Sinister Summer

by Colleen Gleason

  “Well, I’d better take both of you then,” Ethan said firmly. He knew better than to try and talk them out of going inside. Instead, he’d simply maneuver where they went and where they didn’t go.

  Maxine didn’t argue, and so Ethan helped them inside. He understood that they needed to say farewell to both Jean and her house, and although there’d been a funeral, this visitation was rather like the last nail in the coffin. So to speak.

  Maybe they even thought or hoped that Jean might make an appearance herself. Ethan looked around dubiously. He wouldn’t put it past her.

  The front entrance to the house was still intact, although Diana had left the door unlocked since the fire. But half of the hallway that led to the library and upstairs was mostly gone, and the space that had been Jean’s den and library was now a pile of rubble inside three burned-out walls. All of her books were gone, and the piecrust table where she’d left her Tarot cards…and the chair that had been next to it as well. All that remained of her comfortable seat was a scorched metal spring.

  No one spoke as he carefully helped the ladies pick their way toward the demolished library, where they saw an occasional charred spine of random books. Then they poked into the smoke-tinged bedroom, which had one wall burned through. They were making their way toward the kitchen, which had come through the fire with little more than smoke damage, when Ethan heard Diana calling him from outside.

  Galvanized by concern, he whisked Maxine and Juanita out the kitchen door much faster than they’d come in through the front. “What is it?” he called as soon as he caught sight of Diana.

  She seemed fine—excited instead of upset—so his heart settled back into a normal rhythm.

  “You won’t believe this,” she said, hurrying over to them. She was brandishing a manila envelope. “Look what I found inside Aunt Jean’s car.”

  “Inside Jean’s car? What was it doing in there?” growled Maxine. “What is it?”

  But Diana had already handed the envelope to Ethan.

  He stared down at it. “It’s a letter. To me. From Jean.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Diana’s heart was pounding, because somehow she knew this was a game-changer. “There’s one for me too. They were in her car, sitting on the passenger seat in front along with some bills—sealed but unstamped.”

  “She was going to take them to the post office,” Ethan said slowly. “She often did that—put things in her car the night before so she wouldn’t forget them.” He was fingering the manila envelope.

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Open it!” Juanita said. She was puffing slightly, as it had taken some effort to get her generous bulk across the grass at a quick speed.

  “Them,” Maxine corrected waspishly. “Diana’s got one too.”

  “A letter from the dead.” Ethan was still looking at the envelope, as if he were afraid to open it.

  “A letter from the dead in Aunt Jean’s car—which happens to be an Expedition,” Diana said. The hair on the backs of her arms had lifted and prickled as soon as she figured it out. “Remember the books on the floor, Ethan? Letters, traces, expedition?”

  He looked at her, and when their eyes connected, it was as if they were alone without two crabby, bossy old ladies watching their every move.

  “Yes,” he said softly, his eyes warm and brown and filled with depth of emotion: grief, warmth, and something else. Diana’s heart gave a funny little thump. All of a sudden, she was really disappointed their morning had been interrupted. “Jean was trying to tell us.”

  “Tell you what?” Maxine’s fingers were opening and closing as if she wanted to snatch the envelope from Diana. Her cane was sinking into the ground as she leaned into it. “I think it’s about time you told us what the hell is going on here. Both of you.”

  “Aunt Jean—the ghostly Aunt Jean, I mean to say, gave us a message. The words were ‘letters,’ ‘traces,’ and ‘expedition.’ And we’ve just now figured out what that meant,” Diana explained, dragging her thoughts from the way Ethan’s thick, dark hair was tossing in the light breeze and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he fixed his gaze on her in that warm study. “Or mostly.”

  Even as she spoke, there was a sort of gentle buzz overtaking her—throughout her fingers and in her head, sort of emanating through her entire body.

  It was, she thought—but would never admit it aloud—similar to the feeling she had when she did her “thing”—that thing at the office Mickey was asking her about. She glanced covertly at Ethan.

  Well, maybe she would admit it to him.

  Yes. She probably would.

  A little bubbling sensation inside made her warm and wonderfully happy all of a sudden, and she cast him a warm smile. Their eyes met and his gaze went dark and hot and needy. The bottom of her belly dropped down in a hot little flip and she felt her knees go a little weak.

  “Well how long did it take you to figure out what she was trying to tell you?” Maxine demanded. “Couldn’t have been that hard, now could it?”

  “Maybe not for a chemical engineer with a masters in math,” Ethan said with a smile for the old lady. “But Diana’s only a lawyer, and me—well, I’m just a college professor.”

  “Well, how in the green hell did she miss seeing those letters in Jean’s car anyhow? It’s been weeks now, ain’t it?” Maxine’s voice was filled with contempt, but Diana didn’t take offense.

  “I never looked in her car,” she explained with a shrug. “It’s been in the garage since I got here, and it never occurred to me to look at it. Even though I suppose I own it now. It’s only because the cats have been staying in the garage that I noticed it today, when I went in to check their food.”

  By now, Bruce Banner had lost interest in Motto and the rest of the yard. He was bouncing around, barking, springing up and against his mistress’s legs—in an effort to get her to pick him up, Diana supposed. He was a demanding little brat of a dog, but he was so darned cute.

  “Traces,” Ethan murmured. “What does that mean? Letters in the Expedition—we got that. But what’s the reference to traces?”

  He still hadn’t opened the letter; neither had Diana.

  What were they waiting for? She didn’t know. And that buzzing sensation was growing pleasantly stronger.

  “Well…Trace. Like her husband?” Juanita piped up.

  They each whipped a look at her.

  “Yes,” Diana replied immediately. Because she knew. As soon as Juanita said it, she knew. “It has something to do with Uncle Tracer.”

  Her hesitation was gone, and she carefully tore open the envelope. Inside was a letter in Aunt Jean’s familiar handwriting, for though her arthritis had started to get the best of her, she refused to use a computer or even typewriter.

  Along with the letter were several old documents; large ones, folded into fourths. “They’re schematics,” she murmured as they slid out of the envelope into her hand. “Old building plans—oh my God.”

  “What is it?”

  That spike of buzzing energy had grown so strong that her head began to pound. On the corner of one of the drawings she’d glimpsed a familiar name.

  “This.” She showed Ethan, revealing the corner where the name of the company, address, date, and engineering organization was listed, but keeping it folded for fear it would blow away or tear in the lake breeze.

  He looked at it, then back up at her. “Explain.”

  “Woodstock Tool & Dye is now AutoXTech. That’s the company McNillan is representing in the litigation with LavertPiper. I’m the lead attorney in that litigation.”

  But why was this old building schematic—from 1943!—in the envelope? How did Aunt Jean come to have it?

  And why did her head feel as if it were going to explode? And the buzzing in her body feel like she’d stuck her finger in a socket?

  “That can’t be a coincidence,” Ethan said, looking at his manila envelope.

  “Ain’t no coincidences,” Maxine announced. �
�That’s according to Sherlock Holmes, you know.” She frowned, her lips pursing and the lines between her brows becoming more pronounced as they drew together. “Wasn’t that what the Abe Vigoda guy was talking to Jean about? Turned out he knew Tracer way back, or whatnot?”

  “Tracer,” Ethan murmured. “He’s involved somehow.”

  “Oh, if only Iva was here. She’d remember,” Juanita said. She’d succumbed to Bruce Banner’s insistence, and bent to pick him up. Now she held the little beady-eyed dog against her ample bosom, which today was cloaked in a fuchsia maxi dress.

  “We don’t need to bother Iva, Juanita. She’s got her head all filled up with flowers and romance and all, now that Hollis man is wooing her.” Maxine clucked her tongue and shook her head, her lips pursed in thought. “She told us Jean was talking to the Abe Vigoda man, and there was a connection about Tracer knowing him some time ago, way back.”

  “Why don’t you hush up and let Diana read the letter,” Juanita shot back. “It probably explains everything.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Maxine demanded. Her fingers were curling and clutching more desperately now, but Diana noticed Ethan had angled himself between the papers and the old woman—surely in an effort to keep her from pouncing.

  “All right. Let’s go back to my house so we can spread all of these papers out,” Ethan suggested. “I could use a cup of coffee, and some breakfast.” He was still holding his unopened envelope.

  Surprisingly, Ethan easily convinced the two elderly ladies to leave with him in Maxine’s car.

  Diana finished attending to Motto and Arty, the latter of whom had deigned to make an appearance now that Bruce Banner had vacated the premises, and took a few moments to scratch them behind the ears. Then she fed them each a catnip treat, made certain they had beds to sleep on in the garage, bid them a temporary goodbye (what on earth was she going to do with them anyway?), then drove back to Ethan’s cabin.

  If she’d hoped he’d somehow managed to convince Maxine and Juanita they could leave this part to the two of them—herself and Ethan—she was disappointed, for both of the ladies had made themselves comfortable at the four-top dining room table.

  Ethan winced a bit when the chair Juanita was sitting on creaked a little, but he was the epitome of graciousness…even when he announced to Diana, “And Maxine thought it was a good idea to call the other Tuesday Ladies to come on out too. Iva and Cherry are on their way, but Orbra’s got the tea shop open. She’ll be here in an hour, once she gets Bethy in to cover for her.”

  Oh, great.

  They exchanged wry glances, then Diana had a brilliant solution.

  “Why don’t we go into town and sit at Orbra’s? That way we can have breakfast—trust me, ladies, I know there’s nothing in Ethan’s fridge and I would love a cinnamon scone—and then Orbra can join us too.”

  And we can escape when we’re ready.

  Ethan seized upon the idea with such alacrity she knew he’d read her mind. “That’s a great plan. Orbra’s got that big table in the corner, and there’ll be more room for us to spread out. Maybe Trib will stop by and help too,” he added brightly.

  Before Maxine or Juanita could catch up with them—and thus voice any argument—Ethan had them bundled out to the Cadillac. Diana was amazed the ease with which he did so, without appearing to actually rush them. A quick text to Cherry and Iva gave them the change of plans, and then he slid into the Lexus next to Diana.

  “That,” he said with a delighted grin, “was inspired.”

  “I had visions of breakfast, lunch, and dinner around that table,” she replied with a laugh. “And no escape.”

  “And then they’d find an excuse to pull out the Scrabble board—which Maxine knows I have, and she knows where it’s stored.” He sighed. “I made a mistake and bought the Deluxe version.”

  “Why was that a mistake?” Diana asked as she pulled out from the narrow, bumpy, two-track drive onto the county road that followed the north and east sides of the lake. “Dare I ask?”

  “Oh, you definitely should ask—so you don’t make the same mistake. Maxine only plays on a Deluxe version, because the board swivels around to face each player as it’s their turn, and there’s a little grid so the tiles don’t move. If only I’d bought the regular game,” he said with another exaggerated sigh. “I might have had a few extra Sunday afternoons to myself over the last few years…

  “There was one time Maxine and Jean and Juanita were over, just visiting. I left the room for all of three minutes—just to switch my laundry—and when I came back, they had the game set up and Maxine had just played a bingo on her first move. After that, there was no stopping her—we had to finish the game.”

  Diana laughed, thinking about how very different Ethan Murphy was from Jonathan Wertinger. The self-important cardiologist would never spend a Sunday afternoon playing Scrabble with a gaggle of old ladies—even smart ones like Maxine and Juanita who tricked him into it.

  She was still chuckling over that as, ten minutes later, she drove down Pamela Boulevard into downtown Wicks Hollow. With Ethan’s guidance, she managed to find a parking place in a hidden lot that only the locals knew about. She turned off the car, tucked the keys in her bag…and the next thing she knew, Ethan was halfway into her seat, dragging her up to him as he covered her mouth with his.

  She gave a soft sigh of surprise, then slid into the hot, toe-curling kiss with more ease than she might have thought, especially in semi-public. Not that she had any real thoughts at the moment.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that all morning, dammit,” he murmured against her mouth as the center console pushed into her belly and his fingers slid into her hair. “Diana. I didn’t even get to tell you how amazing last night was.”

  She kissed him back for another mind-boggling moment, tasting and enjoying the heat of his mouth, the sleek dance of their tongues. “I thought you did,” she whispered, then she took his lips again, lustily.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned, then moved back with great reluctance as he held her firmly in place—away from him. He looked at her with walnut brown eyes, glittering with heat. “That was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.”

  “Which part?” she replied in a quiet tease. “Kissing me across the console without bumping into the horn, or—”

  “Not tearing your clothes off right here,” he said, rubbing a temple with his fingers in obvious agitation. “By the way, check your bag before we leave the tea shop. Make sure everything’s in it.”

  She opened her door and climbed out. “I will. I was certain I’d put my sweater in my purse last night—”

  “Oh, you did. Maxine took it out. She’s got some sticky fingers, our girl. Do you see what we’re up against here?” he said with a pained laugh as he looked at her from across the roof of the car.

  Diana’s eyes widened, then she laughed ruefully. “I’m just beginning to.”

  It was Sunday and June in Michigan, and the weather was gorgeous. Thus, there were tourists everywhere—so thick, one could hardly walk down the street. But Ethan directed her through the back way, and they came inside Orbra’s from the alley behind.

  “Well that took you long enough!” Maxine’s gravely voice rose above the general hubbub of the busy tea shop at brunch. “Did you get lost?” She eyed them suspiciously, and Diana found her cheeks warming—even though they couldn’t have been more than five minutes behind the old ladies.

  “Cute dress,” Cherry said to Diana as she patted the seat next to her. “I love the blue seersucker with those pretty appliqued daisies around the neckline and hem. Almost vintage looking, but yet very modern.” Then, as Diana sat, she leaned closer and whispered, “Your lipstick is smeared, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t leave the house with your hair like that.” She grinned as Diana frantically tried to flatten her unruly curls.

  But Diana refused to let her face heat any further, despite the speculative looks from the lot of them sitting there—Cherry, M
axine, Juanita, and Iva. Nor did she look at Ethan, who’d somehow been maneuvered into a seat across the table from her.

  She thought she’d discreetly fixed her lipstick, but when she looked up from doing so and found Ethan watching her, and the old ladies watching him, her face warmed again.

  “All right,” she said briskly. “I’m calling this meeting to order. We’ve got two packages from my aunt that were never mailed, and it’s logical they’re somehow related to the break-ins and her death.” Her voice almost cracked on the last word, but she held firm. Had Aunt Jean really been murdered over whatever was in these envelopes?

  “Maxine gave us the run-down,” Cherry said. “Have you read the letter yet?”

  “No. I’m going to do that now.” Diana pulled the document from her manila folder, slipped on a pair of reading glasses (yes, she was one of those people who needed cheaters at twenty-eight), and began to read in a voice pitched loud enough for those to hear around the table, but not to carry much further into the crowded restaurant.

  “‘Dear Diana, I’ve found something that I think you need to see. I know how busy you are, and my visit to Chicago was far too long ago (even though it’s been less than a year), so I thought I’d better send this to you straightaway.’”

  Diana paused to take a sip of her tea; not so much because her throat was dry, but because she needed a moment to compose herself. She could hear Aunt Jean, speaking in her no-nonsense, concise fashion, as if she were dictating the letter to her right now. It hit her, once more—this time like an anvil—that she’d never see her aunt again.

  That Jean’s visit to see Hamilton in Chicago with her had been the last time they’d ever be together.

  “Well, go on,” demanded Maxine, thumping her cane against the floor. “Ain’t got all day here, Diana.”

  She cleared her throat and continued, just as Orbra pulled up a chair to join them at the table.

  “‘It’s a little complicated, but I’ll make it simple. Iva has met the most lovely man—Hollis Nath, a very distinguished attorney from Grand Rapids; I do hope things work out with them—and he was first here in Wicks Hollow in late April for the big business golf outing. I met one of the other men attending with him, and through the course of our conversation, we realized Tracer had done some work for this other man’s company way back when he was just getting into commercial real estate. (I won’t tell you how far back; that would put too obvious a stamp on my age—although it was before my time. But might I remind you that Tracer was fifteen years older than me.)’”