggle, and he has refused to let us help him out financially. That's why he was so elated to get the Sanctuary Creek Inns account. You are his first major client.”

“So I've been told,” Madeline said. “The good news is that we don't get a lot of serial killers checking in to Sanctuary Creek Inns, but as my grandmother liked to say, running a hotel is like operating a version of Fantasy Island. Every time the plane lands, a bunch of strangers arrive to spend the night. You never know what you're going to get.”

Daphne nodded. “It's true that when you stay in a hotel you have an expectation of anonymity. There's a sense of having entered another world, a place where no one knows who you really are.”

Charlotte chuckled. “I suppose that sense of anonymity is why so many people go to hotels to meet prostitutes, sleep with other people's spouses, and make shady financial deals.”

“Okay, there is that aspect of the business,” Madeline said. “But I assure you Sanctuary Creek Inns does not cater to those markets.”

Charlotte laughed.

“On the bright side, there is a lot of fun in the fantasy business,” Madeline continued. “We get to help make dreams come true with weddings, honeymoons, anniversaries, birthdays, and other kinds of celebrations.” She paused to clear her throat. “Not to mention the occasional boring corporate seminars, drunken fraternity reunions, and wild bachelorette parties.”

Charlotte looked intrigued. “How often do you find a guest dead in bed in one of your hotels?”

“Okay,” Madeline admitted. “It happens. But usually from natural causes, I swear it.”

“We'll take your word for it,” Charlotte said. She gave Madeline a considering look. “You love it, don't you?”

“The innkeeping business? Yep. Guess it's in the blood.”

“What do you think? Will Jack be satisfied with the hotel security business?”

“You'll have to ask Jack. But yes, I think it will suit him in the long run.”

Charlotte watched her with rapt attention. “Why do you say that?”

“I don't know this for certain,” Madeline said carefully, “because Jack and I have never actually discussed it, at least not in so many words. But I think that he's had enough of the horrors and the nightmares that must go with criminal profiling work. He still needs to do what he does best—protect others from the bad guys—but he knows that he needs to do that in a way that will allow him to have a more normal life.”

She took another sip of wine and reached into the bowl for a tortilla chip. She paused with the chip halfway to her mouth when she realized that Charlotte was gazing at her, mute.

Madeline lowered the chip. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have speculated about Jack's motives. I had no right to try to guess his intentions.”

“It's fine.” Charlotte's smile was a bit wobbly. There was a sheen of moisture in her eyes and a slight crack in her voice. “It's just that I found your observations on my son's career move very—insightful. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better see how dinner is coming along.”

She came up off the lounger, bangles clashing, the skirt of her brilliant dress swirling around her. She had a paper napkin in one hand. She used it to surreptitiously blot her eyes as she went through the open slider door.

Chagrined, Madeline looked at Daphne. “I shouldn't have opened my mouth.”

“Don't worry about it,” Daphne said. “Abe told me that Jack's family was very concerned about him for a time after his business partner died. They were afraid that Jack blamed himself for not being able to rescue his friend. Survivor's guilt and all that. Evidently the friend's wife and family made it clear that they held him responsible for the death, as well. Jack's fiancée dumped him. Then it turned out the business was on the verge of bankruptcy. Jack lost everything he had put into it. There was a lot of bad press. It was a huge mess all the way around.”

“And Jack took responsibility for all of it.”

“Yes, according to Abe.”

“He was protecting someone,” Madeline said.

Daphne started to answer, but she stopped abruptly, lips parted, and looked past Madeline.

“How do you know that my son was protecting someone?” Charlotte asked quietly.

Madeline froze. But it was too late to turn back.

“It's what Jack does,” she said.

There was a tense silence before Charlotte spoke again.

“Yes,” she said, “that is exactly what Jack does. Not everyone understands that. I'm very glad that you do, Madeline.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

“I'm going to take the afternoon ferry,” Patricia said. “I'll stay in a hotel in Seattle tonight.”

She put the carefully folded designer dress that she had bought for the birthday reception into the suitcase. She wasn't sure why she was bothering to take it with her. It wasn't like she would have another opportunity to wear it, at least not in the foreseeable future. She had chosen the dress because it was the perfect dress for the Candidate's Wife. It was just the right shade of blue, decorously cut to show a discreet amount of bosom and leg; expensive but not exorbitantly so. Classy but not high-class.

The Candidate's Wife had to walk the fine line between being subtly glamorous and in-your-face flamboyant. She had to appear to be a person in her own right and at the same time exhibit absolute belief in her husband's ability to change the world.

She had spent the last year immersing herself in that role, and she knew that she had been brilliant. She had dedicated herself to her part because she had envisioned a glorious future as the wife of one of the most powerful men in the country. From that point on, doors would open.

But the curtain had fallen on act one of the play. It was time to cut her losses and find another role. She would not have her looks forever.

No, she would not need the Candidate's Wife dress. She yanked it out of the suitcase and tossed it into the little trash bin beside the dresser. The blue fabric billowed over the top of the container and spilled onto the floor.

The good news was that there was now more room in the suitcase. She went back to the closet to ponder the issue of shoes.

Travis watched her from the bedroom doorway. “Will you at least show up at my father's funeral?”

“I don't think that will be necessary or useful.” She picked up a pair of black pumps and studied them critically. Candidate's Wife shoes. She tossed them on top of the dress. “Under the circumstances, I'm sure it will be a small, private affair. I doubt if anyone will notice if I'm not there.”

“The media will notice.”

There was a raw edge in Travis's voice. For a moment it almost sounded as if he might miss her. But this was Travis Webster. The only person he cared about was himself and his climb to the top.

Still, the Websters could be dangerous when provoked. She had certainly learned that lesson recently. She turned toward him and managed a sad, wistful smile.

“Of course I'll come back for the funeral if you think it will help,” she lied. “But right now I want to be alone for a while. I need time to think.”

“Time to find a divorce lawyer, you mean.”

“No. Travis, I'm not leaving you, I swear it. I'm going to the lake house. You can join me there at any time. We can talk about our future when the immediate crisis is past.”

“I do have a future, damn it. The media frenzy will die down in a few weeks if not sooner. I talked to my mother's lawyer this morning. He's working on a self-defense angle. He thinks he can get Louisa off entirely.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Keep in mind that my father evidently murdered two people some twenty years ago. When Louisa confronted him about the killings he went into a rage and tried to choke her. She shot him to protect herself.”

Patricia thought about that. She smiled and shook her head. “It just might work.”

“It will work,” Travis vowed.

“The thing is, I'm not sure that will make it possible for you to run for office, at least not in the upcoming election. The public will need time to forget.”

“So I'll spend the next year cleaning up the mess my family made. Eventually I can make it all go away.”

You're crazy if you think it will all go away,
she thought. But she did not say it out loud. It was clear now that every member of the Webster family was capable of murder. She might as well have married into a mafia family. She had to look after herself now. She had to escape the island and try to disappear.

She pretended to be intrigued by the possibility that they would survive the disaster.

“If the campaign people can manage to put the right spin on the situation—make it look like your father was the source of all the trouble—you just might be able to turn this around.”

“That's the plan,” Travis said.

Everything about him seemed to get a little brighter, almost radiant. He was once again The Ideal Candidate. The charisma thing was amazing, Patricia thought. And Travis could literally turn it on and off at will. He probably would find a way to get back into politics—assuming someone didn't kill him first. But right now her goal was to get off the damned island.

“I believe you,” she said. “In time you will be able to get back into
the game. And for the sake of the country you should do just that. We need strong leadership. But right now, it's important that I go into seclusion. I need to get away from the stress.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Inspiration struck. Very deliberately she put her hand on her belly. “Because I think I'm pregnant.”

Travis stared at her, stunned. “Are you sure?”

“No, but it's a real possibility. Now do you see why I need to get out of the line of media fire? I don't want to lose our baby because of stress.”

“A baby would go a long way toward building a new image,” Travis mused.

“Yes, it would. The fact that I'm pregnant would also provide you with a reasonable excuse for my absence for a while.”

He looked at her for a long time. “You want to go to the lake house?”

“It's always been a safe retreat for us. The media doesn't know about it.”

“Good idea.” Travis started to turn away and then paused. “I'll join you there just as soon as I get things under control here. It wouldn't hurt for both of us to disappear for a while.”

“No,” she said.

“I'll send someone to help you with your luggage.”

“Thank you.”

She waited until he was gone before she allowed herself to take a deep breath and turn back to the packing. She had lied. There was no baby. She had taken care to make certain there wouldn't be one, at least not until Travis had won his first big election.

It wasn't the first time she had lied to Travis. But he had lied to her, as well.

The Websters were very dangerous people.

She had to get off the island.