“Oh, no, you don’t.” Charity stepped back quickly when she realized that Otis was preparing to pluck a glittering bead from her wedding gown. “Don’t you dare. This dress cost a fortune, even if I did get a deal because I got it through Truitt. I’m not going to let you ruin it.”
Otis contrived to look hurt and offended.
Charity wrinkled her nose at him.
Elias hid a quick grin as he watched the pair. He could not remember a day when he had been happier or more content with life. Charity was breathtaking in the glorious, full-skirted wedding gown. He had been unable to take his eyes off her for more than a few seconds at a time since she had walked down the aisle on her brother’s arm two hours earlier.
She was sunlight on a silvery sea, he thought. Moonlight on a lake. Everything he had ever wanted or needed. He wondered again at the twists and turns in the river of his life that had finally led him to this woman who had changed everything.
Phyllis heaved a sigh and looked wistfully at Elias. “I suppose this means that all the summer rumors about a rich off-shore client building a world-class resort here in the cove were just pipe dreams?”
“All I can tell you for sure,” Elias said, “is that none of my old clients is planning a resort here. At least not as far as I know. But, then, I’m out of the consulting business these days. I’m too busy with Crazy Otis Landing to worry about off-shore investors.”
Yappy appeared at Elias’s shoulder. “Well, you might want to worry about that guy coming toward us. Ted spotted him a minute ago. It’s the same dude that tried to beat you once before.”
Charity whirled around. “Not Justin Keyworth? Good grief, it’s him, Elias. What’s he doing here?”
Elias watched as Justin walked slowly through the crowd. “I’ll go find out.” He set his punch glass down on the nearest bench.
Yappy squinted. “Want some backup?”
“I think I can handle him this time,” Elias said. “If I need help, I’ll let you know.”
Ted and Newlin materialized at Elias’s elbow.
“We’ll be right here if you need us,” Ted said.
“Thanks.” Elias started forward to intercept Justin.
Charity grabbed fistfuls of her voluminous skirts and hurried after him. “I’m coming with you, Elias.”
He did not argue. If Justin was here to tell him that Garrick Keyworth had finally succeeded in killing himself, it would be good to have Charity at his side.
He reached out to take her hand. She gave him a reassuring smile that said more than words. It said he was no longer alone.
Justin stopped when he saw Elias and Charity coming toward him. He glanced from one to the other, frowning slightly.
“What’s going on here?” Justin studied Charity’s gown. “You two just get married?”
“Yes.” Elias brought himself and Charity to a halt. “What do you want, Keyworth?”
Justin looked uneasy. “This is sort of private, Winters. Can we go someplace and talk? I won’t keep you long.”
Charity scowled. “No, you cannot go someplace alone. For all I know, you’ve come here to beat up Elias again, and I won’t have it. Not on our wedding day.”
Justin flushed a dull red. “I didn’t come here to beat up anyone. I just want to talk to Winters.”
“This is about your father, isn’t it?” Elias said quietly.
“Yes.”
“It’s all right,” Elias said. He felt Charity give his hand a small squeeze. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Charity.”
Justin took one last look at Charity’s stubborn expression and apparently accepted the obvious fact that she was not going to quietly disappear. “I came to tell you that Dad’s … getting better. He’s in therapy. Taking medication. Starting to ask questions about the business.”
Relief swept through Elias. He drew a deep breath. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“He and I have done a lot of talking since you went to see him that day in Seattle.” Justin met Elias’s eyes with a steady, determined expression. “He told me everything. About your father. The crash. Everything.”
Elias nodded. “I see.”
“Now I know why you did what you did.” Justin hesitated. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?” Elias asked.
“You had everything in place. Dad says you could have ruined the company’s entire Pacific operation. But you pulled the plug at the last minute. And then, later, after I told you that he’d tried to commit suicide, you went to see him. He said you gave him a lecture. Something about not doing to me what your father had done to you.”
“I didn’t think he was paying attention,” Elias said.
“He listened.” Justin glanced out across the sunlit cove and then he looked back at Elias. “He wants to merge my new firm and Keyworth International. I’d be CEO. He’d be president.”
“Sounds like a solid executive team,” Elias said. “Going for it?”
“I’m thinking about it. Yeah. Probably. The old man knows the international freight business. He can be an S.O.B., but he’s savvy as hell. I could learn some things from him. He seems to want to teach me. After all these years, he says he’d like to show me the ropes.”
“Better late than never,” Elias said.
“We’ll see.” Justin shoved his hands into his pockets and fixed Elias with another steady look. “But I still want to know why you backed off your plans to cripple his company. And why bother to go see Dad after he tried to commit suicide?”
It was Charity who answered. “Nobody likes to swim in polluted water. Elias decided to do what he could to clean up the river.”
Justin frowned. “What the hell does river pollution have to do with this?”
“It’s a water thing,” Charity said solemnly. “It takes years of training and self-discipline to comprehend the higher levels of consciousness and how they relate to the nature of water. However, if you want to take a short-cut to enlightenment, you can buy a really neat T-shirt from Ted’s Instant Philosophy T-Shirt Company. Right over there on the other side of the pier.”
Justin turned back to Elias, clearly bewildered.
Elias grinned. “Don’t mind her, Keyworth. When she gets into her cryptic philosophical mode, you can’t understand a word she says. Come with me to the buffet table. I’ll get you a slice of wedding cake and some of the worst-tasting punch you’ve ever had in your life.”
“I could use a beer,” Justin said slowly.
“You’re in luck. We’ve got some of that, too.”
The waters of the cove were black and silver beneath a moon that was nearly full. Elias stood on the bluff, his arm around Charity, and listened to the whispers.
“What are you thinking about?” Charity asked.
“About the first time I kissed you. We were watching the Voyagers from the railing at the old campground. Remember?”
“I certainly do. Knocked your socks off, didn’t I?” she chuckled. “Thought you were going to freak out on me.”
“I recovered swiftly.”
“You did,” she agreed. “It took a while, but you definitely recovered.” She turned and put her arms around his neck. “Things are going great down at the pier, aren’t they?”
“I think we’ll all make it through to next summer.” He wrapped his hands around her waist, enjoying the feel of her warm, feminine curves.
“Town council’s off our backs, at last. Shops are renting up quickly, thanks to the improvements you’ve made. Business is tripled over last year.”
“You’re about to tell me that you’ve got a new project in mind, aren’t you?”
She smiled her brilliant smile. “How did you guess?”
“You can take the CEO out of the executive suite, but you can’t take the executive suite out of the CEO. What’s the project this time?”
“I was thinking that it’s about time we started working on having a baby.”
He stared at her, as disoriented as he had felt the first time he had taken her into his arms. “A baby?”
“Any objections? You’d make a terrific father, and Otis could baby-sit.”
Dazed with a profound sense of wonder, Elias was speechless for a moment. “No objections,” he finally managed to whisper.
She smiled.
He pulled her very close and gazed out over the cove.
The silvery moonlight reflected on the surface of the ceaselessly moving water. In that moment he could have sworn that he caught a fleeting glimpse of that rarest of all reflections, an image of the future. It glowed.
He saw the way the waters of the past flowed seamlessly into the future and he knew that Hayden Stone had been right.
“What are you thinking about?” Charity asked.
“About something Hayden wrote in his journal.”
“What was that?”
“To know real happiness, a man must learn to open himself to love.”
“I think you finally got that lesson right.”
“Some things a man has to learn the hard way.” Elias bent his head to kiss her.
POCKET BOOKS HARDCOVER
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SHARP EDGES
JAYNE ANN KRENTZ
Coming Soon in Hardcover from Pocket Books
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Sharp Edges.…
It took all of the considerable self-control Eugenia Swift had at her disposal to hang on to her temper. “For heavens’ sake, Tabitha, the last thing I need is a bodyguard.”
Tabitha Leabrook smiled with the sort of poised confidence reserved for those who have grown up with money, social influence and very high self-esteem.
“Think of him as a precaution, Eugenia,” she said. “A prudent preventative action. Rather like wearing a seatbelt.”
“Or getting a flu shot,” Cyrus Chandler Colfax offered helpfully.
Eugenia tightened her fingers in a reflexive movement. The fresh-off-the-press invitation to the Leabrook Glass Museum’s annual Foundation Reception crumpled in her hand.
She wondered what the penalty was for strangling very large men who wore tacky aloha shirts, khaki chinos and moccasin-style loafers. Surely no judge or jury would convict her, she thought. Not when they saw the evidence.
Colfax had said very little thus far, obviously content to wait as the argument swirled like a waterspout in the center of the room. He was biding his time, letting Tabitha wear her down. She sensed his plan as clearly as if he had written it out for her to read. He intended to loom in the shadows until she had been sufficiently softened up. Then he would step in to deliver the coup de grâce.
Dressed in the splashy blue, green and orange shirt, he should have looked ridiculous against the Oriental carpet and warmly paneled walls of her expensively furnished office. Unfortunately, he did not appear even slightly out of place. He clashed terribly with the expensive decor, of course, but he did not look out of place.
It was the room that looked somehow prissy and too elegant.
Eugenia was not fooled by the beachcomber ensemble. Not for one minute. She had a talent for being able to look beneath the surface. It was a gift that had led her into a successful career, first as an assistant curator at the Leabrook and now as its director.
She could see very clearly that Colfax was going to be a problem.
The cryptic tropical attire could not conceal the reality of Cyrus Colfax. He looked as if he had just ridden in off the range with a pair of six-guns strapped to his hip and was now prepared to clean up the town.
Slow-moving and slow-talking, he had the feral, ascetic features of an avenging lawman of the mythic West. He even had the hands of a gunman, she thought. Or at least the sort of hands she imagined a gunslinger would have. Strong and lean, they were a highly uncivilized combination of sensitivity and ruthlessness.
There was an aura of great stillness about him. He made no extraneous movements. He did not drum his fingers. He did not fiddle with a pen. He simply occupied space. No, Eugenia thought, he controlled space.
She estimated his age at about thirty-five, but it was difficult to be certain. He had the kind of features that only toughened with the years. There was a hint of silver in his dark hair but nothing else to indicate the passing of time. There was certainly no evidence of any softening around the middle, she noticed.
But what disturbed her most were his eyes. They were the color of thick, heavy glass viewed from the side, an intense, compelling green that was cold, brilliant and mysterious. It was a color unique to a material forged in fire.
Eugenia tossed aside the crushed invitation and folded her hands on her polished cherrywood desk. This was her office, and she was in charge. She glared at Tabitha.
“What you are suggesting is highly inefficient and a complete waste of time,” she said. “Besides, I’m supposed to be on vacation.”
“A working vacation,” Tabitha reminded her.
She knew she was losing the battle, but it was her nature to fight on even when defeat loomed. It was true that she was the director of the museum, but Tabitha Leabrook was the chief administrator of the Leabrook Foundation. The foundation endowed the museum and paid the bills. When push came to shove, Tabitha had the final say.
Ninety-nine percent of the time the chain of command created no major problems for Eugenia. She had a great deal of respect for Tabitha, a small, dainty woman in her early seventies. Tabitha had a seemingly unlimited reservoir of public-spirited energy, refined tastes and a good heart. She had a penchant for face-lifts and the money to afford them. She also had a will of iron.
For the most part, Tabitha demonstrated a gratifying respect for Eugenia’s abilities and intelligence. Since appointing her director of the Leabrook, she had given Eugenia her head when it came to the administration of the museum.
Tabitha and the board of directors of the Leabrook Foundation had been delighted with Eugenia’s achievements. Under her direction, the Leabrook had swiftly shed its stodgy image and achieved a reputation for an outstanding and exciting collection of ancient and modern glass.
It was unlike Tabitha to interfere in Eugenia’s decision making. The fact that she was doing so today indicated the depths of her concern.
“I will feel much more comfortable if Mr. Colfax accompanies you to Frog Cove Island,” Tabitha said. “After all, if there is some question of murder here—”
“For the last time,” Eugenia interrupted, “there is no question of murder. The authorities declared Adam Daventry’s death an accident. He fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck.”
“The lawyer who is handling the Daventry estate called me an hour ago,” Tabitha said. “He told me that the executors insist that Mr. Colfax make some inquiries into the matter.”
“So let him make inquiries.” Eugenia spread her hands. “Why do I have to be involved in them?”
Colfax stirred at the edge of the beam of light cast by the Tiffany lamp on the desk. “The estate wants everything handled very quietly. Very discreetly.”
Eugenia eyed his bright, palm-tree-patterned aloha shirt. “No offense, but somehow I don’t see you as the soul of restraint and discretion, Mr. Colfax.”
He smiled his slow, enigmatic smile. “I have many hidden qualities.”
“They are extremely well concealed,” she agreed politely.
“It will be an undercover operation.” Tabitha’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “Rather exciting, don’t you think, Eugenia?”
“I think,” Eugenia said carefully, “that it sounds like a lot of nonsense. I read the articles in the Seattle Times and the Post-Intelligencer. There was no mention of any suspicion of foul play in Daventry’s death.”
Tabitha peered at her over the rims of her reading glasses. “I must remind you, Eugenia, that the sooner the executors are satisfied, the sooner the Leabrook will be able to move the Daventry glass collection here to the museum.”
Tabitha was ri
ght, and Eugenia knew it. Adam Daventry had left his magnificent collection of glass to the Leabrook. For most of his time as a collector, he had focused on seventeenth- to twentieth-century glass. But a few months before his death, he had also begun to acquire some ancient glass.
Eugenia was eager to get her hands on the collection, but that was not the real reason she planned to spend her summer vacation on Frog Cove Island.
Adam Daventry’s death had made the Seattle papers for two reasons. The first was that he was the last direct descendant of the Golden Daventrys, a prominent Northwest family that had made its early fortunes in timber and then moved on to amass even more cash in Pacific Rim shipping.
The second reason Daventry’s death had garnered a mention was that five years earlier Adam Daventry had moved to Frog Cove Island off the Washington coast and established an art colony. The island had become a popular summer weekend destination for Seattlites, tourists and others who liked to browse the local galleries. The annual Daventry Workshops Festival, held in June, had become a major summer event that drew large crowds.
Although Daventry had plastered his name on the art colony and the summer festival, he, himself, had always avoided the public eye. The rare photos taken of him showed an elegantly lean, dark-haired, middle-aged man with smoldering eyes and Faustian features.
Eugenia had met him six months earlier when he had come to Seattle to consult with her in her professional capacity. She had quickly discovered that she had something in common with Daventry, namely an abiding passion for glass. But in spite of that, she had come away from the encounter with a one-word description of him. The word was bloodsucker.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this arrangement, Eugenia,” Tabitha said. “It’s not as if you both won’t have plenty of privacy. From what the lawyer said, Glass House is quite large. Three stories and a basement. There are any number of bathrooms and bedrooms, apparently. So many, in fact, that the executors plan to sell it off to a hotel firm to be converted into an inn.”
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