by Judi Lind
Glancing at the padded envelope she was absently hefting in her right hand, she decided this might be her best opportunity to have a private conversation with the attorney.
“Good morning, David.” She flashed him a bright smile as she approached.
“Elisa! I’ve been wondering where you were. What was all that ruckus in your room last night?”
“A large wardrobe toppled over.”
“I thought all the windows were battened down for just that reason—to prevent wind damage?” His frown and quick response exhibited the facile adversarial mind so prized by his wealthy clients.
A little judicious discretion might be a good idea until he’d revealed his motive for following her to the island, she thought. Wouldn’t hurt to fudge the truth just a smidgen. “Guess the plywood on my window worked loose. Anyway, no big deal.”
“Oh?” David arched a thin dark eyebrow. “If it wasn’t ’a big deal,’ as you called it, why didn’t you stay in your own room last night?”
A red warning beacon flashed inside her head. How did he know where she’d spent the night? And what concern was it of his? She chose her words with care. “Hank wasn’t able to straighten things up until daylight. Remember? He turned the generator off shortly before the mishap.”
“I see. So rather than simply give you another room, he decided it was…more convenient…to have you bunk with Delaney?”
Elisa opened her mouth to fabricate another lie, to say there were no other rooms ready. But David seemed to be having too much fun grilling her. She’d come in here seeking answers from him, instead she was doing all the talking. Time to change the rules.
Cocking her head to the side, she said thoughtfully, “David, I’m afraid I don’t understand. You’d already returned to your room before my sleeping arrangements were decided. Were you watching me from behind your door?”
A dark flush stole up his cheeks as, for once, the razor-sharp attorney was caught off guard.
Leaping on her small gain, she charged ahead. “So you were peeking from behind your door?”
“No! I wasn’t peeking. Exactly. I, uh, wanted to get you alone for a few minutes. We hadn’t had a chance to talk privately since my arrival in this godforsaken place.” He straightened his shoulders and tugged at his sleeves, obviously stalling to recover his aplomb.
She started to ask him why he hadn’t made his presence known, but knew he would just manufacture another smooth response that she couldn’t dispute. Deciding to get on with her own concerns, she gave him a wry smile. “Well, we’re both here now. So why don’t we sit down and be comfortable while you tell me why you came down here in the first place?”
He followed her to the sofa, then sat in the more authoritative wing chair across from her. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his knees. “I’m really sorry that I’ve apparently upset you by my unscheduled arrival.”
She briefly thought of denying his charge, but didn’t want to interrupt him. Now that he was finally willing to talk. She gave him a faint smile, encouraging him to continue.
After a small hesitation, he did. “Do you remember my coming to see you in the hospital?”
“Of course.” That was when he’d brought Jay’s letter. Some instinct caused her to slip the padded envelope between the sofa cushions. Out of sight.
“I don’t know if you realize this,” he said, picking up the thread of his recital, “but the police were never completely happy with your story.”
“My story! I didn’t have a story. I simply told the truth. At least as much as I could remember.”
David inched closer. “How about now? Do you recall more details of that night?”
She tossed her head in frustration. “I feel like I’ve answered this question for a thousand different people. No. My memory still has more holes than a crocheted doily. Oh, bits and pieces of broken images flash in my mind from time to time, but no lucid memories. Why? What does it matter now?”
Slowing his words to a solemn, courtroom cadence, he intoned, “Because a new element has come to light. An element that will surely cause the authorities to take another look at your involvement in Jay’s death.”
Elisa’s heart raced like a frightened gazelle. What on earth could have been uncovered after all this time that might implicate her in Jay’s suicide? She felt like running full tilt and pounding her head into the wall until she forced out those hidden memories.
Until she knew what had really happened that night, how could she possibly hope to defend herself against a charge of…of what? Assisting a suicide? Conspiracy?
“Wh-what kind of element could possibly implicate me?” Her voice was a dry, rusty croak, as if she were losing her ability to speak. She wondered if he could see the guilt she carried around her neck as if it were a millstone.
David stood up and reached behind his back, extracting a thin sheaf of papers, folded in half lengthwise. He tossed the stapled sheets on the coffee table between them.
Sitting back down he nodded toward the papers. “While going through Jay’s correspondence in my capacity as executor of his estate, I discovered he had a second safedeposit box. After requesting and receiving court approval to have the box forced open, I found a single envelope inside.”
He paused dramatically.
Elisa’s nerves jangled like a jailer’s key ring. Just when she thought she might have to leap across the table and shake the words out of him, David cleared his throat.
“Jay had apparently made out a new will, superseding the one I prepared for him last April.”
This was his big pronouncement? Her heart slowed to a near-normal pace. But she was still bewildered as to how this information could possibly affect her. “A new will?”
“Yes. One naming you as sole heir to his estate.”
Her heartbeat took off again, stampeding through her chest. “Me? But we’d only been dating a couple of months.”
“Precisely.”
Dumbfounded by this turn of events, she reached for the papers. “May I?”
“By all means,” he replied. “That copy is for you. The original, of course, has been filed with the probate court. We are currently trying to authenticate it before we proceed with disposing of the estate.”
Slipping her hand beneath the sofa cushions, Elisa extracted the manila envelope she’d hidden there. How silly that action now seemed, in light of this new, and damning, evidence.
Surely she hadn’t misled Jay? Hadn’t she broken off with him the first time he mentioned commitment?
Rising to her feet, she held both documents in a vise grip against her chest. “I don’t understand anything that’s going on, David. But what puzzles me the most is why this would interest the police?”
He also stood and hesitated for a ten-count before speaking, his voice grave. “Elisa, I know this is all a shock to you, but you must try to understand. By whatever means you can utilize, you must make every effort to regain your memory. To reconstruct a lucid account of the events of that night. Your life may well depend upon it.”
More confused than ever, she breathed, “My life?”
He pushed up the sleeves of his white sweater. “There has never been a formal ruling on the cause of Jay’s death. Perhaps it was suicide. We found reason enough when we started going through his books.”
“Reason? What reason? Please, David, you have to tell me why Jay killed himself!” Please, God, don’t let it be because of me.
As if oblivious to her anguish, he continued, in his maddeningly calm voice. “I’ll be happy to share what information I have—in the event suicide is ultimately determined to be the cause of death.”
He paused and drew a deep breath while Elisa moved from one foot to the other, waiting, and praying that her pounding heart wouldn’t explode.
David tapped his upper lip with a manicured fingertip. “Although the investigating officers won’t give me any details, they found some piece of evidence that leads them to suspect foul play. You
had means and opportunity, Elisa. Jay’s new will now gives you ample motive. I’d suggest you find a good criminal attorney.
“You could be charged with murder.”
Chapter Seven
It wasn’t that Storm was eavesdropping. Not really.
Elisa’s irrational behavior in the kitchen had irked him so much he actually started to kick the oven to relieve some of his frustration.
Miriam stopped him with a gentle touch. “Wouldn’t take it out on the stove if I were you, Storm. That thing’s made of cast iron. You’d be getting off lucky if your ankle was the only bone you broke.”
Heeding her advice, he lowered his leg.
Stomping over to the refrigerator, he grabbed a lukewarm can of Bud Light. He pulled the metal tab and waited until the foam stopped fizzing to take a long, satisfying swallow. He counted to ten and drank again, half emptying the aluminum can. Damn, she’d ticked him off!
One minute she was smiling like a sloe-eyed Mexican angel; the next she was hotter than a mouthful of habañero chilies. What could have lit her extremely short fuse?
“There’s no rhyme or reason to it,” Miriam murmured from the kitchen table, where she was chopping veggies.
He glared at her over the lip of the can. “No rhyme or reason to what?”
“To love.”
Storm snorted. “Love? You think this is about love?”
Miriam cut the greenery off another carrot and smiled knowingly.
“I do not love her,” Storm declared, stalking across the room. “I hardly know the woman. And what little I do know, I don’t much like.” He pulled out a chair, whirled it around and straddled it, all the while glowering at Miriam. “You women think everything is about love.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. This is about that prima ballerina. As in prima donna. You should see the way she twisted everything I said. Unbelievable.”
“You must’ve said something to upset her.”
“Humph! I can’t imagine what it was. All I said…”
Miriam listened quietly until he finished unloading. Putting down the paring knife, she smiled at him. Storm kind of reminded her of Hank—about forty years ago. “She thinks you’re interested in her friend. That Heather.”
Storm closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. He was completely baffled. “Why in heaven’s name would she think a thing like that?”
“Because that’s what you told her. Although maybe not in those actual words.”
His head jerked up. “Is every woman in this hotel suffering from some…hormonal thing?”
Miriam winked and tossed him a grin. “Honey, my hormonals have been retired for longer than I care to remember.”
“Maybe so,” he said, deciding he’d opened a subject he’d rather not pursue. “But I never said I was interested in Heather. I lost interest in boy-crazy girls when I was still in high school.”
Pushing her bowl of vegetables aside, Miriam reached across the table and took his hand. “I normally don’t get involved in other folks’ squabbles, but…what the heck? I’m bored.”
Kneading Storm’s fingers with hers, she slowly explained where his and Elisa’s conversation had taken a wrong turn. When she finished, his first thought was to argue with her, explain his side. Then he realized he was talking to the wrong woman. He should be having this conversation with Elisa.
Rising to his feet, he shoved the chair back into place. Walking around the table, he gave the older woman a soft kiss on her weathered cheek. “Think I need to go straighten out a misunderstanding.”
Miriam smiled up at him and patted his hand, showing a momentary flash of what must have been youthful beauty before it had been ravaged by time. Instead of feeling sorry about her lost girlhood, Storm suddenly realized just how fleeting and brief a lifetime could be. Whistling softly, he went in search of Elisa.
He had just rounded the hall corner and was heading for the central staircase when he heard the murmur of voices in the front room. Hesitating, he tilted his head toward the arched doorway in an effort to hear whether Elisa might be one of the speakers.
After his hearing adjusted to the muted conversation, he was able to pick out a female voice, but she was talking so softly, he couldn’t identify her. Not wanting to intrude if a private conversation were taking place, he slipped off his loafers and tiptoed in his bare feet toward the archway.
The voices were slightly louder now, and he recognized Elisa, talking to that lawyer from New York. Judging from their tones, Welton was calmly professional. At his ease and in complete control. Elisa, however, was clearly distraught. She was shouting about someone named Jay, who’d apparently killed himself.
An uneasy knot started forming in the pit of his stomach. He intuitively knew that this death they were discussing was somehow connected to Elisa’s recent “accidents.”
The counselor’s next words were muffled, as if the two of them had moved out of hearing range again. Cursing himself for getting lost in his own thoughts, Storm inched closer to the archway, determined to stay focused on their interchange. He hated spying on her but rationalized that he had to hear the rest of this conversation in order to help her. Closing his mind to everything but her welfare, he eased around the archway until he could see the entire room.
They were standing on either side of the coffee table. Elisa was huddled into herself, with her arms crossed over her chest in a classic body-language expression of selfprotection. The lawyer clearly had the upper hand. He stood upright, staring down at her, his body rigid, his tone judgmental. They were obviously engaged in a serious battle, their arsenals stocked with hurtful words.
For a brief moment, Storm wondered if he’d misjudged the situation the previous evening. Because of Welton’s hostility to Heather, he’d been fairly certain that they had been in a past relationship. But now, watching the way he seemed to relish browbeating Elisa, Storm was forced to reconsider the possibility that she had been Welton’s lover.
Before he could reach a clear understanding of what they meant to each other, Welton pointed an accusing finger at her. Then announced that she could be charged with murder.
NOTING A SLIGHT MOVEMENT out of her peripheral vision, Elisa swung around and discovered Storm standing in the doorway. Watching them. A red haze of emotion whirled around her, blinding her, choking her. Fury, disbelief, embarrassment and fear blended into a raging river, flooding through her body and drowning her senses.
She was so stunned by the ferocity of the warring sensations, she couldn’t tell which emotion was jolting her the hardest.
Summoning the few remaining segments of her pride, she raised her chin with what she hoped passed for righteous indignation. “Thank you for the information, David. I shall take what you’ve said under advisement.”
She turned, hoping for a dignified departure, but the heat of Storm’s gaze, centering on her khaki shorts and skimpy T-shirt, robbed her of even that small victory. A hot core of sensation formed in her stomach, and melted downward like a lava flow.
Gritting her teeth, she fought to hold on to her anger. Even her humiliation. Anything was preferable to this traitorous desire that welled inside her whenever Storm entered the area.
He was still standing in the archway when she approached. By sheer willpower, she managed to ignore her quaking insides, and glared into his eyes. Praying that her voice wouldn’t quake, she tilted her chin up another imperious notch. “Did your eyes and ears get their fill?”
Without giving him time to respond, she swept past him.
She’d almost made it to the staircase when he caught up with her. “Elisa! Stop. Wait a minute. Please.”
To her utter dismay, she felt her footsteps faltering.
That was all the encouragement he needed. Reaching around her rigid back, he pried her fingers off the banister, gently urging her to face him.
Although her traitorous body turned at his silent command, she couldn’t meet his eyes. Nor would she give him the satisfa
ction of seeing the depth of her pain. Drawing a deep, cleansing breath, she slowly exhaled her undiluted contempt. “Could you be brief? I’d like to go to my room.”
“Elisa, it’s not what you think. I wasn’t spying on you or…or trying to meddle into your affairs—”
“Oh?” Still holding on to Jay’s will and letter with her free hand, she gestured toward his shoes, which were lying on the hardwood floor, several inches from his bare feet.
His emerald eyes darkened to a deep, murky hue, the color she imagined the ocean floor would be—at midnight. His voice was calm, deadly calm, but the muscle tic at his temple gave the lie to his outward detachment. Slowly, distinctly, he enunciated each word. “For the record, I was not trying to horn in on your private conversation.”
She refused to believe him. She wanted—needed—to hang on to this rage. If it diminished, the empty space inside her would instantly fill with thoughts of Jay, his unexplained death and his inexplicable will.
Elisa allowed the venom to flow from her anger into her words; to do otherwise would cost her last shred of dignity.
“Is that why you took your shoes off? So you wouldn’t disturb us? Or was it so we wouldn’t hear you sneaking up?”
Storm kicked with his bare foot and sent his footwear flying across the hall. “Damn my shoes! I came looking for you to apologize for…for whatever the hell I did to tick you off in the first place. But when I overheard what that lawyer said to you—”
Heather’s high, loud voice froze them in place. “Elisa, what’s happened? What did David tell you?”
Storm uttered a vile epithet and released Elisa’s hand. It tingled oddly for a moment, as if his residual energy still radiated through her palm.
Elisa hadn’t noticed Heather’s approach; she must have been cleaning the basement with the others and come up the back steps. Her latest obsession, Carey Howard, was firmly in tow.
Despite Storm’s obvious annoyance, Heather’s timing couldn’t have been better. She’d probably saved Elisa from swallowing Storm’s excuse and making a fool of herself. Again.