by B. J Daniels
“I’m not sure where you went—somewhere on the beach,” Jake said. “You had sand on your feet. And—”
She looked over at him, her pulse rate accelerating. “And what?”
“You had something in your fist. A tiny blue bead.”
Clancy let out a groan. “You weren’t going to tell me?”
“I haven’t really had a chance.”
“You could have said something when I told you about the necklace and my other sleepwalking episode when I came back with a bead.”
Jake said nothing. But then, what could he have said in his defense?
“Don’t you realize your lack of trust in me is hampering this investigation? Can’t you, the professional P.I., see that?”
“I should have told you.”
No kidding. “Just like you should have told me about the card you took from the box.”
He reached into his pocket. “Here.” He handed her the greeting card. “I was going to tell you.”
“Sure you were.” She opened the card, wondering if that were true. The card was like the others in Lola’s junk box. Only this one had a sailboat on the cover with a man and a woman watching a sunset. They presumably were in love. Inside it read: Each day with you is a dream come true. It was signed: Your Teddy Bear. “Do you recognize the handwriting?” Clancy asked.
“It’s not my father’s, if that’s what you’re asking.” His voice had an edge to it. He knew that was exactly what she was asking. “You want to talk about trust here?”
He was right. But it was that lack of trust between them that was breaking her heart.
Jake took the card from her and turned it over and returned it to her. Written on the back in an entirely different hand were the words: I have to talk to you. Meet me at the usual place. Frank.
Clancy looked up at Jake. “Frank and Lola?”
“Lola seems to have been a busy woman. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? I’d like to pay Frank a visit. What do you think?”
“Why not?”
* * *
CLANCY COULD FEEL the weight of the few days’ events on her sore and aching body as they parked the car at the marina and went by boat to the island resort. She wanted this case over with as quickly as possible so Jake could go home to Texas. Being around him wore down her heart. She told herself it would be easier not to see him. Not to be near him. Not to hear his voice. Not to know he was just down the hall.
Frank wasn’t in his cabin. He didn’t come to the door when Jake knocked and the door was locked.
“He’s not home” came a male voice from the darkness.
Clancy recognized the youth as the dock boy she’d seen working the day before. “Do you know where he is?” she asked.
The boy shrugged. “He left earlier by foot.” He pointed to the mountain.
Frank didn’t seem like the hiking kind.
“You didn’t happen to be around the night Dex Westfall was murdered?” Jake asked.
The boy looked up, surprise in his expression.
“I was wondering if Dex might have taken a boat out that night.”
He shook his head. “The only time Mr. Westfall left the island was that first day. He rented a boat.”
Jake looked disappointed. He thanked the boy and they started back down the trail.
“Mr. Westfall did have a visitor who came by boat the night he died, though,” the boy added from behind them. “A woman.”
Clancy stopped and turned slowly. “Can you describe this woman?”
The boy smiled. “Oh, yes.” He proceeded to describe her in detail.
Clancy shot a shocked look at Jake.
Jake swore. “Kiki.” He turned to the boy. “About what time was this?”
He shook his head. “It was late, well after dark. She went up to Mr. Westfall’s cabin. I didn’t see her leave.”
“Did you tell the sheriff this?” Clancy asked.
The boy shook his head. “No one ever asked me. I figured it wasn’t important.”
Jake thanked him again. They walked back to their boat. “Kiki?” Jake exclaimed the moment they were out of earshot. “Had your aunt ever met Dex?”
“Not that I was aware of.” She bit her lower lip, feeling sick. “You don’t think she—”
“Is somehow involved in his death?” Jake asked. “No, but I’ve thought from the very beginning that Kiki knew a lot more about this than she told either of us.”
* * *
JAKE DOCKED THE BOAT in front of Kiki’s rented condo in Bigfork. The condo hung over the water, a huge monument to commercial development. Clancy didn’t wait for him to tie up the boat. She jumped out, charged up to her aunt’s door and pressed the doorbell.
Kiki opened the door in a caftan with a champagnecolored poodle under her arm and what smelled like a banana daiquiri in her hand. “What a nice surprise,” she said.
“You might not feel that way when you find out why we’re here,” Clancy said.
Kiki raised a finely sculpted brow as Clancy stepped past her. “Can I offer you something to drink, dear?”
“I’d love something to drink,” Jake said from behind her, although Clancy noted Kiki hadn’t offered him one.
Jake closed the door, then he and Kiki followed Clancy into the living room.
Clancy spun around to face her aunt. “What were you doing on the island the night of Dex’s murder?”
“I’ll fix that drink myself,” Jake said to Kiki, and headed for the wet bar.
Kiki set the poodle down. It was the only color in the room. Everything else was white. Even the marble fireplace was white.
“Visiting Dex Westfall,” Kiki said, and took a sip of her drink.
“Where’s the ice?” Jake called from the bar.
“In the bucket,” Kiki called back, her voice sounding a little strained.
“I didn’t even know you knew Dex!” Clancy cried.
“I made his acquaintance shortly after the two of you met,” Kiki said, walking over to sit in one of the large white chairs in front of the fireplace. “I offered to pay him not to see you anymore. Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink?”
Clancy gasped. “You tried to buy him off?” Her aunt had always interfered in her life, offering unwanted advice, but this was way beyond that.
“What was I to do?” Kiki asked, nonplussed. “He wasn’t the right man for you.”
“Did he take the money?” Jake asked from the bar.
“No,” Kiki said in disgust. “He said he deserved much more and he intended to get it.”
“Aunt Kiki, I can’t believe you’d do such a thing,” Clancy said. “What else did you do?”
“If you’re asking if I killed him, of course not,” Kiki said. “But I can’t say I’m sorry he’s dead. He was a deplorable man.”
“If he refused your money the first time, why did you go to the island to see him?” Jake asked as he joined them. He handed Clancy a glass of brandy she hadn’t asked for and went to sit across from Kiki.
“To offer him more money,” Kiki stated flatly. “I knew he had a price, I just had to find it.”
Clancy rolled her eyes. Life was so simple for her aunt as long as she could solve her problems with money. While she almost appreciated Kiki’s efforts, she resented her aunt’s continued attempts to control her life. Had always resented it.
“Dex didn’t take it?” Clancy knew no large quantity of money had been found in Dex’s cabin or on his body. Although, she was surprised that Dex hadn’t taken her aunt up on the offer.
“The opportunity didn’t present itself,” Kiki said with a sigh. “I caught him with some woman and did the next best thing.”
“Let me guess,” Jake said. “Blackmail.”
Clancy glanced over at him, keyed to the way he’d said “blackmail.” Was that how Kiki had gotten Jake to Montana? She felt sick.
“While blackmail is always a possibility,” Kiki said, smiling at him, “it really wasn’t necessary. He wa
s planning to leave the island that night, anyway.”
“But he didn’t,” Jake pointed out.
Kiki shot him a dour look. “Something must have kept him from it. Someone. He told me his business on the island was finished. He seemed quite pleased about leaving.”
“Who was the woman?” Jake asked.
Kiki shrugged. “I never saw her, but I smelled her perfume. It was expensive.”
“Did he look like you’d interrupted something?” Jake asked.
“He was clothed, if that’s what you’re asking,” Kiki replied primly. “But yes, now that I think about it, I did see him kick something under the bed. A pair of white Jockey shorts, I believe.”
Kiki didn’t miss a thing, Clancy thought, and took a sip of the brandy. It burned all the way down. She took another.
“I was astounded to hear the next morning that he’d been murdered,” Kiki continued. “Even more appalled to learn the sheriff thought Clancy had killed him.”
Clancy drained her glass and stared dumbfounded at her aunt. “What do you do when you can’t buy what you want or blackmail someone to get your way?”
Kiki studied her niece for a moment. “The problem’s never come up.” She glanced pointedly at Jake. “But I could see how it might.”
He finished his drink and got up to take Clancy’s empty glass from her fingers. “You ready to go?” he asked her.
“Yes.” She marched to the door, opened it and stopped to look back at her aunt. “One of these days you’re going to go too far. Maybe you already have.”
Jake tipped his baseball cap at Kiki on the way out. He didn’t say anything until he and Clancy reached the boat. “She’s something, isn’t she?” he said, and laughed.
“It’s not funny, Jake.”
“Oh, come on. It’s her way of trying to protect you. As strange and twisted as it is. And you have to admit, her instincts about Dex were right.”
Clancy spun on him. “How can you defend her?” She narrowed her gaze at him. “How did she get you up here, anyway? Money? Or blackmail?”
“Money?” He sounded insulted.
She studied him for a moment, remembering that she’d heard his father was coming up for parole soon. “If not money, then it had to be blackmail. Initially.”
He tried to look insulted, but she knew her instincts had been right. “What makes you think I didn’t come up here because I wanted to?” Jake demanded.
Clancy glared at him. “I remember how mad you were that first night when you had to save me from drowning. Then, when you realized you could get revenge—”
“Hey.” He grabbed her and spun her into his chest. “You’re wrong. Maybe at first. But surely you realize it isn’t like that anymore.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked, looking into those gray eyes. The lights from the marina came on, making them gleam a slick silver. She felt the strength of his grip on her arm as he pulled her to him. For a moment, she thought he’d kiss her. Hoped he would forget his promise. Hoped he’d take her in his arms and tell her he believed her.
With an oath, he let go of her and climbed into the boat without another word.
Clancy said little on the boat ride back to the island.
“I need to do some work,” she said the moment they walked into the lodge. Jake watched her disappear up the stairs to her studio, kicking himself.
He couldn’t stand the wall between them. But at the same time, he seemed incapable of tearing it down. He cursed himself and went to his room just down the hall from Clancy’s studio. He dumped the envelope of evidence in the middle of his bed. He had to find out who killed Dex and keep Clancy from going to prison. Maybe, if he got lucky, he’d also find Lola’s killer. For his father. For his own sanity. But he wondered if by then it would be too late for him and Clancy.
He picked up the cellular phone and called Tadd.
“I need to know if Frank Ames inherited a bunch of money. Or maybe won the lottery. I need to know how he bought Hawk Island Resort. Now.”
“Tonight?” Tadd croaked.
“Tomorrow would be fine,” Jake said.
“I’ll put my secretary on it at daybreak.”
After Jake hung up, he felt restless. The lodge seemed uncommonly quiet, the summer night almost too still. He didn’t want Clancy to think he was checking up on her. But he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t get her off his mind any more than he could forget the feel of her in his arms. Or her steadfast conviction that she hadn’t perjured herself, hadn’t lied about his father.
Quietly, he sneaked down the hall. Clancy’s studio was a second-floor addition that overlooked the bay. It had been a surprise birthday present from her father for her fifteenth birthday. Johnny Branson, who’d been a carpenter back then, had built it. That was before he ran for sheriff.
Jake heard music filtering through the open doorway. He stopped. Classical? He and Clancy had grown up on country music. The long-haired stuff coming off her stereo only reminded him of how much had changed between them. He was wondering if she ever listened to country anymore when the song ended and another came on. A Don Williams tune. One he used to know all the words to. He smiled to himself. Maybe things hadn’t changed that much.
The actual studio was a large room with a bank of windows on three sides to catch the light. As Jake peeked in, he remembered the times he’d come here, moving quietly, hoping not to disturb her. He remembered how seriously she’d taken her sculpture. That’s one reason he’d loved to watch her work.
Now he stood at the edge of the doorway, just looking at her. Watching the way her fingers molded the mound of clay on the table in front of her. She pinched, prodded, slicked and smoothed. Her fingers strong, her movements precise. He studied her face, not surprised by the intensity of her expression. Clancy had been fourteen the summer she confessed to Jake she wanted to be an artist. She’d felt it was a frivolous desire. How many artists actually made a living with their work?
But Jake and her parents had encouraged her. And surprisingly, so had her aunt Kiki. Kiki saw to it that Clancy got her first sculpting lessons. Jake could still remember Clancy’s first work. It was crude but showed potential, her art teachers had said. Hell, one of her first pieces was a part of the breakwater at his beach house in Galveston, he thought with a curse.
Clancy frowned now as she stepped back to inspect her latest creation. She wore her glasses instead of her contacts. He liked them on her. They made her look even more sexy, if that was possible. The frown deepened as if she wasn’t quite satisfied with it. That would be the perfectionist in her. She stepped forward again and began to reshape and resculpt, working quickly, meticulously, totally immersed in the clay and the vision inside her head, totally oblivious to everything else. Including him.
So intent on studying her, Jake hadn’t even noticed the sculpture she’d been so engrossed in until she suddenly pushed it back to inspect it again. The back of it faced him. A bust of a man’s head.
She gave the sculpture a turn. It slowly revolved around on the lazy susan. Jake caught his breath as he saw the face she’d molded into the clay. The likeness was so striking it shocked him.
It was his face in the clay. Younger. His nose straighter than he remembered it. His face far more handsome than he’d ever been. But he could see the resemblance to the boy who’d grown up on this lake with Clancy.
It unnerved him, reminding him too much of the past and the way things had been between them.
He stepped back into the hallway, pressing against the wall. Emotions surged through him, waves that threatened to wash away everything he’d believed, everything he’d held on to for ten years, everything he’d let go of ten years ago. What if he’d been wrong?
He thought about the sculpture, the man she’d somehow captured in the clay. He felt moved and, at the same time, torn.
He sneaked back to his room. Clancy’s phone rang. He heard her pick it up. He listened to her tell Helen about Lola’s half sister. From the conver
sation, it seemed Helen didn’t know about Glenda Grimes, either.
He turned his attention back to the evidence on the Westfall case. The answer was here, somewhere, and damned if he wasn’t going to find it.
* * *
JAKE SIFTED THROUGH the pile of papers again, his head aching from lack of sleep and the craziness of this case. At some point, he could always feel the pieces start to fall into place. There’d be that rush as he started to see glimpses of a pattern. But not in this one.
He pushed back the papers and stretched, surprised, when he glanced at his watch, at how much time had gone by. Surely by now Clancy had gone to bed. But he hadn’t heard her.
He walked down the hallway. Her door stood open. He peeked in. The covers were thrown back on her bed. Her shoes were by it on the floor. But her room was empty.
This time, he made noise as he went down to her studio. But when he rounded the corner, she wasn’t sitting at her worktable. The sculpture of him wasn’t on the table anymore, but a large mound of battered-looking clay sat in its place. His face was long gone. And so was Clancy.
Panic rocketed through him. “Clancy?” He raced down the stairs, calling her name as he went. “Clancy?”
The kitchen door stood open. He charged outside, wondering how much of a head start she had on him.
That’s when he saw her. She looked ghostlike walking down the beach, her long white nightgown billowing around her bare ankles. He went after her, telling himself she was fine. But he couldn’t throw off the bad feeling.
He’d almost reached her when she suddenly stopped and, in slow motion, bent to pick up a small piece of driftwood in her path. An icy chill shot up his spine as she started walking again, the driftwood dangling from the fingers of her left hand, forgotten.
He felt a stab of shock as he caught up with her and looked into her blank face, the face of a sleepwalker.
“Clancy?” She moved along on some agenda, programmed like a robot. The only problem was that the program was often flawed, senseless. Or was it? Was Clancy headed somewhere she really wanted to go? But she was headed for the end of the island and the cliffs.