Fugitive Father

by Jean Barrett

  “Speaking of local crafts…” She got to her feet. “Noah, do you mind if I paint while we talk? If I don’t produce something before I go back to the castle, it’s going to look suspicious. So far, Brett and the others are willing to accept that’s why I come out on my own, and I want to keep it that way.”

  He glowered over the subject of Brett Buchanan. “Just how friendly has he been with you?”

  She smiled at his jealousy. “You’ll be happy to know that Brett has a far more willing diversion to keep him occupied.” She explained about Sandra O’Hara. For the first time since her arrival in the cove, Noah looked pleased.

  She left him on the bench and went off to the van to collect her supplies. Minutes later, she was seated at a small table she had dragged out of the cabin, a sheet of watercolor paper pinned to her board. She began rapidly sketching a scene of the Cherokee River, framing it with a corner of the log cabin and the flaming sourwood tree. Noah, watching her from the bench while she worked, rested his ankle and listened to her account of all that had been happening since they’d parted.

  She described in greater detail her efforts to shake Lew Ferguson and her confrontation with the detective yesterday in Rosebay.

  “It worries me he’s following you like that,” Noah said, his face grim. “If he’s convinced you’re involved with me, and he can end up proving it, then you could be charged with aiding and abetting an escaped felon.”

  “That won’t happen,” she insisted. “I know how to be careful.” Satisfied with her pencil rendering of the landscape, she began to mix her colors.

  “I don’t like it. I don’t want you to end up paying a price for helping me.”

  They had been over this territory before, and she wasn’t going to argue the subject again. She made an effort to divert him as she applied splashes of vermilion and cadmium yellow to produce the autumn foliage of the sourwood tree. “Have you been able to come up with any reason why Ferguson has it in for you?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  She glanced at him. She could tell from the rigid line of his jaw that in another second he would start in again about how she was risking herself for him. To forestall him, she talked about Joel and his existence at the castle. He was eager to hear about his son, and this time he listened without interruption while she built up her layers of paint, controlling the colors with quick, deft strokes.

  She told him about Joel’s lessons with Mrs. Connelly and his attachment to the puppet, Hobo. It reminded Noah of a battered stuffed elephant that had never left his son’s side when he was an infant. There was such a glow of paternal love and longing in his gaze as he spoke of the memory that Ellie’s heart ached for him.

  She couldn’t bring herself to tell Noah that Joel refused to discuss his father. It would devastate him if he thought his son feared him now. But it worried her. If Joel didn’t want to be with his father, was perhaps even frightened of him, how could she help Noah to take him away?

  But for Joel there might be no other choice. In fact, his life could depend on it. She could no longer delay sharing with Noah what she had overheard yesterday outside the library and how worried she had been ever since.

  The sourwood tree and the logs of the cabin were finished. She started on the river with tones of olive.

  “Noah,” she said slowly, “I think I may have stumbled into a motive for Howard Buchanan’s murder. And if I have, then it’s very possible Brett did kill his father, or at least arrange for it, since he was supposed to have had an alibi for that day.”

  He leaned forward on the bench, his body tense. “Have you been taking chances? I thought I told you—All right, don’t look at me like that. Just tell me what you learned, and how.”

  “It seems that Brett wasn’t as independently rich as we thought. Or, anyway, that he was in financial trouble before his father’s death, and now he isn’t. Which, I’m assuming, means that he inherited a large portion of his father’s fortune. As for how I discovered this…”

  She went on to explain about the phone conversation she had overheard. Noah was silent when she finished, his eyes as hard as jet.

  “If it’s true,” she said softly, “then you were framed for the murder.”

  He nodded, his voice harsh. “But what good is it going to do me? Without hard evidence, I don’t stand any chance of clearing myself. I’m still where I was.”

  She was afraid he was right, but she tried to offer him a hopeful, “Maybe something will turn up yet”

  He didn’t respond. They both knew there was little chance of that happening. She began to prepare a wash for the sky, mixing cerulean and French ultramarine blue.

  “Noah, there’s more,” she said with difficulty. She hated having to tell him this part, but it couldn’t be avoided.

  “Let’s have it.”

  “Just after Brett assured whoever was on the other end of the phone that he had plenty of money now, he stressed there was more where that came from. He—well, he implied that before long he’d be able to get his hands on it.”

  She waited for Noah’s explosive reaction and was surprised when it didn’t happen. Surely the terrible significance of her information hadn’t escaped him. She glanced up from the sky she was filling in. He was frowning.

  “What are you suggesting, Ellie?”

  “Joel. Didn’t you tell me that, as Howard Buchanan’s grandson, he inherits a fortune?”

  “Right. The estate was divided equally between Brett and Joel, and the court controls Joel’s half until—” He broke off, staring at her in understanding. “You’re thinking that if Brett did kill his father for the money, Joel could be next.”

  “It’s a terrifying possibility. I didn’t want to believe Joel was in any danger from him, but now…”

  Noah shook his head. “It’s not a motive, Ellie. Because if anything should happen to Joel before he’s of age, his half of the estate doesn’t pass to Brett. It goes to various charities. Howard Buchanan’s will was clear about that Brett doesn’t get a penny of Joel’s money. All this was eventually established at my trial when the prosecution tried to suggest I had an eye on my son’s half of the inheritance.”

  “Then Joel isn’t at risk.” She breathed deeply in relief. “Thank God. I’ve been imagining every kind of horror and afraid to tell you the worst.”

  She completed the sky and began to define and highlight the details of her painting.

  “That doesn’t mean my kid isn’t threatened,” he insisted. “There’s something there. I can feel it. I have from the start.”

  “But why, if no motive exists?”

  “I don’t know. I just do. Call it parental instinct. Hell, Ellie, why was Brett so eager to get custody of Joel? And why come way out here with him and rent some isolated estate? I’ve got to get my son out of there.”

  She was inclined now to think he was exaggerating Joel’s situation, but she understood his frustration. He was a father, and his child was under someone else’s control. Someone he had every reason not to trust.

  “Noah, you will get him back, but you have to be patient just a little longer. The ankle—”

  “I’m fed up with being patient! The damn ankle has kept me here long enough!” Flinging the crutch to one side, he surged to his feet. “Look. Good as new.”

  Before she could stop him, he placed his full weight on the ankle and started toward her, determined to demonstrate his recovery. He’d taken no more than a few steps when the injured leg started to buckle on him as he cursed in pain.

  Ellie jumped up from the table and went to help him. He shook her off and staggered back to the bench, collapsing on it heavily.

  “Are you all right?”

  He nodded, silent with helpless rage.

  “Noah, I know it’s infuriating, but you have to accept it. The ankle simply isn’t ready to bear your weight, and it certainly isn’t up to anything as punishing as your running away with Joel.”

  He didn’t answer her, but sh
e knew he reluctantly bought her argument The painting was finished. She went back to the table and began to gather up her supplies.

  “I have to leave. Joel will be finished soon with his lessons. I want to be there with him before Brett and the others get back from Asheville.”

  She took her things and tossed them in the rear of the van, placing the wet watercolor flat on the floor to dry. Then she went back to the yard to return the table and chair to the cabin. By the time she emerged, Noah was on his feet again. This time he was wisely using the crutch.

  “I don’t know how I’ll manage it,” she promised him, “but one way or another I’ll be back tomorrow. We’ll decide then just when and how I’m going to bring Joel out to you. Is there anything you need?”

  “No, I’m fine. And if willpower has anything to do with it, when you see me again the ankle will be fine, too.”

  She hesitated, jangling the car keys in her hand.

  “What?” he urged.

  “It’s nothing important Just something I’ve been wondering about Joel.” She explained about his son’s irrational fear of the slide and laundry chute in her home and the elevator at the castle.

  “This is news to me,” he said, his brow knitted in puzzlement. “I’ve never known him to be nervous about anything like that. And he won’t talk about it?”

  “Not to me. He probably will to you when you see him.” She glanced at her watch. “I’d better go.”

  “Take care of my kid. Hell, I know you will. The thing is, will you take care of yourself? You’d better.”

  He emphasized his warning by leaning down and placing a long, possessive kiss on her mouth. She wished he hadn’t It made it all the harder to turn away and leave him there in the yard of the cabin.

  MUCH TO HER RELIEF, Ellie saw no sign of the blue sedan on her way back to the estate. But when she arrived at the castle, there was an unfamiliar sports car parked in the drive close to the front door. Wondering who was here, she pulled in beside it.

  Before she could remove her painting gear from the van, the front door opened. Jonnie came down the steps, accompanied by a tall man with skin the color of polished ebony and carrying a bag. The young woman called to her. Ellie joined them at the bottom of the steps.

  “This is Dick Sherwood,” Jonnie introduced her companion. “He practices medicine in Rosebay. We’re good friends, which helps when you need a doctor on the spot.”

  From the warmth in her voice, Ellie guessed he might be more than just a good friend. The doctor shook her hand.

  “What Jonnie is trying to say is that I don’t make house calls, but since young Joel can’t leave the estate, I was willing to make an exception.”

  Ellie was instantly alarmed. “What’s wrong? Has Joel—”

  “Ellie, it’s okay,” Jonnie assured her. “He’s had a little accident. If it had been anything serious, rule or no rule, I would have called for an ambulance to take him to the hospital. I just felt Dick should have a look at him to be sure he didn’t suffer a concussion or something.”

  The doctor added his own assurance. “He’s fine. Nothing more than a lump on his head. He’s resting in his room with an ice bag and one of the house staff reading him a story. Just keep an eye on him to be sure nothing develops. Not that it will.”

  “But what happened?”

  Jonnie explained it to her. “Mrs. Connelly had to leave a bit early for an appointment. Joel was supposed to wait in the house until you got back, but he took off without telling anyone. Hobo was missing, and you know how crazy he is about that puppet.”

  “Where?”

  “Down to the stables. He’d forgotten Hobo there when he visited his pony this morning. The thing I can’t figure out is how the puppet got on the shelf in Sultan’s stall.”

  “Oh, no, he didn’t go into that stall!” Ellie exclaimed, shuddering over the image of Joel under the deadly hooves of Brett’s temperamental horse.

  “Not quite that bad, but something almost as risky. He climbed up on the half door. He was sure he could reach the shelf from there. I was on the phone in the tack room. I didn’t even know he was out there until I heard him yelling”

  “Sultan didn’t—”

  “It was the door. I don’t know how it got left unlatched. I’m always so careful about that, and Joel swears he never touched the hook. He didn’t expect the thing to swing open, but with his weight pulling on it, that’s just what happened. By the time I got there, he’d been flung off and cracked his head against a post”

  “It could have been worse,” Dick comforted her.

  “I know. Sultan was wild over the incident, and if he’d managed to get out of that stall before I got the door shut…Anyway, I feel so responsible.”

  “Why should you?” Dick said. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  No, Ellie silently agreed. Jonnie wasn’t to blame for what might easily have been a tragedy. But someone was. Someone had placed the puppet temptingly on the shelf, just out of reach. Someone had unlatched the stall door.

  It could have been unintentional, a result of simple carelessness. Or—chilling thought—had it been meant to harm Joel and look like an accident? Was Noah right? Was his son in danger? But why? It made no sense if Brett couldn’t touch his inheritance.

  “I just hope Mr. Buchanan understands why I called in Dick,” Jonnie said.

  “You did the right thing,” Ellie assured her. “Look, I’m going on up to see the patient.”

  She felt an urgent need to be with Joel, to remain protectively beside him. She wasn’t ready to put it into words. It wasn’t a conviction yet, but the fear lurked there just under the surface. Someone in this house wanted Joel dead. In her eagerness to reach him, she forgot about her painting gear in the van.

  “THE BITCH GAVE ME the slip this morning,” Lew growled, leaning forward to make himself heard above the country and western music blasting from an old-fashioned jukebox.

  He and Peaches shared a cramped booth in a bar on the edge of Rosebay. The place was as dim and dingy as a cave, which must have been appealing since it was packed with a noisy, late-night crowd.

  Peaches leaned his arms on the scarred tabletop that separated them. “Face it,” he jeered, “she’s too smart for you.”

  “We’ll see about that. She’s not gonna get so lucky the next time. The next time I don’t lose her. She’s gonna lead me to Rhyder if I have to hire bloodhounds to track her there.”

  “Maybe that won’t be necessary,” Peaches said mysteriously. “Could be there’s another way to locate his hideout.”

  “Like?”

  “See where this leads you.” From a pocket inside his jacket, he produced a sheet of thick paper that he had folded into a fraction of its size. He spread it open on the table between them, indifferent to the creases that spoiled it.

  “What the hell is this?” Lew demanded.

  “What’s it look like? It’s a watercolor. One of her watercolors. I had to move her van out of the way this evening so I could get Mr. Buchanan’s car into the garage. This was on the floor in the back.”

  “And how’s it supposed to help me?”

  “She went out painting this morning, didn’t she? Well, this has to be what she painted, because it was still damp when I lifted it.”

  “Yeah, I get it. She maybe painted this where Rhyder is holed up, which could mean…” Interest aroused, he bent his head to study the picture. “Not much here to go on, though.”

  “Not for you or me. But one of the locals might find enough in it to recognize the spot.”

  “It’s worth the effort,” Lew agreed. “If she doesn’t show up outside the gates tomorrow so I get another shot at following her, I’ll start showing it around. The thing is, if she misses it before then—”

  “She won’t. She’s too worried about the kid to think of anything else.” Peaches sat back in the booth, picking at his teeth. “I dunno. Maybe none of this is worth anything. Maybe, like she claims, she never even saw Rhyde
r.”

  “Oh, she knows where he is all right.” Nothing would shake Lew’s certainty about that. “And before I’m finished with her…”

  ELLIE CAME AWAKE in the middle of the night. Her brain was so dull with sleep that for a moment she didn’t understand what had aroused her. Then she heard it. A low, keening sound from the room next door. Joel’s room.

  Shaking off the last shreds of sleep, she was out of her bed in a flash and racing toward the communicating door of their connecting rooms. She’d left the door open after tucking him in last evening in case he should need her. It seemed now that he did.

  Alarmed by what might be happening to him, she rushed toward his bed, guided by the night-light. To her relief, there was no one else in the room. When she leaned down over his small form huddled under the covers, she realized that what was threatening him was a bad dream. Probably a result of his accident earlier.

  Joel was still mewing in his sleep like a frightened little animal as Ellie lowered herself on the edge of the bed and gathered him in her arms. He came awake at once and clung to her, flushed and trembling.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” she soothed him gently. “It was just a dream. But an awful one, huh?”

  “Yes,” he muttered, face buried against her breasts.

  “Does your head ache?” she asked him, checking to be sure he wasn’t suffering any aftereffects of the episode at the stables.

  He shook his head.

  “That’s good. Would you like to tell me about the dream? Would that help?”

  He didn’t answer her.

  “I bet I can guess,” she encouraged him. “I bet it was about Sultan. He scares me, too.”

  He drew his head back. “It wasn’t about Sultan, and I’m not scared of him. It was about the bad place,” he blurted.

  “The bad place? What bad place?”

  He stiffened, as if suddenly realizing his mistake. She put her hand under his chin and looked down into his thin face.

  “Joel, have you had this dream before?”

  “Sometimes.”