ShadowsintheMist (18 page)

How dare he be in such high spirits!

Hearing the piano, he strode into the room, a mischievous
grin on his lips. Seeing me alone, he sat down on the bench and spoke quietly
in my ear. “Ready for our big day, darling?”

I slammed the lid down over the keys, narrowly missing his
fingers.

“Get away,” I grated, shouldering him until he nearly fell
onto the floor.

This reaction only served to further amuse him. “What’s
this? Last-minute jitters?” He clutched his hands over his heart. “Please,
Suzanna, tell me you haven’t changed your mind!”

I stifled a smile at this ridiculous charade. I rarely saw
him in such a frivolous mood and it suited him, smoothing the bold planes of
his face and making his eyes dance. I had to admit, he could be charming when
he wanted to be.

“What’s gotten into you?” I asked, trying to maintain my
dignity. “Have you been drinking?”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offered me
one and when I shook my head, put them away again.

“No, I haven’t been drinking. Aside from the fact I’m
looking forward to a very important merger today,” he winked slyly, “I also
think I’ve convinced our primary shareholders that Dirkston Enterprises isn’t a
sinking ship.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, only mildly relieved at the
news. “I assume you had to tell them about our…this merger?”

He nodded and grinned. “Looks like there’s no way out now!”

I didn’t reply. The attorney from Manistee had called this
morning to tell me the will was airtight and offered his regrets. Now that the
stockholders knew, it would be in every newspaper by evening.

“Do I have any say in this affair or are you planning to
organize the whole thing?”

He spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture. “Your wish is
my command. What would you like? A cathedral wedding with the Vienna Boys’
Choir? Or perhaps garden nuptials with a brass band? How about a honeymoon in
the south of France?”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t already made all the
arrangements!”

“Who’s pretending? I just so happen to have a friend who’s a
retired judge. He’d be happy to perform the ceremony any time today. I told him
we wanted it kept quiet for the time being, so he agreed to do the honors at
his house here in town. But if you’d rather…”

I cast him a withering look. “No,” I replied sullenly. “We
may as well get it over with as soon and as simply as possible, unless you have
other appointments?”

“Nope! I’m as free as a bird today.” He cocked a devilish
brow. “Cheer up. It’s not every day you tie the knot. Why don’t you go up and
change into something more suitable for the occasion while I freshen up?”

“Black mourning clothes would be suitable,” I muttered but
he didn’t hear me, striding off whistling the “Wedding March”.

If it was Friday the thirteenth, I wouldn’t have been
surprised. It seemed an apt date for this most tragic of marriages. But it was
the last Friday of the month and held no special significance one way or the
other.

Despite insisting the ceremony meant nothing to me, I chose
one of my favorite dresses—a flowing affair of lime-green chiffon with
scalloped hemline, cinched waist and cross-draped bodice. I even went so far as
to fasten on a gold bracelet and matching necklace with gold and diamond
earrings that my father gave me for my twenty-first birthday. There wasn’t much
I could do with my hair except scrunch it into tousled waves and slick it back
at the temples. After applying a minimum of makeup to cover my fading injuries
and the dark smudges beneath my eyes and bring out some color in my cheeks, I
was ready.

Grant didn’t comment on my appearance but his cool appraisal
left little doubt as to how much he approved. He’d changed his shirt and tie
and tried to run a brush through his thick hair but it was determined to do as
it pleased, a thick lock falling over one brow to lend him a roguish air.

We spoke little on the way to the judge’s house. I sat
stiffly upright while he concentrated on his driving, intent on getting there
as quickly as possible.

The ceremony itself took less than thirty minutes. Two
witnesses, neither of whom I’d met, were on hand to sign the certificate. After
the briefest of declarations, it was all over and Grant and I departed as man
and wife. Strangely enough, I felt next to nothing. I gazed down at the plain
gold band on my finger, thinking it should feel alien. I risked a look at Grant’s
chiseled profile and wondered what he was thinking.

When he stopped the car, it wasn’t at Beacon but at a
popular little restaurant that looked out over the lake and specialized in clam
chowder. He didn’t ask for my opinion but said simply, “I’m starving. We can
get some lunch here.”

I nodded, feeling hunger gnawing at my own insides.

Once we were settled in a secluded booth with a modest view,
I began to relax. It was a monumental relief to know the dreaded moment was
over and left no reason to worry about it anymore. Still, something about this
new slant to our relationship embarrassed me and I found it oddly difficult to
meet his eyes over the menu. Eventually, he took the card from my hand.

“You’ve been poring over that since we arrived,” he said. “You
can’t avoid me forever, you know.”

“I’m not trying to avoid you.”

He raised a skeptical brow.

“Well,” I relented, “I just don’t have anything to say.”

He smiled. “And this is the girl who insisted that our
relationship stay the same?”

I frowned. “It is the same. How often have we ever had more
than fifteen words to say to each other?”

He couldn’t deny it. “It seems a shame, doesn’t it? After
all those years growing up in the same house, we can’t even talk to one
another.”

“We have our separate lives.”

“So do a lot of friends but they still communicate.”

“I don’t want to argue.”

He sighed. “No. It’s not the best way to start off our new
arrangement. Maybe I’m hoping for too much.”

It was my turn to raise my brows. “And just what are you
hoping for?”

He shook his head. “I don’t really know. Perhaps that we
could learn to like each other a little?”

“I’ve never disliked you.”

“Me, either,” he responded. “But I’d like us to be…better
friends, at least.”

I hesitated. “Grant, I just don’t know. There’s too much
going on. I don’t know who to trust or who to fear. Jenny is in the hospital.
My father is dead. The remainder of my family seem only to be interested in Dad’s
money. And I’ve been seeing… Well, never mind. Just don’t make me choose sides
right now, okay?”

He nodded resignedly. “Okay. But at least try to keep an
open mind.”

Before I could answer, the waitress appeared with pencil
poised over her pad and I gave her my order. Grant asked for a bottle of
champagne, the least we could do, he said, to celebrate our wedding day.

All in all, the afternoon progressed pleasantly and I felt
almost giddy as I sipped the bubbling wine and listened to Grant expound
proudly on his powers of persuasion at the stockholders’ meeting. I discovered
a new and fascinating side to him, enjoying his conversation and laughing at
his quips. I even found myself talking candidly about my newest novel, somewhat
surprised at his keen interest and encouraging comments. Sometimes, when his
eyes met mine in that certain way, I felt my stomach lurch and my palms become
moist. What was this odd feeling that came over me when I was around him?

By the time we were ready to leave, almost three hours had
elapsed. The bright sunlight nearly blinded me as I stepped out of the darker
restaurant. The clouds were broken up into floating islands, their shadows
lumbering like dinosaurs across the dark blue of the lake. I was grateful for
the light raincoat I’d brought, for despite the blaze of the sun, the wind was
chilly.

When we arrived at the house, still amiably reminiscing
about early days at Beacon, the front door flew open and Martha ran down the
steps to meet us. She was wringing her apron, her face lined with anxiety.

“Suzanna! Grant! Thank heavens you’re home! It’s Alicia. She’s
been locked in her room all day and she doesn’t answer when I knock. I’m so
worried. I heard her arguing with Colin this morning and she seemed so upset. I’ve
got the extra key to her room but I didn’t think…”

I stiffened, remembering Alicia’s distraught state all too
well. Grant started for the stairs but I grabbed his sleeve. “Maybe I’d better
go.”

He frowned, then nodded and I stepped past him and hurried
up the stairs.

Despite my loud pounding on the door, there was no sound or
response, so I inserted the key and opened the door. Alicia lay sleeping on the
bed. Her face, still streaked with mascara from her earlier tears, was
peaceful. She lay on one side with an arm thrown out in front of her, fingers
hanging over the side of the bed.

It was below her fingers, just peeping out from under the
dust ruffle, that I saw the familiar bottle and my throat constricted. I lifted
her limp wrist and felt for a pulse. It was faint but still there. I shouted
urgently for Grant and Martha while fishing for the prescription bottle and
frantically searching for spilled pills. There were still a number of the
tablets left. If this was a suicide attempt, it was a feeble one.

Grant bounded into the room with Martha on his heels.

“Call an ambulance,” I ordered. “She’s taken some of my
tranquilizers. She’s unconscious.”

Martha flew from the room to make the call while Grant took
the bottle and inspected it.

“How did she get hold of these?”

“I gave her a couple this morning. She was so upset. She
asked for them. But I left the bottle in my room.”

“Shit! How could you do something like that?”

I stared at him dumbfounded. “What are you talking about?”

“The last thing Alicia needs is pills! You know as well as I
do that she has a drinking problem! Can’t you read?”

He thrust the label under my nose and the words ”Not To Be
Taken With Alcohol” leapt out.

“But she wasn’t drinking!”

He grunted. “I find that hard to believe. And even if she
wasn’t, don’t you know you’re not supposed to just pass around prescription
drugs to anyone?”

I glared at him incredulously. “Are you trying to blame me
for this, Grant?”

At that moment, Martha reappeared. “The ambulance is on its
way. I also phoned Colin and he’ll meet them at the hospital. Is she all right?”

Temporarily sidetracked, I turned back to Alicia and felt
her pulse again. It was steady.

“I think so. But I think we should try to wake her, don’t
you?”

No one responded, so I sat down on the edge of the bed and
shook her, repeating her name over and over. She groaned once but didn’t open
her eyes, so I continued to shake her hard.

“Perhaps if we get her on her feet?” I looked at Grant. “Would
you care to lend a hand or should I do it by myself?”

Ignoring my acid tone, he stepped in and lifted her easily,
draping her arm over his shoulders and supporting her at the waist. I put her
other arm over my own shoulders and together, we dragged her back and forth
across the room, her bare feet trailing uselessly. By the time the ambulance
siren could be heard, she was moaning irritably and once the paramedics were
ushered into the room, she was attempting to open her eyes.

Within minutes, the attendants had her strapped onto the
gurney and hurried her to the ambulance. I looked on, helplessly comparing this
to the scene at the river’s edge. I hugged my arms around myself to keep from
shaking. It was all becoming too much. One drama on top of another. Grant’s
callous accusations had touched a guilty nerve and try as I might, I couldn’t
convince myself I wasn’t to blame for most of the recent mishaps.

Overcome, I flew down the hall to my own room and shut the
door, giving way to a torrent of grief. Grant watched me go but didn’t attempt
to follow, striding instead to his car to set off in pursuit of the ambulance.
The afternoon was shattered and our good intentions gone up in smoke. I
expected it would take a long time before we’d ever be able to repair the
damage done.

* * * * *

Life at Beacon changed little after my marriage to Grant.

No one appeared the slightest bit surprised or much
interested the deed was done. They all knew it was inevitable and Alicia’s
overdose was of greater import.

The media, on the other hand, snatched the story greedily
and played it to the hilt. Headlines like “Dirkston Heiress Weds For Wealth”
and “Dirkston-Fenton Marry To Free Fortune” appeared across national newspapers
and tabloids. Scandal sheets went even further using touched-up photos of Grant
and myself or caricatures suggesting every conceivable—and sometimes
inconceivable—slant to our relationship.

Thankfully Alicia’s close call remained private. I could
well imagine what a scandal it would create if the story found its way to the
press.

I tried to ignore the publicity but found it difficult.
Where once I could move about freely and relatively anonymously, now I met reporters
and cameramen everywhere, some of them shouting questions that were downright
rude. The gates to Beacon were kept securely locked but there was often a small
group milling around, just waiting to catch someone coming or going.

I wished fervently that I could go back to my little cabin
in the woods but I knew that part of my life was gone. Even if I wasn’t
personally controlling the machinations of Dirkston Enterprises, I played a
major role in its success or failure. It was a responsibility I shouldered, but
resented.

Grant was elated by the press coverage, gloating over the
fact Dirkston was receiving some of its best, most extensive advertising for no
cost whatsoever. After an initial dive in stock values, business began to rally
until it was literally booming. More and more industries threw their shipping
contracts Dirkston’s way, intrigued by the aura of success and wealth that the
media never failed to exaggerate.