by Craig Larsen
“It’s Nick,” Sara said, answering for him.
“How nice of you to join us, Nick,” Sara’s mother said. About to climb into a small seaplane and head for a tiny island a hundred miles away on the Sound, she was dressed in Ferragamo and Chanel. Her face was perfectly made-up. “You can call me Jillian,” she said, extending her hand. Her fingers were cold from the brisk weather when she offered them loosely to Nick.
“It’s a beautiful day for flying,” Hamlin said. He led them down the length of an old wooden pier lined with small de Havilland seaplanes. In the distance across the water, the city of Seattle rose on one side, glistening in the sun. On the other, the homes lining Lake Washington were dwarfed by the range of mountains hovering behind them. The elegantly dressed man raised his face toward the sky. “Hardly a cloud in sight. No wind today. We’re going to have an easy flight.”
“We do this every year this time,” Jillian said. “Two weekends before Christmas, to open the house up for the winter. As far as I can remember, this is the first year we’ve actually had sunshine. Usually it’s raining. A couple of years ago, it was sleet and snow.”
Hamlin stopped at the end of the pier, where a larger, two-engine plane was waiting for them. “It’s only a half-hour flight,” he said. “Thirty-five minutes. But it’s a lot nicer when the weather’s good.”
“Do you fly the plane yourself?” Nick asked.
“Jason’s a good pilot,” Sara said.
“I’ve been flying since I was a kid,” Hamlin said. “I was flying before I was driving.”
“Jason is from Vancouver originally,” Jillian informed him. “Their family had a house on the islands up there, and they used to fly in and out all the time.”
“It gets so it’s in your blood,” Hamlin said. “Nothing like a good takeoff and landing on the sea.”
Nick excused himself to make a call while Hamlin was conducting his inspection of the plane. Shielding himself from the wind behind the wall of a small steel shack on the side of the pier, he keyed Daly’s number into his cell phone. “I just thought you’d want to know,” he said after the editor picked up, “I’m about to leave Seattle with Hamlin.”
“What?” Daly sounded surprised. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the airport in Renton. It’s okay, Laura. I’m with Sara. We’re flying together, all four of us. Sara, me, Hamlin, and Jillian. We’re going up to one of their houses.”
“They invited you to San Juan Island?”
“Yeah.”
“You think you can handle this?”
Nick dropped his eyes, squeezing the phone against his ear. “It wasn’t my idea, but I’m okay.” He glanced over at Jason Hamlin. The wind picked up, whistling in the phone’s mike. “I figure now that I’m here, maybe I’ll press him a bit about Van Gundy.”
“Take it easy, Nick.” Nick was aware of the woman’s distress. “Forget about the paper for a few days. Just take care of yourself.”
Ten minutes later, they were ensconced in the small plane. Hamlin and his wife sat up front in the two cockpit seats, Nick and Sara in the seats behind them. The rotors turned over, and, engines buzzing, they taxied away from the dock. Despite how calm the water was, the plane bounced up and down and sideways like a boat as it cruised toward the buoy marking the beginning of the strip on the bay used as a runway. Hamlin was talking on the radio, seeking clearance from the tower. Nick took a quick look over his shoulder at the next row of seats, where they had stashed their bags, making certain one last time that he had his suitcase and the pills inside. “Are you okay, honey?” Sara asked in a loud whisper.
Nick wanted to reassure her. “I’m fine,” he said, realizing as he spoke the words that he actually was. “This will be fun.”
“I’m glad the weather is so good,” Jillian said, turning to look at them as the plane approached the runway. Hamlin was beginning to adjust the throttle for takeoff. Nick guessed that she had overheard Sara’s concern. “It will make for a nice flight. Have you flown in a small plane before, Nick?”
Nick felt Sara take his hand. “This is my first time.”
“You’re in for a treat on a day like today,” Jillian said. “It will be beautiful. And once we’re there, it will be a real pleasure to have the sun. Do you play tennis, Nick?”
They reached the beginning of the runway, and Hamlin straightened the plane, then opened the throttle. The sound of the two engines became a deafening roar, and the small cabin was filled with a sudden rush of cold wind. Forgetting her question, Jillian turned forward to look out the front window. Nick watched the water skim by on either side of them through the blur of the aircraft’s rotors. The plane’s movement became less choppy as it picked up speed, then its pontoons broke free from the surface, and they were airborne.
Sara squeezed Nick’s hand as the city of Seattle gradually came into view. Within a few minutes they were flying at a dizzying altitude, the inlets and bays and mountains and forests of the Pacific Northwest spread out beneath them in a patchwork of blues and greens. Hamlin eased up on the throttle, and the engines quieted back down. They cut a straight line north over a mass of land that disintegrated into the small, craggy islands dotting the Puget Sound.
“Pass me that flight path, would you, Jillian?” Hamlin said to his wife, pointing at a printout on the seat next to her.
Jillian turned back to face Nick and Sara after handing the paper to her husband. “We weren’t expecting anyone with Sara,” she said to Nick. “Normally it’s just the three of us. You’re a welcome surprise.”
“It’s a small house,” Hamlin added with false modesty, briefly facing them, too. “But there’s plenty of room.”
“And plenty to do,” Jillian said. “The Wheelers tell us the fishing has been pretty good this year. I don’t know if you like to fish or hunt, Nick. Jason is a big game hunter.”
“The Wheelers are the caretakers,” Sara explained. “They live there year round and do a little farming on the estate.”
“I can’t pry Jason away from his fishing pole,” Jillian said, still looking at Nick. “He even guts his catch, which is more than I could do. But you look like a good outdoorsman yourself, Nick. You look like you could handle a gun and a knife.”
Once again, the image of his hand on the handle of the knife protruding from Sam’s chest erupted into Nick’s mind. He was kneeling next to the body, and he could feel the knife’s steel blade plunging into the flesh and bone of his brother’s chest, parting his ribs, piercing his heart. A shadow shifted next to him in the darkness. Had someone else been there, too?
Nick became aware of Sara’s soft hand on his, gently tugging him back into the present. The plane’s engines were whining, but the cabin was quiet. Jillian was facing forward, looking out the front. Beneath them, the landscape had changed, dominated by the sapphire expanse of the Pacific. Nick had no idea how long he had been out.
A few minutes later, Hamlin eased off the throttle, trimming the flaps, preparing to land. “There it is,” Sara said, leaning against Nick, pointing toward the largest of the islands poking through the flat surface of the water. Nick glanced at her, wondering if it were possible that she hadn’t noticed his blackout. She leaned forward, excitement animating her face. “Our house is the one just there,” she said. “The one with the gray roof, all the way at the top of the island, where the land juts out like a small peninsula. There, do you see it?”
The house was huge, even from this height. It consisted of three or four structures set on a gigantic emerald lawn stretching from a thick grove of trees down to a sandy beach. There was a long, narrow pool in front and then behind it a tennis court and a parking lot dotted with a few cars and a small truck.
“Jason will land the plane in the water there, just in front of the beach,” Sara said. Nick noticed the long pier stretching out into the water from the craggy shore, a huge yacht berthed on one side of it.
“I was expecting a cabin,” Nick said.
“Isn�
��t it romantic?” Sara pulled him against her.
“It’s beautiful.”
Hamlin twisted around to say something at just that moment, and Nick saw him lower his eyes, following Sara’s arms down to his thighs, where she had buried her hands. A small burst of revulsion flitted across the powerful man’s face. Flustered, he jerked back around, unable to remember what he had been about to say. “We’ll be down in a couple of minutes,” he announced instead. “Make sure you’re strapped in, Nick.”
chapter 31
At dinner that evening, the Wheelers prepared freshly caught salmon, homemade bread, and winter vegetables from the Hamlins’ gardens. The meal’s aroma wafted pleasantly through the warm house, drawing everyone downstairs. The afternoon had been so still that they sat down to the table with the windows open. From outside, they could hear the waves lapping the edge of the beach and the call of sea birds flying in gyres over the nearby coastal cliffs.
As night fell, the weather abruptly changed. Clouds gathered above the island, and the surf crashing onto the shore swelled to a roar. A cold north wind began to blow, sporadically at first, tossing the white curtains into the dining room, then more steadily. In the center of the table, the candles flickered and burned sideways, sending small plumes of black smoke into the air. Catharine Wheeler hurried into the dining room to pull the windows shut as it began to pour.
“Well, so much for our game of tennis tomorrow,” Jillian commented over the sudden downpour.
“We wouldn’t have been a match for you and Jason anyway,” Sara said.
Hamlin took a large sip of his wine and cleared his throat. “You’re not much of a drinker, Nick,” he said, nodding toward Nick’s untouched glass.
Nick smiled uncomfortably. Barnes had told him to avoid mixing alcohol with the different medications he had prescribed. “No. I guess I’m not.” An image of the bottle containing the tranquillizers came to mind, and Nick felt a prickly hunger for one of the pills.
“Go on, try it,” Hamlin encouraged him. “I think you’ll find it a pretty excellent glass of wine. It comes from a little winery I bought a few years ago down in Napa, California.”
Nick picked up the glass and examined the wine.
“You don’t have to,” Sara said, cautioning him.
“I want to.” Nick raised the glass to his lips and took a generous swallow.
“So?” Hamlin asked him.
Nick set the glass carefully back down on the table. He realized that he had hardly been able to taste the wine. It felt acidic on his lips, dangerous. “It’s good.”
Hamlin almost snorted. His contempt was obvious. “You hardly touched it.”
“Really, Nick, you don’t have to,” Sara said.
Looking from Hamlin to Sara, Nick felt a lightheadedness washing over him. Still, he was lifting his glass, about to take another sip to appease his host, when a voice whispered something in his ear. You drank vodka the night you killed Sam. Nick looked sharply to his side, wondering who had spoken, then, recovering himself, realizing that there was no one there, set his glass back down.
“Really, darling,” Sara said, disturbed, placing her hand over his. “There’s no need to do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing.”
Hamlin raised his eyebrows. He looked first at Sara, then at Jillian. Nick understood that he had been surprised to hear his stepdaughter call him darling. “You know, Nick,” he said, “Sara hasn’t mentioned you to us once since the night of the fund-raiser. Has she, Jillian?”
Jillian returned her husband’s stare with an icy gaze.
“Forgive me for being so blunt”—Hamlin said, turning on Nick again—“but why don’t you tell us a little about yourself. I don’t know much about you.”
“Jason!” Sara objected. “You don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want to, darling,” she said to Nick, subtly stressing the diminutive. Then she faced her stepfather. “It’s not polite to grill him like that.”
“That’s okay,” Nick said. “I don’t mind answering.”
“You see?” Hamlin said. “He doesn’t mind. After all, he doesn’t have anything to hide, does he?”
Nick felt dizzy, then all at once overcome with anger. He understood why Hamlin didn’t want him to mention their meeting in his office. The man could barely conceal his unnatural interest in his stepdaughter. But why was Nick letting him get away with it? He tried to assess whether his sudden outrage was reasonable, but he couldn’t seem to separate it in his mind from the dizziness he was feeling. He shot a look across the table at Hamlin, trying to master the chaos of his thoughts. A spurt of panic gripped him by the throat. He didn’t want to lose control of himself again. Not now. Not here. “Why are we playing games?” he managed at last, trying to keep his voice calm. “You know exactly who I am. You know I work for the Telegraph. You’ve even spoken to Laura Daly about me.”
“You work for the Telegraph?” Jillian supplied politely, trying to steer the conversation to calmer waters. “That’s right. I remember you telling me that the night we met, at the gala.”
“I speak to Laura two, three times a week,” Hamlin said steadily over his wife, staring Nick down. “Your name has never come up.” He smiled, aware that Nick was foundering. “So what’s the paper got you working on? You say you’re a photographer, right?”
Actually, sir, we’re working on a piece right now about the Washington State EPA. About how they awarded you a contract to clean up Elliott Bay, and how coincidentally you killed a story about a man named Van Gundy. And how the police didn’t arrest Van Gundy when they raided the massage parlor down on Fourth Avenue, and how now Van Gundy’s conveniently dead. The only thing holding us back from running what we’ve got is the stranglehold you have on Laura Daly’s throat.
Nick struggled to maintain his composure. As much as he wanted to stand up to this man, he wasn’t capable of a confrontation. The room was spinning. “Yes, I’m a photographer. I work on assignment.”
“One word from me,” Hamlin pointed out, “and you’d be unemployed.”
“Like I said,” Nick agreed, “I work for the Telegraph. You own the paper.”
Hamlin continued to stare at him, even after Nick’s eyes had dropped to the table. “You’re not Sara’s usual cup of tea,” he said, when Nick remained silent. “Like I said, forgive me for being blunt.”
“Jason, really,” Jillian said.
Sara twisted in her chair, glaring at her stepfather, opening her mouth to defend Nick.
“That’s okay,” Nick said again, touching Sara’s hand to still her. “I don’t mind. I don’t know what Sara’s usual cup of tea is, Jason, and I don’t really care.” He didn’t stop to think. “I’m in love with her.” The words had leapt from his mouth, and when he heard them echo in the room’s sudden silence, his face flushed red. Nick had never told Sara that he loved her before.
“That’s enough now,” Jillian said quietly.
Next to him, Sara turned in her chair, placing one hand on Nick’s shoulder, the other on his thigh. She waited for Nick to face her, and when he did their eyes connected. Sara’s lips parted, but she was too overcome to speak. Her eyes fell, glistening with unexpected tears.
Hamlin picked up his glass of wine and drained the remainder of its contents, then reached across the table and poured himself another. “I don’t know about enough. Maybe Nick here would like to hear what Sara’s usual cup of tea is. Eh, Nick? There have been a few, let me tell you.”
Sara raised her head and shifted in her stepfather’s direction. “That’s enough,” she said, minting her mother’s words with a note of finality.
“Enough of this conversation,” Jillian concurred. “And enough of that wine, Jason.”
“You think so?” Hamlin picked up his glass and swallowed a mouthful. “It’s only seven-thirty, Jillian. We’ve got a long night ahead of us. You play cards, Nick? Bridge?”
Nick’s hands were on the table. He didn’t seem to hear Hamlin’s question.
“Excuse me.” His chair scraped loudly on the floor behind his knees, nearly tipping backward as he stood up. An image of Sam lying prone on the asphalt, his own hand clasping the knife jutting out from his brother’s chest, had once again overwhelmed him. The blurry shape of another person was emerging from the blackness next to them. Forcing himself back into the moment, Nick grasped the edge of the table, steadying himself. “I think I’ll step outside for some air.”
“Suit yourself.” Hamlin laughed, unable to sheathe his derision. “You’re my guest. The house is yours.”
The dining room, lit in the romantic glow of the candlelight, reemerged in front of Nick’s eyes, and he took a few halting steps toward the doorway leading to a side porch where in the summer the family sometimes took its meals.
“Wait for me, darling,” Sara said. “I’ll join you outside in a minute.”
Nick pulled the door open and let himself outside, taking a deep breath of the cool, sea air. The rain was falling in sheets beyond the overhang of the roof, and a faint mist enveloped the porch. It was cold, and the deluge roared in his ears, but it felt good to be outside, away from Hamlin.
Sara waited until the door had closed behind Nick to speak her mind. Still, sitting down on an upholstered teak bench on the porch, Nick was able to hear her every word. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” she said to her stepfather. “You don’t know how cruel you’re being.”
“He’s not worth the shoes on your feet, Sara,” Hamlin shot back.
“That’s my business, Jason. You heard what he said. He’s in love with me.”
“And you?”
There was a long pause.
“I don’t think it’s any concern of ours,” Jillian said, “what Sara thinks of him.”
“Yes,” Sara said at last. “I do love him, if you want to know.”
“He’s a pussy,” Hamlin said scornfully. “You’re not in love with him, darling, and you know it.”