by Judi Lind
Surprisingly, each woman had stuffed her “essentials” into a single duffel bag apiece. He’d fully expected Heather to show up with an eight-piece set of matching luggage.
“All ready?” he asked as he hefted Elisa’s duffel bag onto his shoulder and reached for Heather’s.
“I guess,” Elisa murmured, taking a searching look around the kitchen. “I feel like I’m forgetting something, though. Something important.”
“I saw you pack your purse and jewel case,” Heather said. “What else do you have of value?”
Elisa shrugged. “Nothing I guess. Still…”
At that moment, the kitchen door burst open as if a bomb had exploded behind it. A large man wearing a bright yellow slicker stepped through the doorway. Since he offered no apology for entering without knocking, Storm could only assume that the newcomer was well-known to the occupants.
He pulled off his rain cap, exposing a wiry mop of gingery red hair, then wiped his face with the sleeve of his raincoat. “The radio said old Jake is moving straight at us,” he announced. “I’m not sure this cabin can withstand gale-force winds, ladies, so maybe you’d better—” He broke off when he spotted Storm. “Who are you?”
Storm hoisted the two duffel bags higher on his shoulders and took a step toward the kitchen door. With a brief nod at the stranger, he muttered his name and said he was taking the women to the hotel.
The stranger reached for one of the bags, but Storm waved him away. “I’m balanced. They’re not that heavy.”
Heather moved to the stranger and took his arm. “Brian, meet Dr. Storm Delaney. Storm, this is our neighbor, Brian McPherson. He’s been so much help to us this summer. Are you coming to the hotel, Bri?”
“Nah,” the ruddy-faced man replied. “My place should be fine. It’s fortified with extra hurricane straps and bracing. It’ll hold its own with winds up to a hundred and forty miles per hour.”
Storm’s eyes narrowed at the man’s naiveté. “You’ll still be cut off from any help, should a power line come down or something.”
“Maybe so. But I’ve got a shortwave radio and plenty of provisions. I’m kind of looking forward to meeting old Jake.”
Storm shook his head, but didn’t say anything. These barrier islands had claimed the lives of dozens of people who thought they could match wits with a force-four or -five hurricane. He hoped their neighbor didn’t add to those morbid statistics. “Well, I certainly wish you luck, McPherson, but if you change your mind, the Danzigers have plenty of room at the hotel.”
The red-haired man grinned. “Don’t worry about me, buddy boy. I’ll be over and help you folks dig out after old Jake wears himself out trying to blow my cabin off the beach. But you’d better get these ladies to safety. I’ll finish securing this place after you leave.”
Heather kissed him on his weathered cheek. “You’re wonderful, Bri. I’d stay with you, but I don’t want to abandon Elisa. Being a West Coast girl, she’s never been in a hurricane before.”
Storm grimaced. Heather’s insinuation, of course, was that Elisa wasn’t capable of bringing herself in out of the weather if Heather wasn’t around to direct her. He wondered anew at their “friendship.”
Elisa, once again, took the initiative and led the way out of the cabin. The squalls had increased in intensity, and Storm was worried that she would be tossed aside by the powerful tempest. He hurried to follow and ran directly into her as she rushed back into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” Storm and Heather asked in unison.
Elisa lightly slapped her forehead. “I just remembered what I forgot! It won’t take me a minute.”
She ran out of the room and, true to her word, returned in less than a minute. A pink terry-cloth robe was folded over her arm.
Heather tapped her toe in irritation. “You held us up for a bathrobe?”
Elisa folded the garment into a small parcel and held it against her body. “Not the robe, but something in the pocket.” She reached inside the robe and held up a folded manila envelope.
“What’s that?” Heather asked, half reaching for the envelope.
Elisa quickly shoved it back into the terry-cloth folds. “It’s a letter. From Jay.” As if embarrassed by the admission, she headed for the door again.
Her progress was halted when Heather grabbed her arm. “What kind of letter?”
“I, uh, haven’t read it yet. It arrived a few days after…the, uh, accident. I’ve been trying to get the courage to read it.”
Brian McPherson pulled his rain hat over his head and started ushering them toward the door. “Hate to break this up, but ol’ Jake ain’t going to wait while we jabber about an old letter. You folks better get a move on.”
Although he was intrigued by the sudden heavy atmosphere that followed Elisa’s producing her letter, Storm knew McPherson was right. There was no way of gauging how close the hurricane was, or the speed at which it was traveling. He reached over and pulled Elisa close to him and wrapped a protective arm around her waist. “McPherson, you want to help Heather?”
“Be my pleasure,” he replied, opening his rubber raincoat to envelop her.
“Then let’s make a run for it.” Storm kept a firm arm around Elisa’s waist as they made a dash for the relative dryness of his Jeep.
CONVERSATION was minimal as they made the twentyminute drive to the Double Dare Hotel. The angry storm buffeting the Jeep made verbal communication a worthless skill. Elisa saw Storm’s lips move as he dodged a fallen tree limb, but she couldn’t hear the dark epithet he muttered.
A half mile up the road, a downed power line sparked and hissed across the blacktop like an angry snake.
Thankful for his driving skills, and the Jeep’s four-wheel drive, Elisa held her breath as Storm nudged the vehicle down a small ravine and up onto a windswept plateau of sandy soil. She exhaled in relief as he gave the flapping power line a wide berth and reentered the paved road some distance past it.
Finally, they reached the relative quiet of the leeward village, and he pulled into the guest parking lot in the rear of the ancient hotel.
Wordlessly the threesome made an awkward dash for the rear door. The wind had changed course. The women were blown backward time and again, their clothing pressed against their skin as if it were being absorbed into their bodies.
News reports had always given Elisa the notion that a hurricane brought cold weather, but she’d been wrong. The heavy atmosphere was as hot and moist as a sauna, and the wind smacked her face like hot air emerging from a heated oven.
Finally, they made the shelter of a roofed porch. Storm held open the door, and they thankfully stepped into a gleaming white kitchen.
A sturdy silver-haired woman wearing a starched white blouse and a no-nonsense navy skirt was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of something that emitted a heavenly aroma. When she spoke, her soft Southern drawl clashed with her storm-trooper demeanor. “I swan! Look what the wind blew in. I expected you some time ago, Storm. And who have you brought with you?”
“Hey, Miriam.” He set the bags on the floor and leaned over the older woman’s shoulder, sniffing the redolent steam over the cook pot. “Got room for a few stranded souls?”
She laughed, not disturbing a single lacquered gray hair. “I reckon we can find a spare bed or two.” She wiped her hands on a spotless apron. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends or not?”
Storm made the introductions, and Elisa learned that Miriam Danziger and her husband, Hank, were the owners of the Double Dare Hotel.
“Y’all are soaking wet, bless your souls. Stay right here while I get some towels from the laundry room.” She stepped through a small door off the kitchen, and returned a few seconds later with an armful of fluffy white towels.
As soon as she handed them out, they wiped the moisture from their faces and rubbed their hair.
“Where is Hank?” Storm asked as he filched a carrot from under Miriam’s watchful eye. “Figured you two might ha
ve headed for the mainland.”
Miriam dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand. “That ornery old coot? He’s too afraid somebody would get stranded and he wouldn’t be here to rent ’em a room. Seems he was right, too.” She cocked her head toward the front of the hotel. “We’ve already had a few folks turn up. Hank’s in hog heaven—us being the only folks foolish enough to be open for business in the middle of a hurricane!”
Storm’s hand flew to his mouth as he faked a cough to stifle a sudden chuckle.
Miriam stepped forward, elbowing him out of her way. She wrapped a pudgy arm around Elisa’s shoulders. “Say, you wouldn’t be that ballet dancer, would you?”
Amazed by the cultural awareness that seemed to prevail on this tiny island, Elisa quickly recovered from her surprise. “Why, yes, I am. Are you an aficionado, Mrs. Danziger?”
“Call me Miriam. No, can’t say that I’m a big fan of the ballet, although I used to take my girl Elizabeth up to Norfolk every winter to see The Nutcracker. Does that count?”
Elisa smiled. “Of course. The Nutcracker is a wonderful production. I hope you enjoyed it.”
“After I got over there not being any dialogue, I reckon I liked it well enough.”
Elisa frowned in confusion. If Miriam’s entire ballet experience was an occasional performance of The Nutcracker, how had she known that Elisa was a dancer?
As if picking up on the question echoed in Elisa’s eyes, Miriam laughed. “Oh, you were wondering how I knew about you.”
“Well, yes, I—”
Miriam hooked a thumb toward the open doorway leading from the kitchen to the main portion of the hotel. “Fella was asking about you earlier.”
Heather edged closer and leaned over Elisa’s shoulder. “Someone was asking about Elisa? Here?”
Miriam nodded. “Real smartly dressed fella. I reckon he’s in the parlor with Hank. Got hisself stranded here with the rest of us. Said he was a lawyer—from New York.”
A cold chill of apprehension washed down Elisa’s back. Why would a New York lawyer be this far south, looking for her? As far as she knew, she’d signed all the necessary papers terminating her affiliation with the dance company before she left. If there was more paperwork, why hadn’t the director simply mailed it to her?
Why had an attorney come looking for her?
A shudder rippled through her body as the truth dawned on her. Somehow, this lawyer had to be connected with…Jay’s death. Could she be held legally, as well as morally, responsible for his suicide? What was the penalty for causing another to end his life?
Her head began to throb in the familiar rhythm as a fragmented memory fought to bring itself to her conscious mind. Another flash of the shadowy person, and subtle movement as the figure stepped toward her. And then…then it was gone. Once again, the elusive recollection darted away.
She was still trembling with the repressed fear that always accompanied these “visions” when Miriam Danziger took her chin between her fingers. “I swan, honey, you look plumb tuckered out. And a little scared. You’ll be fine here, honey.” She gave her a hearty squeeze.
“Storm, why don’t you take these gals into the front parlor while I see what rooms are clean enough to give them. The entire staff hightailed it to the mainland.”
“Where should I put their bags?”
“Just leave them right where they are till we get the room situation sorted out. Now go on into the parlor and dry off.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s after four. I imagine Hank’s pouring libations right about now.”
“I think I could use a libation right about now,” Storm said as he ushered the women into the parlor.
The owner, Hank Danziger, was pouring wine from crystal decanters while several people lounged on the overstuffed furniture. He raised an arm in greeting, but Elisa barely noted the gesture. Her gaze was pinned on the man sitting alone in the corner, his dark eyes watching her every move.
Although she’d met him only on three occasions, Elisa immediately recognized him. David Allen Welton. A thirdgeneration Harvard attorney. A junior partner in the family firm and, from what she’d heard, particularly adept at keeping his wealthy clients out of the grasp of the IRS.
He’d also been Jay’s attorney. Elisa had met him once socially when she and Jay first started dating. Then, he’d come to the hospital twice, after her accident, asking interminable questions for which she had no answers.
And now he was here. Far from Manhattan, where he normally plied his trade. Why? What could he possibly want with her?
Forcing what she hoped was a self-assured smile, she crossed the room to greet him. David rose to his feet and took her chilled hand in his.
“Elisa! Do you think we’ll ever run into each other when there’s no crisis to contend with?”
She shook her head in a rueful disavowal of his remark. They hadn’t “run into” each other. David Welton had come several hundred miles south with the express intent of seeking her out. Why was he now pretending their meeting was mere happenstance?
Across the room, Storm kept a watchful eye on Elisa while he spoke to Hank Danziger about conditions on the island. She didn’t look particularly happy to see her friend from New York. Rather, she looked disconcerted and…frightened.
In fact, unless he was badly mistaken, Elisa Montoya wasn’t at all pleased about waiting out Hurricane Jake with her old acquaintance. Still, she put on a good show. From a distance, he heard her laugh as she chatted with the expensively dressed lawyer. But there was brittle tension in her too-hearty laughter. He could see her jaw tighten and her shoulders stiffen with anxiety. Strain made a deep groove across her forehead.
Not that any of this was his business, he reminded himself, no matter how much the sexy dancer fired up his testosterone. To put more distance between himself and Elisa, he moseyed over to speak to the few people he knew. Mark and Betty Bowman were local restaurateurs who’d missed the last ferry when their car wouldn’t start.
Standing alone in the corner was Carey Howard. A relative newcomer to the island, Carey owned a small fleet of sport-fishing boats. He raised a beer glass in acknowledgment of Storm’s greeting, but didn’t move to join the others.
Although the Bowmans were pleasant, and even entertaining, with their tales of unusual customers they’d encountered, Storm’s attention kept wandering to Elisa and her companion. While her chatter continued to be punctuated with bursts of hollow laughter, she kept looking expectantly at the lawyer, as if waiting for some cue. Since attorneys were generally talkative, in Storm’s experience, he couldn’t help wondering what had the young lawyer so preoccupied. Elisa seemed to be doing most of the talking.
“So how long have you lived on the island, Dr. Delaney?”
“What? Oh, sorry.” Storm reluctantly pulled his attention from Elisa. He was startled to find Heather hovering at his elbow. The Bowmans had drifted away to chat with Hank. “I’ve lived here about two years, I guess. What brings you down here?”
“Oh, we’d vacationed here several times, so when Elisa had her…accident, it seemed like the ideal place to help her recover.” She glanced across the room, her gaze intent on Elisa and the lawyer. “So, here we are.”
Storm wondered if he was getting cynical. Even Heather sounded uptight and distracted as she watched the attorney out of the corner of her eye. He looked up, and Heather turned away abruptly.
Despite himself, Storm found his interest piqued by the interplay between these people. Although the attorney hadn’t yet acknowledged Heather’s presence, Storm couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t some history between them. Maybe Elisa had replaced Heather in a romantic relationship with the lawyer. He found the idea strangely discomfiting.
“What do you people do for fun around here?” Heather suddenly asked. “I mean, it’s so isolated.” She hugged her lush torso and shivered eloquently. Without waiting for his response, she cast another quick glance at Elisa and the lawyer.
The
re was a definite undercurrent of tension flowing between the three of them. Granted, Storm was a virtual stranger, but he could almost feel the sizzle of apprehension burning through the air. With each passing moment, the anxiety level increased, like the gale-force winds that were hurling branches against the hotel. He had a strong sense that everyone was waiting. But for what?
His speculations were cut short when Miriam Danziger swept in and announced that their rooms were ready. The Bowmans quickly followed her into the hallway.
Turning back to Heather, Storm nodded toward the attorney. “Don’t you want to say hello to your friend?”
Heather shrugged. “He’s no friend of mine. But hang on to your wallet, the lawyer approacheth.”
Sure enough, Elisa and her companion were moving in their direction. Now that they were closer, Storm could hear the man speaking in a cultured Boston accent. “Isn’t it cocktail hour yet? Wine is nice, but I really need a drink. This storm is getting on my nerves.”
Elisa stopped beside them and made the introductions, a hint of stress apparent in the white spots high on her cheekbones. “I’d like you to meet David Welton, the attorney Mrs. Danziger mentioned. And this is Storm Delaney. Of course, you know Heather.”
“David,” Heather murmured as she extended her hand. “Nice to see you again.”
Welton frowned “Where do I know you from? The country club? Or do you play bridge with my wife?”
Heather’s shoulders stiffened. “Nothing so exalted, I’m afraid. I was Jay Morrow’s secretary.”
“Of course! Sorry I didn’t recognize you. Out of context, so to speak. But…whatever are you doing down here?”
“Even secretaries are allowed the occasional vacation,” she snapped. “But then, I could ask you the same question.”
“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean…” Welton rubbed his forehead and turned his attention to Storm. “You live on this godforsaken island? How long will we have to stay here, do you think?”
Storm shrugged. “Until this hurricane passes. A day, a week, no way of telling right now.”