Shroud of Fog: (A Cape Trouble Romantic Suspense Novel)

by Johnson, Janice Kay

  At noon on the nose, she had locked up the storage unit and told today’s bodyguard, a rawboned boy who shouldn’t be old enough to wear a uniform and carry a gun, what time she planned to be back. With auction day looming, a priority for her and her fellow committee members was to get invitations out and online registration available. Hannah had agreed that she could slip away from the bookstore for a lunch meeting. Naomi apparently had some kind of backup, too, because shortly after Sophie walked in the door, she’d slipped out of the kitchen and joined her at the table. Hannah and Elaine Terwilliger arrived only minutes later, Elaine grumbling about tourists and the lack of parking. Hannah looked as if she wanted to roll her eyes. Both her business and Naomi’s depended on the tourists Elaine so despised.

  While they waited for their food to arrive, they studied the proof of the invitation Hannah had designed. She had enough computer expertise to get an online registration up, too, she thought. A friend who designed software had offered help if she needed it. Everyone at the table agreed that she should go ahead.

  Sophie kept glancing at the invitation, which lay on the table where Naomi had set it down. The front, of course, featured the artwork that she found so disturbing. Her gaze repeatedly drawn to it, she lost track of a conversation that had become more casual once their decisions were made.

  “This artist,” she said into a lull, reaching out to almost touch the invitation but pulling her hand back at the last second. “Aunt Doreen didn’t say much about him.”

  “Elias Burton is somewhat reclusive,” Naomi said in her soft voice. “I was admiring his work in the gallery two doors down when he came in and Monica Sanchez introduced us.”

  The others nodded; Sophie assumed Monica owned the gallery, which she’d noticed but never gone into.

  “The painting of his in the window showed the river crossing the beach at low tide. You know, with the deep channel in the middle, but silvery ribbons out to each side.”

  Again, nods. Sophie flashed back to her young self splashing in the shallow ribbons, laughing and stamping to feel the cold, wet sand suck at her feet. She had been waiting for sunset, she knew. A flock of seagulls had settled on the beach near her. In her memory, a dog barked somewhere. With dusk approaching, bonfires had begun to appear nestled between dunes or protected by heaps of driftwood.

  “It was lovely,” Naomi continued. “Dreamy, mysterious. The light looked like dawn. Doreen had just asked if I’d consider helping with the campaign and we’d talked about an auction, so on impulse I asked if creating our artwork was something Elias would consider. He didn’t hesitate.”

  “Is he donating the original to be auctioned?” Sophie asked. “I’m betting it would bring in a good price, no matter what his work usually retails for.”

  She ought to know, of course. Usually she’d have gone right online to look him up. She told herself she’d had too much else occupying her time and thoughts, but knew better.

  “Oh, he’s quite well known. The paintings I’ve seen are in the $5,000 range. He sells prints, too, of course. And yes, he did give the original. I’m pretty sure it’s in storage already.”

  Sophie flashed back to her first glimpse into the space Doreen had rented and saw again the painting that lay face down, glass shattered, a hole in the center where her aunt’s killer had tramped carelessly on it. What if that was the original auction artwork? She knew that the couple of times since, when she’d briefly been in the unit removing items, the painting wasn’t lying on the concrete floor anymore. She thought vaguely that it had been propped against the open studs of the wall, but facing in. She decided not to say anything until she knew for sure.

  If it had been destroyed, the news wasn’t good for the auction. Despite her instinctive antipathy, she hated to think of a painting so beautiful destroyed.

  Her mind took a sideways jump. What if the destruction hadn’t been careless at all? What if the killer had hated that painting as much as Sophie did?

  She almost shook her head. For all she knew, the piece that had been ruined was nothing more than a nice framed print by who knows what artist. There were other paintings and prints, some bubble-wrapped, some in butcher block paper, propped against the wall. Even if the artist had delivered it unwrapped, surely Doreen would have seen to it that Elias Burton’s precious original was protected.

  “So the artist is a local?” she asked, hoping her tone didn’t reveal her intense interest that was also wariness.

  “He grew up in Cape Trouble,” Elaine said. “In fact, he’s a regular here at the café. With luck, he’ll come in today and we can introduce you.” She smiled. “I think he has his eye on our Naomi.”

  With complete composure, Naomi shook her head. “You know I don’t usually make it out of the kitchen. He must like my food.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Sophie said, seeing their waitress bearing down on them with a laden tray. She hoped no one else heard her stomach growl.

  Elias Burton didn’t make an appearance. Sophie didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. She couldn’t help wondering if she’d remember him, as she did Benjamin Billington. Even if Burton had lived in Cape Trouble then, he might have been a child, and now knew of her mother’s death only as local history. It had to be coincidence that he’d chosen that particular glimpse of the ocean between dunes to represent the auction. It was even possible her own memory was faulty, but Sophie didn’t think so. The fog had clung in tendrils that morning, thick around the cabins, but thinning closer where she found her mother. She’d been able to see the beach and ocean waves. And…a lupine in bloom, just like in the painting? Was that why the damn painting had disturbed her so much? She hated knowing that lupine was there in her memory now, whether it really had been or not.

  No, she didn’t want to meet Elias Burton.

  It was Daniel who came in just as the meeting was about to break up. He took a menu from the middle-aged waitress but, instead of letting himself be seated, wended his way between tables toward theirs.

  His sharp blue eyes came to rest briefly on Sophie before he nodded at the others. “Ladies.”

  Hannah greeted him with warmth, Elaine with some reserve, and Naomi shyly. She murmured, “If you’ll excuse me,” and disappeared into the kitchen. Daniel watched her go speculatively before he looked back at Sophie, who was tucking her wallet into her bag.

  “You got a minute? I was hoping to catch you. I have a couple of questions.”

  Sophie’s heart thudded, although whether in dismay or anticipation she couldn’t tell.

  The other two women left, Elaine looking as if she’d have liked to linger but couldn’t think of an excuse. Sophie waited politely while Daniel sat down, glanced at the menu, and made his order.

  “I suppose your officer told you where to find me,” she said.

  “Slawinski? Yeah.”

  “Is he old enough to be a police officer?”

  Daniel gave one of those grins that lightened his face so startlingly. “No.”

  Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I’m reassured.”

  He laughed. “Glad one of us is.” He thanked the waitress when she brought him a cup of coffee, then looked across the table at Sophie, his expression sobering.

  “You and your dad ever talk about your mother’s death?”

  Sophie stiffened. Was this his idea of making conversation?

  “No,” she said after a moment. “He was upset at the time, but angry too, I think. After the first few weeks, he refused to talk about her at all. ‘What’s the point in wallowing in grief?’ he’d say.”

  Daniel shook his head. “Did he at least put you in counseling?”

  “No.” She tried to smile but felt it go askew. “I suppose I was angry, too, or at least I felt so betrayed, I wanted to forget her. I…conspired with him to forget Mom. I didn’t rebel until he introduced me to Julie and I recognized her. I couldn’t understand how they’d gotten to know each other, but I hated her connection to Cape Trouble.”

  One
of his eyebrows rose. “She’d have known your mother, too, wouldn’t she.”

  “Yes, of course. I don’t remember them doing more than having the kind of conversations you do with a clerk at the library or the store, but still.”

  Daniel nodded, and she could tell he understood.

  “Why did you ask?”

  He hesitated. “You don’t talk much about him.”

  “He didn’t abandon me, not the way she did, but we’re not close.”

  “Do you really believe that she did?”

  She stared at him in shock. “What would you call it?”

  Ignoring her question, he said, “You told me you didn’t believe she was depressed.”

  Stunned, she whispered, “You know something.”

  “No.” His big hand covered hers briefly, squeezed and let her go. “No. It’s twenty years too late for me to find any answers for you.”

  “But you looked.” She was certain without knowing why. A part of her was outraged, as though he’d violated a secret part inside her, and she knew she sounded accusatory.

  “I was curious.”

  Her anger died as quickly as it had flared. “You wouldn’t have said what you did if you hadn’t noticed something that bothered you.”

  She saw chagrin in those dark blue eyes. “Nothing conclusive. It was an inadequate investigation, though. I thought your father might have known more.”

  “You mean, something that the investigators didn’t write down?”

  “Or about your mother.”

  She grappled with that before realizing what he was saying. “You mean, like she’d been suicidal?” Her chest felt as if it was being squeezed. “I told you!” Heads turned at nearby tables and she struggled to lower her voice. “She wasn’t sad. I know she wasn’t.”

  Expression compassionate, Daniel was shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. The then-police chief noted that your father had insisted your mother wasn’t depressed.”

  Her back was so straight, it wasn’t touching the chair behind her. “Then what were you thinking?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. Sophie had the sense he was weighing his possible responses. What he finally said, slowly, was, “Whether he might have suspected a reason someone would have wanted to kill her.”

  Absorbing that, she did nothing but blink. Why had she never wondered?

  Because I never let myself consciously think, Mom didn’t kill herself.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered.

  “Sophie, I’m sorry,” he said roughly. “I shouldn’t have even suggested the possibility.”

  “No,” she whispered, lowering her head to stare at her hands. “I’ve never been at peace with what they said.”

  “I really don’t think there’s any way to get answers.”

  “They must have checked for fingerprints on the gun.”

  “I don’t know if they did or not, and there’s no indication of what happened to the gun. Unless it belonged to your parents and was returned to your dad?”

  She shook her head hard. “No, I’m sure they never owned one. Mom hated them. I always thought…” She stopped.

  He finished the thought she didn’t want to say aloud. “She wouldn’t have used one to kill herself.”

  “Yes. There are other ways.”

  His lunch arrived, and he covered for her distress by bantering with Anita, the waitress. But when she left them alone, Daniel’s smile faded. The lines on his forehead had deepened with what she thought was regret.

  “After it happened, did your father take you right back to Portland?” he asked.

  She nodded. “The next day. We didn’t stay in the cabin that night, either. He rented a hotel room in town, on the other side of the river. I sort of remember some woman sitting with me, I suppose while he went back to pack up our stuff. It was a long time before I came back to Cape Trouble. I was twelve or thirteen, I think, the first time Aunt Doreen brought me to stay with her during a school break. Spring, I think.”

  “Was the resort still operating?”

  “I’m pretty sure it was until, oh, five years ago, maybe?” She hesitated. “I’ve never been over there again. When I’m in Cape Trouble, I try to pretend this is a small town in eastern Oregon, maybe. Or California, or Florida. Anywhere but here.”

  Expression arrested, he said, “You’ve never wanted to see what’s changed? What’s the same?”

  Sophie shook her head.

  “If you went, you might find it’s just a beach. I doubt there are any ghosts lingering. You and your mom must have had good times, those summers. Could you even find…?” He broke off, but not quick enough.

  “The spot where I found my mother’s body?” Her voice was scratchy. So many emotions swirled inside her, she doubted she could be rational right now. Bending, she grabbed her bag and fumbled inside until she found the proof for the invitation. Pulling it out, she laid it on the table and stabbed it with her finger. “There. Right there.”

  He looked, then his gaze lifted to hers. Searched, while his mouth tightened. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes. When Doreen showed me the poster, I felt sick.”

  “It’s not that distinctive a scene,” he said slowly.

  “That’s what I keep telling myself.” Once she’d looked down at it again, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the small version of the painting.

  “You don’t think it’s chance.”

  “I don’t know. Do you?” Heaven help her, she was begging. Tell me it has to be. That the artist wasn’t deliberately evoking the horror of that morning, even as he disguised his intent with a vividly blue ocean and blue-purple lupine and the gentle curve of dune and seagrasses.

  Daniel slapped a hand on the table, jolting her, and pushed back his chair, rising to his feet. “Damn it, Sophie,” he snapped. “It’s past time you faced down your memories. We’re going over there.”

  “What?” Staring up at him in shock, she didn’t get any further, and the one word was almost soundless.

  “Now.” He scowled down at his sandwich. “I’ll get this to go.”

  Panic separated itself from everything else she felt. “You can’t make me.”

  His expression softened and his eyes were suddenly kind. “No. You’re right. I can’t. But you’re a strong woman, Sophie Thomsen. Don’t you think it’s time?”

  *****

  An ancient wood sign that said “Misty Beach Resort and Cabins” had toppled sideways into a bed of ferns and salal, the supports rotted. A much newer sign declared, No Trespassing. The sawhorses that had been used to deter vehicular traffic had been stacked to one side ever since the younger Billington and his wife had come to stay at the lodge.

  Once he’d turned off the highway, Daniel glanced at Sophie to see her staring straight ahead, her face tense. She’d hardly said a word since he hustled her out of the café. Right now, her fine-boned hand had a death grip on the seatbelt where it crossed her chest.

  God. Was he doing the right thing? It was too damned easy to tell someone else she should face her past head-on, and a hell of a lot harder to do it yourself. He didn’t even know if he had, or if his retreat to this job in a remote coastal town was more like running away.

  The band of forest here was surprisingly thick, the undergrowth dense. He’d left his window rolled down, and the never-ending roar of the ocean called to them. Living here, you got so you almost didn’t hear it anymore, but he’d taken a long weekend to visit his mother in Sacramento a couple of months back, and hadn’t been able to sleep. He finally realized what he was missing. The distant sound of traffic on the freeway was no substitute.

  The front wheel of the squad car dropped into a pothole, and he winced. He hadn’t been paying enough attention.

  Open sky showed ahead, and to each side the trees became smaller, more twisted from the force of winter storms. And then the car emerged into the open, where he’d been able to tell that there had once been some lawn, but which now looked more like prair
ie grass. Blackberries had begun to form thickets. The first cabin was on the right, on the bank of the river. It was in better shape than most of the others, sheltered somewhat by the trees at its back.

  Sophie was breathing hard now. Her knuckles showed white.

  “Were you in different cabins every summer?” he asked gently.

  After a moment she shook her head. “We always had the same one.”

  “Which?”

  “It’s…the one right at the curve, between river and beach.”

  He knew what she meant. He’d never counted, but there were something like fifteen cabins. The first ten or so had been built along the river. But the lane turned to parallel the shoreline before the sand dunes, and the last cabins were nestled there. The lodge itself was at the end of the line of cabins, where the land rose to something like a bluff above the beach. He guessed it had quite a view when the sun set.

  He let the car roll to a stop in the short, paved driveway that had once ended in a carport attached to a cabin that hadn’t quite collapsed, but would given another winter or two. In the silence after he turned off the engine, Sophie didn’t move, just kept staring.

  Daniel felt like a brute. What had he been thinking?

  Just when he was about to reach for the key to start the engine and tell her they should forget about the whole thing, she released her grip and unfastened the seatbelt, then opened her door and climbed stiffly out. He followed suit, circling the front bumper to her side.

  They both gazed at the cabin, built of logs right after World War II, from what he’d been told. The carport roof hung precariously. Jagged glass clung in one of the small-paned windows, while the other was intact. The door stood half open, making him wonder how long it had been that way.

  He watched Sophie surreptitiously. He’d seen her shocked after finding Doreen’s body. This was different. He guessed she was seeing double – past and present.

  “Hey,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. It felt fragile beneath his hand.

  She started and gave him a wild look, then sucked in a deep breath and seemed to pull herself together. “Is it safe to go in, do you think?” she asked in a hushed voice, as if she was conscious of listening ears.