by BETH KERY
He glanced up, his gaze piercing me. He slipped the phone into his back pocket with a smooth movement and reached out for my wrist.
“I’m sorry, Anna.”
I started in surprise at his intensity. “Sorry for what?”
“Sorry that the idea of me giving you my undivided attention for a few hours could make you smile like that. It’s something you deserve every day.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, trying to sound lighthearted even though my throat had gone tight at what I read in his eyes. “Neither one of us would ever get anything done if we went and did what we did today every day of the week.”
“Maybe not every day. But you and I will make time to go out like that a few days a week. Maybe we’ll go to South Lake on Friday and have lunch, then go and talk to Lauren at the gallery? Or we could spend a day in Carson City. Or go diving? I should order some paddleboards, and we could take those out—”
I went up on my toes and kissed his mouth. “Yes,” I whispered. “To one of those things or all of them. But we don’t have to do anything fancy. I’d be just as happy if you spent an hour with me once in a while out at our little beach here at Les Jumeaux.”
He kissed my cheek, his expression somber. “I realize now it was unfair of me. To keep you so isolated here. You’re young,” he murmured distractedly, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “Full of life. You’re used to socializing. You need more than just an introverted workaholic in your life.”
“Wrong,” I stated firmly, kissing him again. I pulled on several strands of his thick hair. “I only need this introverted workaholic in my life.”
A few days later, I was up on the overlook in the midst of a two-hour marathon of concentrated painting. Whether it was because I’d slept for the past few nights without any nightmares, or because Evan and I had grown especially close following our fight about me taking the car, my mood and my focus had been exceptionally good lately.
I blinked, my trance breaking in mid-stroke on the canvas. I glanced around, unsure of what had interrupted my focus. I was sure there had been no sound. Three men had arrived yesterday to begin to demo the viewing room. I’d been right in thinking the construction noise wouldn’t reach me here, though. No sounds of hammering or electrical saws penetrated the granite vault of Les Jumeaux and the stone cliffs.
A light breeze rustled the pines. Tranquility reigned absolute.
A tingling on my neck made me look over my shoulder and look at the turret of the South Twin. The hair on my arms stood on end. Someone sat at the tower window. I couldn’t make out any specific features, except to say I would have guessed it was man. He stared directly at me. I’m not sure how I could testify to that with so much certainty, except for the goose bumps on my neck and arms.
That, and the queasy feeling of having my privacy violated.
Whether it was an intruder, a guest, or Noah Madaster himself, the South Twin was definitely occupied.
I’d have to tell Evan.
I had the impression of movement behind the staring man, and suddenly, his image receded. He didn’t stand and walk away. One moment, he was there, and the next, he faded into grayness.
Oh no. Not another ghost.
I stood there holding my paintbrush, my pulse leaping at my throat. What the hell had I just seen?
The experience had been so eerie, I almost jumped out of my own skin at the sound of footsteps approaching the overlook.
Yesterday, I had seen the old crazy woman again. She’d been wandering on the boulders to the south of Les Jumeaux. As I stood there on the overlook, listening to the approaching footsteps, I briefly wondered if it might be her again. But the tread was too heavy and purposeful.
“Evan?” I called out shakily.
But it wasn’t Evan who broke the tree line. It was a tall man with blondish brown hair wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt, the buttons at his throat unfastened. He paused several feet away and looked at me, his mouth hanging open, clearly as surprised to see me as I was him.
He had a nice face. Not Evan-quality handsome, but few faces were, in my undoubtedly prejudiced opinion. It was glazed with a light sheen of sweat, as if he’d found the climb to the outlook strenuous.
“So sorry to disturb you,” he said quickly, walking toward me. “I’m Dr. Ryder… Wes Ryder,” he added, stretching out his hand. “I’m old friends with Evan. I’ve known him since grade school in Tahoe Shores. He said I’d find you up here.”
Why, if he’d been expecting me, had he appeared so shocked to see me? But then I started to suspect there was a perpetual look of surprise to Wes Ryder’s expression, as if he couldn’t entirely comprehend the situations in which he found himself.
“Hello. I’m Anna,” I said, switching my paintbrush into my other hand so that I could shake with him. “So you’ve known Evan since he was young?”
“Since first grade,” he said amiably, shoving both his hands in his pockets. “I’ve only just learned he was back at Les Jumeaux. With a new bride.” He studied me through narrowed eyelids.
“That’s me. I’m glad to meet you. I’m dying to hear more about what Evan was like as a boy.”
“Best in class, best at sports… best with the ladies.”
I looked away, made a little uncomfortable by his intense scrutiny.
“Sorry. I’d heard you were beautiful, but reality pales,” he said in a conciliatory manner.
“Thank you,” I said, moving away to my worktable. I pretended to busy myself with blotting excess paint off my brushes with a newspaper. I’ve never been comfortable with casual flattery. It always flusters me, striking me as too intimate coming from a stranger. Invasive, somehow.
“Is Evan coming up here, as well?” I asked.
“He’s busy with something in his office, so I said I’d come up and get acquainted. You painted that?”
I turned and saw him staring at my work in progress. “I did,” I said briskly.
“Beautiful and talented,” he said after a pause. “Evan always did have all the luck.”
I glanced back at him and our gazes briefly met. There had been a hint of longing in his tone—or had it been envy—only partially disguised by his charming, insouciant smile. I had a thought that he’d been referencing Elizabeth. I realized I had an opportunity here, having access to a person who had a long history with Evan… all while Evan himself was absent.
“I suppose you’re referring to Elizabeth,” I said with fake casualness as I turned toward him again. “Was she very beautiful?”
“You couldn’t take your eyes off her,” he said gruffly.
“Did she go to school with Evan and you?” I asked, taking several steps toward him.
“She came to Tahoe Shores when she was fifteen. But she wasn’t in the same grade as Evan and me. Not in the same universe, you might say.” His smile widened when he saw my questioning look. “She was two grades ahead of us.”
“Was she? I hadn’t realized she was older than Evan. Not by much, of course. I get what you mean. People two grades ahead of you when you’re that age seem like they’re gods.”
“That’s not the only reason Elizabeth Madaster seemed like a goddess. She floated while everyone else crawled. She always did seem like a creature from another realm.” He smiled wryly. “An angel, maybe.”
“Wow,” I said with a nervous laugh. “You’re going to make me downright insecure.”
“You have nothing to be insecure about,” he replied quietly.
I cleared my throat in the awkward pause that followed.
“What type of medicine do you practice?” I asked.
“Internal medicine.”
“Is your office in Tahoe Shores?”
“Yep,” he replied, rocking back on his heels, hands again jammed deep in his pockets. “Although I have patients who come from all over the are
a. But basically, I’m just your small-town doc who never wandered far from the place he grew up.”
“You’re lucky. Tahoe Shores is a lovely town, and who can complain about this?” I said, waving out at the incandescent lake and pine covered mountains. He merely shrugged. I had the impression that Dr. Wes Ryder himself might complain occasionally about the life he’d chosen.
“How long have you two been here? At Les Jumeaux?” he asked.
“Evan didn’t tell you?”
He shook his head. “I only just learned he’d returned when he called me yesterday.”
“It’s been a few weeks.”
“And what do you think of your new home?”
I looked around me. “It’s just your basic heaven.” I stated the obvious with a smile.
Wes nodded, staring out at the lake thoughtfully. “Evan says you grew up in the Midwest?”
“Oak Park. It’s a Chicago suburb. But I went to art school in San Francisco.”
“And that’s where you met Evan. It’s remarkable, really.”
“Remarkable?” I laughed.
His teeth showed when he smiled. “That he was able to find love again. It’s good to have him back. It’s been seven years since he’s been to Les Jumeaux. Seven years since I’ve last seen him.”
Seven years since Elizabeth died, a voice in my head added.
“Evan never came back and visited, even for a few days?” I wondered.
Wes shook his head. “His parents moved back east a good ten or eleven years ago, so they weren’t here for him to visit.”
“And I suppose it was hard for him to be here at first, because of Elizabeth,” I said slowly.
“In more ways than one.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he couldn’t be here until now. The courts only gave him legal access to Les Jumeaux earlier this year.”
“I’m not sure what you mean. Why only this year?”
Wes hesitated for a moment, studying my face.
“Elizabeth’s father hired a team of crack lawyers to prevent Evan’s inheritance of the property. Evan hired better ones, apparently. But more to my point, Evan couldn’t inherit until Elizabeth was officially declared as deceased. That only happened this year.”
“I’m sorry?” I asked, squinting to bring him into better focus.
“The law states that a person can only be declared dead after they’ve gone missing for seven years.”
“Do you mean to say—”
“Elizabeth Madaster’s body has never been found. ”
Chapter Six
I just stared at Wes Ryder for a full five seconds, trying to compute what the news had meant to Evan, trying to understand what his suffering under those circumstances would have been. I came up against a great, black wall that my imagination couldn’t penetrate. What would it be like, to never see your spouse again, to never have the closure of a memorial or a burial…
To never to have said goodbye?
“I’m sorry. I guess that Evan hadn’t told you that yet?” Wes said.
I suddenly felt very warm. I untied the paint smock I was wearing, all the while willing myself to steady after being knocked off balance.
“No. He’d told me about her drowning in a boating accident, but I hadn’t realized they’d never found her body,” I said, pulling the smock off my arms and tossing it on the table. I looked out at the brilliant sapphire waters. The alpine lake had always struck me as sublime. But suddenly I sensed its unfeeling vastness, its uncompromising, frigid depths.
“She disappeared here, didn’t she?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes. She was a very experienced sailor. She had a favorite boat—a restored wooden yacht her father had bought her. It was small, but top of the line. She called it Survivor,” he said, his smile faltering slightly. I understood why. The name seemed ironic and sad, given the circumstances.
“Two days after she went missing, the boat was found miles from Les Jumeaux, foundering against some rocks near South Lake. There was only minimal damage to the boat. They searched for her body for weeks afterward, but it was never found. The search was eventually called off.”
“Why did they say it was an accident?” Couldn’t someone have hurt her? Something told me to keep that question to myself.
“Elizabeth was on the boat alone.”
“How did they know she was alone?”
Wes glanced over his shoulder at the South Twin.
“Elizabeth’s father is a control freak,” he said after a pause in a quiet, confidential tone. “Back then, he had security cameras installed all over Les Jumeaux. After Elizabeth went missing, he gave the police full access to surveillance video. They saw Elizabeth leaving the boathouse that evening by herself. They studied video for the time period before she left, as well. They could trace the movements and activity on the boat for months before that night. There’s no doubt that she was alone when she left. It wasn’t unusual. She often went out on her own. She was fiercely independent.
“Anyway, after they found the boat, they searched for any sign of anyone being on board with her that evening, any signs of violence or anything irregular, and found none. Boating accidents happen. People hit their heads and fall in. There was alcohol on board, and sleep medication. Sedatives. She might have been intoxicated when it all happened. I suppose we’ll never know. If she was only partially conscious or unconscious when she went in, well. . . ”
He winced.
“Lake Tahoe is one of the deepest freshwater lakes in the world. They say you can stand up the Empire State Building in it, and never see the top of it. Many a body has been lost in that lake,” he said.
Another shiver wracked him. He wrapped his arms around his waist. I realized he looked pale, as though discussing Elizabeth’s death had made him physically ill.
“Are you all right?” I asked, concerned.
Wes blinked and attempted a smile. “Of course.”
“You were close to her, too. Weren’t you?”
“Close? No, I wouldn’t say that. When we were younger, maybe. But Elizabeth made an impression on everyone. Her death hit a lot of people very hard.” He glanced back toward Les Jumeaux. He seemed to hesitate.
“I suppose Evan won’t appreciate me coming up here and gossiping like this.”
“You weren’t gossiping. I appreciate you talking to me. It’s hard, speaking about these things with Evan. I don’t want to… ”
“Poke at his wounds?” Wes asked quietly.
I just nodded, thankful for his understanding.
“Well, I suppose we should get back?” he asked after an awkward pause. “Evan should be finished interviewing Valeria by now.”
“Valeria?” I asked, completely confused as to why Evan would be interviewing a woman.
He grimaced slightly and again shoved his hands in his pockets, looking like a sheepish tween.
“Evan’s going to kill me,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Why?”
He shrugged and started to walk toward the path, but I lunged forward and caught his upper arm. He turned back.
“Wes? What’s going on? Just tell me,” I insisted.
He glanced at my face, seemed to sense my determination on the subject, and sighed.
“You’re going to really like her, Anna. Valeria, I mean. When Evan described what he needed here at the house, I immediately thought of her.”
“Why does it matter whether I like a complete stranger or not? And why is Evan interviewing her? What’s she supposed to do?”
“He wanted someone to help do some light chores around the house, that’s all. Run errands occasionally… ”
“And.”
“He said you needed another soul around the house.” He noticed my ominous expression
. “I got the impression Evan is concerned about you being so isolated here. Valeria is close to your age, and she likes a lot of the same activities you do. She loves to hike and board and swim, and she’s an expert scuba diver… teaches a class at the local community college—”
He broke off when I moved past him and stalked toward the path.
“Anna, wait. Evan is doing it only because he’s concerned.”
“He’s only doing it because he’s stubborn,” I corrected, plunging down the slope.
You’re an idiot, Anna.
And here I’d been thinking we’d soared past that spat we’d had, and moved on to some higher understanding in regard to our marriage.
I flung open the male room door without knocking.
“I don’t want a companion, Evan. I’m a grown woman living in the twenty-first century, not some helpless female in a Jane Austen novel.”
Evan sat behind his desk. His expression didn’t shift at my outburst. The woman who sat in front of his desk twisted around in her chair, however, her eyes sprung wide.
“Ah, here she is now. Valeria Caro, I’d like you to meet my wife, Anna. She’s not usually this loud, but there’s always the potential for it, I’m learning,” he said. He looked grave as he followed my progress into the room, but I saw the glint of humor in his eyes.
“Don’t you dare laugh about this. How could you do this behind my back?”
Valeria stood from her chair and faced me. My anger fractured a little when I took in how disconcerted she was at my dramatic entrance. She was short, with long dark hair, smooth, golden brown skin, and small, delicately wrought features. She wore jeans and a short-sleeved tunic. I had the quick thought that Wes had been right when he’d mentioned the outdoor leisure activities she enjoyed. She had a great figure and the appearance of a woman comfortable in her own skin… a natural athlete.
At the moment, however, she appeared confused and unsure. I exhaled heavily.
“I’m sorry for bursting in like this, Valeria,” I apologized, stepping forward to shake her hand. I threw Evan a dark look. “But I’ve told Evan I don’t need him to pay someone to be my friend.”