ShadowsintheMist

by Maureen McMahon

As if you don’t know! I clutched the blanket tighter. “It’s Suzanna,” I corrected automatically. “And Jenny’s been shot.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Shot? My God! How? By whom?”

  He sat down next to me and it was all I could do not to cower away. I told him the story again, my voice weary from the aftermath of trauma combined with the mild sedatives.

  I was too tired to fight when he escorted me out of the hospital to his car. Something told me that he certainly wouldn’t try to kill me in front of so many witnesses. To my credit, I protested feebly. I wanted to stay until after the operation—until I was certain Jenny would be all right. But Grant’s air of command swept my words aside and I knew if I didn’t go with him willingly, he’d probably carry me out.

  The young intern who’d tended my wounds met us at the reception desk with a vial of tablets similar to those the nurse had pressed upon me. He chauvinistically directed his conversation to Grant, indicating I should be given one as needed to calm my nerves. In a lowered voice, he also spoke to Grant about trauma counseling—at which point I stalked out.

  Still huddled in the blanket, though dressed more appropriately in a tracksuit, I eased my aching body into Grant’s car with a compulsive glance at the back seat. The poker wasn’t there. I dismissed it for the moment and opened the glove compartment, groping inside. Grant got in next to me, started the engine and we left the darkness of the parking complex.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked, noting my aimless shuffling among the maps and miscellany.

  “Cigarettes,” I said. “I know you keep some in here.”

  He smiled. “Sorry. I’m trying to quit.”

  I stared at him in frustration, yet when he glanced at me and our eyes met, the irony of the situation overcame us simultaneously and we began to laugh.

  “I’m trying to quit too,” I sputtered inanely.

  “We sure picked a great time, eh?” he said, still chuckling.

  When we looked at each other again, it was as if a taut bow had been loosened. The release of laughter eased the tension and I found I was no longer certain Grant was the man I should fear. It was hard to mistrust him when every facet of his face, every gesture, the sound of his voice, were all so familiar and were ingrained in my life. How could I believe he could commit murder?

  “I didn’t do it, you know,” he said, adeptly reading my mind. “I can’t blame you for suspecting me but I swear on my mother’s grave, I didn’t do it.”

  I merely looked at him. I knew I should ask about the poker and demand an explanation but I expected he’d only lie to me again and I didn’t want to deal with that right now. At the same time, I knew I wouldn’t rest peacefully until a lot of questions were answered.

  He pulled into the little corner store on the way out of town and disappeared inside for a short moment. When he returned, he drove off in a direction I knew wouldn’t take us to Beacon. Immediately, my suspicions and fears returned.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Just a little detour,” he said as he swung the car off the main road onto a dirt track.

  We bumped along for about a mile until the track came to an end on a grassy stretch of land bordering a lovely, deserted little lake. If I’d been less weary and more in command of my feelings, I might’ve panicked. As it was, I sat rigid, clutching the door handle, ready to leap out and run should he make any attempt to touch me. But he turned off the engine and stared straight ahead, his hands still on the wheel.

  “We need to talk,” he said. When he looked at me, his eyes were grave. “There’s a lot you don’t know and I think it’s time you did.”

  He reached into his coat pocket and I drew back instinctively. He smiled ruefully. “Don’t worry, it’s not a gun.” He produced a packet of cigarettes. At the sight of them, I relaxed and half-smiled.

  “Seems kind of silly to worry about cigarettes when you’ve just spent the day dodging bullets,” he mumbled around one. He lit two, handed me one and we puffed decadently for a moment. When he spoke again, he chose his words carefully.

  “I didn’t want it to come to this, Suzie. If I’d thought for one moment you might be in danger…” He paused, frowning. “When your father was killed, I knew right away it wasn’t an accident. There were attempts before—two that I know of.”

  I choked. “What? When?”

  “Once about a year ago. Then again less than four months ago. Both times, they were set up to look like accidents but Leo and I knew better. There were letters and phone calls—threatening ones. Leo just wanted to shrug them off but I insisted we go to the police.”

  “But the police don’t know anything about—”

  “I know, I know. That’s what they told you and that’s what they want you to believe.” His mouth twisted wryly. “You can blame Leo and me for that. He insisted that you know nothing of what happened and made me promise not to involve you.”

  “Not involve me?” I cried incredulously. “Of all the hypocritical, patronizing, contemptible…”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “I suppose we deserve that. Still, a promise is a promise and I did my best to keep you out of it. Actually, the local police know very little about the investigation. They merely gather the evidence and pass it on to the FBI.” He nodded at my stunned expression.

  “They’ve got an undercover team set up in the area. I’m sorry but I’m really not allowed to tell you who they are or where they work from. Anyway, I took the poker directly to them yesterday and it’s now being analyzed. We’re pretty sure you found the murder weapon.”

  My mind worked sluggishly to take in the enormity of these revelations. It all seemed so farfetched…and yet, all the pieces fit.

  “Do you…they…have any idea who…”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. They’re very hush-hush about their investigation but as far as I can tell, there’s a bit more going on than even I know about. We just have to trust they know what they’re doing.”

  I gave a bitter laugh. “If they know what they’re doing, why is Jenny lying in the hospital with a bullet in her?” I turned my head to stare out at the lake so he wouldn’t see the tears blurring my eyes.

  He ground his cigarette butt out in the ashtray. When he answered, his voice was heavy. “That should never have happened,” he sighed. “It seems we’re dealing with a real nutcase. It makes no sense to me that whoever killed Leo would want to kill Jenny—or you—unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  He frowned. “Unless they don’t want the inheritance to go through.”

  I mulled over this theory. “Who could possibly want Leo’s fortune to be auctioned off? And who could’ve known what was in Leo’s will in the first place?”

  Then, I remembered how Colin had acquired this information easily from a secret source. Colin? I shuddered, trying to picture my half brother as a murderer. It was no more farfetched than Grant. But what could Colin possibly have to gain?

  “That presents another area I think we should deal with,” he continued. “If it’s true someone wants to prevent Leo’s estate from passing on to you, it follows that the sooner we secure the inheritance, the better. Hopefully, it will put you out of danger and in a position where we can keep a closer eye on you.”

  I frowned and fumbled for another cigarette. I was chain-smoking and I didn’t care. He automatically produced a lighter. I rolled down the window, blew a long trail of smoke out into the gentle breeze and watched as it dispersed.

  It was nearly dusk. The sun perched over the trees beyond the lake, sending a mercurial rainbow trail rippling across the water’s surface. The trees were magnificently clothed in the reds, yellows and oranges of September and were mirrored in the shallows. Fish nibbled the surface as they fed off mosquitoes, water-spiders or grubs that had dropped from overhanging foliage. Two herons waded amid a grouping of lily pads, ducking their long necks to snap up passing fry. Frogs and crickets tested their voices, preparing for the evening chorus.
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br />   I was dreading this moment, yet knew it was inevitable. I couldn’t submit quietly until every avenue was explored.

  “How do we know the murderer doesn’t just want me dead because he thinks I know too much?” I asked. “I mean, if he knows I found the murder weapon and spoke to the police, perhaps he—or she,” I added pointedly, “may think I’m onto the trail.”

  Grant nodded. “I’ve thought about that too but it just doesn’t tie in with Leo’s murder. Besides, if this fellow,” he glanced at me, “or woman, wants you dead because of what you know, then why haven’t they tried to do me in too?”

  “Why, indeed?” I asked pointedly.

  He groaned. “Christ, Suzanna, don’t tell me you still suspect me? Would you be happier if I went out and got myself bumped off?”

  I shrugged. “Well, at least it would prove beyond a doubt that you’re not guilty.”

  He snorted. “Yes and it would leave you in a fine pickle by giving the real culprit just what he wants!”

  “Or she.”

  He sighed.

  “But that’s just it, Grant. It doesn’t make sense. Why don’t they just do away with you? It would serve the same purpose.”

  “Sorry but I’m afraid you’re wrong there. If I should die, the estate drops directly into your lap.”

  “And if I go?”

  “It goes to Colin and me.”

  “Colin,” I repeated. Again the net tightened. I shivered. “It couldn’t be Colin,” I muttered.

  Grant shrugged. “We have to start looking at every possibility. I’m sure the Feds are. I wouldn’t be surprised if you aren’t right up there at the top of this list!”

  “Me? But they must know I couldn’t possibly kill my own father! Besides, I wasn’t even in the area.”

  “Where’s your proof?”

  “I’ve got a witness. David can verify I was at the cabin.”

  He laughed. “David? Your fiancé? Come on, Suzie, do you think he’d turn you in?”

  I glared at him. “Suzanna, ” I corrected. “And David is not my fiancé. Everyone knows I broke the engagement off.”

  “Yes. Very convenient,” he rejoined.

  I fumed. “Well, what was my motive then, Mr. Detective? Did I kill my father for his money because I felt unwanted and unloved? Or perhaps I just went a little cuckoo and felt like killing someone!” I ground my cigarette out in the ashtray.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t think you had anything to do with it. I’m just saying that, from a non-biased point of view, anyone could be under suspicion.”

  I sat back, mildly assuaged. “So what you’re saying, Grant, is you think we should get married right away?”

  “I think it’s the safest route.”

  I contemplated this, then sighed. “All right. But I want it clear from the start that in exactly one year we’ll have the marriage annulled.”

  “Of course.”

  “And,” I added, “during that year we live our own lives. This is only a business venture, which means our relationship stays just the way it is now.”

  He smiled. “What are you afraid of, Suzie? Do you think I’d insist on conjugal rights?”

  I blushed, disconcerted. “No, I… That is… Oh, I don’t know what to think! I just want to make things clear.”

  “You’ve done that,” he said with an odd bitterness in his voice. “Anyway, how about the next week?”

  “What?”

  “A week from Friday. We can go get it over and done with.”

  “But what about blood tests? And…and the license and…”

  “That can all be taken care of,” he said assuredly.

  I felt my palms perspiring and wiped them on my tracksuit pants. There was no putting it off.

  “All right,” I complied. “Next week, then.”

  He nodded. “There’s no need to tell anyone. I don’t particularly want a big shindig, do you?”

  “Good God, no! But we’ll need witnesses.”

  “I’ll take care of that too.”

  We fell silent. Then, unexpectedly, Grant reached over to touch my cheek where a strip of white gauze covered the scrape.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Numb. I feel like I’m still out there on the river but this time caught in the current with no paddle.” I looked down at my hands. “It’s like I don’t have any control over my life.”

  He gazed at me and his eyes were tinged with sympathy. “I think you’re doing extremely well,” he said. “And, by the way, I liked your first novel.”

  I blinked. “You read it?”

  He nodded. “It’s not the sort of thing I’d have picked up at the bookstore but I wanted to see how good you were. Once I got started, I couldn’t put it down. I’m really impressed.”

  I realized I was blushing again and put a self-conscious hand to my face.

  “Well,” I said, “it’s only my first. I expect to get better with each one.”

  “Have you started another?”

  “Sort of. But I’ll have to put in some long hours soon, or I’ll never meet the deadline.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time now,” he said. “I want you to take it easy and keep a low profile for a while. At least, until all of this is over. Perhaps even a trip abroad—”

  “No,” I snapped. Was he already trying to manage my life? If so, he was in for a fight!

  Thankfully, he dropped the subject and turned the key in the ignition. I felt a prick of guilt. He was probably only being kind. I turned to him impulsively.

  “Grant, I… Well, David thought it best that I move out of Beacon and into Spindrift.”

  I left it as a statement. I wanted to see his reaction. He took the news calmly and, after a moments thought, nodded. For some reason, this disappointed me.

  “If that’s what you want to do,” he said. “You’d probably be safer.” But he turned to me and his eyes were a dark, turbulent blue. “Can you trust David?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, then shut it, puzzled. Trust David? “Well, why shouldn’t I?”

  He cocked a brow. “Like I said, everyone is under suspicion. He’d have a vested interest in this inheritance too, because of the business. He’s Colin’s partner.”

  I frowned. He was right, of course. I must be more ruthless and not let emotional bonds or old habits color my judgment. Deep down, I was unwilling to suspect anyone I cared for but logically I knew the chances of it being someone unknown to me were slim. It was hard to imagine that cold-blooded brutality could lie concealed beneath a familiar face.

  I glanced into Grant’s eyes again and saw a mask, emotions held in check by a rigid face and an iron will. Here was a face that could hide a lot and I felt suddenly and desperately alone. Apprehension gripped me.

  “Let’s go home,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

  He put the car into gear and edged back down the bumpy track. I watched him covertly. I’d marry him. If he was my enemy, the best way to find out was with feigned innocence. If he considered me malleable, I’d pose no threat and he’d have no reason to harm me. I could only hope murder was a last resort rather than a pleasure. In the meantime, I would wait and watch and pray the culprit would show his or her true colors soon.

  So now, I sat alone on the flat rock that backed up to the lighthouse, letting the rhythmic crash and suck of the waves lull my troubled mind. I closed my eyes. The steady force of the wind, with its fine mist of spray, wet my face, making my clothes limp and my hair frizzy. I felt ethereal, as though by sheer willpower I could detach myself from mortality and drift in the updrafts, or gambol and soar across the cream-capped waves.

  My muscles relaxed and I blocked out the red webs of worry that had held me in their clutches ever since my return to Beacon. I filled my lungs again and again with clean, moist air and savored the tang of sodden sand, algae and seaweed. Some time later, I opened my eyes, relaxed and refreshed. For the first time in ages, I felt safe. I was sure no one sa
w me leave the house and was equally certain no one had followed.

  Since my talk with Grant, I’d decided against moving into Spindrift. Once the shock of the shooting diminished, I felt stronger and better prepared to face the future. I realized my original motives for the move were based on fear and I was using David as a crutch again. It was unnerving to think I might be resorting to this for the rest of my life. It was a habit—like smoking—and the only way to stop was to refuse to give in.

  David considered my decision foolhardy and said so directly, showing more concern and emotion than I expected. It pleased me that, despite the recent battering our relationship had taken, he still cared for me. Perhaps the pressures afflicting us would make him realize just how important I was to him and the fondness he felt for me would blossom into something deeper. Already he was spending more time with me, insisting I be left alone as little as possible in case whoever shot Jenny might still be after me.

  It was touching to know he’d appointed himself my protector but I soon began to feel smothered. It had been ages since I’d been able to enjoy some solitude other than the four walls of my room at night. At least I’d made some headway on my novel, managing between ten and fifteen pages each evening.

  Grant had disappeared, leaving word he’d be staying at the Chicago penthouse for a few days to try to clear up a bit of stockholder unrest. I knew the business was suffering since my father’s death. The newspapers had gotten hold of Leo’s eccentric bequest and were having a field day, speculating what would happen to Dirkston Enterprises. Shares were falling rapidly and it was imperative Grant reassure the remaining investors that there would be no major upheavals and that everything was well in control.

  I prayed this was true because, if the bottom fell out of the stock, we’d all face tenuous futures. Even though Leo’s private wealth was massive, it was mostly tied up in investments. Divided among the three of us, the meager liquid assets probably wouldn’t even cover the upkeep and maintenance of Beacon for five years. It was all very legal. I found it tedious poring over the documents and pamphlets that Grant occasionally left lying around. It amazed me anyone could dedicate their lives to the practice of corporate law. In my mind, it was dry, dull and decidedly boring and I quickly lost interest, relying on the troupe of attorneys and accountants on staff to keep Grant on the straight and narrow.