Amused by his fantasies, he made coffee, then carried a cup into the living room. Settling himself on the couch, he reached for the phone. Would she be asleep? he wondered. It was early for a Sunday morning. He had to make an early start at the shop. If he wanted to talk to her before it got hectic again, it would have to be now.
Surprised to find his heart pounding at the thought, he dialed the number and waited.
Her voice was slurred with sleep when she answered. “Hello?”
Thrills chased all over his body, and he had to catch his breath. “Hi, gorgeous. Did I wake you?”
The pause went on so long, his stomach muscles clenched. “Are you all right?” he demanded, wild visions of her being held at gunpoint racing through his mind.
“Yes, of course. I...I’m sorry. I haven’t woken up yet.”
Relief made him weak. “Oh, sorry. I know it’s early, but things get so crazy at the store on the weekend....”
“It’s all right. It’s time I got up, anyway.”
There was something in her voice, her tone, that disturbed him, though he couldn’t put a finger on it. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.” Again that long, unsettling pause. “I just...didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”
“Ah, well, maybe I can remedy that tonight. How about joining me over here for dinner and then perhaps I can think of something that will make us both sleep better?”
He started to smile, already envisioning the scene. His body stirred in anticipation. He could hardly believe it when her voice spoke in his ear again.
“I’m sorry, Turner. I can’t make it tonight.”
Now there was quite a different ache spreading across his chest. He couldn’t mistake the finality in her voice this time.
Praying he was mistaken, he said urgently, “Claire, what’s wrong? Tell me, please. Was it something I said, something I did?”
What? his mind shouted. What could possibly have gone wrong between the time he’d left her lying in his bed and now?
“Turner, I’m sorry. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be alone again.”
The words hit him in the gut like rocks of ice. Careful, he warned himself. Don’t blow this. “You mind telling me why not?” he said carefully.
“I’m sorry. I know you...I... It was a mistake, Turner. I’m not ready for that kind of relationship. I have a business to get off the ground. It’s going to take all my time and energies—”
He lost it. He forgot all about his self warnings. “That,” he said quietly, “is a load of BS. I know the reason behind this, so why don’t you tell me the truth?”
Another long pause. Then her voice again. As brittle as burned toffee. “And what do you consider the truth to be?”
“I should have known.” He was hurting now, too much to care what he said. “I should have damn well known.”
“Known what?”
“You didn’t know I was broke, did you, Claire? Not until last night.”
“Turner, that has nothing to do with it—”
“Oh, doesn’t it? Well, I think it has everything to do with it. You’re used to living the high life—travel, big fancy hotels, money to spend on clothes and perfume, whatever. That’s what you’re waiting for, isn’t it? Someone who can afford to give you that ritzy kind of life.”
“That’s ridiculous, and you know it—”
“Oh, yeah? Convince me. Tell me you’re not just like my late wife. That you don’t come from the same mold.”
Even as he said the words, he silently begged her to tell him he was wrong. That there was some other reason, something that could be worked out.
His agony was complete when she said quietly, “Well, I guess you have me pretty well pegged, Turner. There’s nothing more I can say.”
“Goodbye, Claire. I’ll be sure to give Harrie your love.” He put the phone down before she could answer and buried his face in his hands.
* * *
Across town, Claire sat for several seconds, listening to the hum of the dial tone. Then, very carefully, she laid the receiver back in its rest. When it came, she knew the pain would be fierce. Right now she felt nothing.
She had to make allowances, she told herself. It was natural he would assume that she wanted more than he could give. He was still bitter about Stacey and the way she had betrayed him. She and Stacey had grown up together, shared the same life-styles, the same values. Of course he would think they were alike.
The difference was, Stacey had gone on being pampered. While Claire had learned to fend for herself. She had gone through some tough times, and they had taught her compassion and understanding, to give as well as take, to look outward instead of inward.
But Turner couldn’t know that. And maybe it was just as well. For he had handed her the perfect excuse, and he would never know that it was her love for him and everything he stood for that had given her the strength to walk away.
* * *
For the next few days she buried herself in the dozens of details that had to be taken care of in order to get her business on line. She spent hours on the phone with prospective clients, setting up schedules, phone numbers and fees. She talked to phone companies and an accountant, spending an afternoon with him to set up her bookkeeping system. She applied for a business license and took a two-hour course on the computer software she planned to use.
Things seemed to be shaping up well. She had several clients signed up, including two psychologists and a plastic surgeon. By the first of September, she figured, she’d be ready to launch Spencer’s Services.
There were times, as she drove through town or late at night when she finally fell into bed, that the pain would be almost unbearable. Now and again, when she heard a childish voice or a masculine chuckle, her heart twisted in agony, and she would have to fight back the tears.
But for the most part, she kept her mind firmly on her goal, and although the dull ache stayed with her, she found she could live with it. Painfully, perhaps, but she could survive.
She heard nothing from Turner, nor did she expect to. She called the Bridgemonts a couple of times and received a cool response. But she did manage to have a word with Harrie.
She explained to the little girl that she would be very busy for the next few weeks and wouldn’t be able to see her, but that she loved her very much and thought about her all the time.
It hurt, but she felt it best to stay out of Harrie’s life while she was occupied with her grandparents. It would make it easier for the child when she went back to her father.
Claire scanned the papers every day, hoping to see news of the arrest of Ray Newberg’s murderer. But it seemed as if the story had been forgotten. When she called the police station to talk to Detective Howard, he told her that there had been no further developments in the case. The antique store had been closed and would remain empty until the investigation was complete.
Finally, she told herself it was no longer any of her business. She was out of their lives, and the best thing she could do for all of them was to stay out.
* * *
Almost two weeks to the day Claire had last seen the cabin, a lightning storm crackled across the mountains. Thunder rolled ominously in the distance, but to everyone’s relief the lightning only glanced across the forest and caused little damage.
That afternoon the Forest Service issued a ban on all campfires in all areas of the forest. Some campgrounds were closed down completely, a severe measure that disgruntled a good many tourists, who had booked vacations weeks earlier.
The wind seemed to blow hotter than ever, drying the air, the lawns, the shrubs, the trees and evaporating the creeks and streams. The city banned lawn sprinklers and shut off the downtown fountains, while the shopkeepers at Coopers Landings took to watching the skies, hoping for clouds that would signal rain and not a new thunderstorm to threaten the tinder dry forest around them.
Turner stood in the doorway of the Bait Shop and stared moodily acr
oss the river. His attempts to find someone to take over the store hadn’t worked any better than his attempts to find a permanent housekeeper.
He wanted to take Harrie away somewhere, to get her out of the Bridgemonts’ house. He needed to get away himself, to escape the memories that haunted him every time he went back to the cabin.
But this was his busiest time. He couldn’t afford to shut up shop. He had the lawyer to pay for and the rest of the loan. If he didn’t make the money now, he’d be in debt for another year. And run the risk of losing Harrie. It seemed as if no matter which way he turned, he faced a dead-end street.
Softly cursing, he turned to go back inside. His last customer had left thirty minutes ago. It would be dark in another hour or so. He’d had enough for the day. He might as well leave now and go barbecue a hamburger, down a couple of beers and read the suspense novel he’d had lying by his bed for the past week. And do his damnedest to forget Claire Spencer.
After going through his usual check on everything, he locked up, pocketed the key and set off for home. He waited for a couple of cars to pass him on the highway, then jogged across, slowing his pace when he reached the other side. He had nothing to hurry home for, he told himself, so he might as well take his time.
Although the sun had dipped behind the ridge, the hot, dry wind heated his body and dampened his brow. He watched leaves, browned and curled before their time, swirling in dusty circles ahead of him.
Branches creaked above his head, like the ancient boards of a schooner in full sail. Scorched by the heat, the forest smelled like hay dried out in the hot sun. Even the dense firs offered no respite, but crackled as the wind forced them to sway back and forth.
It was a strange sound. Almost like the crackle of fire.
Even as he thought it, his senses leapt into startled awareness. Now he could smell it. The ominous scent of woodsmoke. No one in their right mind would be burning wood this time of year. No one in their right mind.
He started to run, knowing long before he reached it what he would see. Down the trail he raced, heart pounding, hands clenched, as smoke drifted toward him, first in a thin mist, then thicker, in a dark-gray haze.
The crackling was louder now, more distinctive, more deadly than any sound he’d ever heard before. Sparks began floating down, landing on his shoulder, his arm, biting his skin. He ignored them, his gaze intent on the curve in front of him.
His feet pounded the hard ground as he burst through the trees and into the clearing. In front of him he could barely see the walls of the cabin, engulfed as they were in thick, black smoke. The stench of burning almost choked him.
He could hear the dull roar now, the sound that told him the cabin was beyond saving. He wondered how long it would be before the forest-ranger station spotted the smoke. He had to get back to the store to send out the alarm.
Yet something held him rooted to the spot as he watched his home, his and Harrie’s home, destroyed before his eyes. Flames leapt from the windows, eating up the curtains, greedily reaching for air through the shattered panes.
The roar grew louder, and then with a muffled explosion, part of the roof caved in, releasing the fire from its prison. Within seconds, the lower branches of the firs exploded into flames.
The sight galvanized him into action. He couldn’t think what could have caused the fire, but there was no time to wonder about that now.
Head down, he sprinted back up the trail and out of the trees onto the highway. He saw the car coming, but couldn’t stop his headlong rush. He heard the terrible squeal of tires and saw the white face staring at him through the windshield, then, miraculously, it was past him, weaving across the road as the driver fought the skid.
Shaken, he kept on running, his breath straining in his chest. He passed the antique store and noticed the door was open. But no one would be inside. He raced on, past his own locked door. As he did so, he heard his phone ringing.
He reached the door of the grocery store and stumbled inside. Barry Webb stood behind the counter, staring at him as if he’d landed from Mars.
“Fire,” he gasped. “Call the Forest Service. My cabin’s gone. The forest will be next....”
Before he had finished speaking the grocer had the phone to his ear, his finger jabbing the memorized number. He barked out a couple of rapid sentences, listened for a moment, responded briefly and put down the phone.
“They’ve got it,” he said as Turner fought for breath. “They’ll be here directly.”
Turner nodded, his lungs burning with smoke and fatigue.
Barry Webb came out from behind the counter and took hold of his arm. “Come on, man, sit down in the back here. I’ll get you something to drink. You can’t do anything till they get here.”
Turner shook his head. “Thanks. But I’m going out to the road. I want to help them put this one out.”
“Reckon we all will.” He was already taking off his apron as he spoke. “Thank God it’s an east wind. It’ll send it in the opposite direction from here.”
Turner nodded, feeling a helpless sense of defeat. “Straight at the Ridge. With this wind it could scorch every living thing for miles.”
Barry Webb looked grim. “Well, let’s hope we get a handle on it before then. I wonder what started it.”
“I don’t know what,” Turner said slowly, “but I do know where. It started in my cabin. It was the only thing burning when I got there.”
The grocer nodded. “Faulty wiring, more’n likely. Starts a lot of them in these old houses. That cabin’s been there a good many years.”
The full enormity of it hit him suddenly. For the first time since Stacey had died, he wanted to cry. “I’ve lost it all,” he said. For some reason he tried to remember everything that was in the cabin. Furniture, bedding, pots and pans. His mind jumped to the suspense novel he hadn’t read. Inexplicably, that brought it home all the more.
His throat closed and he needed, quite desperately, a moment alone. “I’m just going back to the shop for a minute,” Turner said. “I have to pick up something. I’ll meet you out on the road.”
He left the store and reached the door of his shop. It took him a moment to find his key, then to steady his hand enough to fit the key in the lock. As he pushed the door open, his phone started to ring again.
He almost didn’t answer it. Then it occurred to him it could be the Forest Service, looking for more information. Holding on to his emotions by the barest thread, he reached for the phone and brought it to his ear. “The Bait Shop.”
The voice he heard was the last one he expected to hear.
“Turner? It’s Claire.”
Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the tear that formed in the corner of his eye. His voice sounded harsh, even to him, as he said, “Not now, Claire. I’ve got a problem here.”
He was about to hang up, but as he pulled the receiver from his ear she spoke again, and this time he heard the urgency in her voice.
“Turner, listen to me. This is important.”
Slowly he raised the phone to his ear again. “All right. I’m listening.”
“Turner, I’m sorry. Detective Howard tried to call you, but got no answer. So he called me. I called the cabin but something must be wrong with the phone there—”
He’d taken in nothing after she’d said the detective’s name. He interrupted her, too loudly...rudely. “What did he want?”
She sounded close to tears. “I’m sorry, Turner. Mrs. Bridgemont called him a couple of hours ago. Harrie has been missing since this morning. She thinks she’s run away. She waited until now because she kept hoping she’d come back but—”
He closed his eyes. He would not let the thought form in his mind. “Do they have any idea where she might be?”
“I guess the police called the bus station. Someone saw a child Harrie’s age get on the Pendleton bus. They think it’s her. Since it passes close by the Landing, they think she was on her way back to you.”
From somewhere
in the back of his mind, a shrill, agonizing voice began to scream. “What time was that?” He couldn’t believe how calm he sounded. He was so cold. Cold and shaking so hard he could see his shirt trembling.
“It was the midday bus, Turner. She should have been there at least four hours ago.”
He couldn’t stop it...he struggled with every ounce of his determination, but he couldn’t stop the vision. It was there in front of him, the cabin in flames, the roar inside, the explosion as the roof caved in. Something had started the fire. Or someone.
He couldn’t speak. He was afraid if he did, he’d bawl. Very slowly, he dropped the phone back on its cradle.
Chapter 10
“Turner?” Claire waited, holding her breath, her heart pounding furiously. She had hoped with all her heart that Harrie was safely with him and not alone up on the Ridge with a potential killer possibly looking for her.
Her shock when the line went dead numbed her. He had hung up on her. Anger swept away all logic at first. He must know how worried she was. Surely he could have said something, anything, just one word of reassurance to ease her mind.
Then she thought about how he must feel. He must be out of his mind with worry. And he didn’t know any of the hiding places where Harrie might be.
Quickly she punched out the number again. She would offer to go over there and point them out to him. He might not want to see her again, but he would have to accept her help if he wanted to find Harrie.
She listened to the hollow ring of the phone until it had repeated nine times. Then she hung up. She would go, anyway. If anyone could find Harrie, she could, supposing the child was on the Ridge. And she couldn’t think where else Harrie would go if she wasn’t with Turner.
A thought crept into her mind, a thought so terrifying, so unacceptable she wouldn’t even consider it. Harrie was safely in one of her hiding places. Probably the bat cave. She would not even allow the possibility that Ray Newberg’s killer had caught up with her.
Where There's Smoke Page 17