ShadowsintheMist

by Maureen McMahon

  Despite my annoyance with Grant’s precipitous departure, I was also somewhat relieved, not having entirely settled his guilt or innocence in my mind. I was still much too ready to picture him as the hazy figure outlined on the crest above the river, rifle to his shoulder, cold determination in his ice-chip eyes. For the time being, I was able to keep a cool ambivalence about the situation but my imagination was working overtime, fitting that cold steel poker into the hands of everyone I knew. Indisputably, Grant and Colin held it most convincingly and though I forced myself to keep an open mind, I was grateful for David’s presence when facing either of them.

  Rain was beginning to fall in misty drops and I uncurled my cramped legs to stand up. My multitude of abrasions and bruises were still visible but were decidedly less dramatic. Aside from some stiffness, I hardly felt them at all. I was relieved Jenny was on the road to recovery and considered my own wounds a minor inconvenience. I fought daily with my sense of guilt over the affair. I knew the bullet was meant for me and if I hadn’t involved Jenny, the incident might never have happened. It made me all the more determined to expose the perpetrator of the attack.

  I picked my way over and around the slippery rocks, using a hand for leverage now and then when I had to span a large puddle. The wind whistled through the empty crown of the lighthouse like a spirit keening through hollow halls. Within minutes, I was safely on the beach. I stood looking up at the mansion. Only the top floors could be seen from this angle and they were shrouded in a swirling mist, as were the tops of the trees. Even the sandy cliffs were muted gray. The beach itself drifted away in a dreamy velvet gauze, the juncture between water and sand indistinct except for the rhythmic splash and lap of waves.

  I walked slowly, undisturbed by the saturating drizzle. I relished the solitude feeling pillowed and protected by nature. I took off my shoes and the cool lips of the lake crept up to nibble at my toes, then gently receded, coaxing me to follow. When I looked up, I was struck by a strange eeriness. The beach ahead was almost entirely swallowed up by a rolling fogbank which seemed to have taken on an odd animation. It moved in a spiraling motion that defied any laws of nature. I stopped and stared, fascinated—like a sleepwalker—watching with absent curiosity as the inexplicable phenomenon took place.

  The cloud thickened and its core became darker until, as though squeezed from some inner depth, a black mass manifested itself. It was a figure—tall, stocky, faceless and shadowed, motionless except for a crown of windblown hair. I didn’t move. I was frozen by some intangible force emanating from the figure—as though it were trying to communicate but hadn’t mastered the language. I wasn’t afraid, just as I wasn’t afraid beneath the dark waters of the pool. I opened my mouth to speak but, as though a delicate balance were upset, the figure melted slowly into obscurity, leaving only the steamy mist that was gradually driven to ground by an increased pelting of rain.

  “Suzanna!”

  David hurried toward me from the direction of the cliff steps. There was nothing left of the apparition now. Even that overpowering sense of presence was gone. I felt oddly empty and equally exhausted, as though my energy had conjured the image, fed it, then released it. I was trembling uncontrollably by the time David reached me, frozen to the spot, my eyes still riveted on the distant, rain-soaked beach.

  If he found my dazed expression peculiar, he didn’t say so but threw a huge towel around my shoulders and hurried me up the climb and across the gardens, chiding me for standing out in the rain.

  By the time we reached the back patio, the rain was pouring down with a vengeance. I regained my senses and shivered all the more as my mind incredulously relived the experience. I would not—could not—tell David. He simply wouldn’t believe me. No one would. I suspected the figure on the beach was the same as the others I’d seen. I was equally certain that whatever it was wasn’t made of flesh and blood.

  “You’re drenched,” David scolded, dabbing at my face with a corner of the towel. “And shivering. We’ll have to get you into some dry clothes right away.”

  “I’m okay,” I mumbled, pushing his long fingers away irritably. He looked at me with a wounded expression and I put a hand on his arm, forcing a reassuring smile. “Thanks,” I said, “but I’m really all right. I’ll go up and change right away.”

  I left him abruptly. I was fairly bursting with residual shock and amazement and unable to trust myself with sane conversation. He would only have to look into my eyes to see the awe and wonder of it all and I knew I couldn’t face any questions just yet.

  Awe and wonder were quickly replaced by doubt and depression. I was going mad. It was the only explanation. First, the vision at the cabin, then on the highway and by the grave. The strange experience at the pool, and now…now an apparition on the beach. I was most certainly losing my mind.

  I stepped out of a hot bath and toweled myself off. My eyes caught my image in the bathroom mirror and I moved closer, rubbing a hole in the steam. My face looked hideous. Despite a pink tinge brought out by the warmth in the room, my complexion was unnaturally sallow. My cheekbones stood out too prominently and my eyes were sunken and underlined by dark shadows. My lips were pale and the lump on my forehead had spread and turned purplish-black. My hair hung, still dripping, to my shoulders, making my features seem even more drawn.

  Yes, that’s it. I’m having a nervous breakdown. I sighed, almost wishing I could believe it. Unfortunately, the reality of my experiences was still too fresh and told me otherwise. I had to think logically!

  I opened the door from the ensuite connecting my room and hurriedly donned a warm, fleecy white bathrobe. Tying it securely, I sat down at the dressing table to work on my wet, tangled hair when there was a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Alicia.”

  I grunted in annoyance but invited her in. She appeared with a round tray balanced on one hand, a steaming mug tilting precariously on its surface.

  “Martha was bringing this up, so I thought I’d save her the trouble. She’s not as young as she used to be, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if those stairs don’t give her trouble. Besides, she has enough to do.”

  She set the tray down beside me, then flopped on her stomach across the bed, her stilt-like legs raised and crossed at the ankles behind her, her chin propped on the backs of her be-ringed hands. She smiled. “Goodness, you do look a mess!”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Oh, you know what I mean. You look pooped and who wouldn’t after all you’ve been through?” She cocked her head to one side. “How’s Jenny? Did you see her today?”

  I nodded. “Yes. She’s still critical but they think she’s out of danger.”

  “Thank God for that! I still say you were lucky to get out of it alive. You must’ve been petrified!”

  “I didn’t really have time to be.”

  She examined her nails critically. “When are you and Grant going to…” She lifted one brow.

  I pulled the brush through my hair, feeling the rip of tangled strands. “Get married? Tie the knot? Do the deed?” I snapped. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason, darling. I was just curious. No need to get irritable.”

  I sighed. I knew she was worried about the division of Leo’s wealth. She had every right to be. I’d make an effort to be less touchy about these inevitable questions.

  “I’m sorry. I seem to have a short temper lately.”

  Thankfully, she didn’t pursue the questioning, seemingly pleased at having forced my contrition. “Well, you know you’re not the only one who’s been under stress lately. Just look at these hands.” She held one out in front of her and it shook exaggeratedly. “I can’t stop them trembling, what with Jenny…and you falling into the pool. Why did you fall in? I never figured it out. I know you can swim better than most of us.”

  She paused, considering, then a devious smile crept over her lips. “It was rather romantic though, the way Grant saved you, don’t you think?�
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  I fought to control my rising anger and turned to face her. “Look, Alicia, I don’t know what crazy ideas you’ve got buzzing around in your brain but Grant and I are only agreeing to this arrangement to save Beacon and the people in it from ruin. Nothing more.” At her look of smug nonchalance, I added spitefully, “You might also remember you’re married to Colin. Perhaps if you centered your attentions on him and less on certain other members of the household, life would be a lot easier!”

  This broke her veneer of calm and her eyes narrowed. She uncurled herself and I could see I’d struck a nerve.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I heard you fawning over Grant on the patio a couple weeks ago.”

  She was silent, trying to remember the incident but drawing a blank. “I don’t know what you heard, darling but I hope you learned a few things from it. You could use a few pointers. You think anyone’s worried about you and Grant?” She snorted. “You couldn’t hold his attention for two minutes. You’re too interested in your precious career and your oh-so-important independence to ever be attractive to a man! Hell, you couldn’t even hold onto your pompous, little David.”

  I stood up, rigid with fury. “I think you’d better go,” I said through tight lips.

  She rose too and faced me. She was inches taller than me and seemed utterly composed. The only sign of tension was in the slight sheen of perspiration on her brow and upper lip.

  “I’ll go,” she said. “But just remember what I said. Grant doesn’t want you, so for your own good, leave him alone. And if you’re looking for someone to be jealous of, try his new secretary. I, personally, could not care less.”

  With dramatic aplomb, she swept from the room, closing the door firmly behind her. I stood staring after her, still livid. Up until now, Alicia had been merely an interesting but unimportant decoration at Beacon. What few conversations we indulged in were trivial and rife with her tiresome exaggeration. This encounter surprised me as much as it angered me.

  When she threw aside her façade, she showed a calculating core. I had no doubt she was involved with Grant, even if only in her own imagination—so involved she’d drop her carefully cultivated act to fight for him. I suspected her comment about a new secretary was merely a ploy to throw me off the track.

  I sat down on the bed and covered my face with my hands. My heart was pounding. Much of what Alicia had said rang painfully true. Romantically, I was a bad risk. David provided a good excuse to avoid other involvements. He was the only one I ever felt comfortable with—though I was not oblivious to other men’s lingering looks and tentative inquiring smiles. I always answered them with a blank shuttered stare, or turned quickly away squelching any chance for further flirtation. It hurt to face the truth and it made me wonder just how cruel Alicia could be.

  Chapter Eight

  Out, out, brief candle.

  Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

  That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

  And then is heard no more. It is a tale

  Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

  Signifying nothing.

  William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act V, sc.v

  Friday dawned bleak and cool. Despite my exhaustion, I’d slept little. David came up to see me safely to my room and, noting my overwrought state, fetched me a soothing cup of tea, insisting I take one of the tablets the doctor had prescribed. It did relax me and I sank almost immediately into a black void. But some time after midnight, I awoke and thrashed restlessly until the dull light of dawn lit the windows.

  Now my head ached and I felt weak and lethargic. I lay still for a moment, trying not to think of the event scheduled for today. Rain still drizzled outside lending a dismal atmosphere.

  Alicia’s voice pierced my reverie. “Colin!”

  A door slammed nearby accompanied by the muffled murmur of Colin’s voice. This was followed by a furious tirade from Alicia. Firm footsteps passed down the corridor outside my room. Alicia scrabbled after him, still screeching but there was no response. Within moments, the front door slammed and she subsided into loud, heart-wrenching sobs.

  I got out of bed, wrapped myself in my robe and stepped out into the hall. Alicia still wailed pathetically. She lay in a heap clinging to one of the uprights holding the banister. Her hair was matted and a pink satin wrapper hung carelessly open to reveal a daring lace negligee.

  “What is it, Alicia?” I asked, trying to be solicitous, hoping to put our recent argument aside.

  She looked up at me and I frowned with concern. Her face was beaded with sweat. Mascara ran down her cheeks and grotesquely ringed her eyes. Tears stained her cheeks a mottled red. But it wasn’t her appearance that shocked me as much as the look in her eyes—a wide desperate look like that of a starving animal. I knelt down to help her up but she pushed at me viciously.

  “Get away,” she hissed. “Leave me alone!”

  She stood up, swaying unsteadily and I could see she was shivering. Her eyes darted around, then settled on me again and suddenly, her expression changed to one of hope.

  “Please,” she said softly, “Colin and I…we’ve had an argument. I need something for my nerves. You’ve got pills. Could I…”

  I frowned, hesitating. Then, assessing her distress, I nodded and went to my room for the vial. I gave her two of the sedatives and she snatched them greedily. Wiping a trembling hand across her brow, she made an attempt at a smile.

  “Thanks. I’ll be all right now,” she said. She started back toward her own room, then paused and looked at me. “Look, I’m sorry about…about yesterday,” she said. “No hard feelings?”

  I shrugged. “No hard feelings.” I watched as she shuffled down the hall. I’d have given anything to find out what she and Colin had argued about but knew it wasn’t the time or place to ask.

  * * * * *

  Grant’s return was anything but inconspicuous. He roared up the drive like a teenaged hot-rodder, gunning the engine, then coming to a screeching halt in front of the house. I watched him from the piano where I was methodically practicing a Chopin étude. He bounded up the steps whistling gaily, threw open the front door with a bang, then slammed it with another. I half-expected him to pitch a top hat onto a nearby hat stand and execute a brief tap dance. Annoyed, I turned back to the music and pounded the keys louder.

  How dare he be in such high spirits!

  Hearing the piano, he strode into the room, a mischievous grin on his lips. Seeing me alone, he sat down on the bench and spoke quietly in my ear. “Ready for our big day, darling?”

  I slammed the lid down over the keys, narrowly missing his fingers.

  “Get away,” I grated, shouldering him until he nearly fell onto the floor.

  This reaction only served to further amuse him. “What’s this? Last-minute jitters?” He clutched his hands over his heart. “Please, Suzanna, tell me you haven’t changed your mind!”

  I stifled a smile at this ridiculous charade. I rarely saw him in such a frivolous mood and it suited him, smoothing the bold planes of his face and making his eyes dance. I had to admit, he could be charming when he wanted to be.

  “What’s gotten into you?” I asked, trying to maintain my dignity. “Have you been drinking?”

  He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offered me one and when I shook my head, put them away again.

  “No, I haven’t been drinking. Aside from the fact I’m looking forward to a very important merger today,” he winked slyly, “I also think I’ve convinced our primary shareholders that Dirkston Enterprises isn’t a sinking ship.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said, only mildly relieved at the news. “I assume you had to tell them about our…this merger?”

  He nodded and grinned. “Looks like there’s no way out now!”

  I didn’t reply. The attorney from Manistee had called this morning to tell me the will was airtight and offered his regrets. Now that the stockholders knew, it would b
e in every newspaper by evening.

  “Do I have any say in this affair or are you planning to organize the whole thing?”

  He spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture. “Your wish is my command. What would you like? A cathedral wedding with the Vienna Boys’ Choir? Or perhaps garden nuptials with a brass band? How about a honeymoon in the south of France?”

  “Don’t pretend you haven’t already made all the arrangements!”

  “Who’s pretending? I just so happen to have a friend who’s a retired judge. He’d be happy to perform the ceremony any time today. I told him we wanted it kept quiet for the time being, so he agreed to do the honors at his house here in town. But if you’d rather…”

  I cast him a withering look. “No,” I replied sullenly. “We may as well get it over with as soon and as simply as possible, unless you have other appointments?”

  “Nope! I’m as free as a bird today.” He cocked a devilish brow. “Cheer up. It’s not every day you tie the knot. Why don’t you go up and change into something more suitable for the occasion while I freshen up?”

  “Black mourning clothes would be suitable,” I muttered but he didn’t hear me, striding off whistling the “Wedding March”.

  If it was Friday the thirteenth, I wouldn’t have been surprised. It seemed an apt date for this most tragic of marriages. But it was the last Friday of the month and held no special significance one way or the other.

  Despite insisting the ceremony meant nothing to me, I chose one of my favorite dresses—a flowing affair of lime-green chiffon with scalloped hemline, cinched waist and cross-draped bodice. I even went so far as to fasten on a gold bracelet and matching necklace with gold and diamond earrings that my father gave me for my twenty-first birthday. There wasn’t much I could do with my hair except scrunch it into tousled waves and slick it back at the temples. After applying a minimum of makeup to cover my fading injuries and the dark smudges beneath my eyes and bring out some color in my cheeks, I was ready.