by Adrianne Lee
Craig glanced at her, knowing that she was no more interested in the actual worth of the necklace from a monetary view, than he, that was she probably feeling the same emptiness he was of discovering someone had stolen a piece of your family history, an irreplaceable part of your heritage. No insurance premium could cover that. He wedged his foot harder on the gas and careened around a bus. “Let’s hope C.J. took it and we’ll get to her in time.”
“But what if she didn’t take it?” Lyssa fidgeted beside him.
He hated the alternatives, suspected she did, too. “I guess, then, we’ll have to let the police handle it.” His mouth was dry, his palms damp, his nerves frayed as he pulled the Lexus into a parking garage. Moments later, they were inside Ben Marlowe’s gem shop.
They were told he was with a customer and asked to wait. Craig waited half a second, then pushed past the receptionist and charged into the man's office. Ben and his customer, a diamond-draped dowager, were startled by the intrusion. The woman drew back as if she expected Craig would demand she hand over her jewelry.
Ben, a ruddy complected man whose black hair and bushy eyebrows were thick with gray, clearly recognized Craig and just as clearly was affronted by his rudeness. He braced his stocky body. “What’s the meaning of this, Mr. Rival?”
Craig winced, immediately contrite. “Excuse me, Mr. Marlowe, Ben. I had reason to believe you were with C.J. Temple and--”
“Ms. Temple?” Ben interrupted, his sharp brown eyes impatient. “Sure, she was here. You missed her by, um, over an hour.”
Lyssa felt her heart drop to the level of her toes. Was it too late?
“What did she bring you?” Worry laced Craig's words. His face was red, his jaw taut.
Ben lifted his stocky body back and away from Craig, his bushy eyebrows shooting up. “Really, Mr. Rival, I can assure you I am not in the habit of divulging my customer’s business.”
All fear and indignation left the dowager’s face. She leaned forward, her keen black eyes eager with curiosity.
Feeling the situation going from bad to worse, Lyssa called up what she hoped was her most engaging smile, and said, “I apologize for this intrusion, Mr. Marlowe. Please forgive us. But it’s vital that we know if Ms. Temple has brought you…some half carat diamonds and one two carat diamond for cutting. They’d be flawless stones.”
Two seconds passed. His eyebrows twitched, then lowered. Lyssa said a silent prayer.
His expression grew less defensive. Finally Ben replied, “I suppose you realize you’re putting me in an embarrassing position here. Ms. Temple and you are both my valued customers.”
Craig nodded, but a nerve jumped in his cheek. He spoke with controlled calm, and Lyssa knew he was selecting his words with care, even if they weren't exactly honest. “It’s just that these could be stones we're both interested in.”
The dowager’s ears seemed to perk up at this information, giving her the look of a bejeweled poodle.
Ben considered another moment. He said, “This is highly irregular, but I suppose I can say that she didn’t bring me anything.”
Relief flooded through Lyssa and she could see it on Craig’s face, as well.
The dowager frowned and her ring-laden hands landed on her hips. “Really Ben! Isn’t that C.J. person the one who’s bringing in the diamonds today that you promised me?”
A tinge of red spiraled up Ben Marlowe’s neck. “No, Mrs. Smythe.”
The fire was back in Craig’s face, and Lyssa’s stomach pinched. Was Ben lying? Or just angry at the position they’d put him in, at their unprofessionalism, their veiled innuendos about C.J. Temple? She couldn’t tell. But there wasn’t another thing they could do about it. They’d already tread the boundaries of libel.
They rode back to the office in silence. Expecting the police might still be there, they were surprised to find the office locked. Ginger gone.
As they entered the showroom, the phone was ringing. It was Detective Jackson. Craig told him about the theft and asked if it had been reported.
Jackson wasn't at the office, but promised he’d check and get back to them on it. “You think Carlyle switched the necklaces before he kicked off?”
If that were so, the Purity might be lost to them forever. There wasn’t one scenario that made him any more comfortable. His head felt ready to burst from inactivity. “I couldn’t tell you, Detective.”
“Maybe there’s another snake in the woodpile.”
“Maybe.”
“Interesting. Anyways, I wanted to touch bases with you on the autopsy. It’s being done later today. I pulled your uncle’s medical records, and I see he was taking digitalis.”
“Yes, I knew that.” The implication slammed into Craig’s skull. “Are you saying you think the coroner will find an overdose?”
“I think it’s a safe bet.”
Craig felt chilled. Did Stacey already know this? Was that why she’d been so upset about the autopsy? Was that why she'd stormed out of here? His head throbbed with questions. Was Stacey the distraught daughter, or Kevin Carlyle’s partner? Had she made a quick getaway this morning with the necklace stuffed in her pocket? More than anything he needed to find out. He gave Jackson his car phone number and asked to be notified if he heard on the theft report, then hung up.
“Did Ginger report the theft?”
He shrugged. “Jackson will find out. Meantime, I’ve got to see Stacey.”
Lyssa rolled her eyes. “That’s one encounter I’d rather avoid. Why don’t you drop me back at the condo and see her on your own?”
He did as she asked, promising to return in an hour, but he’d been gone less than five minutes when the doorbell to the condo rang. Lyssa hurried to the door. “Forget your ke--”
Ginger stood on the stoop, looking like something the cat dragged in then changed its mind about. She shouldered past Lyssa and into the house. “Oh, God, Lyssa, I know Craig thinks I stole the Purity, and when the police find out I was involved with Kevin, they’ll think I sicced him on to Wayne. But it wasn’t like that. You have to believe me.”
Lyssa stood with the door wide open, the cold wind spitting wet raindrops against her back. Ginger hadn’t asked to see Craig. It meant she knew he wasn’t there. Fear crept around Lyssa’s heart. “Did you report the Purity’s theft?”
Ginger’s brown eyes were awash with tears. “N-No. I’m scared the police--”
Lyssa took a step backward. Despite their tentative truce, by not reporting the theft, Ginger had only reenforced Lyssa’s distrust of her. Why was she really here?
“Lyssa,” Ginger moaned in a pleading voice. “We’re flesh and blood. You have to help me.”
Lyssa took another step back. Wind railed against her, blowing her hair around her face. “Ginger, I can’t protect you from the law if you’re guilty of murder.”
The threatening tears rolled freely down Ginger’s cheeks. She sobbed, “I couldn’t hurt a hair on Wayne Rival’s head. I loved him.” She swiped at her damp face with the back of her hand and fixed Lyssa with a soggy gaze. “But I think I can guess who might have.”
Rush hour was well underway by the time Craig exited the West Seattle freeway onto Harbor Avenue. Menacing clouds weighed heavy in the sky, looking like grimy petticoats about to smother the city. Wind, blowing in from Puget Sound, pommeled the Lexus. He tapped his brake, slowed, then merged with the thick traffic.
The only thing he felt good about at the moment was that Lyssa was safe in his condo. His fingers gripped tensely around the steering wheel, his thoughts as dark as the sky. He’d just gotten off the car phone with Jackson who'd told him Ginger hadn’t reported the theft, and that he’d dispatched a patrol car to her house which was just up the hill from Stacey’s.
David also lived in this section of town. Craig blew out a disgusted breath, and cursed himself for being a fool. He’d trusted his cousin and his old friend, believed they were having a love affair, when in reality Stacey must have been involved with Kevin Carlyle. A foul taste fill
ed his mouth. He wasn’t just a fool, he was ten times a fool, and his denial had cost him the Purity.
He drove past ships in drydock, past Salty’s on Alki, past the open bay stretching to Seattle, and around the bend onto Alki Avenue. Myriad beach houses and apartment buildings crowded together, hugging the hillside to his left, sandy beach stretched along his right. The fierce breeze was whipping the gelid waters of Puget Sound into a frenzy of whitecaps, and swirling leaves and an odd paper cup into his path.
But if Stacey was involved with Carlyle, where did that leave David? He was involved. Had to be. He’d lied about drawing up the document between Lyssa and Wayne. The bad taste slid into Craig’s stomach and curdled. Was what he’d seen between Stacey and David genuine? Had they used Kevin to get rid of Lyssa and Wayne? Used him so that they could steal the Purity?
The car in front of him ground to a stop, turn signal flashing. Craig braked, his patience thinning with every delay. He’d give anything in the world to be wrong. But he knew he wasn’t. The aroma of fresh fried lingcod drew his attention toward Spud’s Fish and Chips restaurant, a favorite eating spot since his childhood. What a long time ago that suddenly seemed.
He swung his gaze forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman--her cape and smooth auburn hair swirling tokens to the wind’s fancy--leaving the restaurant. He glanced at her. A band of lightning arced from overhead, followed by a thunderous clap. He jumped as if the flashing bolt had struck him.
C.J.!
She hurried across the road ahead. Frantic to cut her off, all Craig could do was sit there, craning his neck to see around the car in front of him. “Damn!”
He hit his horn. Finally, the car blocking his passage turned. Craig jammed his foot to the floor. The Lexus lurched ahead, tires squealing. There was no sign of C.J.. She’d gotten away. But, unless he was sorely mistaken, he knew where she was going: Stacey’s house.
“Can't you go any faster?" Lyssa asked anxiously.
“Not in this traffic, lady,” the cab driver answered. “Not with in this power outage. It’s slowed us to a crawl.”
Wringing her hands, she swallowed a frustrated scream and glanced at the industrial buildings below the freeway, wishing she were certain her cousin had told her the truth. Wondering why Ginger had immediately rushed off into the night without so much as a goodbye. Where had she gone?
Afterward, as she’d had sat alone in Craig’s condo contemplating the implications of what Ginger’s revelation might mean about the Purity, Lyssa had been swept with an awful foreboding. An inexplicable sense that something was wrong.
She tired to reach him on his car phone, then at Stacey’s house. But no one had answered. Maybe Stacey wasn’t home. But then, where was Craig? On his way back to the condo? Were they, even now, passing on opposite sides of the freeway? Or maybe--she began to shake--Craig had run into serious trouble.
Craig rounded the bend that changed Alki Avenue into Beach Drive. The road was all but clear of traffic. No sign of C.J.. She couldn’t have disappeared so quickly unless she’d pulled into one of the few driveways ahead. Most likely Stacey’s.
Wind whined across his car sending a chill down his spine. He slowed the Lexus as Stacey’s three story clapboard house came into view. Only Stacey’s car occupied the driveway. Had C.J. parked somewhere else? There was an inexplicable prickling at his neck. He decided not to park in the drive either. He drove past the house to the next and the next before he pulled to a stop.
He grasped the door handle, then hesitated. Maybe he should call Jackson back and tell him… Tell him what? That he suspected his cousin had stolen the Purity? That he suspected she was about to sell it to their main competitor? No. They might get away with it if he waited for the police to arrive.
Hastening from the car, he was assaulted by the biting forceful breeze hurling in from the Sound. He hunched his shoulders and, feeling like a spy in a grade B film, hurried toward Stacey’s house. Darkness was closing in, but neither street lights nor house lights came on. Was the power out?
He ran across Stacey’s tiny front lawn, stepped into her flower garden and stopped, leaning against the edge of the house. He swallowed hard, counted to ten, then peered around the corner. His heart skipped two beats. Stacey’s car was still alone in the driveway.
Thunder rumbled overhead and dollops of rain hit Craig's head. He hunched his shoulders and ran for the porch. The rain was beating against his face, stealing inside his coat collar.
Lightning blinked behind him, followed by an immediate crack of thunder. He lifted his hand to knock on the door. From inside the house came the sound of a loud bang.
Craig jolted. Was that a gunshot?
Swearing, he grabbed the knob. It was unlocked. He shoved the door inward. “Stacey!”
The interior hall was dark, shadowed. He reached for the light switch. The only response was an echoing click. Darkness remained absolute. With his pulse racing, he stepped forward, groping the wall.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the hall and his surroundings with an eerie clarity. He spotted Stacey. Not three feet ahead. Lying on the floor in a pool of blood.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The cab driver pulled to a stop on Beach Drive. The taxi’s headlights offered the only illumination on the whole street, as far as Lyssa could see in either direction. Rain and wind slewed against the car, and she was glad she'd changed into jeans and borrowed a fleece-lined denim jacket she'd found in Craig’s closet.
She peered out at the dark house across the street from the taxi, then returned her gaze to the cabby. Farther down the road, a car--reflected in the taxi’s headlights--caught her attention. Craig’s Lexus. “I think this is the wrong house.”
“This is the number you gave me, lady. You want to check it again?” The cabby started to turn into the driveway.
“No. Don’t do that,” Lyssa cried out, uncertain why the thought of shining headlights across the darkened house alarmed her. But it did. “Please, drive ahead up to that black car.”
“Ok-a-ay.” The cabby shrugged and did as directed, stopping behind the Lexus.
She started to hand over her fare, then snatched it back beyond his reach. The Lexus was the right color, but was it Craig’s? “I think I know that car, but I can’t be certain without looking inside. Do you have a flashlight I could borrow?”
He looked at the money, then her. “Hey lady, don’t give me no trouble.”
The implied threat rattled her; the man was twice her size. Nonetheless, she lifted her chin defiantly. “No trouble. I just need that flashlight.”
“I get paid for pick ups and deliveries, lady. Anything else costs extra.”
“How much?”
He looked at her again, this time in a sly, assessing sweep of his cool gray eyes. “Twenty.”
At least he had a flashlight, she thought with satisfaction. Unfortunately, he knew she was desperate. And in a hurry. “How about ten?”
“Twenty. Take it or leave it.”
“All I have is fifteen.”
“Let’s see the money.”
“Let’s see the flashlight.”
He reached into the glove box and withdrew a hand-sized, black and copper-colored plastic flashlight that had probably cost him six bucks, tops. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he dangled it just beyond her reach as she’d done with the money, and grinned.
She frowned. “Does it work?”
“Brand new.” He flicked it on and shined it in her face.
She grimaced, blinking in annoyance. The beam wasn’t brilliant, but it was better than nothing and at the moment, she’d willingly have paid double for one with half its output. They made the exchange. She said, “Would you stick around a moment longer? If this car belongs to my friend, then you can go. Otherwise, I’ll need a ride back into town.”
“What are you planning to pay me with…if I already got all you had on you?”
“I have more cash at my house.”
; He took precious seconds deciding whether or not to believe her, then with a grin that said he’d drive her to the moon and back if she wanted to pay for it, he nodded. “Ok-a-ay. Su-u-re. I’ll wait.”
Grumbling to herself about the lack of human kindness in the world these days, she stepped into rain--that reminded her of a sprinkler without much water pressure--bent into the wind and hustled to the Lexus. The interior was gray like Craig’s car. She felt no reassurance. What were the odds that Stacey’s neighbor would have a car exactly like Craig’s? She couldn’t even guesstimate and, no matter how slim the chances, dare not rule out the possibility. If only there was some thing, some recognizable something.
She played the light beam along the dashboard again. There. What was that ecru coupon nestled against the windshield? A parking stub. Checking closer, she saw it was from the garage they’d used earlier while visiting Ben Marlowe’s. Why wasn’t she relieved? Why did the anxious sensation keep grabbing her insides?
Maybe she should ask the cabby to accompany her to Stacey’s house. No. She was being ridiculous. It was the darkness. Lyssa dismissed the cab. But as he drove out of sight, leaving her alone on the empty street, wind and rain and trepidation swept over her.
Where were the masses that crowded the freeway such a short distance away? Didn’t any of those people live here? Was no one at home? She cast a glance at the Lexus, then at the house beside it. The curtains were drawn. To keep out the night? Or to hold in its secrets? Was Craig inside? She shined the flashlight beam on the brass numbers beside the front door. They didn’t match those she’d copied from Craig’s address book.
Stacey’s house must be the one the cabby had taken her to originally. But, if that were so, then why had Craig parked here? He’d had no reason to conceal his visit to Stacey’s. Had he? She started toward the house. She could neither explain nor rid herself of the feeling that something was wrong. Why hadn’t he returned to the condo? He’d promised to be back within the hour, and yet, more than two hours had passed before she’d started out after him.