The Good Die Twice

by Lee Driver

  Edie laughed again. “Innocence and modesty. Quite a rarity around these halls.”

  Sara noticed a look in Edie’s eyes that seemed amused at Sara’s discomfort even if her words chastised Sheila’s behavior. Sara self-consciously ran her hands down the front of her dress, as if keeping the chiffon layers from swaying would make her dress appear more informal.

  “The table seems set for a formal dinner.”

  “The Tylers don’t know the meaning of informal. Although Sheila looks casually dressed in that swatch of fabric she calls a top and those low-riding flared pants, the outfit cost over five hundred dollars. And those straw-colored matching sandals set her back, oh, I’d say about one hundred dollars.”

  Numerous gold bangled bracelets clanged on Edie’s wrist as she raised her wine glass to her lips. Sara didn’t know how she did it, but Edie didn’t leave a lipstick smudge on the glass. Her green eyes were an unusual color, a vibrant kelly green.

  “You have nice eyes.” Sara felt a compliment might do wonders to win her a supporter.

  The gold bangles clanged again as Edie fluffed a hand through her hair. “Green today, blue tomorrow. I have a drawer full of every color in the rainbow.”

  Sara glanced at Edie’s nails. “It must be hard to put them in.”

  Edie shrugged. “That’s what maids are for.”

  Sara caught the look again, subtle but transparent enough for even Sara to read it. Arrogance. There was probably a feminine way of being arrogant without flashing it the way Stu Hardaway did.

  They stared out toward a river in the distance. It came right up to the Tyler property where several boats were moored. Amazing what money could buy, Sara thought. Tyler had his own river and access to the lake without ever having to trailer his boat to the marina.

  “It must be tough being the only woman in the house,” Sara said. “I mean, since Rachel Tyler passed away.” Edie arched a picture-perfect eyebrow but said nothing. Sara plodded on. “I saw the family portraits yesterday when I was upstairs. Nick explained who everyone was. She is...was...beautiful.” Sara forced a smile. “I bet she drove Sheila crazy, too.”

  Edie finally smiled. “Probably for the first time in her life Sheila was intimidated. With Robert and Leyton being so close, Sheila considered herself the adopted daughter of Robert Tyler, the anointed little sister to Eric and big sister to Nicholas. Then Rachel comes on the scene, twenty-eight years Robert’s junior, a couple of years older than Sheila. She had the attention of every man who laid eyes on her. A thousand-dollar-an-hour model. She had it all.” Edie took a long sip of wine and studied Sara curiously. “Now, ask yourself. Why would a young woman who had more than enough admirers and could have her pick of any man, pick an old fart like Robert Tyler?”

  Sara shrugged. “Maybe she loved him.”

  Edie jerked her head back and laughed aloud, a very unfeminine, raucous laugh that pierced the humid air. She placed a hand heavy with numerous rings on Sara’s shoulder and squeezed. “Sweetheart, you are so naive.” She was still laughing as the dinner bell rang and they seated themselves around the table.

  Robert Tyler sat at the head of the table looking very much like a king. A paisley ascot hugged his neck, tucked dapperly under a starched white shirt. Gold cuff links shaped like anchors peeked out from under his navy sportscoat. His hair was thick, a pleasant blend of gray and brown accented by strands of silver. His nails were manicured, hands smooth and unscarred.

  Sara liked his voice. It was smooth and gentle. She could understand why a woman like Rachel would be attracted to him.

  “Nicholas, who is your beautiful friend...this week?” Robert laughed at his own joke, and—as is typical of a lord of the kingdom—the subjects followed suit. Robert’s gray eyes twinkled.

  Nick rested his arm across the back of Sara’s chair, the sleeve of his white poet’s shirt softly touching her hair. “This is Sara, Dad. Sara Morningsky.”

  “You have beautiful features, Dear.” The woman seated to Robert’s left was Leyton Monroe’s wife, Anna. A nest of platinum curls rested on top of her head. “What nationality are you, Sara?”

  Sara blinked quickly and glanced across the table at Dagger. “I’m pretty much a mixture, really.” The less said the better, Dagger always told her.

  Several waiters set platters of food on the table. Robert stabbed a filet mignon and passed the platter to Sara. “Let me guess,” he said. “I bet you have some Arapaho, Shoshoni, maybe even Apachi. The nose isn’t right for Blackfoot.” He stared at Sara, his gaze taking in the shape of her eyes, her cheekbones. “If I were a betting man, I’d say you had some mythical Anasazi genes in you.”

  “But blue-green eyes, Dear?” Anna chirped again. “That certainly can’t be from your Native American heritage.”

  “Actually, there was a Navaho princess back in the eighteen hundreds who was known as Blue Eyes. Although,” Sara admitted, “I have never traced my family tree.”

  “Well, maybe you should, Dear.”

  Sara stared at the pool of blood surrounding the filets. Her stomach did a flop. She swallowed hard and passed the platter to Nicholas. She passed the next platter of venison and added more salad to her plate.

  “Please,” Leyton bellowed, “let’s not talk about Native Americans. I have enough problems fighting your people for fishing rights in Wisconsin.”

  Sara felt the hair at the nape of her neck rise. She saw Anna place her hand on Leyton’s plump arm but one scowl from him had her removing it immediately. His eyes, surrounded by folds of skin, appeared cold and unfriendly.

  “We get limited on the number of fish we can catch,” Leyton continued, “but YOUR people have no limits. They even hunt with bow and arrow.” He reached across the table and stabbed a filet off the platter before Nick had a chance to pass the platter to Edie. He dropped it on his plate splattering red juice on his shirt. Anna promptly dipped her linen napkin in her water glass and tried to dab the blood off Leyton’s shirt. “I don’t know who’s draining the government coffers more—you people or the blacks. My tax dollars at work,” he muttered. “We should have wiped all Indians off the face of the earth.”

  “LEYTON,” Anna yelled, her scorn falling on deaf ears.

  Sara scooped mashed potatoes onto her plate and in a quiet voice countered, “I believe YOUR people already tried that.” She heard a chuckle from Robert and Nick. And out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dagger smiling approvingly.

  Leyton raised his hand to one of the waiters and ordered a scotch and water.

  “Leyton, put a sock in it,” Edie blurted. “This is Nick’s birthday. If anyone is allowed to make a fool of himself, it should be Nicholas.”

  “Here, here.” Robert raised his wine glass. “To Nicholas. May he someday stop trying to find himself and settle in at Tyler International.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Your little secretary eats like a bird. I take it she’s a vegetarian since she turned green when she saw the filets.” Sheila leaned against the bar between Dagger and Eric. Nick was opening gifts at the far end of the dining room table. Edie and Anna sat nearby sampling the desserts. Sara sat across from Nick drinking a cup of tea.

  The staff had cleared the table and reset it with fresh linen. The credenza near the French doors had been set up with desserts, coffee, and hot water. The opposite side of the room looked like a library with a wall of bookshelves and a number of upholstered chairs surrounding an octagon-shaped coffee table.

  Dagger sighed heavily. “She has a name, Sheila. And, no, she’s not a vegetarian. She eats chicken and fish. It’s red meat she doesn’t like.”

  “There are a lot of people who don’t like red meat.” Eric set his empty beer bottle on the bar. Eric had two of his mother’s patented traits—a one-inch white streak of hair at his temple and eyes which were a little too small and close together. Although he was taller, Eric wasn’t as muscular as his father and brother. He turned to Sheila. “Have you and Dagger set another wedding date yet
?”

  “You’ll have to ask Dagger.” Sheila ran her hand down the lapel of Dagger’s jacket.

  Dagger set his beer bottle on the bar and excused himself. He located Robert by the credenza pouring a cup of coffee. Dagger did the same. Edie and Anna howled with laughter at something Nick said. Just a small family gathering, the way Robert Tyler insisted.

  Dagger studied the pictures on the wall. More family portraits and another close-up portrait of Rachel. Pulling out a computer composite picture of Rachel, the detective said, “She was beautiful.”

  “Yes, she was,” Robert replied.

  “I saw Rachel’s picture upstairs in the hallway yesterday.”

  Robert took a sip of coffee and eyed Dagger curiously, then looked at the printout. “Yes?”

  “It’s a pretty good likeness, don’t you think?”

  Robert studied the printout. “Where did you get it?”

  “I have a new client who told me she saw this woman Thursday night at the Dunes Resort.”

  Robert’s hand trembled and he set the cup and saucer down quickly, spilling coffee on the credenza. “Rachel...ALIVE?”

  Talking dulled to a low hum, then ceased. Eric and Sheila joined the group at the table.

  Stepping from the balcony, Leyton demanded, “What do you mean Rachel is alive?”

  Robert swiped a hand through his hair and staggered to the table where he slowly lowered himself into a chair.

  Dagger took a seat next to him. “I was hoping to discuss this privately with you.”

  “I should have known you would be the one bringing these tall tales.” Leyton pulled back his shoulders and fixed a twisted smile on Dagger.

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Anna flitted over as fast as her short legs could carry her. She plopped down into the chair next to Robert and patted his arm sympathetically.

  “Can we go to your study and discuss this?” Dagger actually had no problem discussing it publicly. Sara’s job was to watch everyone’s reaction.

  “A little late for that,” Leyton blurted, walking off in a huff to fix another drink. But he returned quickly.

  “She can’t be alive. After all this time.” Robert gladly accepted the drink Leyton brought him.

  “I didn’t say she was alive. I said I had a client who saw someone who looked like her.” Dagger placed the printout on the table. “My client says she witnessed the woman’s murder.”

  Leyton paced the marble floor as if it were his own relative he were hearing about. “Preposterous!”

  “I, I don’t understand,” Robert stammered.

  “It can’t be Rachel,” Anna said. “If she were alive, she would have contacted Robert. Where would she have been all this time?”

  “Who is this client?” Edie demanded. “We have a right to know.”

  Eric chimed in. “The police have a right to know.”

  “Preposterous!” Leyton mumbled again. “Don’t listen to him, Robert. Dagger has a habit of working the most outrageous cases, the weirder, the better.”

  Sheila slid close to Dagger, saying, “Honey, is this witness reliable?”

  Dagger half turned and leveled an icy stare. Sheila backed off and found refuge next to her father.

  “The witness is reliable in spite of the fact that we never found a body. The only proof I have that the victim might have been your wife is an earring I found at the murder scene.”

  CHAPTER 14

  “Your boss certainly knows how to bring a quick close to a party.” Nick led Sara into a room in the East Wing.

  “I’m sorry if it ruined your birthday.” Sara stopped when she saw the king-sized bed. Nick had led her to his bedroom. Strange-looking artifacts hung from the walls alongside colorful maps. The room wasn’t as large as Sara’s bedroom. She was surprised. And his taste in decor leaned toward safari with animal print draperies and bedspread. It was vintage Nick, seeing how much traveling he had done in his young life.

  “No problem. Old folks are kinda boring anyway.” He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it over the horn of a rhino jutting out from the wall behind the door. “Don’t worry,” Nick said tossing a nod toward the rhino. “It was a road kill.” A crater-sized dimple formed in Nick’s cheek as he smiled and winked. He made no move to put on another shirt.

  Alarms rang in Sara’s head. She looked back at the closed door, feeling imprisoned without escape. Her eyes darted nervously around the room. “Would it surprise you any if Rachel had been alive all this time?”

  Nick appeared to space out, staring at nothing in particular, his thoughts occupied. Just as quickly, he jerked his head up, smiled, and moved slowly toward her, lifting her hair and moving it behind her shoulder. “I find it highly unlikely,” Nick finally replied. “She loved playing queen of the castle, and I don’t think she would have wasted one minute settling back into her role.” His gaze moved down to Sara’s chest, his smile broadened.

  Sara looked down to see her nipples hard and protruding. No wonder Dagger always lectured her to wear underwear. The air conditioning had been pumping full force, even downstairs in the dining room. Now she wondered if her lack of underwear had been apparent in front of the Tylers and Leytons. She felt the color rush to her cheeks. She turned away, walked toward the patio doors. But Nick settled a tight grip around her waist.

  She wasn’t sure what Nick had on his mind but his hold on her was anything but friendly. Sara panicked. Her elbow found the spot just below his rib cage. While he was temporarily stunned, she hiked up her dress, turned, and high kicked him in the chest before throwing him over her shoulder.

  Nick landed with a thud, his head thumping against the leg of a rattan throne chair. He lay still for several seconds, staring up at the ceiling, as if mentally checking that all his bones were intact. Then he broke out in a high-pitched giggle.

  “Goddamn.” Nick giggled again, propping himself up on one elbow. “Hey, I didn’t know you liked it rough.”

  Sara fled, opening the door and tearing down the hallway. She could hear Nick yelling after her, “Hey, I was only kidding.”

  Sara turned down another hall and found refuge in a vestibule. Overhead track lighting shone down on a painting of three nude women taking a bath. Voices echoed down the hall, growing louder, approaching but then turning away. Sara peered around the corner and saw the two men from the Dunes Resort, the men who had killed Rachel Tyler. They were with another man who was built like a refrigerator, rock hard. She could almost feel the floor shake as they walked.

  She pulled back against the wall, then just before the door near the end of the hall closed, she glanced at it again. And from the direction she had fled, she heard Nick calling out her name.

  “Sara, I’m sorry. Please, let me make it up to you.”

  His voice was getting closer. With her shoulders pressed against the wall, she held her breath, hoping Nick wasn’t looking for her down this hall. Dagger’s words came back to her. “Have you ever been on a date?” Maybe she shouldn’t have remained silent. Maybe she should have told him the only thing she knew about romance was what she had seen in the movie theatres.

  It was her grandmother who had insisted Sara go to the movies. She thought it would be good for her. Sometimes she would sit through three movies. She didn’t know any of the actors and hadn’t read any movie reviews. Once, she found herself in a movie with the words flashing across the bottom of the screen. What the actors were doing on screen was shocking but she would have been more embarrassed to run out of the show. So she stayed and listened to the people panting in the audience. She had been too embarrassed to tell her grandmother. But her grandmother must have suspected because soon after she had a woman-to-woman talk with her about the birds and the bees.

  Sara would watch people on dates at the show, at the beach, or walking in the park. The only thing that seemed to have prepared her for this was Dagger’s self-defense lessons. She didn’t think romance was supposed to necessitate self-defense.

  Sh
e heard Nick call her name again, but his voice was fading. He was moving away. Sara made her way to the end of the hall. Leaning against a door, she heard voices. The door to the adjacent room was open. It was a bedroom, immense, with a fireplace, dressing table, and a lounge chair that looked like something out of a Cleopatra movie. Two carpeted stairs led up to a four-poster bed covered in a floral bedspread. Floral pillows had been generously tossed against the headboard.

  Sara closed the bedroom door and stared at a huge portrait of Rachel hanging over the fireplace. Moving closer, Sara could see why men were enamored with the woman. Her beauty was flawless.

  The sun was setting in the distance, casting a strange orange glow to the landscape. Hoping the balconies connected the rooms, Sara stepped outside only to discover the balcony to the adjacent room was more than forty feet away. She tried to listen for voices but too many conflicting noises were coming from the animals and birds in the nearby trees.

  Sara had no choice but to kick off her shoes. Now she understood the downside to wearing nylons.

  The change was quick. Sara rarely had to think long about it. Just a slight focus and the dress fell away, discarded, as much a nuisance as the nylons. The gray hawk took flight, landing on the railing of the adjacent balcony, its sturdy talons clinging tightly. Its feathers ruffled in the mild breeze and the setting sun wrapped the hawk in warmth. Its eyesight and hearing were keen, just as they had been the night Rachel was murdered.

  Sara Morningsky was a shape-shifter. Once thought only to be the subject of tall tales told by the elders about men who would shift into wolves and prey upon livestock or unsuspecting men, Sara knew firsthand that a shape-shifter was anything but a myth. Nor was it a curse. Sara’s grandmother had always called it a gift. Sara could shift into a gray hawk or gray wolf. And even in her human form she possessed the keen senses of the hawk and wolf.