by Adrianne Lee
The cop bent over Craig and tested the knots. “You aren't going anywhere just yet, mister.”
Shock ricocheted from Craig’s startled ears to his numb toes. This wasn’t Bob Archer’s voice. He struggled to his side and peered into the face of a stranger. He was young. New. Probably a rookie. He’d been gone a year. How could he expect nothing would change? “Whatever that woman has told you is a lie. She broke into my house and attacked me with a vase when I came through the front door.”
The policeman rose and turned away. “I have to check something outside. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t leave me like this,” Craig hollered at the departing cop. The effort sent shards of light skipping through his eyes. Dejectedly, he laid his aching head on the rug.
Within ten minutes the rookie was back in the kitchen, standing over Craig. This time he introduced himself, then read Craig his rights.
“Do you understand these rights?” Officer Dunn asked.
Craig strained off the carpet and cocked an eye toward the policeman. “Yes, but all this can be cleared up if you’ll just check in the car outside the fence for my ID.”
The policeman was scribbling on a tablet. He looked at Craig. “I’ve already examined the Cadillac.”
Craig slumped to the floor in relief. “Then you know the truth. For God's sake untie me.”
Ten whole seconds passed before he realized the policeman hadn’t made a move toward him. His quick mind was slow in piecing together the most logical reason. He wrenched his neck an inch above the rug. “You didn’t find my ID, did you?”
The look on Officer Dunn’s cherubic face was all the answer Craig needed. His voice roughened with desperation. “Don’t you see? That crazy woman must have stolen my wallet while I was unconscious. Call Bob Archer. He’ll vouch for me.”
“Sergeant Archer is away on a fishing trip this week.”
“Then get someone else.”
“Who?”
The policeman waited for an answer, but Craig couldn’t get his fuzzy mind to release any other names. He shook his head and let loose a woebegone sigh.
“Mister, so far everything that woman says about you has checked out.”
“Everything she…You actually believe I've been trying to kill her?”
“She claims you tried to run her car off the road with your car.”
“She’s lying!”
“Well, your Caddy says otherwise.”
“What?” Craig frowned, then winced as a sharp pain stabbed his forehead.
“The damage to the passenger side of your vehicle substantiates her charges.”
“Damage…?” It was a nightmare. He’d wake soon and all would be normal.
The policeman's blue eyes narrowed. “Lookit, if this is your house, why did you break the fence to get in?”
“Someone changed the security combination.” Craig’s blood pressure rose to the beat of his temper, singeing his cheeks.
“Calm down.” Officer Dunn firmly, but gently pressed the palm of his hand against Craig’s shoulder. “That’s a nasty looking bump on your head. I don’t like the way your pupils are dilated. Unless I miss my guess, you’ve got a concussion.”
So, he wasn’t the only one who suspected a concussion. Being right gave Craig no satisfaction. The dismal prospect of being taken first to the hospital, then to the police station before this mess could be straightened out loomed over him like a leaden blanket. Weariness seeped into his every pore, and he sagged against the rug. It was a relief to shut his heavy eyelids. “I’m lucky she didn’t kill me. Probably going to lose my fingers and toes though…Can’t feel them any longer…”
“Hey, Kaslow! Come in here. Call an ambulance while I untie this guy. His hands are turning blue, and he seems to be drifting in and out of consciousness. I think he’s concussed.”
Craig knew he wasn’t unconscious. He’d heard the thunk of footsteps into the room, heard an unfamiliar female voice conversing with Dunn, and could now feel someone jerking on the ties at this hands and feet. He just couldn’t open his eyes--no matter how hard he tried--but there was nothing wrong with his sense of smell. His nose wrinkled involuntarily. The fishy odor was back, stronger than ever.
Lyssa stood to one side, hugging herself as Officer Kaslow made the call and Officer Dunn cut the bindings from the maniac’s wrists and ankles.
To Craig, the voices over his head sounded far away as though he were hearing them through a furnace vent.
Kaslow set the receiver aside and turned to Lyssa. As a matter of record, I’ll need to see some identification, Ms. Carlyle.”
Carlyle? The name crabbed along the shorelines of Craig’s muddled mind, trying to find a home, but he couldn’t place it.
Lyssa retrieved her purse from the counter, dug out a waterlogged leather wallet and removed her wet driver’s license. “Here. Sorry about the condition. My purse took a swim in the Canal with me.” Her teeth were chattering worse than ever.
Officer Kaslow studied the picture against the woman standing before her. “You’re from Mesa, Arizona?”
“Yes.”
“And your business is related to Rival Gems in Seattle?”
Lyssa nodded. “I design jewelry. Here’s one of my cards.”
“What were you doing here tonight?”
“As I told you, I’d been staying here last weekend, but somehow I left behind my sample case. I intended to have Wayne ship it to me, but after unsuccessfully trying to reach him the past few days, I decided to come after it myself. I still had a key, you see.” She dug a key ring out of her purse. “It opens the kitchen door.”
“How did you learn of Wayne Rival’s death?”
“When my plane landed at SeaTac, I tried the number here first, then I called the Rival offices in Seattle. The woman who answered the phone told me.”
Craig listened with growing disdain, certain the unseasoned police officers were buying the smelly hag’s explanation as readily as they’d bought the rest of her fantasy. But he knew she was lying. If not, then why hadn’t she tried contacting Wayne at the Seattle number before tonight? Nooo. Rival Gems didn’t do business with jewelry designers. The only association his befuddled brain could attach to Mesa, Arizona was the DeHaviland family, who’d been pestering his father for years to sell them his grandmother’s necklace from “The Collection.” But he couldn’t conjure one memory of anyone named Carlyle. Damn! If only he could clear away the mist from his head.
Kaslow handed Lyssa her driver’s license. “There are no signs of a forced entry. How did this man get into the house? Was the front door unlocked?”
“No. He used this key.” Lyssa extracted the single key from her viscous pants pocket and presented it in the palm of her hand to the surprised looking police officers. “I found it when I searched his pockets. It m-must be the one Wayne kept hidden outside.”
“Do you know for certain that Mr. Rival kept one hidden outside?”
“Yes. It was kept under a rock by the azalea bush next to the front door.”
Kaslow went to check and was back a moment later. “There’s no key there now. This must be the one.”
Frustration flowed Craig’s veins. No! That key was his. He’d put it in his wallet when he left here last September and removed it just before breaking in the gate. Why did Officer Dunn believe everything that lunatic was telling him? If there was no sign of a break in, then she must have taken the key kept outside. His need to convey this expressed itself in a futile groan.
Three consecutive sneezes followed. But they weren’t his.
“Would it be all right if I used the shower and changed into some dry clothes?” Lyssa wiped her nose on her damp sweater sleeve.
“Do you have anything here?” Dunn asked.
“I'm sure I can find something of Wayne’s. He wasn’t much bigger than I.”
“Then go ahead. Wouldn’t want you to catch pneumonia.”
Pneumonia was a distinct possibility, Lyssa decided, he
ading for the master bedroom. As she passed through the living room, she wondered at the sheet draped furniture, recalling the covered pieces in the foyer as well. Wayne had only died three days ago, yet the house looked and felt as deserted as if he’d been gone a year or more. The master bedroom was the same. She stared at it in disbelief. Off and on over the past three months she’d slept in this room. It had become as familiar to her as her own bedroom in her little house in Mesa. Tonight she felt like an intruder here.
She hurried to the closet. Lord, it was all but empty. Apparently whoever had closed the house had also packed up and taken away Wayne’s clothes. She frowned. The few shirts and trousers now occupying these hangers looked like they’d fit a man several inches taller than Wayne. She reached for one of the shirts, then spied an old gray sweatsuit and a pair of men’s sneakers tucked on the floor, and grabbed them up instead.
Fifteen minutes later her body was scrubbed clean, but she still felt cold and dirty on the inside, as though she’d done something to deserve the attack. She knew it was nonsense, a normal victim reaction, but the feeling stayed with her as she tugged on the sweatsuit and threw her wet clothes into the washing machine.
To her relief, the ambulance had already taken the schizo away. Only Officer Dunn remained behind, explaining that his partner had accompanied their prisoner to the hospital. He eyed Lyssa approvingly. “You look like a human being again.”
Lyssa wiped at her nose with a tissue. “Yep. And I've got all the aches and pains and pre-cold symptoms to prove it.”
“Then, if you’re ready, I’ll take you to a motel in town.”
God, yes! As far away from here as possible. Dear Lord! What was she thinking? She couldn’t leave. “No. Thanks. I mean, can’t I stay here?”
“Well…I really shouldn’t allow it.”
Lyssa could see she’d have to persuade him. “Oh, please. What more could happen to me? I mean, you’ve got the bad guy. I don’t think another will show up in his place. Besides, I’m certain Mr. Rival won’t mind--after all, I’ve been a guest here so often I feel right at home.” Her cheeks warmed, and Lyssa prayed the officer wouldn’t see through her bluster.
Officer Dunn grimaced. “I don't know…”
“Ah, come on.” She flirted shamelessly. Anything for Grandy. “Besides, my clothes are in the washing machine.”
He considered a moment longer, then sighed. “Oh, I guess it'll be okay.” He sauntered to the door. “We've parked the
Cadillac inside the fence. A tow truck will be by sometime tomorrow to pick it up.”
“Speaking of tow trucks, I wonder if you’d check on my car, take the keys and lock it? I’ll have to call the airport rental place in the morning and see what they want done with it.”
“Where exactly did you leave it?”
Lyssa shrugged. “Somewhere this side of the Tahuya River bridge. Near a stand of trees. You probably noticed it on the way here. It was the little Mazda RX7 hugging the big rock.”
“I’ll keep my eyes peeled on the way back into town and see what I can do to secure it.” Dunn opened the door and stepped onto the porch.
Lyssa watched the policeman walk down the driveway and through the gate, then she closed and locked the front door. Leaning against its solid support, she drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Despite her reassurances to the policeman, Lyssa wondered if she’d ever again feel safe alone.
Arguing with herself over the inanities of this feeling, she hurried through the kitchen and rechecked the back door locks, lowered the blinds and turned off the lights. She stood in the darkened room listening for sounds of intruders, but heard only the hum of the refrigerator and the muted sloshing of the clothes washer. Nothing scary about that.
She should call her mother and explain the delay, but Mom had worry enough with Grandy. Tomorrow she’d get another flight. Now, she’d get Grandy’s necklace. The only good thing about being alone was being able to go about the task without fear of discovery.
Feeling a nudge of anticipation in the pit of her stomach, she made straight for the library. The wall safe was hidden by a fifty pound king salmon that had been mounted and hung above a Louis XIV style desk. Her fingers trembled slightly as she swung the trophy fish toward her, caught hold of the safe’s dial and engaged the combination. During the past three months, she had put the necklaces in this safe each night and removed them each morning. Please, let my Purity be here.
Hearing the final click, Lyssa pulled the door open and peered into the compact cavern. Shocked disbelief poured through her achy body. The safe was empty.
What in the world had Wayne done with the necklaces?
Monday night, she’d watched him put her Purity in the jeweler’s case. Seconds later, she’d personally stuck the case in her carry-on bag and--except for when Wayne had helped her load it into her car--had kept the bag within reach. Engrossed with worry for Grandy, she hadn’t bothered to recheck the case, hadn’t thought she’d had any reason to distrust Wayne…until the next day when she’d discovered the case was empty. The same incredulous fury she’d felt at that moment washed over her now.
Her mother had warned her about the Rivals. She should have listened. Lyssa slumped to the edge of the desk. On the other hand, remembering Wayne’s kindness, she couldn’t understand his reneging on their deal. Why let her make the faux, just to rob her of it? Not that it mattered now. What was done was done.
What did matter now was where he might have put the necklaces. Time had been on her side. Wayne hadn’t lived long enough to take them anywhere else. Of course, there was always the off chance some unknown someone had found them, perhaps the person responsible for the draped furniture, and absconded with them. That thought was too depressing to dwell on.
Anyway, she reasoned, Wayne had never liked putting the necklaces in the vault, protesting that any clever thief would look there first. Lyssa gazed around the den. Where else might he have put two such valuable pieces of jewelry? Anywhere. The possibilities in this room alone were staggering.
Rising stiffly, she left the library. Physical fitness was as much a part of Lyssa’s life as her jewelry, but her body ached as though she hadn’t exercised in years. The muscles in her calves and thighs felt like someone had shortened them when she wasn’t looking.
She checked the time. Four hours before dawn. She was nearly asleep on her feet. Maybe she should go to bed. But what if Craig Rival caught her here? Lyssa shivered at the thought, but she could feel her body shutting down from tiredness. Two hours of sleep--what Dad called a power nap--would be enough. Then she’d be ready to go again, done and out of here, long before Craig Rival arrived.
Lyssa opened the door to the master bedroom and switched on the overhead light. The king sized bed seemed to beckon to her. Exchanging the overhead light for one of the bedside lamps, she shut the bedroom door and wedged a chair beneath the knob, then quickly checked the lock on the French doors that led to a private deck. Feeling somewhat secure, she laid her wristwatch on the nightstand, curled into a ball on the bed and pulled the quilted spread over herself.
Craig was exhausted. He wished they would go away, all the people poking and prodding at him, asking questions he couldn’t make sense of. Why wouldn't they let him sleep?
Officer Kaslow stood outside Craig’s curtained emergency room cubicle talking to a tall male doctor with thinning gray hair.
Dunn spotted his partner and strode to her side. “How's our prisoner?”
The doctor regarded them both with quizzical gray eyes and answered. “Concussion. I’m Dr. Isaac Jones and I was just about to ask this officer why you’ve arrested Mr. Rival, and why he’s been registered as a John Doe?”
“What?” Dunn exclaimed. “You mean that man is Craig Rival? Are you positive?”
“Of course, I’m positive. I’ve known him all his life.”
Kaslow regarded her partner with raised brows. “Offhand, I’d say Lyssa Carlyle’s was lying through her chattering teeth.”
Dunn mulled this over, then shook his head. “I found her car. It was definitely rammed all right. Besides, her story’s pretty easy to check. Maybe we’ve got a third party involved.”
Kaslow plucked the keys from Dunn’s grasp. “We’d better get back to the Rival place, pronto, and find out which of us is right.”
Lyssa jerked awake. Shards of light from the bedside lamp poked her sleep-blurred eyes. Impatient to focus, she blinked rapidly, then winged her gaze around the room. To her relief, she was still alone, the chair was still wedged firmly beneath the knob. But it was still dark. Her wristwatch confirmed that only one hour had passed since she’d lain down. What had awakened her?
Braced on one elbow, she listened. The house was as quiet as a graveyard at midnight. Five full minutes ticked off the digital watch before she snuggled under the bedspread and clamped her eyes shut.
A quiet-shattering creak brought Lyssa sitting bolt upright. Someone was coming down the corridor. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Surely the police hadn’t let that maniac loose?
Footsteps stopped outside her room. The doorknob turned.
She leaped from the bed and vaulted to the door. “W-who’s there?”
The doorknob rattled.
Horrified, Lyssa stuffed her feet into Wayne’s spare sneakers, grabbed up her purse, and raced to the French doors.
The thud of something hitting the door sent jolts of fear up her spine. Gingerly, she slipped outside, closing the French doors behind her. From inside the persistent thumping continued. The petrifying noises reached outside, hastening her exit over the deck railing. As Lyssa landed on the beach, she heard a different sound. The chair tumbling across the hardwood floor?
CHAPTER THREE
Friday
“What are you doing here?” Craig Rival threw a surprised glance at the man entering his hospital room, and continued to pull on his socks.
“Nice to see you, too.” David Lundeen Jr., Rival’s attorney, crossed the room with the grace of the long distance runner that he was. Forty something, David preferred black leather jackets and chino pants to pinstriped suits, and further chagrined his stodgy law partners--who happened to be his father and brothers--by moussing his white-blond hair into faddish spikes like some high paid professional athlete. “Stacey called, explained what happened, and I said I’d drive down and check into it.”