by Tom Savage
She stood there frozen, unable to move forward or turn around. How far was she from the house? Would anyone hear her if she cried out? Who could be lurking here, on the grounds of Cliffhanger, unknown to its occupants?
This last thought made her panic subside. Don’t be silly, she told herself. Cliffhanger was, after all, private property, and she really had no reason to feel that she was in any danger. Whoever stood behind her among the trees was trespassing. Perhaps it was someone lost, unaware that he or she had wondered out of public territory.
Then she heard the second twig snap, and the footsteps approaching from behind. She closed her eyes, helpless, all rational thought flying from her in the deep, piercing thrill of her fear. She waited, listening to the footsteps and the quick, ragged breathing. . . .
The darkened bedroom. The lamp lying on its side on the floor, casting off weak light at strange angles, illuminating the blank face of the child standing frozen in the doorway. The moaning from the white-clad figure on the floor. The dagger lying on the soft white carpet, now stained dark red. The cold, rough feel of it in her hands as she bends slowly down to pick it up. The bloody hand, outstretched, reaching for her in supplication or recrimination or . . . warning. The footsteps approaching from behind, and the quick, ragged breathing, hot breath on the back of her tiny neck. The smooth, black leather-gloved hand grasping her shoulder and whirling her around. One brief glimpse of the mask. Darkness. . . .
The ungloved hand grasped her shoulder and whirled her around. A lurch of sheer terror engulfed her as she stared up into his eyes.
Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. The roaring in her ears subsided, and her vision cleared. She caught her breath and returned from the past, peering up—here, now, on this path in these woods in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands—at his handsome face.
“Adam!”
He stood before her, holding her arms, grinning down at her. His hand reached up to touch her dark hair. Then the shock of the memory was replaced by the shock of the present as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.
Adam kissed her in the early-morning shadows of the forest below the cliff. Then, without a word, he took her by the hand and led her down, across the sunlit beach, and into the cool, dark interior of the boathouse. Once inside, he kicked the rickety door shut behind him, pinned her against the uncertain wall, and kissed her again. His large, rough hand reached up to caress the soft expanse of flesh just below her throat. Leaning forward, he buried his face in her hair and breathed in the clean, flowery, fleshy scent that always seemed to be there, wherever she was.
Pressed against her, his eyes tightly shut, he fought off a wave of something that was almost dizziness as the warmth of her body flowed outward toward him. Her heart was pounding furiously: he felt the vibrations against his chest. He reached down with his free hand and grasped her firmly around the waist, grinding against her abdomen, letting her feel through their clothes the burning heat she aroused in him.
She pushed at his shoulders with her hands, wriggling against the planks of the wall—“No!”—but he was having none of that. He clamped his mouth down upon hers, cutting off further protest. Awkwardly, keeping their lips together as he moved, he began to maneuver their bodies away from the wall and across the room to the pile of pillows and blankets in the far corner. At last he picked her up in his arms and sank to his knees next to the blankets.
This time she stopped him. She shoved away from him and fell with a thud onto the pillows. She rolled away to the corner, taking in a gulp of air to form the shout: “Don’t!”
He watched as she huddled against the wall, pulling her knees up under her chin, facing away from him. Then he rose to his feet and stared down in consternation.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Diana?” he barked as the heat left him and the cold anger flooded in.
“What’s wrong with me?” she gasped, still fighting to regain her breath. “Lisa will be down here any minute. What if she came in here and found us? You’ve not even supposed to be here. She thinks you went to the club a half hour ago. So did I, for that matter.”
He looked down at the young woman gazing accusingly up at him. At last the humor of it sank in. He began to laugh, and after a moment she joined him. He reached down and pulled her to her feet.
“Sorry,” he said, chuckling. “Temporary insanity. Your beauty and all that.”
“Well, control yourself,” she said, but there was humor in her tone.
They laughed together again, but it was all he could do to retain the appearance of casualness. Oh, God, he thought. I want this woman. I want her almost as much as I want—
“What are you doing here, anyway?” she demanded, leaning back against Fred Belden’s dusty worktable and regarding him evenly.
He grinned. “I wanted to get you alone, so I parked on that little dirt road halfway down the driveway and came back. I was heading for the house when I saw you come out and go off down the path through the woods. I figured you were coming to the beach. And what better rendezvous? We can talk now. I’ve been worried about you, Diana. Ever since the other day, when Kay came back from the Fort and told us about Sandra. It’s too bad about her, of course, but you looked like you were going to faint! What the hell happened to you?”
She turned away from him slightly and shook her head. She reached out behind her to grasp the table firmly, grounding herself. Close call, she thought, but I’m all right. She would have to be very careful now. Proceed with caution.
“I was thinking about your money,” she said. “I did just as you said: plain manila envelope, lunch in a crowded tourist place. Five thousand to leave Cliffhanger and ask no questions.”
She’d added fifteen thousand of her own, fifteen thousand he didn’t know, she possessed, to clinch the deal. How arrogant—and how typical—of this gorgeous, impractical man to think that a person’s cooperation in what would eventually turn out to be murder could be bought so cheaply!
“You see,” she continued, “I didn’t know whether she still had that envelope at the time of—well, you know. How horrible that must be. Drowning.”
Adam came to stand before her, leaning close.
“Actually,” he said, “I understand it’s rather a pleasant way to go.”
She looked up at him then, into his eyes. Not liking what she saw there, she shook her head again and went on. “Well, at any rate, she didn’t have the money. It wasn’t among her things. Kay would have said something. Imagine if the police had found all that cash in her purse! It would have looked pretty suspicious.”
He leaned even closer. She could feel the hot expulsion of breath on her cheek as he spoke. “What do you mean, ‘suspicious’?”
She stared, remembering her recent acting classes. He’d delivered the line wrong, she thought. Much too quietly, much too intently. It was her first inkling, and the slow, dull shock of it emanated outward from the pit of her stomach, causing every muscle to contract. Oh, God, she was thinking. Is it possible . . . ?
With tremendous effort, concentrating as the instructor at the Studio had shown her, she shrugged and smiled. Casual, she thought. That’s the proper way to play this. Not really very interested at all. . . .
“Oh, I don’t know,” she fairly sang, fixing him with her easiest grin. “Guilty conscience, I suppose. I mean, it’s not as if we had anything to do with her drowning. Well, water—if you’ll forgive the atrocious pun—under the bridge.”
Adam laughed. He roared with amusement, and the precarious structure that housed them shook dangerously at the sound.
She went over to open the door and looked out at the base of the path leading up to the house. No sign of Lisa, not yet. Enough of this, she decided. Whatever he had done, whatever she was beginning to suspect of him, would have to be sorted through and figured out later. Now there wasn’t much time. Down to business.
“Listen,” she said, whirling around in the doorway. “I’ve altered part of my agenda. I won’t be
with your mate on Labor Day. I’m going to be with Bob Taylor, somewhere away from the house. When you call Kay from Florida the night before, tell her you’ll call her again at two that afternoon. She’ll wait here for the call, and I’ll be . elsewhere.”
This sobered him, she noticed with something approaching amusement, wiped the smile from his face. He came over to her, peering down, his face a study in suspicion.
“Bob Taylor,” he said. “Why? What’s the matter with—”
She cut him off. “Kyle just spent a whole day with me, and he never once looked in my direction. He has a girlfriend. Bob Taylor, on the otherhand, is obviously interested. So what would be more natural than my dating him? Don’t get all weird and jealous about this, Adam. Let’s use it to our advantage.”
She had reached over during this exchange and placed a hand on his arm. Now he pulled roughly away from her touch and turned to face the other side of the room. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
“She’s not his girlfriend,” he said.
“What?” she demanded. “What are you talking about?”
He took a deep breath, trying to control his sudden rage.
“Rita,” he said. “Kyle. She’s not his girlfriend.” He turned to face her. “Is this necessary, Diana? Do you have to actually go out with that creep?”
He noted the flare of defiance in her eyes.
“He’s not a creep,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I’m having dinner with him tonight. He’s a perfectly nice, perfectly harmless—”
“Harmless!”
“Oh, Adam, for God’s sake! Isn’t that just like a man! As if I hadn’t heard you in your bedroom the other night—”
“Kay is my wife, Diana. I’d hardly compare that to—”
“Stop it!” she cried. “There isn’t time. Lisa will be down here in a few minutes. Just listen.”
She paused for a moment, watching him. He went over to lean against the edge of the table next to her. When he’d made it clear that she had his attention, she continued.
“There’s a potted plant in the foyer, a spider palm or some such thing, just inside the front entranceway.”
He nodded. She leaned closer, lowering her voice despite the fact that the two of them were quite alone in the cottage. “I’ll put what you’ll need in there, buried in the dirt, okay? You park the rental car in that little turnaround place where your car is now. When you come in the front door, just look in the pot.”
He nodded again. She really is amazing, he thought.
“Right,” he said. “And I’ll be quick. You’ve given me less than two hours on the island before the flight back to Miami.”
“I thought that would be enough,” she began, but he stopped her.
“Yes, it is best. Don’t worry, I’ll be on that plane. Just be sure you don’t arrive home until about five hours after I take off. I want to be at that party when you call.”
She turned her face and looked up at him. They were leaning toward each other, and the little smile at the corners of her lips was somehow irresistible to him. He bent to kiss her and was pleased when she closed her eyes and returned the pressure, raising a hand to touch his hair.
“Jumbi!”
The cry came from far away, from somewhere on the path halfway up the hill. It was followed by a sharp, distant bark.
Still leaning together, they stared into each other’s eyes.
“We’re going to do it,” she whispered, playing with the hair just above his ear. “It’s going to work, and then we’ll be together. Always. Always, my darling.”
He reached up to remove her fingers from his hair and gave her a gentle shove toward the door. “You’d better go out there and meet her. Take her down to the other end of the beach so I can get back to the path without her seeing me, all right? And for God’s sake, hold on to that dog!”
She brushed his lips once more, briefly, with her own.
“I love you,” she whispered.
And then she was gone, across the room and out the door and running lightly, feet barely touching the fine white sand, hair flying out behind her, through the trees. He watched her go, his heart and body fairly bursting with pleasure at the sight.
The young woman came out of the trees into the light and paused for a moment, feeling the warm sun bearing down on her upturned face. It soothed her, calmed her ragged nerves.
Acting, she thought, is a lot more difficult than it seems. The acting had been in her attitude throughout the scene in the cottage—well, after the grappling part, anyway—in the nonchalance, the ease she appeared to feel when she was alone with him, when, in fact, the opposite was true. But she mustn’t let him know that, or the whole plan would be ruined.
What worried her about him was the possibility that her behavior might somehow give away the fact that she was onto him. Ever since the news three days ago of Sandra’s apparent fate, she had become slowly more convinced that her first, ridiculous suspicion was probably correct. People don’t just drown: she’d told herself that a hundred times over the weekend. Certainly not when it would be so incredibly convenient for them to do so.
No, she thought. Don’t say things like that. Don’t even think them. That isn’t the kind of person you are, the kind of person you want to be. Especially now when every day, every minute, is so precious.
She spared a brief thought for Kay Prescott and her daughter. Perfectly nice, well-meaning, innocent people. They had never done anyone harm, had never wished anyone ill, as far as she knew. Yet now their whole orderly, safe, charmed existence was coming to an abrupt end. An end brought about by her, the young woman who stood on the beach gazing up at Cliffhanger. She had plotted the course of the tragedy that hovered now in the warm tropical air above the house on the cliff, waiting for the moment next Monday afternoon, seven days hence, when it would settle down around them all. A cloud, a miasma of pain and sorrow such as they could not imagine. When she was through with this family, nothing would ever be the same.
Yet, she had long ago convinced herself, in the end it would be for the best. The best for her and for Adam. Besides, soon it wouldn’t matter. Soon all would be one.
She shook her head to clear it. Friday, she thought. Please, God, just get us all through until Friday. Then Adam and Lisa will be off to New York, and the plan will really, truly be under way. I didn’t even know Sandra: I can’t afford to waste tears for her now. After Friday, well . . .
She glanced up at the sky. It hadn’t all been her fancy, she reflected. There really were dark clouds gathering. The weather had been so clear only moments before! Now everything was turning gray.
The slowly fading sunlight continued to wash over her, its healing, almost pharmaceutical effect causing her to smile with genuine pleasure at the sight of the little girl and the dog bursting from the forest and running toward her across the sand. Enjoy this, she told herself. Enjoy it while it lasts, while the sun is still here. The clouds are forming already: the rain won’t be far behind.
There isn’t much time.
Adam’s eyes followed them as they ran off down the sand toward the rocks at the farthest end from the path. Wait a few moments, he thought. Give them time to settle down with paper and pencils, and for Jumbi to stretch out at their feet. Then you can make your move.
Time for the next phase.
Diana knew, he told himself. She had all but said that she suspected what happened to Sandra. It wasn’t much of a stretch of logic from that to Nancy Breen. Not that he’d told her the identities of his “robbery” victims. The papers were reporting Nancy’s death as a crime of passion. Diana had certainly heard about it by now, but she had no reason to connect it to the plan. It didn’t really matter: Diana knew part of the story about Sandra, at least, and she had remained silent about that. Silence was tacit consent. She was leaving that aspect of it to him.
Good, he thought. There is more to be done. Now. Time for the next accidental victim. And I know just where that victim can
be found.
He peered out through the gap between two uneven boards in the warped, rotting wall. Yes, they were sitting on the rocks now, leaning over the sketchpads, lost in concentrated creativity.
Excellent.
Just before he left, he glanced around the shed and smiled. I’ll be back here soon, he thought. Thursday, the night before I leave for the mainland. An assignation, one in which that pile of blankets will figure prominently.
Perfect.
He glided swiftly out the door and off through the trees. Just as he reached the base of the path, he heard the first, faraway roll of thunder.
THIRTEEN
MONDAY, AUGUST 26
(CONTINUED)
“DO YOU THINK,” Kay asked, “that certain things are fated to happen? That they’re somehow—I don’t know—preordained?”
Trish stopped in the act of lifting her coffee cup. The delicate pink and white Belleek seashell froze in midair some three inches from her lips. Another woman, one who did not know Kay as well as she, might have said, “I beg your pardon?” and, raising an eyebrow, “What on earth are you going on about?” or “Have you been reading Shirley MacLaine again?” Something frivolous and clever and obnoxious. Trish said nothing. She had long ago grown used to Kay’s serious moods, and this question obviously signaled one of them. She lowered the cup.
“Yes, I do,” she said. “I think a great deal of what happens to us is part of a pattern. Don’t ask me what sort of pattern, or who I think is responsible for it, but yes. What is it, Kay? Are you thinking about something specific?”