Death Benefits

by Hannah Alexander

  Ginger smirked at him. “That’s it? You suspect them because they argued?”

  He gave her a dirty look. “Then both of them got on their cell phones and started making calls. They kept watching the rest of us, as if to make sure we couldn’t overhear.”

  “Sounds like a glitch to me. Glitches can happen to the best of us, Preston, you know that.”

  He grimaced. “Don’t I know it. Glitches like prison breaks.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t even go there.”

  “Rick Fenrow is his father’s son, after all. He’s likely to have a whole file drawer filled with his father’s old contacts.”

  “Where would that file drawer be?” she asked. “The FBI confiscated everything long ago, and his father is dead. Contacts go away. Quit being so suspicious, or Lucy will pick up on it, and you know she’ll be impossible to reassure.”

  “People who moved on the wrong side of the law two years ago will still be there,” Preston said. “They’ll know how to get things done and successfully avoid the radar of the police.”

  Ginger closed her eyes briefly. “You had to remind me.”

  “Fenrow’s the son of a dirty attorney. He grew up knowing the tricks of his father’s trade. All he’d have to do would be to make one phone call.”

  “But he doesn’t know where we are and what we’re doing, does he?”

  Preston shrugged. “We have no way of knowing how much information he might have.”

  “Okay, but don’t you think he’d be more concerned with a few more important things?” Ginger asked. “Things like going underground to keep from being apprehended, and staying hidden?”

  “That guy has lived with the need for revenge. I don’t think prison would have changed him. If anything, it would have fueled the fire.”

  Ginger rolled her eyes at his dramatic tone. Preston tended to be pessimistic. But she couldn’t figure out why he was so negative right now.

  “Uh, Preston? Is something up with you?”

  “What do you mean? We’ve got a killer on the loose. How much worse can it get?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe some concern about a certain girlfriend named Sheila, left behind in Branson, who actually did have some experience working with Rick when he was disguised as a nice human being. Are you worried he might try to make some kind of contact with her?”

  He walked a few seconds in silence. “She knows what he looks like, and she’s aware of the prison break now.”

  “So you’ve been in contact with her?” Ginger hinted.

  “I called her. We talked. She’s not the least bit concerned about an escaped killer. She has other things on her mind.”

  Ginger turned to him. “Those other things couldn’t possibly be romance with one of the most eligible men in Branson, could it?”

  He smiled, but the smile was forced. “I said I’d been in contact with her, not that we’d set a wedding date. Would you back down a little?”

  She studied his expression, comparing it with the goofy grin that had lit his face a few weeks ago whenever Sheila’s name was mentioned. “Everything’s okay, isn’t it?”

  He hesitated. “Let’s say I’m pretty sure she likes me, beyond that is anyone’s guess right now.”

  Ginger backed off. She knew Preston well enough to know something was bothering him, and that he wouldn’t talk about it until he was in the mood. He didn’t often get into the mood for those kinds of confidences.

  Preston Black was what most women of Ginger’s generation called a hunk. Or, at least, it was what Ginger called him. But she could get away with teasing him about his looks from time to time. At thirty-eight, he was sixteen years younger than she.

  Of course, he was older than his sister, Willow, by two years, and he used that advantage to boss her around sometimes—or rather, he tried. Ginger hoped that wasn’t the problem between him and Sheila.

  His sister gave as well as she got, and often better. Willow never allowed anyone to push her around, as Ginger had discovered ten minutes after meeting her. Ginger had picked up quickly on Willow’s independence, and had respected it, for the most part.

  Preston, on the other hand, was his most aggressive when with his sister, and he never seemed to notice when his occasionally overbearing attitude chafed Willow. Perhaps Willow should give her big brother a talking-to, if he was trying the same tactics with Sheila.

  Why were men so obtuse about some things?

  From the comfortable age of fifty-three, Ginger could observe those male-female games with amusement and fond memories…at least, most of the memories were fond.

  She shot a look over her shoulder toward Ray, who stood slightly apart from the rest of the happy family and Larry, their bodyguard. Ray Clyde had a few lessons to learn about women, as well.

  “I hate to change the subject, Preston, but when did the switch take place for best man at the wedding?”

  He chuckled, raising his hands. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not dragging me into this battle.”

  “There’s no battle.”

  “Could’ve fooled me, watching you with Ray on the flight today.”

  “This whole thing could have been handled so much better if I’d had some kind of warning. As it was, I didn’t know Ray was coming until I saw him boarding the jet. Is there any wonder why I felt duped?”

  “Well, you’d better stop blaming your poor brother,” Preston said. “The whole thing was my idea.”

  Ginger gasped. “Young man, you’re as devious and conniving as Graham!”

  He chuckled, his deep laugh attracting the attention of a couple of women seated at a bench, who eyed him with interest.

  It was characteristic of him that he didn’t notice. He threw an arm over Ginger’s shoulders. “I’ve never seen you in a situation you didn’t know how to deal with. This should prove interesting, as long as you don’t kill the best man before the wedding.”

  NINE

  Ray couldn’t prevent the jealousy that pierced him as he watched Ginger and Preston Black together, particularly when Preston put his arm around Ginger.

  Yes, the man was probably quite a few years younger than Ginger, but she was a young fifty-three. Ray, himself, was forty-nine. He had discovered years ago that an age difference no longer served as a deterrent to an otherwise promising relationship.

  Ray had only met Preston a few weeks ago, and had immediately liked him. Preston was like his sister—honest, serious, earnest—exactly the kind of person Ginger would adore.

  Of course, it felt to Ray as if Ginger would be likely to adore anyone but him right now.

  Willow stepped to Ray’s side and touched his arm. “Didn’t you and Ginger manage to talk things out on the flight here?”

  “She isn’t open to anything I have to say right now.”

  “It’s all right,” Willow said softly, as if soothing an upset child. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Remember, she may threaten a lot of things, but she isn’t dangerous in most situations.”

  “That’s your opinion.” He knew better. Ginger had the power to cause him a great deal of damage, just not in a way that would be visible to the naked eye.

  “She’s already caught up in the allure of the island,” Willow said. “Give it time, Ray.”

  “I’ve done that.”

  “Let the peace and beauty of the island do their work on her.”

  “She’s not likely to let her surroundings affect her memories to that extent,” he said. “But I believe she’ll be as polite as she can to keep from upsetting anyone else, particularly those two.” He gestured to the children, who were busy comparing their leis and sniffing the flowers—for once, giggling like little girls.

  “No. Of course, you’re right.” Willow placed a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “I don’t know how Ginger will feel about it, but I really would appreciate your help with these two while we’re here.”

  “I’d love nothing better, but I have to admit, I’m curious. Why the armada of adults
to keep watch on two sweet little girls? Is there something about them I don’t know? Such as, they turn into goblins after sunset, or something as hideous and scary?” How much effort could it take to keep an eye on Lucy and Brittany?

  Graham joined the two of them, and Ray noted, as he had a couple of times on their flight, that his friend’s typically serene expression was tight with a tension he seldom exhibited.

  “Something else is up,” Ray said, studying them both more closely. It was the reason for Lucy’s watchfulness, and possibly even the reason for some of Ginger’s surliness, though he couldn’t place much of the blame there.

  “We received word late last night that Sandi Jameson’s killer has escaped prison,” Graham said.

  Ray closed his eyes for a second, feeling the shock of the news like a blast of winter sleet. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze fell on the orphans whose mother had been killed by a deranged monster. “The police called to warn you?”

  “No, actually,” Willow said. “Larry Bager is a private investigator who used to work on the police force. He’s the one who told Graham about it last night.”

  “Where was the prison?”

  “Kansas.”

  Ray nodded. “I’m no expert, but I would consider it protocol for the prison to call those who might be affected by the prison break.”

  “They actually did call this morning before we left for the airport,” Graham said. “I think the fact that Rick Fenrow was in a different state has something to do with the slow response time.”

  “So they haven’t found him, yet.” Ray shook his head.

  “I’m glad Larry came with us,” Graham said. “He was helpful last year.”

  “Didn’t you say the killer went undercover to get to Willow?” Ray asked softly, making sure the girls were distracted.

  “That he did,” Graham said. “He put on a good disguise, working as an orderly at the hospital. Ironically, it was the hospital where Preston was taken for his injury in the fire, which Rick had set in the first place.”

  “Sounds like a great deal of hostility in that man,” Ray said.

  “That was directed toward me,” Willow said, her voice quiet. Her blue-gray eyes darkened with the memory. “Others suffered for something I did.”

  “That’s not true and you know it,” Graham said, giving his fiancée a gentle nudge and a loving look. “You and others suffered because of an evil man.”

  “I’ve heard the general gist of that story, but never the whole thing.” Ray risked another glance toward Ginger and Preston, saw them talking and smiling, with their heads together. He looked away.

  “Several years ago Willow was working in ICU when Rick’s father—an attorney for organized crime bosses—was brought into the hospital as an injured patient,” Graham explained. “Under the influence of pain medication, Rick’s father muttered information about a murder. Willow reported it to her husband, who was an undercover cop. The police force was put into motion because of Willow’s information, and they found enough evidence on the attorney to put him in prison for quite some time.”

  “I think Rick might not have lost control so completely if his father hadn’t developed Parkinson’s disease while in prison,” Willow said. “The progression of the man’s condition was rapid.”

  “You’re saying Rick blamed you for everything, Willow?” Ray asked.

  “Isn’t that typical of people who don’t want to take responsibility for their own actions?” Willow asked.

  “He abducted her,” Graham said, keeping his voice soft so as not to alert the children to the seriousness of their conversation. “Before Willow could be rescued, Rick Fenrow shot her full of the same medication his father had been given in prison for his illness.”

  “Dopamine,” Willow said. “An ironic and particularly frightening experience for me, because the drug can trigger psychotic responses in some people. Since I have a family history of schizophrenia, my reaction was horrible for one night, but it didn’t last.”

  Graham placed a loving arm around Willow’s shoulders and drew her close. “She hasn’t had a recurrence,” he said with emphasis, as if he felt she needed a reminder of that fact.

  Ray watched the two of them together, and felt a pang of yearning. He couldn’t be happier for his old friend, but the obvious love between Graham and Willow made Ray wish for that same sense of belonging—something he had once mistakenly thought he might share with one fascinating woman who had a lot of love to offer.

  “You think this killer might have managed to follow you all here?” Ray asked.

  “I don’t want to dismiss any possibility at this time,” Graham said. “In spite of the improbability of it, he’s resourceful.”

  “Why don’t I hang around after the wedding awhile?” Ray suggested.

  Graham gave him a smile of obvious relief and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I hate to ask it of you, considering the behavior I’ve seen in my sister today. I apologize.”

  “No need for that.”

  “I’ll have a talk with her,” Graham said.

  “Don’t you dare,” Ray said. “She’s already angry with me. If you insinuate yourself between the two of us, she would be hurt, I think. Worse than she already is.”

  “But Ray—”

  “Don’t even start. I know I did what needed to be done, but your sister had to protest it. That’s the way she’s made.”

  “Guess I can’t argue with that,” Graham said.

  Ray shook his head. “Wouldn’t do any good. We’ll see how it goes in the next couple of days.”

  Preston sighed when Steve and Helen reappeared driving two vehicles. “Well, at least we do have two cars, though I was hoping for more cars for this group.”

  Ginger grinned at his lame attempt to change the subject from the wedding and Ray. “We can get a rental in Poipu easily enough, I’m sure.”

  “But what do we know about Poipu? As I said, I don’t feel our guides are totally clued in. What if we get to Poipu and there’s no car rental? We could be sleeping in tents for all we know.”

  “I doubt the Hyatt Regency has its rooms in tents,” Ginger said dryly, “even on a tropical island in the middle of the Pacific. I think our escorts are doing a great job. They got us here, didn’t they?”

  Preston pointed toward the dark red Nissan Xterra and a silver-blue minivan, then turned to join the others. “Give them time. We’ll see.”

  She followed him, chuckling to herself. Preston Black was one of those macho guys who was currently building a cabin in the Hideaway woods on his own—from blueprints to decking. His former cabin had been burned to the ground last year, compliments of Rick Fenrow. Now, he had chosen Hideaway as a place to put down new roots. Literally.

  He was far enough along on his project that he had moved into the cabin this past week. He would place the finishing touches on it when he returned from this trip.

  Preston was a hunter and angler who had little use for a suit and tie now that he no longer worked as an accountant-financial advisor.

  Ginger glanced at Ray to find him watching her, brooding. She had seldom seen Ray brood. She held his gaze for an uncomfortable moment, feeling a twinge of remorse for the way she’d spoken to him on the flight.

  Willow was right; no use dragging everyone else into this battle.

  Ginger knew it was time to paste on a smile and try to retrieve some of the ground she’d lost with her little temper tantrum-hot flash episode earlier. She and Ray didn’t need to resurrect another major conflict, not with everything else that was going on right now.

  Still, Graham needed to understand that his cavalier treatment of her feelings was unacceptable. That, too, however, was something that needed to wait until a more appropriate time.

  She hoped for the sake of Willow and Graham that tomorrow’s wedding went well. Neither set of their parents had been able to make it. Ginger and Graham’s dad was recovering from surgery. Ginger had been to see him last week for Christmas.
Willow and Preston’s mother was having another bad episode with her schizophrenia. The Christmas season seemed to be the worst time of the year for those who suffered from emotional difficulties.

  Helen and Steve Courtney helped everyone load their luggage into the vehicles. After consulting a map and speaking at length with one of the airport attendants, the group was on its way.

  Preston sat in the backseat of the minivan with Ginger and Lucy. “See what I mean?” he muttered softly enough so the driver couldn’t hear him. “Clueless.”

  Ginger gave him a teasing smack on the arm. “You’re such a ray of sunshine today, Preston Black. I can’t wait to see you snorkeling. Or maybe you’ll take the girls and me hiking. Did you pack your hiking boots?”

  “Do sandals count?”

  “Oh, please, at least tell me you brought some tennis shoes.”

  He nodded. “And a swimsuit. I’m ready for anything.”

  “I’m glad we came here instead of going to another island. Kauai is the smallest and least developed of the main islands. Oahu and Maui attract more visitors, I think.”

  “Less likely for someone to find us?” Preston murmured softly.

  Ginger nodded. “We’ll be fine. I’m sure we’ll be in Poipu in thirty minutes or less, and in our rooms soon after.”

  Ginger, Willow and the girls were to share a suite tonight as they prepared for tomorrow’s wedding, and for the luau tomorrow night. Ginger was looking forward to some girl time this evening.

  Graham would never have spent this kind of money on himself, especially now, with nearly everything he owned invested into the free clinic. For Willow, however, he would do anything. That had not been necessary when Mrs. Engle revealed her intentions.

  Willow had once shared a secret with Mrs. Engle: she had always dreamed of a wedding at the Fern Grotto, on Wailua River. She’d read about it as a teenager, and from then on had hoped to someday see it. When Willow and Graham announced their engagement, Mrs. Engle had immediately decided what her wedding gift would be, and Willow had not been able to talk her out of it.