Aquamarine

by Catherine Mulvany

  “I’m not doing a very good job of looking after you, am I, Mikey?” Shea brushed the tangled curls back out of the little girl’s face. “Don’t worry. Glory took her mom home to rest for a while. Does Ruth flip out like that very often?”

  “Sometimes,” Mikey said. “It scares me.” Shea nodded. “Me too.”

  “Do you think maybe she was the one who poisoned Daddy?”

  “We don’t know for sure that anyone poisoned Daddy. Maybe he just got ahold of some bad food. You don’t believe Ruth would hurt Daddy on purpose, do you?”

  Mikey studied her bare feet as if the key to Ruth Griffin’s twisted personality might be hiding between her toes. “No, I guess not. She likes Daddy pretty much. I’m not so sure about Beelzebub, though. Ruth called him a limb of Satan just ‘cause he tracked mud on the floor. She might have poisoned him.” Her grave observation was laced with sadness. She seemed to have abandoned the dognapping theory.

  Wishing she’d never mentioned the word poison in the first place, Shea pulled Mikey into a tight hug. The little girl clung to her as if she were the only link to safety in a strange and dangerous world. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you, little sister,” Kirsten said. Shea didn’t argue the point.

  “What do you want to do today?” Shea asked as she combed the tangles from Mikey’s freshly washed hair.

  “Can you braid my hair like yours?”

  “Sure. No problem. Are we going for the twin effect?”

  “Yes,” Mikey said. “I want to look just like you.”

  “You want to look like the nimposter?” Shea teased.

  The child looked at her with a seriousness beyond her years. “I don’t care if you’re a nimposter or not. At least you don’t act crazy.”

  Shea smiled at the vote of confidence. “You still haven’t told me what you want to do, though.”

  “I want to go see Daddy.”

  Shea began plaiting the girl’s soft dark hair into a French braid. “Me too. We can do that later, but I meant this morning. Are there any special places on the island I haven’t seen yet?”

  Mikey considered the question. “The old cabin,” she said at last, “where the massacre took place.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Shea grimaced. At least more fun than she’d had so far today.

  Teague spotted Shea and Mikey toiling up through the meadow toward him. A swallowtail flittered past Shea’s nose, then landed on a lacy frond of wild parsley. The trill of a meadowlark floated on the morning air above the low murmur of the creek.

  “What are you two up to this morning?” he asked.

  Shea’s smile put a hitch in his breathing. “Exploring,” she told him.

  “I’m taking Kirsten to see the old cabin,” Mikey said.

  “Don’t go inside. The floorboards are probably rotted out. You’d break your neck if you fell through into the cellar.”

  Shea gave a thumbs-up. “Fine with me. I personally steer clear of small, dark buildings. They tend to aggravate my raging claustrophobia.”

  “Nothing to see, anyway,” Mikey told her. “Kevin moved all the good stuff a long time ago.”

  “What good stuff?” Teague asked.

  “My rock collection,” Shea said. “Ruth wouldn’t let me keep it in the house. Too messy.”

  Was that Kirsten speaking? Or Shea? Teague raised an eyebrow. “I’m taking a break, anyway. Mind if I tag along?”

  Mikey let out a whoop of approval, then took off full speed toward the trees.

  “Second that motion.” At close range, Shea’s smile was a lethal weapon.

  Teague’s heart stopped, then restarted in higher gear. He tugged her into his arms almost roughly, doing his best to kiss her as senseless as he was.

  “C’mon, you guys!” Mikey urged, obviously impatient with their lollygagging.

  Teague was surprised when he broke the kiss and discovered he could lift his lips from Shea’s. He’d have sworn the heat had fused their mouths together.

  Shea’s eyelids flickered open and she gazed up at him with a lazy smile. “Now that,” she said, “makes up for my lousy morning.”

  “C’mon!” Mikey yelled.

  “We’re coming!” he said.

  They followed Mikey, picking their way carefully among the wild strawberries that thrived as ground cover under the big ponderosas. The air was heavy with the sweet scent of ripening berries and the fragrance of pine. The setting was idyllic, so when a chipmunk ran across their path, scolding them for the intrusion, and Shea flinched, he was surprised. He put a hand on her arm. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Her muscles felt taut.

  “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. Nothing reasonable, anyway. I’m fighting a strong compulsion to turn tail and run.”

  They were heading downhill now as the path paralleled the little spring. The water rippled over the rocks, though it was hidden from sight by the thick undergrowth that hemmed the banks of the creek. The trees thinned as the path led closer to the shore, but even though the going was easier, Shea’s steps slowed, then stopped altogether.

  “What is it?” Teague asked again.

  “Just admiring the view.” She waved a hand like a tour guide pointing out the high points, the sparkling cobalt waters of Crescent Lake, the majestic mountains of the Bitterroot range. But her hand shook, and her eyes were wary.

  A thicket of alders lay directly ahead. Mikey paused at the edge of the tangle, urging them on, but Shea seemed to be rooted to the spot. Eyes wide and frightened, she stared at the thicket. Her hands trembled; her breathing was harsh and unsteady.

  “Shea, what’s wrong?” This reaction was even more violent than the one that had immobilized her during their stroll along the shore. She shot him an anguished look.

  He felt his own skin prickle as he realized this was the same spot that had put her hackles up before. They were approaching from a different angle this time, but it was the same dense copse of trees. What was going on?

  The sound began as a low vibration that barely registered on his consciousness. It soon grew into a rhythmic drone, then a persistent clatter so loud, it drowned out the thrum of blood in his veins. The helicopter flashed overhead like a giant insect, heading for the landing pad behind the house.

  Mikey stopped to track its progress. “They’re home,” she yelled. “Let’s go back.”

  Shea sagged with a relief so intense, she would have landed on her knees if he hadn’t grabbed her arm.

  Switching directions, they headed back. Fifteen minutes later, hot and out of breath, they reached the house.

  “Daddy?” Mikey flew through the sliding glass doors. “Daddy?” Shea and Teague were right behind her.

  Cynthia appeared at the head of the stairs.

  “Mom!” Mikey launched herself up the steps. Cynthia rocked back under the onslaught but managed to keep her feet.

  “Hold on, honey. What’s your hurry?”

  “Is Daddy back?”

  Cynthia detached Mikey and knelt down so that their faces were on the same level. “No, he’s still too weak to leave the hospital, but he’s better. The doctor says the danger is over.”

  “When can I see him?” Mikey asked. Her voice quavered.

  Cynthia shot a look of entreaty at Teague and Shea, the strain evident on her face. “Could you take her to the hospital this afternoon, Kirsten? I’m sure you’re anxious to see your father too. He’s been asking about both of you.”

  “He’s conscious then?”

  “In and out. Sleeping a lot. This attack used up most of his reserves. You won’t be able to stay long, but I know he’d like to see you.”

  “We’ll head over then—about four if that’s all right,” Shea said.

  “Perfect.” Cynthia frowned. “Where’s Ruth? When I got back, the house was empty.”

  “She had one of her fits,” Mikey told her mother solemnly.

  “Oh, terrific. That’s all I need right now. I should have insisted that Jack fire her years ago.” She sighed. �
�What incredibly inconvenient timing. I hate to ask, Kirsten, but could you stay with Mikey awhile longer? I don’t feel safe leaving her in Ruth’s care. Not under the circumstances. It would just be until Kevin’s free to take over.”

  “Of course,” Shea said. “Anything I can do to help.”

  “Have you talked to the police yet?” Teague asked.

  “What?” Cynthia looked at him as if he were as loony as the housekeeper.

  Shea caught on right away. “About Daddy. Last night you said the doctor suspected poisoning, but that he was waiting for the lab results.”

  Cynthia smiled faintly. “Can you believe it? I’d forgotten. Evidently the doctor’s still waiting, because he hasn’t said another word to me.”

  “No news is good news,” Shea said. “I think. Have you seen Kevin? He didn’t come home last night.”

  “I tracked him down at the club, and he spelled me at Jack’s bedside last night. He’s with Jack now.”

  Shea nodded. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”

  “Pray.”

  “They moved Jack out of the ICU an hour ago.” Cynthia looked ten years younger than she had earlier in the day.

  “That’s great news,” Shea said. She and Mikey had come into town with Teague. Kevin was baby-sitting while Shea and Teague went out to dinner.

  “When is Daddy coming home?” Mikey asked.

  Cynthia ruffled her bangs. “Soon, honey.” She took Mikey up to the maternity ward to see the babies, leaving Shea behind to visit with Jack.

  He sat propped against the pillows, his pale eyes alert. “Have a seat,” he croaked.

  She pulled a chair close to his bed and sat down. “You sound terrible.” Nearly as bad as he looked.

  His smile was a ghastly rictus in his ravaged face. “They pumped my stomach. The equipment’s rough on the throat.”

  Shea tried to smile but couldn’t. “Oh, Daddy. I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded. “Me too. I guess I won’t be eating any parsnip soup for a while.”

  “Is that what made you sick?”

  “So the doctor said. Somehow a water hemlock root got mixed in with the parsnips.”

  “How could Ruth have made such a mistake?”

  “Evidently hemlock looks—and tastes—like parsnips.”

  “Except hemlock’s deadly.” Perhaps Ruth had poisoned her employer on purpose. “Daddy?”

  “What, baby?”

  Shea wanted to ask him about the photo of her mother, but one glance at his haggard face and wasted body told her that now was not the time. She patted his hand. “Get better. The island’s not the same without you.”

  As they worked their way through grilled sirloin and baked potatoes, Teague told Shea what he’d learned about Jack’s poisoning.

  “Could the hemlock in the soup have been an accident?” Shea asked.

  “Maybe.” He poked his steak. “There’s a clump of the stuff growing right next to the Raineys’ garden. Thing is, Hal knows the difference and swears he didn’t pick any hemlock by mistake.”

  Shea frowned. “Maybe not. Or maybe he got careless and now he’s in denial. Or—”

  “Maybe he did it on purpose,” he finished.

  “Motive?”

  “Gain. The promise of an inheritance.”

  “Pretty thin,” she said. “Why take a chance murdering someone who’s so close to death?”

  “I didn’t say I thought he was guilty, just that he was a suspect.”

  “Who else is a suspect?”

  “Ruth. She made the soup.”

  She sighed heavily. “I’d like to believe it was her. She’s not my favorite person.” She stabbed viciously at a chunk of potato. “But …”

  He nodded. “Just because she’s a couple of bubbles off plumb, that doesn’t mean she’s a murderer.”

  “So who else could have done it?”

  “There’s always Cynthia.”

  “Cynthia?” Shea froze, the forkful of potato halfway to her mouth.

  “The wife’s always the number one suspect. She had motive and opportunity. Not only was she the one who ordered the parsnip soup, she was also the one who cleaned and chopped the parsnips.”

  “I thought Ruth did all the cooking.”

  “Normally she does, but yesterday Cynthia volun teered to get a jump on dinner preparations while Ruth changed Jack’s sheets.”

  “But if Cynthia was guilty, she wouldn’t have left such an obvious trail. She’s too smart to incriminate herself,” Shea said.

  “I agree. And the fact is, anyone could have added a couple of hemlock roots to the pile of parsnips Hal left on the chopping block.”

  “Anyone?” she challenged.

  “Anyone with access to the island. And that includes my crew, me, and you.”

  Shea choked on a bite of sirloin. “So now I’m a suspect too?”

  “Hypothetically, everyone in Liberty is a suspect.”

  Shea wasn’t sure why she’d asked Teague in when he brought her back to the lodge. No, that was a lie. She knew. She just didn’t want to admit it, even to herself. “So,” she said. Monosyllables hardly qualified as sparkling repartee, but the sight of him sprawled across one end of the loveseat on the far side of the room brought all nonessential brain activity to a screeching halt. She felt lucky to have managed anything more than a grunt.

  Teague bunched a loose pillow behind his head. “Want to watch some TV?”

  “Sure. I guess. What’s on?” She kicked off her shoes and curled up in one of the armchairs on the opposite side of the room. She didn’t trust her own control with her pesky hormones running amok. Not that she was averse to a few kisses and a lingering embrace or two, but she wasn’t ready to commit to more than that, not until she knew for certain that Teague wasn’t confusing her with Kirsten. The problem was, her body didn’t have the same reservations that her mind had.

  “Letterman okay?”

  “Fine. Would you care for some coffee? I can call room service.”

  “Not right now. Why don’t you move over here next to me?” He patted the loveseat in invitation. “You’re going to get a stiff neck if you try to watch TV from that angle.”

  Better her with a stiff neck than him with a stiff … “I’m okay. Really.”

  “Yeah, but I’m giving myself a sore throat yelling across the room.”

  She made a face. “It’s not that far. I’m not straining my voice at all.”

  “What?”

  She tried to frown but couldn’t control the twitch of her lips. “Very funny.”

  Teague yawned, stretched, and settled back against the throw pillow with a sigh of contentment.

  “Don’t you dare fall asleep, Teague Harris.”

  “Come keep me awake,” he suggested, opening one eye.

  “Forget it. If I went over there, the first thing you know we’d be kissing.”

  “That would be a tragedy.” He laughed. “So if kissing’s out, I guess cuddling’s off limits too, huh?”

  “Teague, I … What about Kirsten?”

  “Kirsten has nothing to do with us.”

  “Us?” There was an us? Shea’s heart raced.

  Teague crossed the room in three strides. He tugged her out of the chair and into his arms. “Us,” he said softly. “You and me.”

  “You and me?” Three whole syllables. Pretty good, considering that her brain had shorted out again.

  He pulled her into a tighter embrace, one hand cupping the back of her head while the other rested in the small of her back. She looked into his eyes and felt as if she were drowning in their smoky depths. Her heart drummed madly. She slid her hands up the hard muscles of his back and felt the shudder of his response.

  “I think I’m falling in love with you, Shea McKenzie.” His voice was a ragged whisper in her ear.

  Good thing, because I’m definitely falling in love with you, Teague Harris.

  This time when he kissed her, it was different, as if they’d pr
ogressed to another level of intimacy. This kiss offered a promise, a challenge, and a passionate intensity that was almost frightening.

  She gasped for breath when he released her. Her bloodstream was nine-tenths hormones. She couldn’t have framed a coherent sentence if her life had depended on it.

  “I want you, Shea, but you’re not sure yet, are you?” His eyes had darkened to charcoal. They burned into hers.

  “I …” she started, but the words refused to come. She clung to him desperately. “I—”

  “Shh.” Teague pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t say anything. It’s all right. I’m a patient man.” He pressed a final soft kiss to her forehead and was gone before she realized quite what had happened.

  A cold shower helped, but not much. Shea kept picturing Teague naked in the shower with her, naked in the hot tub, naked in her bed. She paced back and forth in front of the French doors, trying to calm her fevered emotions.

  Why had he left? That was the question that plagued her. She’d been ready to drop into his hands like a ripe peach. All right, so maybe there would have been some regrets in the morning, but it was a long time until morning.

  She paced some more, hoping the management wouldn’t bill her for the hole she was wearing in the carpet.

  A cold shower helped, but not much. Teague kept picturing Shea naked in the shower with him, naked in the shower with him, naked in the hot tub, naked in her bed. Dammit, why had he left? She’d been as aroused as he was. She wouldn’t have refused him.

  He sighed heavily. But she probably would have regretted her impulsive actions in the morning, and he didn’t want that.

  Too keyed up to sleep, he went for a swim. The icy water off the point soon chilled his fevered blood. He swam halfway to the island and back, until he was almost too tired to drag himself back up onto the dock and into bed.

  Shea slept restlessly and woke early. After grabbing a quick bite at the coffee shop, she set off for the island in the grayish light that accompanied the fog in the predawn chill. Traffic on the lake loop road was light, too early for both tourists and commuters.