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

by Johnson, Janice Kay

  During the drive back, he dredged up the memory of gossip he’d heard regarding a couple of other residents who had recently died. There were almost always ten or twelve houses in town for sale. It would be worth looking into who was selling those houses.

  He knew one thing – he wasn’t going to risk the chance of Sophie being left alone for a single minute until this killer was behind bars.

  *****

  “But we’ve found the jewelry,” she argued. “How am I a threat to anyone now?”

  Daniel reached for another slice of pizza from the box that sat open on his dining room table. “For one thing, unless we want to take out an ad, he won’t know you did find the jewelry.”

  “You could just tell Louella Shoop,” she muttered.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve met her?”

  “No, but I had two separate people today say something about me having moved in with you.” Her indignation was plain. “Apparently it was Louella who mentioned as much to someone who, of course, passed it on to a friend, who…”

  He grimaced. “I picture Louella as one of those air raid wardens in London during the bombing. Patrolling from dusk ’til dawn. In her case, substitute night vision goggles for old style binoculars.”

  Sophie giggled. “Oh, dear. The poor woman.”

  He laughed, too, if ruefully. “Louella is nosy as hell and has a big mouth, but she’s okay. The nastiest gossip in town is Joyce Ervin.”

  “Oh, I’ve met her! Aunt Doreen despised her.” Sophie made a face. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Why not? I’ve already been indiscreet enough.” He pushed his chair back. “You need another beer?”

  “No, one is enough for me. I get giggly if I have any more.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes. “I haven’t even drank half of a bottle yet.”

  He was still grinning when he returned a moment later with a cold one for himself.

  Sophie had been thinking while he was in the kitchen. “I met Joyce’s husband, too. Um, Morris, is that right?” She didn’t wait for his confirmation. “Doreen liked him. She felt sorry for him. She said he was a smart, interesting man who felt obligated to stay with his wife.”

  Daniel paused with the bottle halfway to his mouth. “Did she?” He sounded way too thoughtful.

  “Okay, what’s that about?” Suspicion transformed into understanding, Sophie felt her mouth fall open before she snapped it shut. “You’re not thinking Aunt Doreen and Morris—?”

  “It crossed my mind,” he said apologetically. “She’d lived here a lot of years. Seems logical she might have had someone. And knowing Joyce, who could blame him if he had a long-standing relationship with someone else?”

  Sophie was embarrassed to be so stunned at the very idea. Doreen, having an affair?

  Yes, but why not? Sophie was pretty she wasn’t a lesbian; Doreen had enjoyed romantic movies and claimed to be in love with Brian Dennehy, although she was fond of Scott Glenn, too. She had Silverado in her small collection of DVDs because both actors were in it.

  “You should see your face,” Daniel said in amusement. “Don’t like imagining Doreen romping in bed?”

  Sophie gave him a look. “Would you like imagining your mother romping in bed with some guy?”

  “Thanks for the image. No.”

  “Does she? Date, I mean?”

  “She didn’t when I was growing up. She started seeing a guy a year or two ago, though. I think they might be getting serious.”

  Sophie wondered if he knew how ambivalent he sounded about the idea.

  “Did you want her to remarry when you were a kid?” she asked. “So you’d have a dad, like your friends?”

  “That never crossed my mind. A lot of the guys I knew had divorced parents. Stepfathers who were abusive or just ignored them. Fathers who made promises they didn’t keep.” He shook his head. “No. In my mind, my father was perfect. I’d have resented any man my mother brought home. How could he have measured up?”

  “I thought you said you don’t remember him that well.”

  He gave an odd grunt. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought lately. Wondering if my idea of what makes a man a man wasn’t skewed some by Mom. Maybe he was as great as she said he was, but I don’t see how he could have been.”

  “After someone dies, people do tend to remember the good things about them and forget the bad.”

  His eyes were unfocused, in the way of someone contemplating the past. “I know she was trying to keep him alive for me. That meant she talked about him all the time. Told me stories. He was a firefighter, a hero, according to her. The bravest man in the world. So brave, he scared her sometimes. Even his hobbies were high adrenaline. He’d built himself an ultralight from a kit and insisted it was safe, but she knew better.” His shoulders moved. “Then there was the Harley.”

  The Harley, she knew, that had killed his father.

  “As if his job wasn’t dangerous enough.”

  He shot her a look. “Yeah. Then there was his job.”

  “So why have you been thinking about this?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t close down. He knew so much about her, and in comparison she knew hardly anything about him. He’d been young when his Dad had died; he was a burned-out homicide cop who’d come to Cape Trouble to rethink his career path. That was about it.

  Fingering the neck of the beer bottle, he was quiet long enough she began to think he wouldn’t answer. He might regret having said as much as he had. She hardly breathed as she waited. Just about the moment when the silence grew uncomfortable, he started to talk.

  “I grew up thinking the only way I’d ever measure up to Dad was to be tough. I drove too fast, I got in fights. God forbid I ever back down. To please Mom, I went to college, but the minute I graduated I walked into a Marine Corps enlistment office. I came this close to signing up.” He held up his hand, fingers nearly pinched together. “But I’d taken some criminology courses in college, and at the last minute I decided to go to the police academy instead.”

  “Instead of becoming a firefighter like he was?”

  “Oh, I thought about it, but maybe I’d watched too many cop shows on TV. I figured cops had to be smart and courageous. And, hey, I’d get to carry a gun.”

  “Good to know you started out burning with the ideal of service,” she said lightly.

  He laughed, but with a darkness underlying his amusement. “I had that, too. It was part of being a hero, you know?”

  “So…what happened?”

  “Some of it was what I told you. I had this stupid idea I’d be fighting evil to protect the innocents, only as it turned out ninety percent of the time the victims are scum just like the perpetrators. Gang turf wars, drug wars, you name it. You find out that everyone lies. One day I realized I saw nothing but gray. Early on, I tried being a hero a couple of times when a truly smart cop would have taken a different tactic. Instead of being lauded, I was written up. I got to wondering if Dad had always used his head, or if he hadn’t been just plain reckless. Look at the way he’d died.”

  It was easy to hear in his voice that, while Daniel had looked up to his reckless, larger-than-life father, he’d also felt a lot of anger. Even as a boy, he’d known that his father hadn’t had to die. If he hadn’t taken unnecessary risks, he’d have been around when his son needed him.

  “I’m sorry,” Sophie said uselessly. “Did you ever talk to your mother about this?”

  “Are you kidding?” Daniel scoffed. “As far as she was concerned, he just got better and better as the years past. He damn near walked on water. No wonder she never dated.”

  “What about this guy she’s seeing now?”

  He relaxed, his grin crooked but amused. “He’s an insurance agent. Balding, near-sighted. His idea of a thrill is a Sunday drive up to Lake Berryessa. There was a time I couldn’t have said this, but…he’s good for Mom. Better than Dad was.”

  “Have you reached any conclusions f
or yourself?” she asked tentatively.

  “Only that losing him and the way Mom encouraged me to join her in worshipping at his altar screwed me up for a long time.”

  “You seem pretty together to me,” she said honestly. “Um, this may not mean anything, but…” She was probably going to make a fool of herself, but okay. “I don’t think you need to worry a lot about what kind of man you are and how you measure up to your father. You’ve supported me in some pretty unbelievable ways. I suspect you’re plenty brave, but you’re also smart and kind and patient.”

  Her cheeks were so hot by the time she finished, Sophie knew they had to be glowing. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all, except that something serious was going on in his head.

  He studied her for a long time. Finally one corner of his mouth kicked up. “Thank you.”

  Sophie ducked her head, pretending to be interested in the remnants of a slice of pizza on her plate. Probably stone cold. God, she’d probably embarrassed him even more than she had herself.

  He cleared his throat. “Getting back to Joyce,” he said, in a tone that suggested he was definitely done with the personal stuff. “I got the feeling she really disliked your aunt. If she suspected anything, uh, personal was going on, it would explain the edge I heard in her voice. Although—” He stopped.

  “What?” Still not quite ready to think of her aunt and some man, Sophie nonetheless raised her head.

  “Unless I’m forgetting, Joyce was the one who suggested to me that Doreen had had a lover. A married one, she made a point of telling me. I didn’t have to read between the lines to know what she thought of that.”

  “She might have hoped you’d know it wasn’t true,” Sophie suggested. “Or that, if it was, the man was anyone else but her own husband.”

  “That’s true.” His eyes met Sophie’s. “If she had confirmation, though, she must have felt something a lot stronger than dislike for Doreen.”

  Her throat closed. “You’re not saying—”

  “We always knew her murder might be personal.”

  She gaped at him. “But…what about the break-in at Doreen’s house? And my cottage?”

  “I don’t think Joyce killed your aunt. It’s a thought, that’s all. The searches could have been separate.”

  “Except whoever killed her also searched the storage unit.”

  “That’s true. Not very efficiently, though. It could have been a diversionary tactic.”

  He’d suggested something like that early on. “Oh, lord,” she murmured.

  His scrutiny made her skin prickle. “Why does the idea bother you so much?” he asked. “Either way, someone Doreen knew killed her. I don’t see how it could have been a stranger.”

  “No.” She folded and refolded her napkin as if she was creating an origami bird that could take flight. “I guess I just don’t want to think about her murder at all. I mean, not the moment when she knew—” Bile rose in her throat and she dropped the napkin and grabbed for the beer bottle.

  Daniel was watching her with compassion that was as tangible as a soothing touch. “Having the two people you’ve loved most in your life both murdered…” He shook his head. “I’ve been telling myself it might be a relief for you to find out your mother didn’t commit suicide, but maybe I’m wrong.”

  Even before he finished, Sophie shook her head. “No, you weren’t wrong. As awful as murder is, her death would have been quick. Suicide suggests she was hiding horrible depression for months or even years. I can’t tell you how I hated thinking that. That’s part of why I blocked her out. If I believed she’d committed suicide, I had to doubt all my memories of her. Do you see?”

  “Yeah.” His voice was a soft rumble that went with the tenderness on his face. “I see.”

  “Plus, to be completely selfish, there’s my abandonment issues. If the choice was never hers, I can go back to believing my mother loved me as fiercely as I thought she did.”

  “Yeah. Damn.” He pushed back his chair but stayed sitting. He held out an arm. “Come here.”

  Call her pathetic, but she wanted a cuddle.

  She circled the table and plopped onto his thighs, letting him tug her close. She sank into his embrace, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

  “I vote,” he said after a minute, “that we ditch all talk about parents, aunts or any other relatives, and death.”

  She was restored enough to give a small laugh. “I vote aye.” She lifted her head. “You have an idea for a new topic?”

  “New activity,” he said, a different kind of warmth in his eyes now. He nibbled at her lower lip. “Nonverbal,” he added huskily.

  There wasn’t a lot of conversation after that.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Daniel was studying the real estate listings online when the knock came on his door. When he called, “Come in,” Abbot Grissom poked his head around the door.

  “I had a thought,” he said, sounding diffident. “Probably doesn’t mean anything, but…”

  “Yeah? Pull up a chair.” Daniel got up and went to the door, calling, “Ellie, can I get a cup of coffee?” Most of the time he fetched his own, but she didn’t seem to mind when he did ask. “Abbot? What about you?”

  “Huh? Oh. No, I just went through that new espresso stand on Cedar. The drive-through is so dang handy.”

  “I’ve been there myself,” Daniel admitted. “Decent coffee.” Not as good as you could get at Mist River Coffee, but close to Ellie’s brew when you didn’t have time to detour by the station. As he went back around his desk, he thought, seize the moment. “Get your dad moved okay?” he asked as if making casual conversation.

  “More or less.” Abbot sighed. “Mostly less, to tell you the truth. I got him and his bed and dresser moved, and that’s about all. My mother-in-law had a stroke, and Jean has been up in Seattle taking care of her. No way I’d start clearing Dad’s place out without her. I have no idea what she’ll think we ought to keep and what she’ll want to garage sale. I imagine Dad will need more of his clothes and what-not, but I’ll let her decide that, too.”

  Daniel felt some tension leave him. He mostly liked Grissom and hadn’t enjoyed even having to give him passing thought as a suspect.

  Ellie showed up with his coffee and gave signs of wanting to linger in hopes of finding out what they were talking about, but her phone rang and with a last, speculative look over her shoulder, she whisked herself back out.

  Daniel wrapped his hand around the mug and suggested, “If there’s anything nice, you could donate it to save Misty Beach.”

  The middle-aged lines in Grissom’s face multiplied with his laugh. “Sure, if they want ugly porcelain figurines. Mom and Dad never had a lot of really nice things. He owned a gas station, you know, and Mom never worked. There’s a couple of decent pieces of furniture from my mother’s parents, but that’s all. Not that I’m complaining. Wasn’t like there were rich kids to compare to, when I was growing up. We were all in about the same boat.”

  Daniel nodded, gratefully letting go of what had really only been a passing awareness that Grissom fit some of the criteria. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  Grissom shifted in his chair, as if he were suddenly uncomfortable. “I overheard a conversation,” he said, too fast. His chair squeaked a few times as he twitched. “Normally I wouldn’t repeat anything like this—” His cheeks were a little flushed.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” Daniel assured him. “Not unless it has to do with a crime.”

  “Well, that’s what I thought.” Grissom’s expression remained troubled. “This bothered me, though. It was at the hardware store. I noticed Arthur Escott and Ron Campbell with their heads together talking real intensely and didn’t give it a thought.”

  Arthur Escott and Ron Campbell were two city council members, such close allies you always knew how the other would vote once the first expressed his opinion. Both were on the conservative side, Campbell a businessmen and Es
cott a developer. Neither would be fans of the Save Misty Beach campaign. As it happened, Campbell owned the hardware store, and a couple of others in the county, too.

  “The shower at home has been dripping and Jean’s been nagging me, so I thought I’d surprise her—” Grissom stopped, looking embarrassed. “You don’t care what I was there to buy. Thing is, plumbing supplies were only an aisle away from the two of them, and I couldn’t help overhearing some of what they said.”

  Daniel knew better than to interrupt when a witness rambled. People got to the point in their own way, in their own time. He only nodded encouragement.

  “Escott especially was pretty mad that Ms. Thomsen has taken over where Doreen left off. He said, ‘With that woman gone, I figured people around here would see sense, and now they’re letting an outsider steal our chance to make Cape Trouble a real destination.’ It was the way he said it, as if he’d thought a problem had been dealt with.”

  “Doreen being the problem,” Daniel said thoughtfully.

  “He’s an angry man.”

  “I wonder if he had in mind developing some of that land himself.”

  “Well, that’s the rest of what I heard.” Voice lowered, Grissom bent forward. “He said he’d been in talks with Somerset Resorts. Sounded like he’d been leading them to think this whole campaign to turn that tract into a nature preserve was doomed to failure. He had them so confident it would bellyflop, they’ve been moving ahead with plans.”

  “And now he’s hearing hints that Sophie may be a serious threat to his prediction.”

  Grissom sank back with a sigh. “That’s it.”