She awoke. Heart racing, she listened to the stillness. A contented snore proclaimed that her nightmare hadn’t invaded Link’s dreams.
Adam. The notes had started the morning after their first argument, and granted, he’d denied writing but hadn’t she always thought he was so embarrassed by the whimsy that he’d lied? She’d seen a body, which had been identified as his. Logic told her that Adam could not be the writer, yet he was the only possibility. He was also the only man who had looked at her twice. Too bad that what had initially attracted him had been her professional sounding research papers.
Which months was he referring to? What guile? Did Adam mean he thought she’d caused the fire or was he referring to something she’d written for him?
She had not set the fire. Despite her twisted ankle, she’d wanted to check the machines; he had insisted on going, so she could go put her foot up and get back to work on the paper he needed her to finish to get approval to extend their grant.
And he’d died for his efforts.
If her stalker was indeed her husband, and he’d miraculously survived the explosion, it was far more likely that he’d faked his own death.
But why?
And if Adam hadn’t died, who had? There certainly weren’t many people around to toast as a decoy, so if it had been someone besides her husband, it had probably been planned.
She hadn’t planned to wreck her ankle, so how could he have planned the timing? Jacqueline frowned with the effort of holding in her frustration.
Granted, their marriage had its low points, but they’d worked well together. She’d accepted the lack of romance in their relationship, and Adam had appeared to appreciate her contributions to the success of their project.
What did he want? The life insurance? He could have it all, if he’d just leave her alone and figure out a way to prove that it hadn’t been suicide, so he could claim it. If that wasn’t an oxymoron! Jacqueline raised her right hand and looked at her palm. The shadows hid the circular scar where the heat from the lab’s doorknob had seared her flesh.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember. Was there any chance Adam could have gotten out of the lab or taken someone else inside? There might have been time. But why hadn’t he come forward before now? And who had died? Where had they come from and how had they gotten into the lab and why? Had Adam needed to hide from someone? Had he really faked his own death, or was her imagination going wild?
Had someone already been in the lab and attacked him?
She’d been focused on getting to the house without falling and her back had been turned to the lab, could someone have followed him in?
The Coroner had identified Adam by his dental records. If Adam had switched the records, then he’d definitely planned the fire and killed someone else in some twisted, evil plot. She shuddered. That did not sound like something her unimaginative husband would have done. But it could certainly be the foul deed of whoever left her the messages.
If her stalker wasn’t Adam, who was he?
Coffee would taste good.
Jacqueline frowned at the thought and wondered why she should crave something that upset her stomach. She tried to ignore the idea, but the lure was so strong that she could taste the coffee.
Her nose quivered. She could smell it.
Jacqueline glanced at Link. Though his eyelashes fluttered, it appeared more of a response to a dream than playing ’possum.
Quietly, Jacqueline wiped away her tears, then she eased out of her sleeping bag. She bit her lower lip with the effort of keeping slow and quiet as she unzipped the flap.
As she moved the fabric aside, she glanced back to see if she’d disturbed Link. He gave a soft snore through his wrinkled nose. Cautiously, Jacqueline crawled out the opening.
The early morning sun made her squint while her eyes adjusted from the tent’s dim light. The sandbar they were camped on looked the same as it had the previous evening, with one exception: someone had unbanked the fire.
At the sight of the small flickering flames Jacqueline’s stomach lurched. Then she noticed the coffeepot perking contentedly at its edge. Link must have gotten up earlier, prepared it, than gone back to sleep.
Though it was a great explanation, she didn’t believe a word of it.
She scanned the surrounding area, but nothing stirred. Steeling her nerves, she stood up, straightened her back and walked toward the fire.
“Slept in, did you?” The deep, gruff voice from behind her made it feel as if her heart had leapt into her throat and formed a quivering, solid mass. Praying that she wouldn’t disgrace herself, Jacqueline slowly turned. A shaggy man was sitting on a bank roughly fifty feet away. The bough of a stunted diamond willow shadowed his face and untamed beard. She felt more than saw his eyes peering at her from beneath the wide brim of his grimy hat.
Unless it was artificial, Adam couldn’t have grown so much hair since the fire — could he? “Who are you?” she demanded.
“You know me.”
Jacqueline clamped her teeth together and counted. One, her left foot took a step toward him. Two, the other foot took a step. Three, she was sick and tired of this game of his. Four, she did a double pace. When she hit ten, she was halfway to where he had been, but with every step she’d taken, he’d slid backward into the grove of twisted trees. Planting her feet, Jacqueline put her hands on her hips and glared at the shadow figure. “If I knew who you were, I wouldn’t ask.”
“Better back up. You know the rules.” He eased to his feet and looked ready to run.
“Don’t you dare leave.” He stopped moving. “I’ve wanted to meet you face to face for three years.”
Shadows hid his entire upper body. “If you take this to court, I’ll make sure they know you were the one that broke the rules.”
“Fine. So be it.” She paused. “What rules?”
“The restraining order.”
“What restraining order? Who are you?”
“Jacqueline, who are you talking to?” Link demanded.
She was afraid if she took her eyes off him, her stalker would use the opportunity to disappear. “My stalker; and guess what, he says there are rules for this.”
“Are you referring to me?” the deep bass voice in the shadow asked.
“Until you give me a name, I don’t know anything better to call you.” He backed away until he came up against an impenetrable wall of trunks.
“You don’t move like Adam.” Jacqueline took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure. Link came up behind her and placed his left hand on her shoulder. It helped regulate her breathing. “Look, whoever you are, I’m sorry for shouting at you. Thank you for fixing the coffee. Won’t you please join us? You and I need to talk to each other, not shout.”
“What is this about a restraining order?” Link asked.
“I’ve never heard of one.” The shaggy man stood up uncertainly and took a step toward them, so she felt safe in turning away. “How about it? Will you join us and explain about these supposed rules and this restraining order and this list of – stuff – that you keep asking for? I have a lot of things I would like to speak to you about.”
The shadow stood quietly for so long Jacqueline thought he’d turned to stone. When he finally spoke, his voice was much gentler. “You sound different than I remember.”
“How?”
“You look shorter and skinnier, too. Maybe it’s because of the angle.”
“Please come down,” she said. “I like to see people’s faces when I talk to them. Please? We won’t hurt you.” Slowly, the shadow began to move forward. Link’s hand tightened on her shoulder. By the time her stalker came to a stumbling stop halfway to them, Link’s fingers dug into her flesh so hard that she knew there would be a row of circular bruises if he didn’t relax. Jacqueline placed her hand on top of Link’s.
“You said you hated my face after the fire.” The bass voice sounded confused. “You couldn’t stand looking at the scars.”
; “I don’t remember ever saying that to anyone.”
“You know better than that.”
“Are you Adam?”
“You took up with him after you dumped me. It wasn’t until he incinerated that I realized you’d burned me, too.”
“Adam is the only man I ever dated and I certainly did not burn him or anyone else,” Jacqueline protested.
“Is that your story? Is that why you told the police all those lies?”
“Who are you?”
“Ray Capolucho.”
“Well, Mr. Capolucho, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Where did you meet Jacqueline?” Link asked.
“Hawaii. Watching Kilauea erupt.”
“Kilauea?” She shook her head.
“Don’t you remember? At first, I couldn’t tell if you were wrought up with love of lava or just too upset to live.” His voice faltered as he stared at her with his odd, unblinking eyes.
Jacqueline’s skin crawled. “I’ve never been near a volcano. At least not an erupting one. And I’ve never been in Hawaii.” Her hands balled into fists and she took a step toward him. Her stalker took a step backward. Jamming her clenched hands into her pockets, she began a slow, silent, calming count. With each number, she took a deliberate step toward him.
One. Half the buttons from his shirt were missing.
Two. One huge, bushy eyebrow nearly covered his forehead.
Three. His eyes were an odd shade of green.
Four. The breeze gusted and her nose wrinkled at the pungent, unwashed smell.
Five. His scraggly beard didn’t hide his grimy skin.
Six. He had burns on his face; that must be why the whiskers didn’t grow evenly.
Seven. His right hand was badly scarred, too.
Eight. Wow, did he need a bath!
Nine. The scars reminded Jacqueline of the ones she had on her own palm.
Ten. His body language bespoke terror.
Jacqueline came to a halt and watched him for a sign that he might attack her; instead, his unblinking eyes began to register blank confusion. “You aren’t Jacqueline. What have you done with her?”
“I am Jacqueline. If you doubt my word, I’ll introduce you to my grandmother.”
The man began to shake. “Is she a small white haired spitfire?”
“Yes.” Jacqueline raised her voice over Link’s belly laugh. “That would describe her.”
The stranger studied her intently. “Did you hurt her?”
“I would never hurt my grandmother.”
“My Jackie.”
“Oh. Of course not.” She massaged her temples and breathed in the scent of coffee, hoping something would help her figure out who the man was jabbering about. She sighed. “How could I hurt your Jackie? I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Jacqueline leaned closer as she tried to see past the matted hair and grime to see if she could identify anyone familiar. Another gust of wind brought his stench. Stronger this time. Involuntarily, she wrinkled her nose.
“Mr. Cap— ” She frowned. “What did you say your name was?”
“Cap O lew cho.”
“Right, Capolucho. Would you like some coffee?” Had he doctored it when he made it? Poisoned it? Even if he hadn’t, her stomach rebelled at the idea. How could something smell so good and taste so terrible? But if drinking the crud was what it took to figure out what was going on, she’d drink a gallon of it.
Slowly, Capolucho edged around her and shuffled to the tiny fire. Reaching into a baggy pocket, he brought out a grimy metal mug and filled it. Jacqueline crossed her eyes and pinched her nose. Then, before he saw her reaction, she pasted a smile on her face.
After getting her own mug, she poured herself some coffee and sat upwind. It didn’t help much, but it was better than downwind.
Link went to their food chest and got the makings for breakfast. He approached the fire. “You two have a lot to talk over. I’ll start breakfast.”
Capolucho looked at the food in Link’s hands. A tiny rivulet of drool trickled through his unkempt beard. How long it had been since the man had eaten a decent meal? Had he been surviving on beans? She shifted another inch upwind. “We can wait to talk until after we’ve eaten.”
Capolucho tore his gaze away from the food and shook his head. “No, I need to know where I lost my Jackie. Was it Valdez? How’d I end up following you?”
“I have no idea.” She asked a question of her own. “Why did you start sending me those notes after I started working at Envirohab?”
His eyes widened. “That was you?” She nodded. “You mean I’ve been— ” Unable to finish the thought, he put his hand to his forehead and his sleeve shifted to reveal a forearm covered with horrible scars that could only have been made by fire.
Her stomach turned.
22
Link poured himself a cup of coffee, then raised it to his lips as he watched Jacqueline treat Capolucho like an honored guest, instead of a guy who acted like a basket case and looked worse. Just as he was about to sip, a malevolent odor nearly asphyxiated him. What had the man put in the pot? Ten-year-old gym socks?
Jacqueline lifted her cup, sipped, then quickly set the cup aside, her face looked chalk white. “It’s a bit hot for me.” Link put his untasted brew down and hoping to appear casual, he moved behind Jacqueline, placed his hands on her shoulders to help support her, then began to knead the knotted muscles in her neck. Her color slowly returned.
Glancing at the direction of her gaze he saw the horrible scarring that covered Capolucho’s hands and arms and wondered if the coffee or disfigurement had turned her stomach.
Link patted her back. “Can I talk you into making a batch of your muffins?” She leaned back against his hands and he massaged the knotted muscles some more. He turned to Capolucho.
“Jacqueline is a gourmet cook when it comes to wilderness survival.”
“My Jackie couldn’t cook,” he mumbled.
Link nodded. “Not too many women can. They’ve become too reliant on prepackaged dinners.” The tense flesh slowly relaxed. She placed her left hand on top of his right one, stilling the motion, then turned her head and kissed his finger.
He felt the gentle touch of her lips all they way up his arm. With his left thumb, he stroked her neck.
She trembled.
He inhaled.
“I’ll go see if I can find some berries.” She hurried away, tripping over her mug and spilling the contents in the process. “Ooops!” She bent down to grab the mug, but in an uncharacteristically clumsy movement spilled all the contents. “Oh, no.” She made a frantic gesture; her elbow hit the pot; it tipped alarmingly, but Capolucho grabbed the handle before a second spill occurred. “I’m so sorry. I must be nervous about finally meeting you. I’m really not this clumsy normally.”
“It’s only coffee,” Capolucho said. “You didn’t burn yourself, did you?” She shook her head.
Link glanced from the mug to Jacqueline to Capolucho to the steaming pot. He doubted that Capolucho realized her ‘accident’ hadn’t been a mistake. Link went back to his breakfast preparations, finished slicing the leftover baked potatoes for hash browns, then took the coffeepot off the embers and put the frying pan in its place. Capolucho studied him intently, so he didn’t dare a second ‘accidental spill’. Link added bacon to the heated pan.
“How long have you known her?” Capolucho jerked his shaggy head toward the clump of blueberry bushes.
“I’ve known members of the family about ten or eleven years,” Link said.
Capolucho grunted. “Think its odd there being two Jacqueline Cardews?” Before Link could answer, Capolucho cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted at Jacqueline, who was hunkered down next to a knee-high bush, “You are Jacqueline Cardew, aren’t you?” Mouth outlined in blue, she merely nodded. “Don’t know how I connected with the wrong one,” Capolucho muttered.
Was the man was making up his tale as some sort of cover up for his actions? Nothing el
se made sense. “How do you think you came to follow the wrong one so long?” Link asked. Capolucho shrugged. Dirt fell from his beard and landed in his mug, but the man drank it, dirt and all. Link gave the bacon much more attention than it actually required and tried to figure out a way to accidentally tip the coffeepot.
After several minutes of awkward silence, Jacqueline returned and began mixing batter. The scent of cooking bacon began to permeate the air. Capolucho leaned toward the aroma. Link wished it were strong enough to mask the guy’s stench. Between the BO and foul coffee, the day didn’t look promising. Link hoped the man wasn’t trying to lull them into a false sense of security, because no matter how pitiful Capolucho seemed, Link refused to take the man or his motives at face value until he was presented with proof.
Jacqueline used a stick to tuck embers around the Dutch oven, then, still using several superfluous motions, she sat back on her heels. Her knee connected with the coffeepot. It tipped, the lid fell off and the contents spewed onto the ground. “Oh, no. Not again!” She landed on her bottom with a thump, then scrambled to her feet, the picture of abject guilt.
“Smooth move.” Link gave her a surreptitious thumb up and a smile.
“Why am I always so clumsy?” Capolucho started to rise. She made shooing motions. “I made the horrible mess, and after you were so kind to brew the coffee, too.” She looked downright miserable about the spill. “I’ll clean off the dirt and brew a new pot. It’s the least I can do.” Spewing a string of apologies for her awkwardness, she hurried away with the coffeepot and both their mugs.
Silence descended around the fire as both men focused their attention on the bacon sizzling in the frying pan.
Jacqueline bustled back, just as he finished adding the last strip of bacon to the spitting grease. She added coffee to the pot, placed it next to the Dutch oven, sniffed the air above it, then turned to Capolucho. “Why did you think I was someone else?” He shrugged. “Do I look like this other person?”
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