ShadowsintheMist (17 page)

Rain was beginning to fall in misty drops and I uncurled my
cramped legs to stand up. My multitude of abrasions and bruises were still
visible but were decidedly less dramatic. Aside from some stiffness, I hardly
felt them at all. I was relieved Jenny was on the road to recovery and
considered my own wounds a minor inconvenience. I fought daily with my sense of
guilt over the affair. I knew the bullet was meant for me and if I hadn’t
involved Jenny, the incident might never have happened. It made me all the more
determined to expose the perpetrator of the attack.

I picked my way over and around the slippery rocks, using a
hand for leverage now and then when I had to span a large puddle. The wind
whistled through the empty crown of the lighthouse like a spirit keening
through hollow halls. Within minutes, I was safely on the beach. I stood
looking up at the mansion. Only the top floors could be seen from this angle
and they were shrouded in a swirling mist, as were the tops of the trees. Even
the sandy cliffs were muted gray. The beach itself drifted away in a dreamy
velvet gauze, the juncture between water and sand indistinct except for the
rhythmic splash and lap of waves.

I walked slowly, undisturbed by the saturating drizzle. I
relished the solitude feeling pillowed and protected by nature. I took off my shoes
and the cool lips of the lake crept up to nibble at my toes, then gently
receded, coaxing me to follow. When I looked up, I was struck by a strange
eeriness. The beach ahead was almost entirely swallowed up by a rolling fogbank
which seemed to have taken on an odd animation. It moved in a spiraling motion
that defied any laws of nature. I stopped and stared, fascinated—like a
sleepwalker—watching with absent curiosity as the inexplicable phenomenon took
place.

The cloud thickened and its core became darker until, as
though squeezed from some inner depth, a black mass manifested itself. It was a
figure—tall, stocky, faceless and shadowed, motionless except for a crown of
windblown hair. I didn’t move. I was frozen by some intangible force emanating
from the figure—as though it were trying to communicate but hadn’t mastered the
language. I wasn’t afraid, just as I wasn’t afraid beneath the dark waters of
the pool. I opened my mouth to speak but, as though a delicate balance were
upset, the figure melted slowly into obscurity, leaving only the steamy mist
that was gradually driven to ground by an increased pelting of rain.

“Suzanna!”

David hurried toward me from the direction of the cliff
steps. There was nothing left of the apparition now. Even that overpowering
sense of presence was gone. I felt oddly empty and equally exhausted, as though
my energy had conjured the image, fed it, then released it. I was trembling
uncontrollably by the time David reached me, frozen to the spot, my eyes still
riveted on the distant, rain-soaked beach.

If he found my dazed expression peculiar, he didn’t say so
but threw a huge towel around my shoulders and hurried me up the climb and
across the gardens, chiding me for standing out in the rain.

By the time we reached the back patio, the rain was pouring
down with a vengeance. I regained my senses and shivered all the more as my
mind incredulously relived the experience. I would not—could not—tell David. He
simply wouldn’t believe me. No one would. I suspected the figure on the beach
was the same as the others I’d seen. I was equally certain that whatever it was
wasn’t made of flesh and blood.

“You’re drenched,” David scolded, dabbing at my face with a
corner of the towel. “And shivering. We’ll have to get you into some dry clothes
right away.”

“I’m okay,” I mumbled, pushing his long fingers away
irritably. He looked at me with a wounded expression and I put a hand on his
arm, forcing a reassuring smile. “Thanks,” I said, “but I’m really all right. I’ll
go up and change right away.”

I left him abruptly. I was fairly bursting with residual
shock and amazement and unable to trust myself with sane conversation. He would
only have to look into my eyes to see the awe and wonder of it all and I knew I
couldn’t face any questions just yet.

Awe and wonder were quickly replaced by doubt and
depression. I was going mad. It was the only explanation. First, the vision at
the cabin, then on the highway and by the grave. The strange experience at the
pool, and now…now an apparition on the beach. I was most certainly losing my
mind.

I stepped out of a hot bath and toweled myself off. My eyes
caught my image in the bathroom mirror and I moved closer, rubbing a hole in
the steam. My face looked hideous. Despite a pink tinge brought out by the
warmth in the room, my complexion was unnaturally sallow. My cheekbones stood
out too prominently and my eyes were sunken and underlined by dark shadows. My
lips were pale and the lump on my forehead had spread and turned
purplish-black. My hair hung, still dripping, to my shoulders, making my
features seem even more drawn.

Yes, that’s it. I’m having a nervous breakdown. I sighed,
almost wishing I could believe it. Unfortunately, the reality of my experiences
was still too fresh and told me otherwise. I had to think logically!

I opened the door from the ensuite connecting my room and
hurriedly donned a warm, fleecy white bathrobe. Tying it securely, I sat down
at the dressing table to work on my wet, tangled hair when there was a knock on
the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Alicia.”

I grunted in annoyance but invited her in. She appeared with
a round tray balanced on one hand, a steaming mug tilting precariously on its
surface.

“Martha was bringing this up, so I thought I’d save her the
trouble. She’s not as young as she used to be, you know. I wouldn’t be
surprised if those stairs don’t give her trouble. Besides, she has enough to
do.”

She set the tray down beside me, then flopped on her stomach
across the bed, her stilt-like legs raised and crossed at the ankles behind her,
her chin propped on the backs of her be-ringed hands. She smiled. “Goodness,
you do look a mess!”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Oh, you know what I mean. You look pooped and who wouldn’t
after all you’ve been through?” She cocked her head to one side. “How’s Jenny?
Did you see her today?”

I nodded. “Yes. She’s still critical but they think she’s
out of danger.”

“Thank God for that! I still say you were lucky to get out
of it alive. You must’ve been petrified!”

“I didn’t really have time to be.”

She examined her nails critically. “When are you and Grant
going to…” She lifted one brow.

I pulled the brush through my hair, feeling the rip of
tangled strands. “Get married? Tie the knot? Do the deed?” I snapped. “Why do
you ask?”

“No reason, darling. I was just curious. No need to get
irritable.”

I sighed. I knew she was worried about the division of Leo’s
wealth. She had every right to be. I’d make an effort to be less touchy about
these inevitable questions.

“I’m sorry. I seem to have a short temper lately.”

Thankfully, she didn’t pursue the questioning, seemingly
pleased at having forced my contrition. “Well, you know you’re not the only one
who’s been under stress lately. Just look at these hands.” She held one out in
front of her and it shook exaggeratedly. “I can’t stop them trembling, what
with Jenny…and you falling into the pool. Why did you fall in? I never figured
it out. I know you can swim better than most of us.”

She paused, considering, then a devious smile crept over her
lips. “It was rather romantic though, the way Grant saved you, don’t you think?”

I fought to control my rising anger and turned to face her. “Look,
Alicia, I don’t know what crazy ideas you’ve got buzzing around in your brain
but Grant and I are only agreeing to this arrangement to save Beacon and the
people in it from ruin. Nothing more.” At her look of smug nonchalance, I added
spitefully, “You might also remember you’re married to Colin. Perhaps if you
centered your attentions on him and less on certain other members of the
household, life would be a lot easier!”

This broke her veneer of calm and her eyes narrowed. She
uncurled herself and I could see I’d struck a nerve.

“What are you talking about?”

“I heard you fawning over Grant on the patio a couple weeks
ago.”

She was silent, trying to remember the incident but drawing
a blank. “I don’t know what you heard, darling but I hope you learned a few
things from it. You could use a few pointers. You think anyone’s worried about
you and Grant?” She snorted. “You couldn’t hold his attention for two minutes.
You’re too interested in your precious career and your oh-so-important
independence to ever be attractive to a man! Hell, you couldn’t even hold onto
your pompous, little David.”

I stood up, rigid with fury. “I think you’d better go,” I
said through tight lips.

She rose too and faced me. She was inches taller than me and
seemed utterly composed. The only sign of tension was in the slight sheen of
perspiration on her brow and upper lip.

“I’ll go,” she said. “But just remember what I said. Grant
doesn’t want you, so for your own good, leave him alone. And if you’re looking
for someone to be jealous of, try his new secretary. I, personally, could not care
less.”

With dramatic aplomb, she swept from the room, closing the
door firmly behind her. I stood staring after her, still livid. Up until now,
Alicia had been merely an interesting but unimportant decoration at Beacon.
What few conversations we indulged in were trivial and rife with her tiresome
exaggeration. This encounter surprised me as much as it angered me.

When she threw aside her façade, she showed a calculating
core. I had no doubt she was involved with Grant, even if only in her own
imagination—so involved she’d drop her carefully cultivated act to fight for
him. I suspected her comment about a new secretary was merely a ploy to throw
me off the track.

I sat down on the bed and covered my face with my hands. My
heart was pounding. Much of what Alicia had said rang painfully true.
Romantically, I was a bad risk. David provided a good excuse to avoid other
involvements. He was the only one I ever felt comfortable with—though I was not
oblivious to other men’s lingering looks and tentative inquiring smiles. I
always answered them with a blank shuttered stare, or turned quickly away
squelching any chance for further flirtation. It hurt to face the truth and it
made me wonder just how cruel Alicia could be.

Chapter Eight

Out, out, brief candle.

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

William Shakespeare,
Macbeth,
Act V, sc.v

Friday dawned bleak and cool. Despite my exhaustion, I’d
slept little. David came up to see me safely to my room and, noting my
overwrought state, fetched me a soothing cup of tea, insisting I take one of
the tablets the doctor had prescribed. It did relax me and I sank almost
immediately into a black void. But some time after midnight, I awoke and
thrashed restlessly until the dull light of dawn lit the windows.

Now my head ached and I felt weak and lethargic. I lay still
for a moment, trying not to think of the event scheduled for today. Rain still
drizzled outside lending a dismal atmosphere.

Alicia’s voice pierced my reverie. “Colin!”

A door slammed nearby accompanied by the muffled murmur of
Colin’s voice. This was followed by a furious tirade from Alicia. Firm
footsteps passed down the corridor outside my room. Alicia scrabbled after him,
still screeching but there was no response. Within moments, the front door
slammed and she subsided into loud, heart-wrenching sobs.

I got out of bed, wrapped myself in my robe and stepped out
into the hall. Alicia still wailed pathetically. She lay in a heap clinging to
one of the uprights holding the banister. Her hair was matted and a pink satin
wrapper hung carelessly open to reveal a daring lace negligee.

“What is it, Alicia?” I asked, trying to be solicitous,
hoping to put our recent argument aside.

She looked up at me and I frowned with concern. Her face was
beaded with sweat. Mascara ran down her cheeks and grotesquely ringed her eyes.
Tears stained her cheeks a mottled red. But it wasn’t her appearance that
shocked me as much as the look in her eyes—a wide desperate look like that of a
starving animal. I knelt down to help her up but she pushed at me viciously.

“Get away,” she hissed. “Leave me alone!”

She stood up, swaying unsteadily and I could see she was
shivering. Her eyes darted around, then settled on me again and suddenly, her
expression changed to one of hope.

“Please,” she said softly, “Colin and I…we’ve had an
argument. I need something for my nerves. You’ve got pills. Could I…”

I frowned, hesitating. Then, assessing her distress, I
nodded and went to my room for the vial. I gave her two of the sedatives and
she snatched them greedily. Wiping a trembling hand across her brow, she made
an attempt at a smile.

“Thanks. I’ll be all right now,” she said. She started back
toward her own room, then paused and looked at me. “Look, I’m sorry about…about
yesterday,” she said. “No hard feelings?”

I shrugged. “No hard feelings.” I watched as she shuffled
down the hall. I’d have given anything to find out what she and Colin had
argued about but knew it wasn’t the time or place to ask.

* * * * *

Grant’s return was anything but inconspicuous. He roared up
the drive like a teenaged hot-rodder, gunning the engine, then coming to a
screeching halt in front of the house. I watched him from the piano where I was
methodically practicing a Chopin étude. He bounded up the steps whistling
gaily, threw open the front door with a bang, then slammed it with another. I
half-expected him to pitch a top hat onto a nearby hat stand and execute a
brief tap dance. Annoyed, I turned back to the music and pounded the keys
louder.