“Thank you,” Lucy said. “I’d like that very much.”
“And please invite Mason Fletcher along. It’s all over town that the two of you are seeing each other.”
Lucy winced. “That was fast. Hang on, he’s right here. I’ll ask him if he can join us.” She held the phone so that the mouthpiece was pressed against her shoulder. “This is Teresa Vega. She’s inviting both of us to join her and her husband for dinner. Are you free?”
“Sure,” Mason said. “Tell her I said thanks.”
Lucy put the phone back to her ear. “We’re both delighted to accept. Meet you at the restaurant.”
“Perfect. Got a pen?”
“Yes.”
Lucy scribbled down the name and address of the restaurant, said good-bye and ended the call. She cleared her throat.
“Something you should know before we go out to dinner with Teresa and Rafe Vega tonight,” she said.
“I’m listening.”
“Evidently, word has gotten around town that you and I are seeing each other.”
“That was fast.”
“Exactly what I said. You were right, one thing about Summer River has not changed over the years. It is still a small town in some ways.”
Mason’s mouth quirked faintly. “Probably why we got invited out to dinner as a couple. Teresa and Rafe want the latest hot gossip on the murder.”
“Oh, I’m sure of it. But here’s the thing. I don’t doubt that Teresa and her husband will try to pump us for inside information, but we will be able to return the favor. Teresa was raised in Summer River. She knows everyone.”
“What about her husband?”
“I think Sara said he’s relatively new in town. Teaches high school.”
“Gosh, this is exciting.”
She eyed him warily. “What are you thinking?”
“Just that this will be date number three for us.” He held up one hand and extended his forefinger. “On date number one we discovered a dead body.” He extended a second finger. “On date number two we were entertained with various and assorted veiled threats from a bunch of rich clowns wearing too much wine-country casual.” Mason raised one more finger. “Date number three is going to be all about interrogating local witnesses.”
“Your point?”
He gave her a wolfish smile. “My point is that this relationship of ours is getting off to an interesting start.”
The word relationship sent a frisson of uncertainty through Lucy. Mason was teasing her, she thought. She would follow suit.
“Well, I don’t think you can call three dates a relationship,” she said lightly. “But I can tell you that both of the dates we’ve had so far were a lot more interesting than all thirty matchmaking agency dates I’ve had in the past few months.”
“You said none of those arranged matches got past two dates, right?”
“Right. Most didn’t get past the first date, actually.”
“We are now on date number three. Given your track record, that constitutes a relationship.”
22
The restaurant was exactly what one expected in wine country—a bistro-style setting and an innovative West Coast menu. A display of local wines arrayed in floor-to-ceiling racks decorated one wall. Long-stemmed glassware sparkled on the tables. The menu earnestly assured diners that almost everything, from the arugula and the cheese in the arugula-and-fried-goat-cheese salad to the handmade ravioli, was organic and had been produced within a fifty-mile radius of the establishment—in some cases by the farm that was operated by the restaurant’s owner and chef.
Lucy wore the twilight dress that she had purchased for the winery reception. At least she would get two nights of wear out of it before it went to the back of her closet when she returned to Vantage Harbor. She had, however, indulged in some new high-heeled sandals. A woman could always use another pair of shoes.
Maybe it was just her imagination, but it seemed to her that when the party of four was escorted to a table they were followed by a lot of discreetly curious glances. Find one lousy body in your aunt’s fireplace and the first thing you know everyone is talking.
The evening started off with surprising ease. Rafe and Mason got along well from the start. When Rafe discovered that neither she nor Mason considered themselves wine connoisseurs, Rafe ordered a bottle of dry Riesling for the table after kindly explaining that it was very approachable. The waiter discussed the menu in reverential tones using language that belonged to the realm of poetry. Selections were made and orders taken.
And then the politely conducted mutual interrogation began. You had to give a little to get a little, Mason had advised going in. Lucy knew he was right. It was, after all, the first rule of gossip. For the most part, she and Mason answered the questions in a forthright manner until the entrées arrived. The only things they refrained from mentioning were her suspicions about the car accident that had killed Sara and Mary and her conviction that the house had been searched. Mason had stood firm on those two key points. You are not going to make an even bigger target of yourself than you have already were the precise words he had used. Put like that, it was hard to argue the point.
“Not surprised you’re running into some pressure from the Colfaxes,” Rafe said. “It’s no secret that they all want those shares back. They say Warner Colfax almost had a stroke when he discovered that someone outside the family had inherited a controlling interest and had the right to sell or give the shares to whoever she wished.”
“I’m sure Colfax will pay well for them,” Teresa said. “You’ll come out of this a wealthy woman, Lucy.”
“The trouble is, everyone in the family wants to buy those shares from Lucy,” Mason explained. “Money, evidently, is no object.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, Warner is definitely the richest one in the clan,” Rafe observed. “So he can probably afford to give you the best price.”
“Yes, I know,” Lucy said. She ate a bite of the thinly sliced, delicately sautéed Brussels-sprouts-and-shallots dish that had accompanied her pasta. “Speaking of the past, do either of you remember much about what happened around the time that Tristan Brinker disappeared?”
Teresa and Rafe looked at each other, and then Rafe shrugged.
“You’ll have to ask Teresa,” he said. “I didn’t live here thirteen years ago.”
“I certainly remember the reaction when we got the news that Brinker had gone missing,” Teresa said. “Every teen in town was talking about it.” She glanced at Mason. “You were still here at the time. You must recall the commotion.”
“I remember,” Mason said. “But I was a little busy at the time.”
Teresa smiled. “I know. You were working in the hardware store and fixing up that old house and generally holding things together for yourself and your brother while your uncle was away.”
“I heard some of the talk at the store, but I wasn’t in high school, so I didn’t get the younger teen version of events,” Mason said.
“It was all typical over-the-top teen conspiracy-theory stuff, for the most part,” Teresa said. “There were two variations, as I recall. The most popular version held that since Tristan obviously had connections in the illicit drug market he had probably been the victim of a drug deal gone bad. That turned out to be the police theory as well. The second scenario, of course, was that you had something to do with his disappearance, Mason.”
Mason shook his head. “Nope. Wasn’t me.”
“Well, we know that now,” Teresa said. “But at the time there was a rumor going around that you and Brinker had quarreled the night of the last party out at the old Harper Ranch.”
“We had words,” Mason said. “But that was the end of it.”
Rafe gave him a speculative look. “That was the end of it, thanks to Sara Sheridan.”
“I can tell you that no one ever suspected her,” Teresa said. “I do remember that when it became clear that Brinker really had disappeared and people started saying he was probably dead, some of the kids seemed relieved. I think Jillian Benson—Jillian Colfax now—was one of them, by the way. Nolan Kelly, too. Or at least that was my take on the situation.”
Lucy paused her fork in the air. “I got the impression that both Jillian and Nolan liked Brinker. Or maybe I should say they liked being in the circle that hung around him.”
“All I can tell you is that when the authorities announced that Brinker was missing and presumed dead, Jillian didn’t exactly go into mourning,” Teresa said. “But I’m not positive about her reaction. It was just an impression I got. Same with Nolan and some of the other kids. But I was a couple of years younger, as you know, so I wasn’t moving in their circles.”
“Brinker was a real piece of work,” Lucy said. “If it turns out that he was the Scorecard Rapist, he was a lot more dangerous than anyone could have known at the time. He sure had the teens of Summer River under his spell that summer, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” Teresa shuddered. “Now that I’ve got kids of my own, I think about him from time to time. And I worry.”
Rafe’s expression turned grim. “I wasn’t here in those days, but I’ve seen enough in my teaching career to know just how bad things can get in the world of teenagers when you’ve got a slightly older, charismatic sociopath in the mix.”
Teresa picked up her wineglass. “And to think Brinker’s father was so proud of his son.”
23
Nolan Kelly searched the desk one last time, aiming the penlight into each drawer. There was nothing except neatly stacked papers, old bills, gardening catalogs and the kind of junk that piles up over the years—boxes of paper clips, pens, rubber bands.
He abandoned the desk and turned to survey the room that Sara Sheridan had used as an office. This was his second attempt to locate the old video. Last night had proven fruitless, but he was determined to give it one more try.
Thirteen years ago he had searched for it obsessively. He had gone through the house that Brinker had rented for the summer from top to bottom, but he had found nothing. There had been nothing online, either. In the end, he had told himself that Brinker had never uploaded the damning evidence—probably because he had known there was a possibility that the trail could lead back to him. Brinker had always looked out for number one, always made sure to cover his tracks, Nolan thought.
He figured that Sara must have discovered Brinker’s stash of videos. It was the only way she could have known that Brinker was the Scorecard Rapist. And if she had known that much, Nolan thought, she would have known about the drug connection. If the video he was looking for was somewhere in the house, there was a high probability that Lucy would discover it when she packed up her aunt’s things.
He checked his watch. He had some time. There was no need to panic—not yet. He had watched Lucy and Mason enter the restaurant with Teresa and Rafe Vega. The meal would be a leisurely affair.
What he could not predict was whether Lucy and Mason would return to the old house after dinner. He had to assume that it was a strong possibility. There were not a lot of convenient beds available to a couple seeking privacy in Summer River. He was sure that if Lucy and Mason were not already sleeping together, they soon would be. He had recognized the dangerous look in Mason’s eyes when he had walked into the kitchen that morning. Mason had not liked finding Lucy alone with another man.
If you only knew the truth, Fletcher.
Nolan swung the penlight around the room, taking one last look. He had no personal interest in Lucy. Hell, back at the start, all he had cared about was getting an exclusive listing so that he could sell the property to his Silicon Valley client. But when Brinker’s body turned up in the fireplace, he had been shaken to the core. Disaster loomed. It was just like the bastard to come back to haunt him. Some part of him had been waiting all these years for the other shoe to drop, and now it had.
He abandoned the search. It was hopeless. There were just too many places the old video could have been hidden in the house—always assuming that Sara had found it in the first place.
He took a deep breath and tried to think. He was running out of time. Since he could not find the video, he was left with only one option. He had come prepared tonight. The can of accelerant was waiting downstairs.
He hated to burn down the house. It really was a jewel. True, it was too small for the client who intended to build a French château and a walled courtyard complete with swimming pool and tennis courts. Nevertheless, the old Craftsman would have made a picturesque guest cottage on the estate. But the bottom line was that it was the size of the property and the location that were worth a fortune to the client—not the small house.
He went out into the hall, the narrow beam of the penlight spearing through the shadows.
Somewhere in the darkness of the first floor, a door squeaked on its hinges. A draft of night air shifted in the atmosphere upstairs. No one turned the lights on. Whoever had just entered had no more right to be here than he did.
Belatedly, he remembered to switch off the penlight. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. The beam of a flashlight bounced in the shadows. Nolan knew there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He switched his own light back on in self-defense.
He pinned the intruder at the top of the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief. Instinctively, he fell back on his only real talent—a talent for sales.
“I should have known,” he said. “I suppose you’re here for the same reason I am. Let’s talk. Maybe we can figure out how to deal with our mutual problem.”
24
They took their time over coffee and dessert. It was late when the four of them left the restaurant. Main Street was quiet at that hour. The boutiques and shops were dark. Teresa and Rafe expressed a desire to get together again before Lucy left town and then got into their car and drove off.
Mason put an arm around Lucy’s waist. She did not pull away. He tugged her a little closer, savoring the thrill he got every time he touched her. The pretty dress she wore somehow managed to look demure and seductive at the same time. In the silence, the high heels of her sandals tapped a blood-heating staccato on the sidewalk.
He considered his options. The last thing he wanted to do was take her back to the inn. But, as he had been forcibly reminded last night, there were not a lot of places a couple could go and be assured of privacy in such a small town. He doubted that Lucy would appreciate being invited to engage in a little foreplay and possibly more in the backseat of his car.
Not that he would care. He would have been delighted to have sex with her anywhere, under any conditions. But a man had his pride. He wanted to impress Lucy. That was hard to do in the back of a car. There was a motel on the edge of town, but he was pretty sure that would sound like a tacky idea, too. There was also the strong possibility that someone would drive past and recognize his vehicle.
If, on the other hand, they drove a little farther—say, to Healdsburg or Santa Rosa or even over to the coast—they might be able to find a suitable motel. Surreptitiously, he checked his watch. It was after ten. It would be close to midnight before they found an anonymous place to spend the night, always assuming Lucy would go for the plan.
And then there was the problem of how to handle returning Lucy to the Harvest Gold Inn tomorrow morning. He did not want her feeling as if she was doing the walk of shame when he brought her back. But half the town was sure to find out that she had spent the night with him. Would she care? Would she even go for the idea in the first place?
Decisions, decisions.
The inn was only one block away now. He had to come up with a plan, and fast. He wondered if Lucy was also contemplating the possibility of sex.
<
br /> “I thought it was interesting that Teresa mentioned Jillian as one of the people who seemed relieved when Brinker disappeared,” Lucy said. “Did you see her after I left town?”
Mason stifled a groan. That answered one question. Lucy had not been contemplating the prospect of having sex with him in an anonymous motel. He pulled his thoughts back from the edge and called up memories.
“Jillian? Sure, I saw her around town a few times, but I think she deliberately steered clear of me after that night at the park.”
“Not surprising. She would have known that you blamed her, at least in part, for what nearly happened to me.”
“Brinker must have used her to lure you there. She was his accomplice.”
“That’s harsh. She probably didn’t know what Brinker intended.”
“She knew.”
A siren shrieked somewhere in the distance, shattering the silence of the darkened town. He felt Lucy flinch under his hand. He tightened his fingers on her hip. She relaxed.
“In the city you become so accustomed to sirens you tune them out,” she said. “But when you hear one in a small town, it gets your attention.”
A second siren screamed in the night.
“County fire trucks,” Mason said. “Must be something big.”
He stopped, forcing Lucy to halt, too. He turned partway around, following the sound of the blaring sirens. The rows of shops that lined Main Street blocked his view, but his intuition kicked in fast.
“Damn,” he whispered.
Lucy stilled. “Good grief. You don’t think—”
“Those sirens are definitely heading toward the road that leads to your aunt’s house. Only one way to find out for sure.”
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