Winter Winds

by Gayle Roper

  Of course, maybe he wasn’t a thief. Maybe it was just the girl. Maybe he was only the driver of a car she rode in.

  And maybe the moon was made of green cheese.

  “What’s so interesting about us Trevelyans?”

  She feigned surprise. “Who are the Trevelyans?”

  His look said he was disappointed in her. “As if you didn’t know.”

  She merely stared at him. The silence didn’t bother her one bit. She’d outwaited many a petty troublemaker. She’d outwait him.

  “Why did you follow us from the airport?”

  She started. How did he know? She hoped that her surprise looked like disbelief at the accusation rather than distress at being found out. “Now why would I do something like that?”

  “I might have been meeting Dori, but I always notice a pretty woman, especially one who seems more than a bit interested in Dori and me, even takes our picture, then runs like crazy to her own car when we start to drive away.”

  “It sounds to me like you’re just a teensy bit paranoid.” She put everything she could into her sneer, though she was thrown that he’d noticed the pictures.

  He gave a smile that was both beautiful and more than slightly condescending. “I might agree with you if I hadn’t watched you search my car.”

  She stiffened. “I did not search your car.”

  “Maybe you didn’t force any locks, but you walked around it long enough, peeking in the windows, studying the license plate, talking to your contact on the phone as you did all this.”

  She glanced involuntarily at all the hospital windows and inwardly grimaced. She should have been more careful.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I watched from that big window on the third floor.” He pointed.

  “Maybe I just like the looks of your car. Maybe I just like the lighthouse license plate.”

  He shook his head, not deigning to respond to such obvious cavils. “Maybe you’re planning to rob me.”

  She sat up, stung by the charge. “What? Are you nuts?” She was a cop, for Pete’s sake, not that she could tell him.

  He leaned closer, invading her personal space again, forcing her to back farther into the car. “Then why were you spying on me?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and met him steely look for steely look. She reminded herself to take slow, deep breaths. He wasn’t really taking up all the oxygen in the car; it just felt that way. “How well do you know the woman you drove here?”

  She could tell he didn’t expect her question. He frowned, then pulled back a bit, and she could breathe again.

  “She’s my sister.”

  “Really?”

  He gave a half smile. “You needn’t sound so skeptical. She’s my sister.”

  “And the man who just left with her?” And the black suitcase.

  “My brother.”

  “And their names?”

  “Paul Trevelyan and Dori MacAllister. And I’m Phil Trevelyan, as if you didn’t already know that.” He grew thoughtful. “Though I guess Dori’s name is really Dori Trevelyan now. And has been.”

  “MacAllister was her married name, and she’s reverted after a divorce?” Clarification would help with tracing her.

  “No, Trevelyan’s her married name.”

  Maureen looked at him. “I think you’d better explain.”

  For some reason he did. “Well, she’s not my blood sister, but the three of us were raised together. Then Trev married her.”

  “Your brother married your sister.”

  “But not my blood sister,” he repeated hastily. “Or Trev’s.”

  “So your sister is now also your sister-in-law.”

  Phillip stared at the place where the van had been, smiling vaguely. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “Recent marriage, huh?”

  He shook his head. “No, six years ago. I just didn’t know it until today.”

  That surprised her. “I would have thought from the way you pounced on me that you didn’t miss much. How’d a marriage of six years get by you?”

  “Simple. They don’t live together. Dori’s been in California ever since they married, and Trev’s been here.”

  Maureen snorted. “Strange marriage.”

  He gave her a decidedly unfriendly look. “You don’t know anything about it.”

  She felt herself flush. He was right. “Sorry.”

  He held up a hand. “Me, too. You’re right. It is a strange situation. Now they have to live together for six months.”

  “Have to?”

  Phil grinned. “Yeah. Have to. Because of Pop and Honey.”

  And that was supposed to make sense? “I take it the three of you were visiting someone here?” She pointed at the hospital.

  He nodded. “Pop. And I’ve got to get back. I need to be with Honey when the doctor tells her what he found.” He straightened, then hesitated. Bending to her again, he turned on that charming smile, this time without the condescension. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  Maureen’s heart kicked. Sweetheart? The man was dangerous, thief or no. “Why should I tell you?”

  He shrugged. “Because I want to know?”

  A good reason if she ever heard one. “Maureen Galloway. What do you know about Matisse?”

  He looked surprised at the question. “The artist?”

  Maureen nodded.

  “That’s what I know, all of it. He was an artist. I assume he painted in a particular school and lived somewhere—France?—and had a first name and a family.” He spread his hands. “No clue. Why?”

  She shook her head again. What else would she expect him to say? That he was somehow involved in the theft of two of the artist’s paintings?

  “You’re an interesting one, Maureen. I still don’t know what your game is or why my car fascinated you so much or if you did indeed follow me from the airport. Or maybe it was Dori you followed. But you can find me in Seaside, New Jersey, at the Seaside Pharmacy.”

  “And why would I want to find you?” Maureen retorted.

  Phil studied her for a minute. “I have no idea. But I think that I’d like you to find me.”

  She stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Because?”

  On that note, he walked off. She watched him until he disappeared into the hospital. What game was he playing? What did he want from her? And why did the first man who had interested her even the slightest bit since Adam’s death have to be involved in one of her cases?

  Ten

  THE AIR IN THE CARAVAN was thick with tension. Dori felt it twining around her like the tendrils of the heavy fog in an English mystery movie.

  Six months with Trev! Even the thought stole her breath. How could she survive? She’d barely escaped intact last time, and that had only been three days. She knew she’d never survive a hurt like he’d inflicted before if it happened a second time, at least not the parts of her that were truly her. Her spirit, her soul, her personality, all those intangibles that made her who she was.

  A pillow over her face would be kinder, smothering the life from her body. Then she wouldn’t have to learn to live with the unbearable ache of rejection and betrayal again.

  A tear slipped down her cheek, and she turned to look out her side window so Trev wouldn’t see. He must not know the power he had over her. To protect herself she would be polite but distant, pleasant but withdrawn. In other words, there but not there. Maybe then she could cope.

  Trev finally spoke. “So how will Small Treasures survive without you for six months?” He gave her a wry smile.

  She couldn’t help but return the smile in kind. “Meg managed before I showed up. I’m sure she can manage again.” Polite but emotionally uninvolved.

  “How did she get started in the business?”

  “She’d always wanted a store of her own, so when her three sons were in high school, she opened Small Treasures with Ron’s financial help and blessing.”

  “Ron’s the
husband?”

  Dori pictured Ron and smiled. “He’s a great guy, a big bear of a man like Pop. He and Meg have been married for thirty-one years.”

  “Do their kids work at Small Treasures too?”

  “I think they did when they were in high school or college—stock boy type of stuff—but they’re all established in their own careers now. Ronny is a teacher, Chaz is a CPA, and Randy, the baby, is a musician, a starving one to hear his father talk.”

  “And they’re all married?”

  “Randy’s not. Someday if he ever matures, he’ll make some woman a fine husband, but not now. He’s definitely not ready.”

  Like another person I know, she could have said but didn’t. It wouldn’t help anything.

  Trev turned into the motel parking lot, and Dori felt the tension revive, at least as far as she was concerned. Trev looked the picture of cool unconcern, which somehow irked her. He should be feeling as awkward as she. It was only right.

  Honey had reserved them a lovely deluxe room with a king-size bed that dominated the room and rasped on Dori’s already strained nerves. It might as well have had a note leaning against the pillows that read, “Reconciliation starts here.”

  She walked to the window and stared at the parking lot and Dumpster. A stray buff-colored cat jumped to the edge of the Dumpster and sat, studying its contents. She shivered at the thought of the animal out in the cold fending for himself. Where did he sleep so he didn’t freeze to death? If he jumped into the Dumpster, how did he get out?

  “Are you all right?” Trev asked from behind her.

  She turned, surprised. “What made you think I wasn’t?”

  “You were shivering.”

  She pointed out the window. “A stray cat. I was shivering for him living outside in this weather.”

  “Ah.” He looked out the window, then down at her. “Speaking of cold, we need to get you a warm coat.”

  She raised a hand. “No, it’s all right. I won’t be here Ion—”

  Trev smiled sympathetically. “Six months, Dori. And since it’s only January, three of those months are guaranteed to be pretty cold.”

  She spoke without thinking. “You know, if Pop were here right now, I’d happily sock him in the nose, even if he is sick.” Appalled at what she heard herself say, she clamped a hand to her mouth. “That sounded so awful!”

  “I know exactly what you mean, so don’t feel bad.”

  He hated this as much as she did? Somehow that made her feel both comforted and affronted.

  Trev indicated the room’s door. “Come on. Let’s go get your coat.”

  She followed him out, only too happy to leave the confines of the room. They drove to the Exton Mall and bought her a coat, a black parka lined in red and filled with so much down that she felt like the eight ball in a game of pool. She didn’t care. It would keep her warm.

  On their way to the cash register they passed a sale table holding gloves and hats. Immediately Dori was taken with a red felt beret. She grabbed it and tried it on, pulling it so it draped more on the right side of her head. She looked around for a mirror but saw none.

  “It looks wonderful,” Trev said, watching her with a smile.

  She looked at him skeptically.

  “It does,” he insisted. “It looks good with that hairdo of yours, and the red perks up the coat. Get it.”

  Deciding that for nine dollars she could afford to believe him, she rooted on the table until she found a pair of red leather, fleece-lined gloves, another nine dollars. When she went back outside, she might have felt like a checkerboard, but she was wonderfully toasty for the first time since she’d gotten off the plane.

  They drove back to the hospital and spent the afternoon and early evening with Honey and Phil. Pop returned from surgery around dinnertime.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Dr. Rosen said, nodding his white head in satisfaction.

  Looking at the sleeping Pop, still much too pale, Dori hoped and prayed Dr. Rosen was right. Even she knew heart attacks were tricky things.

  Honey pulled up a chair beside the bed and took Pop’s hand. She rubbed her thumb back and forth over the age spots and ridged veins. Once she leaned over and pressed her forehead to his hand. Her lips moved in soundless prayer. Another time she lifted Pop’s hand and held his palm against her cheek.

  As she watched, Dori’s eyes blurred with tears. That was the kind of love she wanted, dreamed of, yearned for. Trying to hide her tears, she turned to the window and stared blindly out.

  She felt an arm drop over her shoulders and looked up in surprise, ready to step away. But it was Phil, and she let him draw her close, resting her head on his chest.

  The sound of a chair scraping back brought Dori’s attention to Honey who stood and looked at her.

  “Go back to your motel, Dori, and get some sleep. You’ve got to be absolutely worn out.”

  “No, I’m all right,” Dori insisted even though her brain felt mushy with fatigue. “I don’t want to leave you and Pop.” And I don’t want to go back to the motel.

  “Take her, Trev.” Honey’s tone brooked no argument. “Get her dinner and a good night’s sleep.”

  Trev nodded and picked her new coat off the wide windowsill and held it out to her. When Phil gave her a gentle push in Trev’s direction, she knew she hadn’t the ghost of a chance to escape. She went with as much dignity as she could muster, given her circumstances, the red rims around her eyes, and the dark circles under them.

  They went to Cracker Barrel for dinner and managed to make innocuous conversation. “Movie?” Trev suggested when they finished.

  Dori jumped at the idea. Anything to keep from returning to that room with that huge bed. But inevitably, unavoidably, they had to go back. Once in the room, the first thing Trev did was call Phil for the latest on Pop while Dori flicked on the TV Noise, news, other people in the charged atmosphere.

  When he hung up, Trev stood quietly for a moment, and Dori almost thought he was praying. “What?” Fear made her voice tight. “Is Pop worse?”

  He smiled slightly and shook his head. “If anything, he’s better. Much better. He’ll be going home tomorrow.”

  “What? How can that be? Twelve hours ago he looked like he was dying! He acted like he was dying.”

  “They determined that the bleeding was from a tear in his stomach near the place it joins the esophagus. They cauterized it, and the bleeding has stopped. They decided he was also suffering from a massive attack of indigestion.”

  “Indigestion?” Her life had been turned upside down by an upset stomach?

  “The indigestion mimicked a heart attack. Apparently it made him vomit rather violently, and that in turn made the stomach tear.”

  Dori didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “Phil said Pop had a message for us.”

  “Well, I have a message for him!” Indigestion indeed!

  Trev gave her a sympathetic look. “Pop says we’re to remember that a promise is a promise.”

  All the air whooshed from her lungs at the old man’s gall. She stared at Trev, words piling upon each other in her throat but no sound emerging—which was probably a good thing considering what was running through her mind.

  “We did give our word.” Trev looked calm, controlled, and much too handsome.

  She scowled. “Under false circumstances.”

  They stared at each other for several silent moments. Dori had no idea what Trev was thinking, but if he was half as confused as she was, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t make sense anyway.

  So Pop wasn’t dying. That was a good thing. When he had asked for their promise, he’d thought he was. Hadn’t he? Her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed as she thought back to her visit. It hadn’t struck her at the time, but now she realized he hadn’t been in a coronary unit, nor had he worn a heart monitor. In retrospect she was willing to bet that the doctor she’d assumed was a cardiologist was in fact a gastroenterologist.

  “H
e knew!” she shouted. “Trev, he knew. They both knew!”

  “That he wasn’t dying of a heart attack?” Trev nodded. “Probably.”

  “He tricked us. I can’t believe it.” She flopped down on the side of the bed, mind racing, emotions rioting. She no longer knew which end was up, which person was trustworthy, which choice was right.

  Trev hunkered down in front of her and took her hands in his. He turned his brilliant eyes on her, eyes she’d always thought the most beautiful she’d ever seen, though of course she never told him. Guys didn’t like hearing they had beautiful anythings.

  “Dori, we can’t make any decisions tonight. I know I’m worn to a frazzle, physically and emotionally, and you are too. We might too easily say things we’ll regret. Let’s get a good night’s sleep and see how we feel about things tomorrow.”

  She looked into the face of this man she had once loved so deeply and nodded. “You’re right. I am so exhausted I can barely stand, let alone think straight.” She looked down at their joined hands. “Tomorrow.”

  He gave her hands a slight squeeze. “Good girl. And Father God, we ask you to direct our thinking. Help us see beyond our anger and resentment at being manipulated.”

  Dori started and stared at Trev’s now bowed head. He was praying! Right here, just like that, he was praying. Out loud!

  “Help us make wise choices, ones that in the long run will honor You. For that is our heart’s desire, Lord. To honor You.”

  Oh, yeah?

  He stood, dropping her hands. She clasped them in her lap, missing the warmth of his grip and mad at herself because she did. “Do you often do that?”

  He looked at her. “What?”

  “Pray at the drop of a hat?”

  He looked thoughtful. “I hope so.”

  “Huh.” She got to her feet and went to the window again. It was dark outside, though the lights in the parking lot shone brightly on the Dumpster. Dori wondered in passing where the buff-colored cat had gone. “I guess that proves you’re a pastor.”