A Question of Honor

by Mary Anne Wilson

  Faith thanked Mallory, then hurried to the truck. The engine bucked and sputtered at first, then settled down. She managed to reach the inn without any problems beyond the bad suspension.

  She pulled up front near the stone fence and saw a motorcycle sitting where her car had been parked that first day at the inn. The bike was partially hidden under a protective tarp. There was a bit of snow on top, but she could still see the bike cover was decorated with a soaring eagle in red, white and blue. Where the tarp didn’t cover the bike completely, she could make out part of a brilliant red, white and blue flame.

  She went inside, expecting to see Mallory’s niece, who had offered to keep an eye on the inn while Mallory was out. The young girl had arrived in an old VW Beetle done in gray primer and with an engine that sputtered. Mallory had introduced her to Faith just as she arrived. “My niece, Wallace, but we call her Wally.”

  The girl had looked about sixteen, her dark hair in braids, and she wore a T-shirt that proclaimed, Hey, I might look lazy, but on a cellular level, I’m a whirlwind of activity. “My Dad thought Wallace was a strong name, the name that some woman who married a king or something had, and it was better than what my mother wanted to call me, which was Seraphim.” She’d rolled her eyes expressively. “An angel of all things.” The girl, who hadn’t seemed to care about missing the party because “Aunt Mallory is paying me a bundle to do this,” had added with a sly grin, “I’m no angel.”

  But no one came out of the back now. Instead, there was movement in the sitting area and Faith turned to see Willie G. getting out of one of the chairs, stretching his arms as he yawned. “Well, well, well,” he murmured, coming slowly over to her. His red, white and blue headband was askew, and his jeans and T-shirt were rumpled. “So how do you like this little town?”

  She knew he was Mallory’s uncle, but it was still a bit surprising to see him there. “Fine,” she said. “What happened to Wally?”

  “I got a call to come take over because she suddenly had to go to the party. Seems some boy named Lance would be there after all, and she wanted to ‘accidentally’ run into him.” He looked past her. “From what Wally told me, you drove out with Mallory, but now I’m thinking you came home without her.”

  “She wanted to stay longer,” Faith said.

  “Really?” He seemed taken back. “And why would that be? Last I heard, she wasn’t even sure about going, much less sticking around to all hours.”

  “She was enjoying the dance,” she said and moved toward the stairs.

  “She was dancing?” He didn’t follow her, but called after her, “Who with?”

  “A doctor, Moses something,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Moses Blackstar?”

  “I think so.”

  “Wow,” he said with feeling.

  She stopped and turned with one hand on the newel post. Willie G. was grinning. “That’s good?”

  “Very good.”

  “He said he’d bring her home.”

  “Even better,” the older man said, then cocked his head in her direction. “How about you? Did you have a good time?”

  “It was nice,” she answered.

  “And?”

  “Lots of people.”

  “And?”

  “And lots of food and noise and music and Christmas stuff.”

  “What about—”

  Faith cut him off. “I’m sorry, but I’m very tired.”

  “Sure, of course,” he said. “I remember you wanted a place to rest and have some downtime.” But that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t ask her one more question. “So did you dance, too?”

  Faith started up the stairs as she said, “Once,” and kept going.

  “Who with?” he asked before she could get to the top level.

  “Just a man.” She took the last step and turned toward her room. The man’s laughter could still be heard, and she almost smiled, too. Calling Adam “just a man” seemed too easy. Without even knowing much about him, she could guess that there was very little about Adam that was simple. Her reactions to him certainly weren’t anywhere near simple.

  Alone in her room, Faith pushed the images of the party, her time talking with Adam at the stall and the single dance with him out of her mind to try to read more of the files off the thumb drive. She opened the next one, jotted down the date it was created in her notebook and started to read. She forced herself to focus on the words and figures. An hour later, she was nearing the end of the first file.

  She was ready to stop and crawl into bed to sleep. But on the second-last page, something caught her attention about Kenner Associates. She saw a contact name and number that leaped out at her from the screen. A. Z. Mason with an international phone number that had a prefix for the Cayman Islands, often a financial safe house for questionable dealings.

  Her heart sank as she flipped to the last page, saw a company called Kleiner Associates with A. Z. Mason listed and the same phone number given. She found two more subdivisions of Kenner Associates, and A. Z. Mason was attached to both of them. It hit her like a thunderbolt. Mason was the key to the sting, and her dad had dealt with him directly.

  They’d collaborated on a string of proxies. It meant a way to launder more money. Tax evasion. So, finally, the truth. Or was she overreacting? The name of another related company scrolled into view on the screen, associated with A.Z Mason and her father, and she knew that she wasn’t overreacting. Not at all.

  Her troubles were certainly not far behind her, she thought as she stared at the screen. They were everywhere she looked. She quickly jumped up, almost knocking over the chair.

  She raced to the toilet, feeling nauseous, but nothing happened. She finally sank back onto her heels and shook her head. This couldn’t be a coincidence, her hearing that particular name, the company Lenz had threatened her father with, finding it in the files, and attached to a man laced through the whole sting. She wished it were otherwise. But that was silly. Facts were facts and she knew what she’d heard her father say, that he’d take care of it with Mason. He’d agreed and done it.

  She slowly got to her feet, walking back into the bedroom. She snuggled under the comforter, and stared at the shadowy ceiling.

  She hadn’t been sure what she’d been looking for in the files, beyond anything the prosecutor might plan on using in the case against her father. She’d kind of hoped she’d know what was important when she saw it. She knew that anything to do with Kenner hadn’t been aboveboard. And she knew her father had finalized whatever the agreement had been. She’d heard him promise to do just that.

  The files for Kenner all looked like routine work, investment trackers, plus and minus values and projected profits, long-term goals. It seemed normal, even that three subaccounts had been opened. But the argument in her father’s office hadn’t been about any normal dealings. If she’d been subpoenaed, it would have been all over for her father.

  She left the bed and went to get her purse. She found her cell phone and sank back on the comforter with it. She wanted to call her dad. She wanted to hear his voice, and she wanted him to convince her that she was wrong. More delusions, she thought, but finally rang her father’s private number. On the third ring, he answered.

  “Yes?” Raymond Sizemore asked hesitantly.

  “Dad.” She barely got out the word before the tears came.

  “Angel? Is that you?”

  Faith swiped at her eyes, forced a breath into her tight lungs and said, “I just wanted you to know I’m okay. I’m okay.” And she hung up.

  She had no idea if his phone line was tapped, although she thought it was a real possibility. Maybe she’d just done one more stupid, impulsive thing, but she’d had to. Hugging herself, she rocked back and forth until she got her emotions under control.

  Eventually, she got undres
sed, climbed back into bed and switched off the light. If you need to talk to anyone, I’m a good listener, Adam had said, and how she wished she could talk to him, to tell him the truth, to ask for his advice.

  She rolled onto her side, her foolishness weighing on her heavily. Her mind raced and her heart ached. Loneliness only made it worse.

  Then logic overtook her emotions, and she realized that her decision to run to prevent being subpoenaed by the grand jury had just been validated by what she’d found. Hiding had been the best thing she could do to protect her father. And she hated it.

  She glanced at the bedside clock, and it showed midnight. The door downstairs chimed, and muted voices could be heard, then the door chimed again followed moments later by an engine roaring to life out front. Willie G. was on his bike and leaving.

  She shifted to her other side, tried to relax, then finally felt the first tendrils of sleep. She heard the strains of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and felt Adam’s arms around her.

  She should have made herself wake up, but she let that go. She was suddenly too tired to fight anything, and she embraced a world that didn’t have troubles. It had warmth and strength, and Adam. Her hand in his. His smile, the dimple and his “Merry Christmas, Faith.” His voice was the last thing she remembered before she finally sank into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  THE NEXT THREE DAYS were made up of gray skies, thin snow on the ground, seeing old friends, and finally Adam gave in to a driving need to see if Faith was still in town. He didn’t want to think that she had left Wolf Lake by now, but the fact was, she could be his past and not part of his present. She’d said something about leaving two days ago, but he didn’t think that was a firm plan. He hoped it wasn’t. He’d work on that premise and go from there.

  By the time he dressed in jeans and a cabled sweater, he was at his computer typing in a single name on the search line, just as he’d done for the past two days. Faith Arden. The hits were many, but still none matched what he was looking for. After fifteen minutes of clicking on links and putting in variations on the name, including Illinois, criminal record and anything else he could think of without finding a thing, he gave up.

  There had to be a Faith Arden out there from Illinois with something going on in her life that had made her leave the area. He grabbed his denim jacket and avoided both parents by not even going into the main house for breakfast. Soon, he was in his truck driving off, with a loose plan of action that he’d been mulling over since the dance. It was weak, and any chance of success would rest on whether her “friend” was a local or traveling with her. If the friend was not local, then she had to be at a motel or such in the area. If the friend was local, it would get more complicated, but doable if he got going on it.

  Once he arrived in town, discovering how busy it was getting so close to Christmas, he bypassed the influx of sightseers and skiers who’d stopped for food or shopping before moving on to the higher ski areas beyond Wolf Lake.

  He parked the truck on a side street away from the main section of town and called the three motels in the area. He described Faith and her car, but no one knew anything about her. He tried Mallory Sanchez at the inn, but the call went to voice mail. He hung up, then contacted the local rental company and asked about any recent short-term rentals. No Faith on any rental papers, no one from Illinois, and he realized any rental could be under the friend’s name. That was a problem.

  He was about ready to start driving around, then maybe head over to Mallory’s Inn, when he spotted a petite woman with dark curls, bundled up in a flame-red coat and walking in the opposite direction. He was out of the truck in a second, hurrying after her. He gained on her and actually got within ten feet of her before stopping dead in his tracks.

  A man in a wool cap and a brilliant orange down vest with denims and heavy boots came toward her. She practically jumped into his arms. Adam was stunned at the weight of disappointment that came down on him. Someone bumped him from the back, apologized, then hurried past, but he barely noticed. The man drew back, slipped his arm around the woman, and they kept walking, holding on to each other as they went.

  He’d thought Faith was running from a man or a situation with a man, but she wasn’t running from this guy, whoever he was. Maybe she’d been speeding to get to Wolf Lake to be with this man, the supposed friend she was with. The guy leaned down to say something close to her ear. Whatever he’d said, it stopped her and she turned to him. A profile with a sharp nose and strong chin were silhouetted in the grayish light of day; the features weren’t even close to Faith’s.

  Adam closed his eyes to absorb the relief he felt that the woman wasn’t Faith and his frustration that he hadn’t found her. The strength of those emotions made little sense, especially when they concerned a woman he had seen three times and danced with once.

  He turned to head back to the truck, admitting that he was on some crazy compulsive streak. Even when he was on the job, logic controlled him. And this wasn’t logical at all. Faith was a stranger. Faith had a life somewhere with someone. But not here and not with him. It was that simple. And she certainly wasn’t someone who made the news. He would give up his futile attempts using the internet and coming up empty.

  He climbed into the truck, started it, then swung out onto the street and decided to head to the police station to find John. If anyone could be logical about this, John could be. He needed to talk to his friend, if for no other reason than to have him remind him of how stupid he was being.

  His progress was slow, hampered by the people crisscrossing the streets and cars inching along so that folks could scan the brightly decorated shop windows. He had sat on stakeouts for hours on end, with patience that he had mastered years ago, but not being able to figure out if Faith was still in town was getting to him.

  He ran a hand over his face, exhaled, then looked from side to side on the street and that was when he saw “Faith” again.

  The woman who looked like Faith was small and quick, with black curls, dressed in jeans, chunky boots and a heavy red sweater that seemed to engulf her. He didn’t look for a parking spot to stop and go after her. Instead, he watched her go, her head down, her chin nestled in the thick yarn of the sweater as she veered to her right, then took the steps up and into the general store. He wasn’t aware he’d stopped the truck in the middle of the street until a horn blared behind him. He wasn’t going on another wild-goose chase.

  He quickly pulled ahead and found himself outside Mallory’s Inn. He almost drove on, but then changed his mind. He got out, jogged to the door and went inside. A chime sounded as he looked around the deserted reception area. “Mallory,” he called, going to the desk, but no one answered.

  He tried again. “Mallory?”

  “Excuse me?” Someone spoke from behind him, and he turned to see a couple sitting in the lounge area by the fireplace. The man was nursing a steaming mug, and the woman with him was mirroring his actions. They both looked expectant.

  “Excuse me,” Adam said. “I’m looking for the owner.”

  “She’s gone for a bit. Said she’d be back as soon as she could,” the man said.

  Adam thought it was worth a try to ask, “Do you know how many guests are staying here?”

  “We’re not sure,” he said, glancing around. “We only checked in a few hours ago, a room at the back down here on the first floor. To be honest, we haven’t seen or heard anyone.”

  Adam spotted the ledger on the desk, crossed to it and was about to reach for it when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID. Jack. He thanked the couple and headed out as he hit the talk button on the phone. “Jack?”

  “It’s me,” his older brother said over the line.

  Adam hopped into the truck and waited, then finally spoke when Jack didn’t. “How are things up north?”

  There was an intake of breath, then Ja
ck said, “Just checking in.”

  Adam glanced behind him, switched on the ignition and backed out into the street. “What is it?”

  “I said, I’m—”

  “You called to tell me something. What is it?”

  “I’m staying here until after the New Year.”

  “Things are going okay?”

  “Yes, they are. Trey’s a great kid, and...” His voice trailed off and then he tried again. “He looks a lot like his dad.” It meant he looked a lot like Robyn, too. “He’s a good kid.”

  Adam smiled. “I bet he is. Tell Robert to bring him out to see Mom and Dad as soon as he’s able to.”

  “Will do,” Jack said, then added, “Merry Christmas.” He hung up.

  Adam exhaled. Jack was okay. He was working things out. And he’d be back sooner or later. He just needed time. Meanwhile, here he was running around like a chicken with his head cut off looking for a woman who was probably hundreds of miles away from Wolf Lake.

  He was a cop who had tracked down a number of people, and yet now he’d lost a woman who seemed to be able to flit in and out of his life at will. He couldn’t find one pretty, dark-haired woman in a town a fraction of the size of Dallas.

  He drove away from the inn, spotted the police station and pulled into the parking lot. It couldn’t hurt to at least talk to John. If nothing else, he could complain to his friend about the way life worked sometimes. He got out and to the door of the flat-roofed, sprawling building with a handful of cruisers out front. He was way out of his jurisdiction, but at this point he was beyond caring.

  Jack should be his focus, not a woman who didn’t seem to want him anywhere near her. As he stepped inside, he almost ran into John. They avoided a collision, made small talk, and by the time they were in John’s office, Adam had decided not to discuss Faith or admit to the obsession he had. That was gone. She was gone. They talked about John’s family, the holidays and Jack’s phone call.