by Vella Munn
Kim nodded. Three bites of cereal counted as breakfast, didn’t they?
“I haven’t. Please join me.”
“I have to get to work, Mark.”
Anger, directed at himself, ruled him. Mark cut the vehicle’s engine and pushed himself out of it. He was standing beside her before he spoke again. “We have to talk.”
“We could have talked last night. Or this morning.”
Damn. She was so right he could almost hate her for her wisdom. “That’s not what I’m talking about,” he told her, although that wasn’t the truth.
“Are you telling me I don’t deserve an explanation?” Her anger slapped him. “Forget I said that, Mark. You made your decision.”
He couldn’t leave things like that. Last night Kim had given him a precious gift and left him changed in ways he was just beginning to understand. If he let silence stand between them now, he would lose something precious. “Come with me. Please.”
Kim did, not because it was the wise or safe thing to do, but because he was standing near, and she couldn’t choose otherwise. Silently, he led her down the street to the Camp Oro Inn. Silently, they walked inside, and Mark chose a window seat where they could look out at the main street.
The Inn was almost empty this time of the morning. Before she had to ask herself how they were going to cut through the silence, the Inn’s owner came by to visit. He stayed for at least ten minutes, comparing this year’s tourist season with the last one and modestly accepting Mark’s praise for some dinner the Inn had catered for members of the legal profession.
Finally Kim and Mark were alone. If he didn’t say anything soon she’d leave. She wouldn’t just sit here and watch him eat.
“I owe you an explanation.” He was looking out the window, not at her.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“You were sleeping so soundly. I didn’t want to disturb you.” Mark’s whisper dropped a notch. “I was afraid that if I woke you, I’d never leave.”
“You didn’t have to leave.”
“I think I did, Kim. No, please, let me explain. I’m a private person. Maybe it’s a result of being in such a public profession. My clients dump everything on me. They spill their guts. It’s my job to help them sort through their emotions.”
Mark was rambling, or if not rambling, not getting to what Kim thought was essential. She couldn’t let him do that. “What does that have to do with last night?” she broke in.
“What I’m saying, what I’m trying to say is— Kim, I’ve had years of listening to and dealing with other people’s emotions. I think maybe I’ve learned to put my own feelings on hold.”
“How convenient,” Kim began and then stopped herself. This man, with his freshly shampooed hair and the smooth cheeks that had been covered in stubble last night, had made love to her twice. He had taken her out of herself and into him. She couldn’t bear to attack him. “I’m not a client, Mark. I want to know what you’re feeling. I believe I deserve at least that much.”
“You do.” For the first time since he had slipped out of bed last night, Mark touched Kim.
His fingers were gentle over hers. She could have pulled free easily. But because she couldn’t release herself from him emotionally, Kim didn’t draw away. Neither did she drop her defenses. He’d turned away from his study of the window. There was a new depth to his eyes this morning, a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before.
“That’s why I came back this morning.”
“Is it?” Kim was surprised to find anger still in her voice. But maybe she shouldn’t be. He’d hurt her by leaving, more than she’d been willing to admit until now. “Guilty conscience?”
“I guess that’s as good a term as any. I didn’t know it was going to mean as much as it did. Maybe—Kim, I think that’s why I left. Does that make me sound like a coward? That’s not it. I just…I needed time to think.”
Kim accepted his explanation because the truth was she felt much the same way. They’d made love. But much more than that had taken place. The reality was overwhelming.
Although the waitress had arrived with Mark’s breakfast, it still felt as if they were the only two people in the world. When they were alone again she told him, “I appreciate your honesty.”
Mark could have started eating, but he was still holding Kim’s hand and he didn’t want to let go. “You’ve had an incredible effect on me. More than I knew possible.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“Scaring?” Mark repeated. “I don’t mean to.”
“I know you don’t. And it isn’t anything you said or did. It’s me.” With her free hand, Kim tapped her chest. “We were talking about intensity. I’m thinking about—things I don’t understand. Mark, your breakfast is getting cold.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I left the way I did. You deserve better than that.”
“Don’t. It’s all right. Now.”
“Is it? Tell me the truth, Kim. That’s what our being together this morning needs to be about.”
“It is,” Kim said gently. “Believe me. Please.”
They shared the meal while watching the few people going about their business on Pioneer Street. Mark was into his second cup of coffee before he brought up the other reason he’d come to Camp Oro. “I got a call this morning. I was just getting up. I thought it might be you.”
“Who was it?”
“Your boss. I guess I can call the museum board chairman your boss. Stephan wanted me to know that after a marathon session with Rogan last night, he and the director have finally seen eye to eye about something.”
“About security? Why didn’t they call me?”
“No. Not about security. Above the cave-in.”
When Kim gave him a puzzled look, Mark continued. The essence of his conversation with Stephan Jarvis was that museum personnel and board members were going to be making a formal presentation to the town council advocating having the cave-in closed up and Rich Gulch Street reopened. To exploit an act of nature would turn the town into a freak show.
The ramifications for the town went deep. In order for Camp Oro to be listed on the national register of historic landmarks, the town had been placed under the administration of a federal agency. The agency was unwavering in its stand that because history evolved naturally, what was in existence today must be maintained in that same vein. It was one thing to restore an historic home to its original design. It was quite another to alter or exploit history with the intent of making money off it.
“Stephan can get pretty stuffy sometimes. I’m afraid I didn’t follow everything he was telling me, just the high points. The upshot is, if the federal agency disapproves of the commercialization of the cave-in, which Stephan believes it will, the agency could go so far as to revoke Camp Oro’s landmark status.”
“And that would be bad?”
“Bad. As in capital letters bad. The historic buildings are on a tax freeze. Withdraw the status and taxes jump. You can imagine what kind of a stink those owners would raise if they had to pay taxes at current levels. Besides, without the historic draw, we’d lose a lot of tourist interest. Stephan is afraid the town would dry up. I’m inclined to believe he’s right.”
“So—” Kim was still having trouble making the adjustment from a personal conversation to one that had a direct bearing on the house she was living in. “He’s going to make a presentation to the council?”
“Not Stephan. I guess Rogan’s the one who came to Stephan. Rogan has considerable influence with the federal agency. I know he acts like a stuffy, slow-moving sloth sometimes, but he’s a powerful man in certain circles. Anyway, he’s already drafted a letter to the feds. As soon as he gets a response, he’s going to add that to what he’s planning to turn over to the council.”
“Then that means the street will be repaired. Grandmother will be able to sell her house. I guess that’s what she wants. I’m still not sure.”
Mark held up a warning hand. “I woul
dn’t put up the For Sale sign yet, but that community pride bunch is going to have their work cut out for them trying to convince the council to turn the tunnel into their own Disneyland. It’s going to be interesting watching the fur fly.”
“I’m surprised,” Kim admitted. “I really didn’t think Rogan would get involved like this.”
“Frankly, I am, too. So is Stephan. He thought he’d have his work cut out for him, to get Rogan off his duff, but Rogan had already begun the groundwork. My guess is, it has a lot to do with Rogan wanting to throw up roadblocks around Harden. Those two aren’t exactly the best of friends. If you wind up with a usable street again, you’re going to owe Rogan a thank-you.”
If she’d been talking to anyone else, Kim would have kept her opinion to herself. But she could be honest with Mark and know he would keep her confidence. “There’ll be a little eating of crow involved. Some of the things I’ve been thinking of that man are less than charitable. It’s been impossible to light a fire under him.”
“Like I said, a sloth.”
Kim tried to tell herself not to get her hopes up too much, but it was impossible not to. She’d asked for a month’s leave from her San Francisco job, which should have given her time to complete her assignment with the museum and, before the cave-in, have the house in the hands of a Realtor. Now, maybe, she would have to ask for more time. And she was particularly concerned that her grandmother be able to exchange the impersonal manor furniture for her own things. She mentioned that to Mark.
“I’ve been thinking about that myself,” Mark told her. “In fact, I’ve lined up a moving company that’s willing to haul some things out to the road and into their moving truck. I don’t know when you’re going to have time to supervise that.”
“I’ll make time,” Kim reassured him. “I don’t want to dictate what my grandmother does with her life, but I’d feel so much better knowing she at least has her own furniture. She’s tried to tell me it doesn’t matter, but I know it does.”
Mark explained that he wanted to be on hand when the moving truck arrived so he could impress upon the movers not to park the truck near the cave-in.
By the time they’d finished breakfast, and Mark had convinced Kim to let him drive her to the museum, they’d tentatively set Tuesday of next week for the time to move most of Margaret’s furnishings. Kim sat a few inches away from Mark in his car, marveling at how much brighter the day was without the weight on her heart.
“I don’t know what the day’s going to be like,” Mark explained as she was getting out. “After I talk to the mayor, I’ll be in and out of meetings most of the day. There isn’t a chance I’ll be able to get away for lunch. Will you call me later?”
Kim couldn’t say anything except yes. He was watching her with his incredibly deep eyes and she wanted to do or say something that they would both remember. “Mark, the other day in the tunnel? I found something. I should probably have shown it to you before, but I guess I was being possessive.” Kim reached into her purse and pulled out the knife. “This was beside the skeleton.”
Mark took the knife from her. She watched as he ran his thumb over the newly exposed markings. When he looked at her again, his eyes were even deeper than they’d been a minute ago. He spoke in a flat tone she’d never heard before. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know. Nothing probably. I might look into its history.” Mark was still looking at her, making her uneasy. “You think I should have turned it over to the police, don’t you?”
“No. No,” Mark repeated absently. “It’s—Kim, don’t tell your grandmother about this.”
“Do you really think it would bother her that much?”
“She doesn’t need any more reminders of what you did. Last night, while I was taking her home, she kept talking about your going into the tunnel. She made me promise I wouldn’t let you do that again.”
“I can’t imagine ever wanting to. This—” Kim indicated the knife. “You don’t think she’d be interested in it?”
“I think you’d be making a grave mistake to bring it up with her.”
“Isn’t that a little strong?” Kim began and then stopped herself. She’d ignored Mark’s warning about the mourning pin last night and had to face her grandmother’s reaction. “All right. I don’t know why it upset her so. Wait. Mark, Dow did some mining. I wonder—I’m sure it frightened her to think of him down in those mines.”
“She said something about that.” Mark ran his hands over the steering wheel. “About being claustrophobic herself.”
“She did? She never said anything about that to me.”
Mark was still studying the steering wheel. “Pride, Kim. And maybe a little embarrassment. I just—I don’t feel there’s any reason to bring up the subject again by showing her the knife.”
“All right.” Kim dropped the knife back into her purse. “I still think it’s interesting.”
“Kim, don’t do it, please.”
Kim turned back toward Mark. “What—” she began but wasn’t given the opportunity to complete her question. Charles Horne was walking toward Mark’s Blazer. Mark rolled down the window.
“You’re a hard woman to track down,” Charles began. “You know, if I was going to have a business conversation with an attorney I wouldn’t do it in his vehicle out in plain sight. But then maybe the conversation isn’t all that business oriented.”
Kim waited Charles out. From the way the corners of his mouth kept inching upward, she was pretty sure he was pleased to see her and Mark together. And she was sure that Charles’s being at the museum wasn’t a coincidence. The police chief had been looking for her.
“I just thought you should know. Some of the antiques that have been listed as missing? A couple of the pieces, a chair and a tea set, well, they were spotted in an antique shop in Oakland. There’s a detective down there who’s an antique buff. He’s been scouting the antique places. According to the owner, his wife bought them a couple of weeks ago.”
“Who’d she buy them from?” Mark asked.
“That’s the problem.” Charles shrugged his broad shoulders. “His wife is off on a buying trip back East. He doesn’t expect to hear from her until the weekend. I thought, well, I’m thinking maybe we shouldn’t give the museum staff this piece of information until we’ve talked to the wife. What do you think?”
Both Kim and Mark agreed. “It’s a mess,” Mark muttered. “I’d be willing to bet everything I’ve got that this is an inside job, but how do we prove it?”
“We will,” Charles returned. “Sooner, or later we will.”
At first Kim didn’t recognize what Rogan Coffers was handing her. She’d stood watching as Mark drove away. She’d been thinking, not about what was ahead of her or even what Charles had told them, but about the guarded, wary look he hadn’t been able to hide from her when they were talking about the knife. Call me later, he’d asked her. There wasn’t anything that would keep her from doing that.
“The blueprints.” Kim acknowledged what was being placed in her hands. “You found them.”
“Finally. I don’t know what good they’re going to do you, though.”
A moment later Kim understood the museum director’s comment. The blueprints weren’t the originals but a poorly reproduced copy. Someone had tried to reduce them, which resulted in writing and measurements so small they could barely be made out. Rogan leaned over her as Kim spread the papers on his desk. “Maybe I can have them blown up a bit,” she mused. “These are just about useless. Are you sure the originals aren’t around?”
Rogan shook his head. “I’ve never seen the originals. Fortunately I’ve never had a reason to use them.”
Kim stifled her disappointment. She would simply have to make do. She thanked Rogan for what he’d been able to accomplish, but before she could go off in search of a magnifying glass, Rogan stopped her.
It was the first time the director had touched her. She was surprised by the weight of his co
ol hand. “I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”
Kim looked up from the blueprints. As deep as Mark’s eyes had been a few minutes ago, Rogan’s were even deeper. Part of the impact, Kim knew, came from the way his eyes were set so deeply into his prominent facial bones. But—maybe it was the unnatural coolness of Rogan’s office, and his words to her the day they met, that reminded her of Mark’s and Charles’s warning not to trust any of the museum’s employees.
“What about?” Kim forced herself to ask in a calm voice.
Rogan wanted to tell her about his efforts to involve the historic government agency in the cave-in issue. Kim broke in to tell him that she already knew.
“Mark Stockton? How—Stephan told him, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Apparently Stephan believed Mark should have that information. I’m not sure what he’s going to tell the town council.” Kim thanked Rogan, explaining that because of her grandmother, she had a personal stake in getting the street restored to its former condition.
“That’s exactly the way I feel, Ms. Revis. The fight isn’t over,” Rogan said. Then he went on to explain that apparently the head of the community pride group had already gotten wind of what Rogan was trying to accomplish. “I don’t trust Harden Langford any farther than I can throw him. He’s got considerable pull of his own. If he thinks this is going to be a power play between him and me, he’s going to pull out all the stops.”
“But what can he do if you have the federal government behind you?”
“You don’t know Harden. The man hates me. This isn’t about producing money that might or might not benefit Camp Oro. It’s about Harden wanting me on my knees.”
“Why? Why would he want to do that?”
“It’s personal, Kim. Something between Harden and me.”
Kim couldn’t believe the tension coiling around Rogan. She’d felt his temper the morning they met, when he’d told her he considered her an intruder. But that was nothing like the cold fury glittering in his eyes now. Mark had called Rogan a sloth. No. This man was an animal backed into a corner and ready to come out fighting.