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

by Johnson, Janice Kay

“This was your idea,” she pointed out.

  He gave her a half-amused, half-smoldering look. “I know it was.”

  His voice was deeper than usual, making her wonder whether he was talking about the walk or the kiss.

  “We should go back,” she said, self-defense kicking in belatedly. “I really should get some work done this afternoon.”

  “You and me both.” His head turned, his sharp eyes scanning every direction, but they were still mostly alone. Way down the beach, she could see two people with a dog racing ahead of them, but they were too far away to have identified Daniel or her. She had no idea who they were. Not that it would matter to her if anyone saw her kissing him, but it might to him.

  Without another word, they began to walk back the way they had come, staying a little higher on the beach, beyond the reach of waves. The longer the silence stretched, the more she began to wonder whether he was regretting having kissed her.

  “Thank you for persuading me to do this,” she said finally. “You were right. I’d let that one moment when I found Mom loom larger and larger in my life. At least now maybe I can remember some of the fun we had.”

  “I’m glad.” He sounded gruff, and somewhat remote.

  “You think someone killed her, don’t you?”

  At least now he flicked a glance at her. “Would you rather leave it alone?”

  They veered toward the dunes, leaving the hard-packed wet surface for the loose, dry sand, where walking was so much harder. Sophie tried to think seriously about his question. He’d been frank enough to tell her he wouldn’t be able to get any real answers for her, so was there any point in even speculating?

  A rush of outrage surprised her. Yes! Yes!

  “As horrible as finding her was,” she said slowly, “I think the worst part was having everyone tell me she’d done it on purpose. That she’d wanted to die. To leave me.” She eyed him. “I know that sounds egocentric.”

  Daniel shook his head. “That’s probably the worst part even for an adult, when someone you love kills herself. For a child, it has to be huge. Maybe made worse for you because she’d have known she was leaving you alone here in Cape Trouble.”

  “If I heard her voice, she had to have heard me calling for her.”

  A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Yeah. I thought about that.” He gave her an unreadable look. “The voices you heard.”

  She waited.

  “Was the tone conversational? Two people just talking? Or an argument? Did you hear any distress?”

  Sophie quit walking. Had she? She let herself go back to that morning. She had been distressed, and now she wondered why. Mom did get up before her sometimes. They had plenty of neighbors in the other cabins. She often found her mother talking to one of them, or a resort employee. Sophie didn’t think she’d been upset when she first set out to look for her mother. It was after she realized Mom was with someone, and…

  “They were fighting.” It was hard to say, past the constriction in her voice. “I think they must have been. The voices were rising as I got closer. I could tell something was wrong. That’s why…why I felt so panicky.”

  He was rubbing his hands up and down her arms. She hadn’t even been aware of him reaching for her. Sophie realized she was trying to hug herself, the frightened child again.

  She looked at him. “Who could it have been?”

  He only shook his head. “You know who was around. Staying at the other cabins, living at the lodge. Your mom might have made friends from town. Was it really so early in the morning?”

  Sophie frowned. “I think it must have been, because people were still asleep in the other cabins. I told you that, didn’t I?” She went quiet for a moment. “I want to meet the artist.” She was surprised at how hard she sounded. “Why did he paint that exact spot?”

  “It’s a beautiful place.”

  “You think that’s the only reason?”

  His eyes were grave. “No. I want to meet him, too.”

  “You don’t know him?”

  “Of him. I hear he’s a loner, although I know he does shop in town.”

  “Elaine Terwilliger said he has lunch a lot at Naomi’s café. She implied it was to see Naomi, but Naomi says no.”

  “I get the feeling Naomi goes out of her way to stay unnoticed.”

  “Except she did volunteer to work on the auction,” Sophie pointed out.

  “Did she?” His mouth quirked. “Or did Doreen bludgeon her into it?”

  “Um…that’s possible. And I gather mostly she’s been responsible for dealing with the hotel in Portland where the auction is to be held. She’s choosing the menu, dealing with the audio visual department, choosing table linens, that kind of thing.”

  “In other words, nothing that brings her any notice here in town.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” she said reluctantly. “Except she does come to auction meetings.”

  “You’re the one who pointed out that the committee is almost entirely made up of women,” Daniel said.

  She made a face at him. “That’s usually the case. Women seem more inclined to give their time.”

  “Or they have more time to give.”

  “Because we’re all housewives?”

  His grin told her he’d set her up. “No, you were right the first time. Maybe men are programmed to believe bringing home the bread is what counts.”

  She sniffed. “Maybe.”

  In unspoken agreement, they resumed their trudge back to where they had left their shoes, and sat side by side to put them back on. Her gaze strayed to his feet, though, as she used a sock to try to wipe the sand off her own. She’d never paid much attention to a man’s feet before, but she liked his, long and bony, with a few dark hairs curling on his toes. Hers were partially tanned, lines showing where the straps of the flip-flops she wore so much of the time fell. In contrast, his feet were white enough to suggest he rarely wore sandals or went barefoot.

  Suddenly she realized he was looking at her feet, too, and her toes curled in an involuntary response. She glanced at him to surprise a flash of heat in his eyes.

  “Long toes,” he said, a little huskily.

  “Long fingers, too.” She spread out her hand.

  “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

  Dragging her gaze from his, she finished putting on her shoes and socks and stood, making a face. “Ugh. Sand is impossible to get rid of.”

  “I bet when you were a kid, you didn’t care.”

  “No. Mom made me take shower every night before I went to bed, though. She said I wouldn’t like sand in my sheets.”

  He laughed.

  This time they took the direct route back through the dunes, following the imprints of all the feet that had come this way since the last winter storm had driven the tide this high.

  “You don’t think Mr. Billington would mind us coming over here?” she asked.

  “He might wonder why the police car was parked here so long, but he wants us running patrols.”

  “Oh, right.” She’d forgotten they had come in the marked car. “He was here that summer.”

  “What?” Daniel turned to look at her.

  “He was…I don’t know, in his early twenties? He might have still been a college student. At least that last couple of summers, he worked for his uncle. He cleaned cabins, dropped off firewood, that kind of thing.”

  “Did he have any kind of relationship with your mother?” His attempt to sound casual didn’t disguise a cop’s interest.

  “I don’t think so,” she said uncertainly. “I mean, they talked when he came and went. Mom was…really pretty, so I guess it’s possible he had a thing for her, but I’m not sure I’d have noticed. And there were other people working here, too, mostly older teens or young twenties. I mean, old Mr. Billington must have had some year-around help, but the resort would have been a lot busier in the summer and he’d have added help. He rented out rooms in the lodge, too, not just the cabins. He stayed pretty full up.”
/>   They emerged onto the paved road and started back to the car. “If I thought I could get anywhere, I’d track down the employees I could find,” Daniel said. His regret was obvious. “But cold cases are usually only worth opening when you have something to go on. Usually DNA these days, given the advances in technology.”

  She stopped and waited for him to unlock. “I understand.”

  “I’m sorry.” He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, then went around to his side.

  Not until they were out on the highway did he say, “I’ll get an address on this Burton guy. Shall we drop in on him this evening?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Good.”

  He took her to her car, told her he’d let Officer Slawinski know to be waiting for her at the storage facility, and drove away without having said anything personal at all. His expression was preoccupied, she thought, unable to tell whether he’d dismissed her from his mind or whether he was making a deliberate attempt to distance himself.

  Either way, she suspected she had her answer. Yes, he regretted having kissed her.

  Ignoring the jab of hurt, Sophie reminded herself she hadn’t wanted to get involved with him anyway. She started her car, waited for a break in traffic to pull away from the curb, and followed what was now a familiar route inland toward the storage facility.

  *****

  It had been after six before he called, suggesting he pick her up at seven to go see Elias Burton. No dinner invitation tonight.

  “We’re taking the chance he won’t be home,” Daniel said, “but I’d as soon catch him by surprise if we can.”

  Now, as he drove a winding stretch of Highway 101 leading north from Cape Trouble, she said, “Why do you want to talk to him? I mean, even if he was around when Mom was killed, as you’ve pointed out it was a long time ago.”

  Daniel’s hands tightened on the steering wheel then loosened. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “No, that’s not true. Because I want to know why he chose that particular place to paint for the auction poster. Was it chance, or not? And if not, why does it hold enough meaning for him that he wanted everyone to see it? Your mother’s death happened a long time ago, but Doreen’s didn’t. It may turn out to have nothing to do with her campaign to raise money to buy the old Misty Beach Resort, but I think it did. Which means that everyone and everything having to do with the campaign interests me.”

  That’s why I interest him.

  But then she felt more of a chill at the possibility that there could be a connection between the deaths of the two people she’d loved most. Two people, she reminded herself, who had likely never even met.

  Maybe. She had never come straight out and asked Aunt Doreen. Not whether she’d known Sophie’s mother, or whether she knew how her sister had gotten to know Sophie’s father well enough to have become his wife so quickly.

  I didn’t want to know, Sophie thought ruefully. It had been so much easier to go on without thinking about whether her father might have betrayed her mother. She’d resented having to accept a stepmother enough as it was.

  If Doreen hadn’t died, Sophie knew, she never would have asked any of the questions that now crowded her mind.

  The click of the turn signal brought her back to the present. Daniel left the highway for a narrow, two-lane road that climbed away from the ocean. The land was forested, looking as primeval as if it had never been logged. They passed a few driveways and caught glimpses of rooftops through the trees. The road narrowed, lost the stripe down the middle, and finally turned to gravel, ending in what was obviously a driveway that took a couple more turns before emerging in a clearing where a house stood.

  Not a big house, it had a steep-pitched cedar shake roof, and was sided in shingles stained to a natural wood shade. Only the trim was painted, and that a dark green. A vast expanse of windows must flood the interior with light, compensating for the surrounding forest.

  Daniel brought his Honda Pilot to a stop in front of a detached double car garage, sided in the same shingles and with a matching roofline.

  “He’s not doing too bad financially,” he commented.

  She told him what Naomi said about the prices Elias Burton’s paintings earned, and saw Daniel’s eyebrows climb.

  They both got out. The front door opened before they reached it. No surprise, given the isolation of this house, that the owner would pay attention to the sound of a vehicle.

  By the time they crossed the yard, he had come out and stood on the front porch, watching their approach. A tall, lean man, mid- to late thirties, at a guess, he had shaggy blonde hair streaked even paler by the sun. He was handsome, even beautiful, with high, sharp cheekbones and deep lines scoring his cheeks between nose and mouth. Even the gold glint of stubble on his jaw couldn’t make him look scruffy.

  Sophie was ten feet away when she stopped. “I know you,” she blurted, feeling a shock even though she had suspected on some level that she’d recognize him.

  Eyes that were a pale, crystalline shade of gray studied her somberly. “I’d heard you were in town. You’re Michelle Thomsen’s daughter.”

  “Yes.” She was very aware of the brush of Daniel’s shoulder. He was watching them both, not drawing attention, but by the lightest of touches letting her know he was there if she needed him.

  The man studied her with a peculiar intensity. He hadn’t once shifted his gaze to Daniel. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve taken over Doreen Stedmann’s campaign to raise the money to buy the old resort.” She felt a faint shock, hearing herself. She had agreed to do the auction. Had her commitment shifted, grown, until she was willing to do more? Whatever it took to fulfill Doreen’s dream?

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Thank you for doing the artwork.”

  He dipped his head, his caution obvious.

  “Do you know Chief Daniel Colburn?”

  Finally, those cool, wary eyes turned to the man with her. “By sight.”

  Daniel nodded and stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Elias.”

  The artist leaned down without leaving the porch and the two men shook. She couldn’t tell what either of them thought of the other.

  “It’s a beautiful painting,” she said. She’d taken time that afternoon to look at the damaged piece in storage and been relieved to see that, while it too was an original, it was far less skillful than Elias Burton’s work.

  “Thank you.”

  “Had you already painted it when Ms. Kendrick asked you to donate something to serve as the artwork for the cause?”

  Oh, yes, he was definitely wary. “No,” he said after a moment. “I painted it specifically for the purpose.”

  She somehow didn’t want to get any closer to him. “Why?” Her voice came out too loud. “Why that particular spot?”

  He only looked at her for a minute, then sighed and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Even from this distance, she heard a faint rasp. “Nobody else recognized it.”

  She kept her mouth stubbornly closed.

  “I worked for Billington that summer.” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “If you recognized me, you must know that.”

  “Yes.”

  “I was seventeen. Your mother was nice to me. It…hit me hard, when she died that way.”

  “You were in love with her.”

  “I thought I was,” he corrected her. “I was a kid.”

  After a minute, she nodded. “I remember you drawing. And…” her voice slowed, “we came on you once when you had an easel set up and were painting.” Why hadn’t she remembered that?

  “Yeah. I was already drawing and painting whenever I could.”

  “You didn’t really answer my question.”

  “I thought I had.”

  She only realized how very contained he’d been now that he looked uncomfortable. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked slightly. His mouth twisted.

  “I kept on with the job for the rest of the summer because
I needed the money, but I worked construction the next year. A few years back, I started feeling this tug toward the resort. Now I work over there often. Nothing I had seemed quite right for the auction, though.” He shrugged. “I guess you could say that painting was my tribute to your mother.”

  “Even if no one but you knew it.”

  He gave another shrug. They stared at each other in a sort of challenge that neither would win.

  “All right,” she said abruptly. “It bothered me a lot, when I saw the painting.”

  He was the one to nod now, acknowledging the pain he’d dealt to her. “I’m sorry. It never occurred to me that you’d see it.” His jaw flexed. “You found her. That was…rough.”

  She knew they were talking about her mother, not Doreen. “It was.” She had to look away, turning naturally to Daniel, who had stayed remarkably silent. He wasn’t nearly as handsome as Elias, she thought, but to her he was a whole lot sexier. In response to that look, he returned to her side, close enough his arm touched hers again.

  “Were you at work when Ms. Thomsen’s body was found?” he asked.

  “I’d just arrived. I was getting out of my car when I heard…” His gaze touched Sophie in apology.

  “Me screaming.”

  “Yeah. At first, it was hard to tell where it was coming from. Old Billington had just come outside. He set off…well, not running. More like hobbling. Benjamin must have been around, because he was suddenly there, too. He and I got to you first.”

  “I don’t remember you there.”

  His mouth tightened momentarily. “I think you’d gone away in your head. Do you remember anyone from that morning?”

  After a minute, she shook her head. “Not until… I was taken to some nice woman’s house. She stayed with me until my father came.”

  He didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

  She backed up a couple of steps. “I just needed to know.”

  For the first time, she saw some deeper emotion on his face. “I only met Ms. Stedmann a couple of times. I was sorry to hear what happened, and even sorrier you’re the one who had to find her, too.”

  “Thank you.” She looked again at Daniel. “I should get back.”