by Leona Karr
“Do you have any renters, Dora?” Brad asked as they entered the house through the front door. He knew Bill’s salary wasn’t enough to provide many extra comforts.
“Not now. But it’s been a busy summer. Bill and I have had our hands full.”
Brad knew his deputy and his widowed mother worked hard to offer the best bed-and-breakfast on the island. Even though most tourists didn’t want to stay more than one or two days, sometimes Dora was able to rent out a room for the whole summer or winter season.
“Bill has left already,” Dora told him. “He said he’d open up the office and then get a bite of breakfast at the café. Either he’s tired of his ma’s cooking, or he’s sweet on that new waitress.” She put a thoughtful finger up to her cheek. “I wonder which it is?”
They laughed as they followed her to the kitchen. While Dora bustled around fixing enough food for a houseful of guests, Ashley and Brad sat down at the round kitchen table.
“You have a very cheery home,” Ashley told her. “I wish I were staying here instead of with the Langdons.”
“Well, move. I’ve got a nice front room, newly decorated.”
“I would if I wasn’t just about finished. Only a few more days.”
“Maybe you’ll be staying longer than you think. Right, Brad?” She shot him a knowing look.
He silently groaned. All they needed was an over-eager matchmaker to ruin the tenuous relationship between them. He quickly changed the subject.
“Dora, tell Ashley about the painter who stayed here while he spent several months on the island.”
“An Englishman, Latimore Baines. He was here for a whole spring and summer almost twenty-five years ago.”
She hurried into the next room as he knew she would and brought back two landscape paintings. Dora could never resist the opportunity to brag she owned two original oil paintings.
“I took these instead of rent. This one shows the view of the beach and ocean from our veranda. And this one Latimore painted down at the wharf.” She beamed. “I guess both of them are worth some money now that the man’s dead.”
“The name is vaguely familiar,” Ashley told her. “But I’m not very knowledgeable about modern landscape painters.”
“Oh, Latimore did other things. While he was here he painted a portrait of Samantha Langdon.”
“Oh, I’ve seen that portrait,” Ashley said in surprise. “It’s hanging in Jonathan Langdon’s office.”
“It’s a beauty, isn’t it? Latimore was real proud of his work. He used my sewing room for the sittings. The place smelled of paint and turpentine for months afterward.”
“Jonathan said his wife had it done for his birthday, but was killed before she could give it to him.”
Brad watched Dora’s mouth close tightly as if she were holding something back. “You must have gotten to know Samantha pretty well while Latimore was doing her portrait,” Brad said casually.
Dora gave her glasses a shove back on her nose. “Maybe better than I wanted to. She was always chatting about some social affair or another. She should have been home taking care of her little baby instead of posing like some queen for her portrait.”
Brad knew there was more and if Dora was in a chatty mood, he would encourage her. “No one seems to know what Samantha was doing on the mainland the night she was killed in that automobile accident. I guess there was a hint of suspicion she wasn’t alone.”
“I’m not one to speak ill of the dead,” Dora said, trying to defend herself before she did exactly that. “The truth is, the portrait was not intended for her husband. Latimore told me in confidence she was having it painted for someone else.”
“Really? Do you know who?”
“Latimore never said. He hadn’t quite finished the portrait when she was killed. He hadn’t been paid for it and when Latimore showed it to Jonathan Langdon, he thought his wife had commissioned it for him and he readily paid the agreed-upon amount.”
“And you don’t have any idea who that lucky man might have been?” Brad prodded.
“Why would I know? We didn’t exactly run in the same circles.” She shrugged. “You’d have to find someone a lot closer to what went on at the Langdon compound than me to get at the truth.”
Someone like Mary Sandrow? Was any of this related to the possible blackmail payments being made monthly to Samantha’s old nurse?
“It’s hard to believe the happenings in such a prominent family could rival a TV soap opera,” Ashley said, shaking her head.
“I’ve thought about writing a book about the Langdons,” Dora confessed. “It would be a lot more exciting and profitable than writing articles for historical magazines. The police even interviewed me when Pamela died of the overdose.”
“Really? Why?” Brad had never looked into the official accounts of Pamela Langdon’s death because the investigation had been closed nearly two years before he moved back to the island.
Dora leaned forward in her kitchen chair. “Timothy Templeton took a room with me for a week after the suicide. The authorities wouldn’t let him leave the island and the Langdons wouldn’t let him set foot on their property. If Timothy hadn’t been on the yacht that night, he’d have been a cooked goose, for sure. I think Jonathan Langdon would have strung him up to the nearest tree himself. As soon as the authorities released him, Timothy packed his cheap suitcase and left.”
“Where’d he go?” Brad asked.
“I don’t know. Do you think I’d have to get Timothy’s permission? Just the Langdon name would sell a lot of books,” she said excitedly. “If I only put in the facts, who could object?”
“Jonathan Langdon, for one,” Brad warned her. “He’s not likely to agree to any tell-all about the family, especially about his wife’s and daughter’s untimely deaths.”
Dora set her jaw and he knew that anything he said would only stiffen her determination. Unfortunately, his own suspicions were too nebulous to use as an argument against her proposed literary project. He purposefully changed the subject.
“I think I got some good shots of the cemetery. I’ll get them to you as soon as they’re developed.”
They left a few minutes later.
“Nice lady,” Ashley commented as they headed back to the Langdon compound. “But she didn’t keep her promise. I was looking forward to hearing some tall tales about you and Bill.”
Brad chuckled. “We gave Dora some gray hairs, all right. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll tell you a few myself if you’ll have dinner at my place tonight.”
“You’re cooking?”
“Do I detect skepticism in your tone?”
“What’s on the menu?” A smile flickered on the edge of her lips.
“That’s a surprise. I’ll pick you up about seven.”
After seeing her inside the house, he headed back to the office and found Bill working on a monthly report for the mainland office.
“You and Ashley Davis were up pretty early this morning, mom told me,” Bill said. “Ms. Davis doesn’t look the type to get out of bed before noon unless—”
“Can it, Bill,” Brad said gruffly. “We’ve got work to do.”
“What’s up?”
“Do you know if Timothy Templeton has been back to the island any time in the two years since Pamela Langdon’s death?”
He frowned. “Not that I know about. Knowing Greystone’s gossip line, I’m sure someone would have spread the word if he showed up.”
“He could have visited the Langdon compound without being noticed. Anyone who docks a boat at the pier below the mansion has access to the property.”
“What are you thinking, boss?”
“If Timothy learned that Pamela’s things were being inventoried and put up for sale, it’s possible he might be worried about something coming to light that would incriminate him. He could have panicked and assaulted Lorrie to make sure she didn’t continue the assignment.”
“Wow, that’s really a stretch, isn’t it, boss?”
“As I recall, he didn’t have much of a family,” Bill offered. “I remember there was some question about where Timothy was getting money to hang out with the idle rich like Pamela Langdon.”
Brad sat down at his computer. He used every official resource available in an effort to collect recent data on Timothy Templeton and came up empty.
“He couldn’t have just disappeared,” Bill argued.
“Maybe he was afraid the Langdons would hunt him down in retaliation for Pamela’s death. For the last two years, he could have been living with a false identity.”
“Why would he gamble on coming back for any reason? That doesn’t make sense, boss.”
“Yes, it does,” Brad argued. “We just don’t have all the pieces.”
Chapter Twelve
When Ashley came down the stairs a little after seven o’clock, she heard Brad’s voice. She knew she was late. Somehow, the whole day had gotten away from her. Happily, she’d made headway in packing up the remaining garments and only a few details remained before the entire collection would be ready for shipping.
She hadn’t stopped to shower and change clothes until after six-thirty and then there was the problem of what to wear. For some reason, she wanted to look special and a dozen casual outfits hanging in her closet at home would have been perfect. It was ironic that she finally found someone on a foggy island who made her want to wear them. Unfortunately, at the moment her wardrobe was so limited she had to settle for a pale blue knit dress she’d hurriedly packed because it didn’t wrinkle. The cardigan sweater she’d bought in Portland would have to do for a wrap. She added pearl earrings and a narrow matching choker and gave herself a quick nod of approval as her trim figure reflected back at her from the gold-framed mirror.
As she hurried down the stairs, she chided herself for a bubbling of adolescent excitement. She’d been wined and dined in some of the finest restaurants on both coasts, but strangely enough, a casual meal with Brad Taylor suddenly outdistanced them all.
Brad was in the main living room with Paul and Jonathan. The three men stood in front of an open bar with drinks in their hands. Brad looked perfectly at ease and incredibly handsome wearing dark slacks and an open-neck blue sweater that showed off the muscles in his arms and shoulders.
At her entrance, he gave her a welcoming smile. “Ready?”
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No problem,” he assured her.
“You’re looking lovely tonight, Ashley,” the lawyer said in his man-about-town manner. “Won’t you join us for a quick drink before you hit the island’s bright lights?”
Jonathan nodded in agreement. “What would you like, Ashley?”
“Thank you but I’ll pass.”
“Well then, I guess we’ll be off,” Brad responded. “Jonathan, if your brother, Philip, shows up, will you tell him I’d like to see him. I think he would know if someone else is using the boat dock.”
Paul Fontaine frowned as he said, “I really don’t know where you’re going with this.”
“Neither do I,” Brad admitted. “But that’s the way things go in police work sometimes. You keep pulling on a string until you find out what’s tied to it.”
Both men were scowling as they left the room and Brad told her quietly, “I think both Jonathan and Paul wanted to forbid you to go out tonight.”
“Why would they care?”
“Maybe personal reasons as far as Paul is concerned. He obviously considers himself a ladies’ man. With Jonathan it might be a fear that the two of us may tumble onto something that would threaten the Langdons’ good name.”
“It’s a little late for them to be worried about that, isn’t it?” Her tone was testy. She didn’t want to spend the evening talking about the Langdons.
He shot her a quick look. “Sorry. I guess I’m not very good at this dating thing.”
“It depends upon whether this evening is business or pleasure.”
“Definitely pleasure.”
On the drive to his house, he confessed he’d been anxious she might decide not to come. “I’m finding it hard to believe that you’re really leaving—for good.”
She didn’t answer. Tonight might be all they would ever have and she wasn’t going to fill it with regret. There’d be time enough for that later.
The dog gave them an enthusiastic welcome and was obviously interested in the sacks containing carryout dinners Brad had picked up at the café.
“Down boy! I’ll feed you first and get you out of the way. I’ll be back in a minute,” he told Ashley as he left her in the front room and disappeared into the kitchen.
The room was still as ugly and stark as before, and Ashley felt a stab of disappointment that Brad didn’t seem to notice how drab it was. If she had to spend much time in such bleak surroundings, she’d dry up and blow away. What did they have in common except the unfortunate circumstances that had brought them together?
“There’s kind of a picnic area at the back of the house,” he told her as he came back into the room. “It doesn’t have a view of the water but it’s pleasant. I thought we’d eat there.”
Apparently he’d accepted the fact that she wasn’t all that crazy about being close to the pounding ocean and its rugged shoreline. After shutting Rusty up in the bedroom, he led the way out the back door and around the corner of the house, where he’d spread a blanket out on the ground. Their dinner was set out on paper plates.
“I’m not much on entertaining—”
“It’s fine,” she assured him quickly as she eased down on the ground. She’d made a big mistake in deciding what to wear. She could feel the dampness of the ground as her clinging skirt crept up to a provocative shortness.
He poured the wine, sat down on the blanket, Indian-style, and smiled at her in a boyish way that fired her imagination. What if they’d met when they were younger? What if he’d been her very first date? Her very first love? Would she have been pliable enough to fit into the pattern of his life before she’d committed to her own?
“You have a choice of the Rockcove Café special, baked lobster and creamed pasta, or their next favorite, breaded veal and hash brown potatoes.”
“I’ll take the lobster.”
“Good choice. You won’t find any that fresh anywhere…not even your famous Fisherman’s Wharf. Would you really miss it all that much?”
“I like to visit different places,” she hedged. “But as the saying goes, I wouldn’t want to live there—”
“Or here?”
Her hand trembled slightly as she set down her glass.
“I guess I’d miss the city. I don’t think I’d like being cut off from the mainland any length of time.”
“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing you’re just about ready to leave. The winters here are not what you would call friendly.”
Her high spirits had taken a nosedive. Why? Why had she had such high expectations for the evening? Did she want a commitment from him, saying that his feelings had grown as deep as her own? Something inside of her rebelled at the thought she’d never know what might have been between them.
As they ate, he seemed determined to keep the conversation away from any expression of his own feelings. “Someday I want to do a little sailing. How about you?”
“If it’s a cruise ship, I’m all for it.”
“That’s not sailing.”
They tried a few more topics but didn’t find one that lasted for more than a few brief exchanges. Every silence seemed weighted with unexpressed emotion. Even though they sat inches from each other on the blanket, there seemed to be an insurmountable barrier between them.
When both of them had stopped eating, even though there was more food left on their plates, he asked, “Would you like coffee and dessert?”
“No, thanks. I’m quite satisfied.”
They car
ried their empty dishes back to the small kitchen. Despite Brad’s protests, Ashley insisted upon washing the wineglasses and silverware. The tiny work space was crowded with the both of them.
“Whoa,” he said when they collided. His hands went quickly around her waist to steady her. The sudden physical intimacy took them both by surprise. Their eyes locked, and his breath quickened as suddenly as her own.
She looked into his eyes, so often guarded but now soft with longing. She touched his full mouth with a fingertip and laid her hand upon his cheek. The decision was made without her realizing it. Tonight she would accept his love as if it belonged to her. Tonight she would not think about tomorrow, nor the emptiness ahead. As he lowered his lips to capture hers, her whole body quivered with unbelievable hunger.
They had been building up to this moment from their first stormy meeting. His small bedroom held the faint light of twilight as they lay together.
“I love you,” he whispered, kissing her eyelids and letting his hands caress the rosy crests of her breasts.
As they came together, giving and taking, a shared fulfillment went beyond desire…beyond caresses…beyond promises…beyond understanding.
She drifted off to sleep, warm and content in the circle of his arms. Even in the throes of contentment, she came awake with a jolt.
“What is it?” he asked.
She sat up. “I…don’t know.”
“You’re here, with me. Remember?” He quickly turned on a bedside lamp.
She gave him a slightly embarrassed smile and then leaned forward and lightly kissed him. “I remember.”
His hand slipped down to rest on the fullness of a breast. “So do I.”
She pulled away and said, “It’s nearly midnight. I’d love to stay but—”
“Are you afraid of gossip?” he chided.
“Not for myself.”
He frowned. “Then what? I don’t care what anyone says.”
“Not now, but things change,” she said as she began getting dressed.