ShadowsintheMist (28 page)

As if I mentioned her name aloud, there was a cursory rap on
the door and Darla appeared. Initially annoyed at the intrusion, I bit back an
inhospitable remark and kept silent, refusing to let anyone destroy my good
mood.

“Oh, you’re up. Well, that’s a good sign. How are you
feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“David’s taking me out fishing today. If I’d known you were
better, I’d have asked him if you could come too.”

I finished pulling the coverlet up on my bed and gritted my
teeth. So, she’d come to gloat. Well, two could play that game! “As a matter of
fact, Grant and I have made other plans.”

To my surprise, this didn’t provoke a reaction. She merely
nodded and smiled. “Well, just don’t overdo it. You never know about these
bugs. One minute you feel great and the next…”

“Don’t worry, Darla, if I feel another attack coming on, I’ll
be sure to let someone know.”

She disappeared with a wave of her hand and a smug grin on
her face. I felt a childish urge to stick my thumbs in my ears, poke out my
tongue and waggle my fingers at her retreating figure. Instead, I pummeled the
pillow with unnecessary violence before placing it on the bed. I was sick of
everyone treating me as though I were an invalid.

Did they all assume I was on the verge of a nervous
breakdown? This thought in itself was disturbing, for they only knew a small
portion of the strange illusions my mind had been playing on me over the past
weeks and this latest episode was truly frightening. I’d had various types of
influenza before but they’d never affected me like this!

Grant was in his office when I went downstairs. He had
several papers spread out before him and was dictating into a small, handheld
tape recorder.

“Despite fluctuations in market averages, it’s been a
favorable year with positive gains on all fronts. We look forward to—” He
looked up and took his thumb off the button. “Ah, you’re ready.”

“Don’t let me interrupt,” I said and flopped down in the
deep leather chair opposite him.

“No problem. Just working on the annual report.”

“A good year?”

“Not bad, so far. Could’ve been better.” He sighed. “Your
father was a helluva lot better at this sort of thing.”

“Too much for you, eh?” I gave him a sly glance.

He shrugged and looked pensively out the window. “It’s funny
how you dream of doing something all your life and when you actually have the
opportunity, you find it’s not really what you wanted after all.”

“Isn’t being chairman of Dirkston Enterprises rewarding
enough?”

“Oh, sure. It definitely boosts the ego. But it takes a
certain hardness of character I’m afraid I haven’t developed yet.”

“Haven’t you?”

He smiled, choosing to ignore the barb. “Your father had it.
He could let a man go who’d worked with him for years without blinking an eye.
And yet, at the same time, he could hire someone just because they were down on
their luck—even invent a position for them, if there was nothing available.” He
shook his head. “I never understood him. I don’t know if I would have wanted
to.”

I was silent, trying to reconcile this statement with Grant’s
insistence that Mike Kensington be let go. But I didn’t want to start another
argument. Instead, I encouraged his sudden confidence.

“Don’t try to be like Dad,” I said. “For one thing, it would
be impossible. And for another, I wouldn’t like you as well if you were.”

He turned and looked at me with a deep seriousness that made
me acutely uncomfortable. “And do you?” he asked in a low voice. “Like me, I
mean?”

I laughed. “What a question! No. I hate you! You’re
irritating, unpredictable, overbearing, chauvinistic…”

He came around the desk and pulled me to my feet, silencing
me with a kiss that left me stunned. Electric sensations shot through me and I
stepped back.

“What was that for?” I asked shakily.

His gaze was warm. “Because you’re right about me. Also,
because you’re stubborn, inflexible, argumentative and exasperating. And
because I like you too.”

I smiled, though I knew my cheeks were flaming. He smiled
back and I noticed, for the first time in a long time, the line between his
brows, etched from months of strain and worry, had smoothed and his eyes were
clear and unveiled.

I turned away and gathered my coat from the chair, trying
not to wonder if he was sincere or merely concentrating his efforts on swaying
my allegiance. My hands trembled.

“Let’s go,” I said. “It’s stuffy in here.”

Chapter Twelve

Man is a torch borne in the wind; a dream

But of a shadow, summed with all his substance.

George Chapman,
Bussy d’Amois,
act 1, sc. 1

We drove north along the lakeside, following less frequented
roads which cut through the burnished forest and provided an uninterrupted
pageantry of autumn’s brilliant fashions. Maples were mottled orange and
yellow, silver birch topped with russet and gold. Poison sumac thrust up soft
crimson spears as though begging to be stroked. And rising over them all, the
stolid, thickly-plumed pines, unaffected by temperature change, were still
heavily robed with blue-green needles and brown cones.

There were a number of signs to warn motorists to be on the
lookout for deer. They made themselves scarce during the day but at dusk could
be seen grazing close to the roadside, occasionally darting across in front of
oncoming cars in response to mysterious, instinctive urges.

Grant was silent and I was happy to watch the passing
scenery. Despite my familiarity with the beauty of the local terrain, I never
grew tired of it. Too soon, the colors would slip to the ground and leave only
slick, bare limbs to wait pathetically for the winter clouds to dump their load
of snow and wrap them in crystalline whiteness for the interim. Today, the sun
shone with a brilliant but waning warmth, as though in a last feeble tribute to
summer.

Grant lit a cigarette and offered it to me. I took it
automatically and opened the window a crack while he lit another for himself.

“You’re a rotten influence,” I muttered, inhaling the
noxious smoke and trying not to feel guilty.

“No more than you are. Do you realize what hell I go through
every time I try to light a cigarette in the house?”

I smiled. “Martha?”

“Martha, Lottie, Colin…even Alicia, the little hypocrite!”

“Alicia doesn’t smoke.”

“Yes and that’s about all she doesn’t do.”

I glanced at him. “You seem to know a lot about Alicia’s
habits.”

“It would take a blind, deaf mute not to know she’s got a
problem with drugs,” he said. “It’s been getting worse the last couple of
years. That accidental overdose came as no surprise to anyone.”

I didn’t comment, preferring to believe my naiveté was a
result of prolonged absences. My information regarding Beacon’s private
melodramas was apparently very much out of date.

“Things have changed since you moved out,” Grant said,
reading my mind.

“Not as much as I’d have liked,” I muttered, considering
with bitterness the undercurrent of antipathy and mistrust that surrounded us
all.

We fell silent again. The car slowed as we passed through
Elberta and Frankfort. To our left, I could just make out glimpses of Lake
Michigan beyond the rise of dunes, while to the right, Crystal Lake glittered
invitingly through the trees.

This smaller lake and its environs was a popular resort
area. In summer, visitors clamored to share in the fishing, hiking and trail
biking, or for the less sports-minded, sunbathing, beachcombing or shopping at
the quaint boutiques huddled along its shores. One could spend quite a few
pleasant days investigating the many antique shops, sampling the cuisine of
neat little restaurants, or just strolling along cobbled walkways lined with
old-fashioned gingerbread cottages.

In winter, Crystal Lake Ski Resort opened its arms to anyone
who enjoyed the dubious pleasure of skiing. I was an armchair skier myself,
preferring the safety and warmth of the lodge and a cup of hot mulled wine.

The road continued along the coast and the dunes on our left
rose to towering heights. This was Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park, the
largest moving sand dune in the world. Each year some twenty-five miles of sand
rose, fell, flattened or dipped with the whims of the weather so each day
presented a new landscape.

Grant pulled the car to a stop at one of the Scenic Platform
signs. There was an arrow indicating a steep path that wove its narrow way up
through the underbrush. I frowned. I didn’t relish accompanying Grant to a
cliff edge with only a small retaining wall separating me from a sheer drop.

He must’ve sensed my lack of enthusiasm. “All right. Forget
it,” he grumbled. “I just thought you might like to stretch your legs.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything!” I cried in defense.

“You didn’t have to. You know, Suzie, sometimes you’re as
clear as glass. Do you think I was planning to throw you from the precipice to
the jagged rocks below? You’ve been reading too many of your own novels!”

I glared at him. “My novels don’t have precipices. Neither
do they have women being lured to their demise by evil husbands. If it’s all
the same to you, however, I’d prefer to have the courtesy of a few witnesses.”

He grunted and started the engine again.

“Where are we going anyway?” I asked. “Or have I already
ruined your plans?”

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t really make any plans. You
may find this hard to believe but I actually thought the drive and change of
scenery might help you relax a little.”

“I am relaxed.”

“Is that why your face has been puckered with frown lines
ever since we left?”

I forced my brow to smooth and realized he was right. The
muscles ached from the intensity of my scowl. “Sorry,” I muttered.

“I know you still don’t trust me,” he said. “But I suppose
that’s good. It means you have a healthy respect for the danger you’re most
probably in.”

I shot him a wary glance. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t Davison spell it out for you? He’s undoubtedly asked
you to make yourself scarce until they catch whoever’s been murdering your
friends and relatives.”

“As a matter of fact, he did but I said I wouldn’t go.” I
stared at him with rising suspicion. “But how do you know that?”

He sighed. “I told you I was working with them, didn’t I?
What do I have to do to convince you I’m on your side?”

“Well, you could catch the real culprit or show me a
badge—or ‘take me to your leader’.”

The slump of his shoulders indicated his unwillingness or
inability to comply with any of these conditions. “I don’t suppose you’d at
least tell me if you uncovered anything in the way of clues?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Would you?”

“If I could, I would but—”

“You’re sworn to secrecy!” I finished for him in an
exaggerated, furtive whisper. “Oh, come on, Grant! This isn’t a James Bond
flick. This is real life. I suppose you’re going to tell me next that you’re
keeping this all a secret for my own protection?”

“Well…”

I snorted. “Just as I thought.”

“You could always torture me into talking— thumb-screws, boiling
oil…”

I smiled. “Too obvious. They leave marks.”

“How about sleep deprivation?” He cocked a suggestive brow. “I
might even be willing to go along with that, if you used the right methods.”

“Sorry. You’d enjoy it too much.”

At least, the brief swing to levity lightened the mood.
Grant’s hands relaxed on the wheel and I felt the rigidity of my spine ease.

I decided on a different approach. “I don’t understand why,
if you’re working with the FBI or whatever, you can’t let me in on it. Excuse
me for being naїve but wouldn’t the old adage, ‘forewarned is forearmed’
apply here? I mean, it’s not like I plan to call the
New York Times
or
something!”

He didn’t reply right away and I could see he was struggling
with an answer. “All right. I suppose there’s nothing they can do to me anyway,
if I tell you some of it.”

I waited. Finally, he spoke.

“Drugs,” he said.

“Drugs?” I repeated.

“Heroin. Cocaine. Smack. Ecstasy. You may have heard of
them?”

“Don’t be sarcastic.”

“It’s got something to do with organized crime. They bring
the stuff into the country through various channels. Some via the west coast,
some via the east coast—”

“I have listened to the news on occasion!”

He scowled. “You’re not making this easy.”

“All right.” I relented. “I won’t interrupt. Go on.”

“Anyway, they’ve infiltrated one of the rings and are
following up on its distribution network. Which brought them to this area. They
don’t want to move in until they’ve collected enough evidence to pin down the
head honcho.”

“But what’s this got to do with Dad? Don’t tell me he—”

“You said you wouldn’t interrupt.” His look softened at my
obvious distress. “I don’t want to be the one to disillusion you, Suzie but Leo
was no saint. To be fair, we don’t know whether he knew what was going on or
not. There’s a possibility he might have accidentally stumbled on the truth and
needed to be silenced. Either way, we’re pretty sure his death was directly
related to this racket.”

I digested this information and its ramifications sprouted
distastefully. On the one hand, the Leo I knew wouldn’t sit still for long if
he became aware of a drug smuggling ring. I could imagine him bellowing threats
and shaking his fist with all the relish of a man who considers himself
invincible. That he might be at risk wouldn’t have even entered his mind. In
that way, I suppose he displayed his greatest weakness. Blindness to his own
mortality could’ve led to his demise.

On the other hand, I remembered stories I heard over the
years about Leo’s shady dealings and although I chose to put them down as
unfounded rumors, I knew in the early days he might have done anything to
further his ambitions. He even married a woman he didn’t love to get a foot in
the door. It wouldn’t be such a long leap to become involved in the lucrative
drug trade.