Dawn in Eclipse Bay

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Lillian took another cup down out of the cupboard. “It’ll all blow over in a few days.”

  “I still don’t know what made me track her down at the restaurant and confront her like that. I guess I was just so angry that I wasn’t thinking straight. She actually accused me of sleeping with Trevor, can you imagine?”

  Lillian poured tea. “I take it you didn’t have an affair with him?”

  “Are you kidding? I admired Trevor’s political agenda, but that was as far as it went. I’m a pro. I don’t sleep with my clients.”

  Lillian set the cup down in front of her. “Probably a good policy in your line of work.”

  “You bet.” Claire blew on her tea. “Besides, according to the rumors, Thornley likes to dress up in women’s lingerie and prance around in high heels. Don’t know about you, but personally I don’t find that type of thing a real turn-on.”

  “I can see where the lingerie and heels might be a little off-putting. What happens now?”

  “I’ll be leaving town in a couple of days. I plan to go to Seattle and regroup. I’ve got contacts there. But I didn’t come here to whine today. Well, maybe just a little.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  Claire put down her cup. “Marilyn has always been a little overcontrolling and a bit paranoid. I never worried about it too much. You expect that in a strong candidate. But I have to tell you that after those crazy accusations about Trevor and me, I’m starting to wonder if maybe she’s gone off the deep end. If that’s the case, I think you should be careful.”

  “Me? Why should I worry?”

  “Because I’ve noticed that she’s become a little fixated on your relationship with Gabe Madison. Maybe it’s because she’s divorced now. But I think there’s more to it than that.”

  The phone rang. On the off chance that it might be Nella reporting back with the all-clear, Lillian lunged for it.

  She heard the muffled noise of a car in motion.

  “Hello?”

  “Witley is gone.” Gabe’s voice was very even. Too even. “He told some friends that he was taking a vacation. He’s not at his house. No one has seen him for a few days. Heard from your investigator yet?”

  “No.” Lillian clutched the phone very tightly. “Where are you?”

  “We’re on our way back to Eclipse Bay. It’s almost four o’clock. We should get there around seven.”

  “I’ll hold dinner for you both.”

  “Now that we know for sure that Witley has disappeared, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be there alone. We don’t know where he is or what he’s doing.”

  “I’ll be fine until seven tonight, for heaven’s sake. Claire Jensen is here with me now, as a matter of fact, so I’m not alone.”

  There was a murmur of conversation in the background. Lillian realized that Mitchell was speaking to Gabe.

  Gabe spoke into the phone again. “Mitchell wants to send Bryce over to baby-sit until we get back.”

  “That’s not necessary.” Lillian checked her watch. “Look, I’m going stir-crazy here. I need to run into town and pick up some groceries for dinner. I’ll leave the house right after Claire. I’ll do the shopping and then I’ll stop and see A.Z. at the hospital. That will keep me busy and I won’t be alone. Call me at the hospital when you get into town and I’ll meet you back here at the cottage. That way I won’t be alone for any extended period of time.”

  Gabe hesitated. “All right. But don’t take any long walks on the beach by yourself, okay?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to scare me.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. I figure if you’re scared, you’ll be careful.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t wander off by myself.”

  “Good. See you soon.”

  Lillian ended the call and put down the phone.

  Claire gave her a quizzical look. “Something wrong?”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know. There have been a couple of small incidents lately. Someone broke in here the other day while I was at the old Buckley place with Gabe.”

  Claire frowned and slowly lowered her cup. “Anything taken?”

  “No. Sean Valentine thinks it’s the same guy who tried to burglarize A.Z.’s place.”

  “I heard about that. It’s all over town. They’re saying it was a transient.”

  “I know. But the thing that’s worrisome is that there was another possible break-in at my apartment in Portland. Nothing taken there, either. Gabe leaped to the conclusion that the culprit might be a guy named Witley.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “A former boyfriend of one of my clients.”

  “But why on earth would he break into your apartment and this place?”

  “The theory is that he blames me for ruining his relationship with his girlfriend.”

  “You mean because you matched her with someone else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uh-oh. Are we talking stalker here?”

  “It looks like a possibility. A remote one, I hope. You know, a friend told me I was courting a lawsuit in the matchmaking business. But I never considered this kind of thing.”

  “We worry about stalkers when we plan security for candidates. There are always a few nutcases running around. But I must admit, I never thought about it in your line of work.”

  “My former line.”

  Claire blew out a deep breath. “And I thought I had problems.”

  “A matchmaker’s life is never dull.”

  “I can see that.” Claire got to her feet. “Well, at least you’ve got Gabe Madison looking out for you. Things could be worse.”

  “There is that.”

  “I’d better be on my way. I can see you’ve got other things to worry about than my little scene in the Crab Trap. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.” Lillian rose and followed her out into the hall. She got Claire’s coat out of the closet and handed it to her. “You said you had something you wanted to tell me.”

  “What? Oh, yeah.” Claire shrugged into her coat. “But it seems a little petty compared to this stalker business.”

  “What was it?”

  “It’s about Marilyn. I’m no shrink, but like I started to tell you before Gabe phoned, I really do think she may be a bit paranoid. When you add that to the fact that she’s a very determined woman who always gets what she wants, well, I just think you might want to watch your step around her, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ve got something she wants,” Claire said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Gabe Madison.”

  “Well, shoot and damn.” Mitchell watched Gabe disconnect the phone. “We’ve got ourselves a problem here, don’t we?”

  “Maybe. I sure don’t like the fact that Witley has disappeared.”

  Mitchell watched him for a moment. He’d seen that same look of focused determination back when Gabe had been a twelve-year-old kid doing his homework at the kitchen table. Nothing had changed, Mitchell thought. Gabe was a different kind of Madison. But not that different.

  “Wasn’t talking about Witley,” Mitchell said. “We’ll get that sorted out. Meant this situation between you and Lillian.”

  “Situation?”

  “Way it looks to me, you’re in up to your neck and sinking deeper by the minute.”

  Gabe navigated a turn, accelerating smoothly on the far side. “What are you talking about?”

  Mitchell absently massaged his arthritic knee. He tried to remember if he had taken his anti-inflammatory medication. Things had been a little busy today.

  “Had what you might call a chat with Lillian,” he said.

  “I heard about that. Stay out of this, Mitch. My relationship with Lillian is none of your business. You don’t have the right to interfere.”

  “I’m your grandfather. Course I’ve got the right.”

  Mitchell watched the road. There was very little
traffic now that they had left the city behind. The last of the daylight was evaporating. The white lines on the pavement marked the path into the darkness.

  He braced himself for the old memories. No matter where he was or what he was doing, they always came back to haunt him for a while at this time of day; the point when the oncoming night could no longer be ignored. He knew from long experience that once the transition to full dark was made, the specters would fade. They would not return for another twenty-four hours.

  When he was home it was his custom to handle the ghosts with a shot of whiskey. But tonight he had nothing to take the edge off. He would just have to deal with it. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  From out of the depths the phantoms arose, right on schedule. The scene was a twilight-shrouded jungle drenched with the smell of death and gut-wrenching fear. The worst part had been knowing that the night was inevitable and that there was no hope of rescue until dawn.

  He and Sullivan had made it through that hellish night together because they had both understood that their survival depended on staying in control of the panic. They had both understood the need for absolute silence and absolute stillness. Side by side in the unrelenting darkness, they had somehow managed to reinforce that grim knowledge in each other without words or movement of any kind. And without words or movement they had managed to keep each other from slipping over the edge into that place where the fear took over and got you killed.

  At dawn, he and Sullivan had still been alive. A lot of the others had not been so lucky.

  He wondered if Sullivan went through the same ritual every evening. Waiting. Knowing the night was inevitable.

  “What, exactly, did you say to Lillian?” Gabe asked.

  Mitchell watched the light disappear, unable to look away. “Just told her flat-out that it looked to me like you were fallin’ for her in a big way and that I didn’t want her to stomp all over your heart.”

  “Those were your exact words?”

  Mitchell thought back to the conversation in the greenhouse. “Pretty close.”

  “Did Lillian imply that she intended to, uh, stomp all over my heart?” Gabe asked.

  What the hell was it about this time of day? The shift from day to night always seemed to take forever.

  “In a manner of speaking,” he said.

  Gabe gazed steadily at the road unwinding in front of the car. “Doesn’t sound like something Lillian would say. What were her precise words, Mitch?”

  “Well, she got irritated when I told her that I didn’t want you gettin’ hurt. Said something about how she was the one who stood to get stomped on account of everyone was so sure you were after her because you wanted a chunk of Harte Investments.”

  Gabe nodded. “I can see where she’d get that impression. Lot of people have been saying that lately.”

  “Natural assumption, under the circumstances.”

  “Probably.”

  “I told her that was garbage. Said you were a Madison and Madisons never marry for money. Not that practical, when you get right down to it.”

  “Good point.” Gabe waited a beat. “So, how did she respond to that observation?”

  “She reminded me how everyone said that you were a different kind of Madison. I told her you were different, but not that different.”

  “What else did she say?”

  “Well, let’s see. I believe I may have pointed out that Madison Commercial is your passion and that when it comes to a Madison and his passion—”

  “Nothing gets in the way. Yeah, right, I’ve heard that. She say anything else?”

  The transition to night was complete at last. The phantom images receded into the darkness.

  Mitchell exhaled slowly. “Seemed to think I’d maybe given you the wrong impression.”

  “About what?”

  “About what you’ve done with Madison Commercial.”

  Gabe’s hands tightened a little on the wheel. “For the past year and a half you’ve been telling me that I’ve spent too much time fooling around with the company. Maybe you were right.”

  Mitchell had to swallow twice to keep from sputtering. “Shoot and damn, son, you built that company from the ground up. You sweated blood to prove something to the whole damn world.”

  “What did I prove?”

  “You know what you proved. Hell, after you created Madison Commercial no one could say that every Madison who came along was doomed to screw up everything he touched.”

  “You consider that a major accomplishment?”

  “Damn right, I do.” He stared at the road. “More important than you’ll ever know.”

  “How so?”

  “Because after Madison Commercial, folks had to quit sayin’ that I had screwed up both my grandsons’ lives the same way I had messed up your father’s life.”

  A crystalline silence enveloped the front seat of the car.

  “Did people really say that?” Gabe asked after a while. “To your face?”

  “Some said it to my face. Most folks said it behind my back. They were all pretty much agreed that I wasn’t fit to raise you and Rafe after Sinclair killed himself and your mother on that damn motorcycle.”

  “Huh.”

  “They said I set a piss-poor example for a couple of young boys.” He rubbed his jaw. “To tell you the truth, they were right. But what the hell was I gonna do? Not like there was anyone else around to take over the job.”

  “You could have walked out. Disappeared. Let the social workers deal with us.”

  “Bullshit. You don’t turn your grandkids over to the state to raise.”

  “Some people would.”

  “Madisons don’t do stuff like that.”

  Gabe smiled slightly. “Got it.”

  Mitchell suddenly realized that he wanted to explain things, but he didn’t know how to go about it. He wasn’t good at this kind of situation. He groped for the right words.

  “The point I’m trying to make,” he said, “is that you were smart enough not to follow my bad example. You made something of yourself, Gabe. When you built M.C. you broke the Madison curse or jinx or whatever that made us all failures.”

  “No.”

  “What the hell do you mean? That’s exactly what you did and don’t you ever forget it.”

  “It wasn’t me who broke the jinx,” Gabe said. “It was you.”

  “Me?”

  “Don’t you get it? You’re the one who changed after Dad’s death. And when you changed, you altered the future for Rafe and me.”

  chapter 21

  Lillian stopped the car in the drive, opened the door and checked her watch in the weak overhead light. Just after seven. There was no sign of Gabe and Mitchell yet but they would be here any minute. Gabe had called her from the outskirts of town a short while ago.

  She had left the porch light on as well as several lamps inside the house. The cottage was illuminated with a warm, welcoming glow. Keys in hand, she collected the two sacks of groceries she had picked up at Fulton’s Supermarket and went up the porch steps. With a little jockeying, she managed to get the front door open without having to put down one of the grocery bags.

  She walked into the front hall, kicked the door shut and wrestled her burdens into the kitchen. The house felt unaccountably cold.

  She was certain she had left the thermostat set at a comfortable temperature.

  An uneasy feeling drifted through her. There had been a cold draft in the mudroom the night someone had broken in.

  She went to the door and studied the living room. Nothing appeared to be disturbed. Maybe she had left an upstairs window open a crack.

  But the draft was not coming from the staircase. It emanated from the downstairs hall.

  Her studio.

  Galvanized, she rushed toward the guest bedroom. As soon as she turned the corner she saw that the door stood partially ajar, just as she remembered leaving it earlier. But through the narrow opening she could see that something was very wrong ins
ide her studio.

  A chill that had nothing to do with the draft of cold air went through her. With a sense of deep dread, she pushed the door open wide.

  The studio was in chaos. The blank canvas on the easel had been ripped to shreds. Rags, brushes, and knives were scattered across the floor. There was paint everywhere. The contents of several tubes of paint had been smeared across one wall and the floor. Her palette lay upside down on the bed. Pages of drawings had been ripped from her sketchbook and crumpled into balls.

  She finally identified the source of the cold draft. It came through the broken window.

  Gabe felt everything inside him turn to stone when he saw Sean Valentine’s SUV parked in the drive.

  Then he saw Lillian standing on the front porch talking to Valentine, and allowed himself to start breathing again.

  He hit the breaks and switched off the engine. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Yeah, I figured that.” Mitchell surveyed the scene on the porch. “Not like Sean to be running around at this time of night unless there’s trouble.”

  Gabe got the Jag’s door open. He loped toward the steps. Sean and Lillian looked at him.

  “What happened?” Gabe asked.

  “Looks like Lillian had another visit from whoever broke in the other night,” Sean said.

  “He vandalized my studio this time,” Lillian said shakily.

  Mitchell came up the steps with his cane. He frowned at Lillian. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled wanly. “But he made a mess. The floor, the bedspread, the wall. Everything’s covered in paint.”

  Sean looked serious. “Didn’t think too much of your idea that this guy Witley might be stalking her, Madison. But after seeing what he did to that bedroom, I’m inclined to agree with you. Let’s go inside and see what we’ve got.”

  “We’ve got jack squat, that’s what we’ve got,” Mitchell announced an hour later when they finally got around to dinner. He squinted at Lillian. “How the heck did you get into so much trouble running a matchmaking business?”