Freefall

by RaeAnne Thayne

  Shaking her head at her overactive imagination, Sophie went to the walk-in closet that was larger than most of the world's dwellings. An entire extended family in some third-world country could live quite comfortably in a house the size of Shelly's closet.

  Peter's half of the closet held mostly crisp white shirts and suits in conservative grays and browns but her sister had always loved clothes. Her side of the closet reflected that. The colors were more muted than Sophie would have chosen but everything was tasteful and pretty.

  She pushed aside some elegant cocktail dresses to clear a space for her new clothes, dreading again the thought of having to deal with the entire contents of this closet. Perhaps she could store them in one of the other bedrooms of the house, just until her psyche healed enough that she could handle poring through her sister's things.

  She ought to transfer the clothes she'd brought to the closet as well, she decided. Perhaps clearing out her suitcase would be some subtle declaration to herself that she was staying, that somehow she and Thomas could make this shared custody of the children work after all.

  She found her suitcase where she'd left it, on a low, upholstered bench near the door to the balcony.

  The moment she opened it, her unease returned a hundredfold.

  Someone had been through her things. She knew it instantly.

  She had plenty of disarray in the rest of her life—she would be the first to admit that her wandering lifestyle didn't always lend itself to order—but her suitcase was one element where she insisted on strict organization. When she spent ten months out of every year traveling, well-structured packing became a necessity.

  She would never have left her things jumbled like this, with shirts unfolded and her lingerie strewn across her robe and one of her favorite leather boots separated from the other.

  This wasn't the way she had left it after she dressed that morning, she knew that with grim certainty. Somehow between the time she and the children had left for school and when she had returned from shopping, someone had gone through her suitcase.

  She frowned, trying to make sense of it. Why would anybody want to ruffle through her things? She had little of value in here. Her camera gear was top of the line and certainly worth a tidy sum but it was packed separately in padded titanium cases. The few all-purpose clothes she traveled with should have no interest to anyone.

  Who would possibly want to look through her suitcase? Beyond that, who would even have access to it? Only Mrs. Cope, the nurse and William, and what possible motive would any of them have?

  William. Perhaps he had gone wandering through the house and come in here for some reason, although she couldn't imagine the competent nurse giving him that kind of latitude. If he had come in here, why would he go through her suitcase and leave the rest of the room untouched?

  Or maybe not untouched.

  She looked carefully around the room and began to notice things she'd missed earlier. A drawer ajar, a few things rearranged on a shelf, a landscape askew on the wall.

  Maybe that's why she had been uneasy when she first came in. Though her conscious mind wasn't familiar enough with the room's contents to notice anything amiss, maybe her subconscious had been more acute.

  What should she do? Should she tell someone? Tom would think her crazy if she went to him about this, especially after the night before and her mysterious phantom intruder.

  She sat on the edge of the bed gnawing on her bottom lip. She had to let Tom know about this, even if he thought she was becoming paranoid. Something strange was going on at Seal Point and she owed it to her sister's memory to find out what.

  * * *

  How had his father and Peter survived this kind of thing day after endless day? Tom sat behind his brother's modern art sculpture of a desk, in his brother's gleaming chrome chair, and tried to to ignore the way his Hermes tie seemed to be strangling the life out of him.

  Here it was barely lunchtime and he was already desperate to escape the stifling atmosphere at Canfield.

  Across from him, Peter's assistant seemed to be turning the same power red as the tastefully folded handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket of his suit.

  "Your brother spent months working on this deal with Yamasaki," James Randall exclaimed. "If we back out now, we'll completely destroy a relationship he spent months cultivating."

  Tom gave him a cool look, working hard to swallow his dislike for the other man. Since he had arrived at Canfield that morning, Randall had done nothing but raise objections to every decision Tom tried to make.

  The man rubbed him wrong, from his artificially tight-jawed Ivy League drawl to his smooth two hundred-dollar haircut to his carefully manicured hands.

  "I never said anything about backing out. I said the company should take more time to study the issues before going through with it. In light of the recent deaths of Peter and Walter Marlowe, I'm sure they'll understand that Canfield is currently in a regrouping phase."

  A regrouping phase that was going to require extensive auditing to figure out what the hell Pete had been up to and why so much of the company's operating budget seemed to have vanished in the past few months.

  "This is a mistake. There's no reason we can't go forward with the deal, just as Peter would have wanted."

  "Margot and I agreed it would be prudent to wait until things are settled here at Canfield before going ahead with a deal that involves such a substantial amount of money."

  "Margot." The sneer in Randall's voice left no doubt in Tom's mind of the other man's opinion about the acting financial officer, Margot Henley. "What does she know? She's as conservative as Walter was."

  "Walter's conservative approach mirrored my father's. Together they built Canfield into the company it is today."

  "And your brother's willingness to take risks nearly doubled the profit margin in just a few years."

  And cost some of their investors their life savings when those risks had gone sour, Tom was learning. "I'm not my brother, Mr. Randall."

  "No. You're not." The implication was obvious—Tom could never hope to fill his brother's Bruno Maglis, in Randall's mind at least.

  "I'll repeat the objections I raised to the board of directors when they named you temporary CEO. Just because you have the right last name doesn't mean you should be the one running Canfield."

  For once, Tom couldn't have agreed more with the man, even as he longed fiercely to be up in his Dolphin where he could toss over dead weight like Randall.

  Before he decided the high-powered executive life wasn't for him, he had given in to his father's demands and obtained an MBA from Stanford, so he wasn't completely out of his league here at Canfield. He just had no desire to even step out onto the playing field.

  James Randall obviously thought he should be the one sitting in this uncomfortable chair, behind this monstrosity of a desk. Was he ambitious enough to kill the man who had been in his way? Tom wondered.

  "I'm sure the board of directors will take that into consideration when they meet to name a new chief executive officer in a few weeks. In the meantime, since my family still maintains seventy-five percent interest in the company, I suppose that gives me the final vote for now on things like the Yamasaki deal."

  Janine, his father's secretary for years and Pete's after that, buzzed in before Randall could voice further objections. "Mr. Canfield, you have a call on line two. A Sophie Beaumont."

  Sudden apprehension clutched at his stomach. Sophie never would have called him at the office unless something was wrong. "We can continue this conversation later," he told Randall.

  "What am I supposed to tell Sam Yamasaki?"

  "Exactly what I said earlier. Tell him to come back to us in a few weeks when things are a little more settled." At this point, with the mess Peter had left behind, that might take years rather than weeks but he wasn't about to tell Randall that.

  He picked up the phone as soon as the man had left the room. "What is it? Are the children all right?"


  There was a slight, startled pause on the other end of the line. "Yes. They're fine. At least I think so. I don't pick them up for another hour."

  Relief rushed through him and he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "My father, then?"

  "No. It's nothing like that. Everyone is fine. It's nothing, really. Stupid. I wasn't even going to tell you but then I thought you should know."

  "What's going on?"

  "Tom, I think someone's been in the house."

  He sighed. "Sophie, I thought we settled this last night. Whatever you saw, it couldn't have been an intruder. I spoke with the security company this morning and the computers haven't recorded any abnormal breaches in the system."

  "I'm talking about this morning. After I took the children to school I ran some errands in town and was gone for perhaps three or four hours. When I returned, I found things I believe are out of place in Peter and Shelly's room and my suitcase has obviously been searched."

  He leaned back in what had to be the most uncomfortable chair in the building, all bony angles and awkward lines. It didn't surprise him at all that Pete had been willing to sacrifice comfort for fashion. "Did you ask Mrs. Cope if she cleaned there? Perhaps she was looking for laundry."

  "In a closed and zippered suitcase? She's certainly efficient but I can't believe she's that efficient."

  "But did you ask her? She's the only one besides Maura and my father with access to the house."

  "No. I thought it best to talk to you first to see if you want me to contact the police."

  "The police? Why would you do that? Is something missing?"

  "Nothing of mine, as far as I can tell, but I don't know whether anything is missing in the house. I don't really know enough about Seal Point or its contents to know for sure. Tom, I thought perhaps this could be linked to Peter and Shelly's deaths."

  Damn the FBI for raising all these fears in a woman who had always showed a reckless disregard for her own safety when it came to her photos. He still broke out in a cold sweat when he remembered the time he had taken her down Highway 1 to photograph the Point Sur lighthouse and she had decided to crouch on the lip of an eight-hundred-foot cliff in heavy winds for a better shot.

  "I don't think we need to bring the police in at this point. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for it. Talk to Mrs. Cope and maybe Maura first. See what they have to say first before we do anything else."

  She was silent for a moment. "Okay," she finally said. "I'll talk to them. You're probably right, I'm probably being paranoid. I'm sorry to bother you about this, especially when I know how hectic things must be there."

  "Don't worry about it. It's good to talk to someone not in a business suit for a moment."

  Though he had a thousand things awaiting his attention, he was loathe to hang up. It was the strangest thing. Talking with her—with Sophie, of all people—he felt centered, at peace, for the first time all day.

  "The children made it to school all right?"

  "Yes. Ali was nervous about how her friends would treat her but we talked it over and I think she was able to figure out how to go on."

  "I wish she didn't have to deal with all this. She's just a little girl."

  "I know. But she's strong. They're all strong, Thomas. It will take a while but they'll begin to heal."

  What would he have done if she hadn't come back? She had such wisdom and strength toward the children. He never would have expected Sophie to be such a natural at caring for them but she was warm and serene. Maternal.

  He pictured her the evening before, the children in their pajamas and Sophie kneeling with them by the bed as they said quiet prayers for their parents. He never would have thought of doing such a thing but he was sure the ritual had been comforting for the children.

  How could he persuade her to stay? The children needed her. She had to know that, but would it be enough?

  He needed her here. He closed his eyes, remembering their erotic encounter in the darkened hallway. Her welcoming mouth and her soft skin and her eager response. He could quickly become addicted to her, just as he'd been a decade ago.

  He jerked his mind from that dangerous road. If she decided to leave again, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

  "I'll be home late. Tell Mrs. Cope not to hold dinner for me," he said, more abruptly than he'd intended.

  "Okay." She sounded startled by his harsh tone. "Sorry again that I bothered you."

  She had been bothering him for a decade, he finally admitted to himself as he hung up the phone.

  For ten years, Sophie Beaumont had been the one woman he could never quite forget, no matter how hard he tried.

  Chapter 11

  Sophie checked her watch as she headed outside into the cool November afternoon.

  She had twenty minutes to talk to Maura McMurray before she had to leave for afternoon pickup at the school in Carmel. That ought to give her just enough time to determine whether William might somehow have wandered into her room and looked through her suitcase, since Mrs. Cope claimed she didn't know anything about it.

  She found them digging in a flowerbed out front, a small pile of what she thought might be tulip bulbs next to them.

  William had dirt ground into the knees of his khakis and what looked like a mustard stain on his golf shirt but he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. His face glowed with color and he was smiling more broadly than she'd ever seen him do.

  There was something heartwrenching, poignant, about his transparent joy in being outside in the cool sunshine. He was like a gleeful child, just happy to be alive and outdoors.

  William stopped digging long enough to lift his face to the sky and she wondered if Tom would be offended if she asked to photograph William out here where he seemed so happy.

  She wasn't sure she would ever dare ask but if she did, she knew any photographs she captured would be among the most moving she had ever taken.

  She walked closer and was surprised when William turned his smile at her. "Shelly. There you are. Peter was looking for you earlier."

  "He…he was?" As usual, she didn't have the first idea how to handle his delusions.

  "Yes. I told him you probably went shopping. I know how much you like to shop. He said he would find you later."

  Before she could answer, the nurse interceded. "Look, William. We have all these tulip bulbs to plant and it's almost time to go inside. We'd better hurry."

  He immediately turned back to the garden, digging quickly with the hand spade he held.

  With William occupied, the nurse walked over to Sophie. "I'm sorry about that, Ms. Beaumont. I suppose I should correct him, remind him again that Peter and Shelly are gone. But he gets so agitated whenever I bring up the accident. I hate to put him through it over and over. It seems easier to let him go on believing everything is still all right."

  "If it gives him some comfort to think I'm Shelly, I don't mind. And please, call me Sophie."

  The nurse's plump features creased into a smile. "Sophie. And I'm Maura."

  Sophie watched William place a tulip bulb in the hole he had dug with the care of a heart surgeon precisely implanting a pacemaker then he carefully tamped dirt around it. "He seems to enjoy being out here."

  "We try to spend a little time every day outside. It's funny. According to his sons, Mr. Canfield was never one for gardening before the disease hit him. Never had the time, I guess. But this seems to be a kind of therapy for him now. When we don't come out because of the weather or doctor visits, he frets and stews all day about his flowers until he can come out again to make sure everything is all right."

  "You're very good with him."

  "It's not always easy but I enjoy it. Before this job, I worked in a nursing home wing that had a hundred patients. Now that was tough duty. It was so difficult to really get to know any of them with my shift constantly changing. It's truly been a unique experience to be able to devote all my time to just one patient."

 
; The woman was dedicated and caring. How could Sophie possibly ask her if she might have let Tom's father wander around the house at will? She tried to figure out how to bring up the question but couldn't find any words that didn't sound accusatory or distrustful.

  At her continued silence, the nurse gave her a concerned look. "Is something wrong?"

  "I don't know. I need to ask you something. But to be honest, I'm not sure how to begin."

  "Just go ahead and ask."

  She took a deep breath and finally blurted out the question. "Was there any chance William might have had reason to go into Peter and Shelly's room this morning?"

  Maura gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. "Oh, no. Did he break something? I'm so sorry, Ms. Beaumont. Sophie. I'll pay for whatever he might have gotten into."

  "So he could have been in there?"

  "Yes. He was watching his favorite game show in the media room. Usually he's completely engrossed in it and barely even blinks so I took a moment to talk with JoAnn in the kitchen. Mrs. Cope," she added at Sophie's blank look.

  "I talked to her for maybe ten minutes," the nurse continued, "but when I walked in to check on William he was gone. I found him in the upstairs hallway. He was very excited, going on and on about Peter again. It took me so long to calm him down that I didn't think to check the bedrooms for damage. I'm so sorry."

  "He didn't break anything." She rushed to allay the other woman's obvious distress. "I just found some things disturbed and was trying to figure out what might have happened. No harm done at all."

  What a relief! All this worry for nothing. She should have asked Maura first instead of rushing to Tom with her paranoid concerns that an intruder had searched her things.

  Now she wished that she'd kept her mouth shut, especially after the abrupt way he had ended their phone conversation, as if he couldn't wait to be done talking to her.

  "I am sorry, Sophie," the nurse said again. "It won't happen again, I promise. I'll watch him every moment."

  "You can't be on duty twenty-four hours a day."

  "Oh, I'm not. I'll admit, things have been a little hectic this week with the funeral and all but it's usually not so crazy. Another nurse from the agency comes once a week on my day off. Before she died, your sister helped quite a bit and even before he moved into the house, Thomas used to come several evenings a week to stay with his father."