by Jane Toombs
“I hope you don’t mind how I’ve been roaming around the house,” Mari began.
“Of course not.”
“I did happen to notice one of the upstairs doors was locked, and it made me curious. Is that the way to the attic?”
“Why, yes, we keep it locked. So much is stored up there. The place is jam-packed with valuables.”
Valuables. Mari’s heart sank. No way did she want the responsibility of having a key to where valuables were stored. But she wasn’t ready to give up. “The reason I asked was that I noticed the beautiful portrait in the study, and thought there might be some other old family portraits stored away.”
Pauline shook her head. “Mr. Haskell keeps those in a special room at his house in Grand Rapids.” She smiled slightly. “He brings his wife’s picture with him when he comes to the island. We find it endearing that he doesn’t want to leave her behind.”
It was endearing. Maybe this man who might be her grandfather wasn’t as formidable as Mari pictured him.
Giving it one last try, she said, “So there are no family pictures in the attic.”
“Not a one.” The housekeeper gave her a knowing look. “You must have been talking to Diana. She’s convinced Mr. Haskell stored a portrait of his daughter up there, but she’s wrong. I inventory the attic contents each spring and there is no such portrait among them.”
So much for that idea.
“Will you be here for lunch and dinner today?” Pauline asked.
Mari nodded. She didn’t have anything planned other than maybe taking a walk over to look at the old fort.
Later, as she was wandering around the grounds of Fort Mackinac, viewing the remains of barracks, storerooms and some formidable-looking cannons, Pauline’s words returned to plague her. Why had the housekeeper bothered to tell her Russ’s father was Mr. Haskell’s attorney? Pauline didn’t seem the type for idle chatter. She’d mentioned Russ, too. “Decent enough?” A chill trickled through Mari. Was it mere coincidence that Russ had first showed up at her ranch in Nevada, then here on Mackinac Island?
After a moment she shook her head. Russ had flown to Nevada to look for land for a second horse ranch. He’d happened to see her ad for a draft horse, so came to look at Lucy and had been thrilled to find out the mare was a Blue. As for this island—he came here every summer to keep an eye on the Blues he leased to the carriage tour company. He’d had a perfectly valid reason for being in Nevada as well as here. So, okay, his father was Mr. Haskell’s attorney. But Russ wasn’t. He raised horses. Like she did. They were horse people.
What had seemed a good idea last evening to Russ—keep away from Mari for a day and a night—didn’t much appeal to him as the day dragged on. Ordinarily, time passed fast when he was working with his horses, but not today. He couldn’t erase the feel of her in his arms or her unabashed response to his kiss. If something hadn’t spooked her, they might well have made love right there in the damn buggy.
If they had, would he still be so turned on by the mere thought of her?
He shook his head. A buggy wasn’t the best place for lovemaking. What had he been thinking of? The truth was, once he kissed her, he hadn’t been capable of thinking. No other woman had ever affected him so acutely. Those sherry-colored eyes of hers were as intoxicating as the wine they resembled.
Denise had been fond of expensive perfumes. He didn’t particularly care for them and couldn’t so much as recall which had been her favorite or whether it had been sweet or spicy. Mari, though, used scent so sparingly he hadn’t been aware of any until she was in his arms. Then the faint smell of lilacs seemed to be a part of her own personal scent, one he longed to experience again. Soon. Right now, as a matter of fact. He sighed.
“Something bugging you, Russ?” Ken, one of the carriage drivers, asked.
Russ blinked, having forgotten anyone was around. “Bugging me? Why?”
“For one thing, you been grooming the same spot on Lance for the last five minutes.”
“Wasn’t thinking,” Russ muttered
“Wasn’t paying attention, that’s for sure. Reminds me of them college guys when they get to mooning over one of the gals.”
Russ scowled at him and Ken grinned, revealing two gold teeth.
“Gotcha, hey?”
Shrugging, Russ turned his attention to finishing the grooming of his Blue gelding, his mind made up to keep Mari out of his head for the rest of the day.
Which he managed to do, more or less, until he climbed into bed that night. Even then, he confined his thoughts of her to how, without tipping his hand, he might manage tomorrow to bring the conversation around to Joe Haskell’s search for Isabel. Wasn’t that his primary purpose, after all? To get her talking about why she was at Haskell’s and what she’d done to get here?
Then he slept, and Mari was featured in every damn erotic dream.
Chapter Five
Mari leaned on the rail of the balcony of the upstairs sitting room, gazing at the morning sun glinting on the lake. Another beautiful day, though cooler than May in Nevada. Tomorrow would be June 1—surely the lilacs would begin to bloom here by then. Today, though, was the important one, and it was almost nine o’clock. Hearing the clip-clop of hooves, she ducked back into the sitting room, grabbed her jacket off a chair and flew downstairs.
Diana was in the entry. She held out what was obviously a picnic basket to Mari, saying, “Pauline told me you were touring the island today and wouldn’t be back for lunch. So I fixed you and Russ a picnic. He’s always liked my cooking.”
Nothing was a secret on this island, Mari thought ruefully as she took the basket. She hadn’t actually told Pauline she’d be with Russ, but the housekeeper was one step ahead of her.
“That’s wonderful, Diana,” she said. “Thanks.”
The doorbell rang. Diana opened the door and greeted Russ. “Fixed the two of you a picnic lunch,” she said.
Russ gave her a hug. “You’re my favorite cook, bar none.”
Diana beamed and then stood in the doorway to watch them off. From the buggy, Mari looked back at her and waved.
“Your name is like a magic wand,” she told Russ. “Pauline has thawed at least halfway and Diana is now making special treats for me.”
“We islanders are kind of clannish,” he said. “Even those families who only live here in the summer count as islanders, provided at least two generations have been coming. Three’s even better. Everyone else is a tourist.”
Like me, Mari thought, only she wasn’t, not really. She wouldn’t be here if Mr. Haskell hadn’t sent for her. And he wouldn’t have sent for her, would he, if he didn’t think she might be Isabel’s daughter? It always came back to that. Was she or wasn’t she?
“Thought we’d stop by for a look up Robinson’s Folly first.” Russ said. “Actually, his name was Robertson, but you know what myths are like.”
Mari brought her attention back to the moment. “What folly did Robertson-Robinson commit that turned him into a myth?”
“Fact. Captain Daniel Robertson was the commander of the fort in the early 1780s. He may have built a house on the bluff too close to the edge, a house that was destroyed when part of the cliff crumbled away. This could be true, since an 1822 guidebook mentioned the debris could still be seen on the beach below.”
“That doesn’t sound mythlike.”
“It’s only theory number one. The rest all involve beautiful maidens and vengeful warriors, and some end with Robertson’s death on the rocks below the bluff. The truth is he left Mackinac Island very much alive in the late 1780s.”
“So the fact is he did exist and may have built a house on the bluff that may have slid down the side of the cliff.”
They rounded a corner, and Russ eased the buggy off the road, stopped the horse and gestured to the left. Mari stared up at a limestone cliff rising a hundred or so feet above them.
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “To me a folly is doing something daring, even though i
n your heart you know it may be foolish of you.”
“You’d prefer one of the maiden and warrior myths?”
“Maybe he couldn’t help loving the maiden even though it wasn’t wise.”
“What about her—did she love him?”
“Oh, yes. It probably wasn’t wise of her, either.”
“In other words, a doomed love.”
“In myths it’s usually that way.”
“But does it have to be?”
She had no answer.
He clucked to the horse and pulled back onto the road. “Next stop, Arch Rock.”
“Are there multiple myths connected with it, too?”
“Just one.” He told it to her as they drove on.
When they reached Arch Rock, a tour carriage was just leaving, all the tourists aboard it. “Good,” Russ said as they got down from the buggy. “We have the place to ourselves except for the birds and the bats.”
Mari glanced around. “Bats?”
“They’re asleep at the moment. See those holes?”
She noticed hundreds of small openings in the pitted limestone that formed the impressive rock bridge arching over emptiness.
“Bats nest inside the holes in the limestone. Since the entire island is limestone based, and limestone tends to be full of holes, we’ve lots of bats.”
So, okay, bats ate mosquitoes, which was good. Enough about them. Looking up at the rock arch, she thought about the Native American myth Russ had told her—the maiden whose cruel father wouldn’t allow her to marry the warrior she loved, and punished her by tying her to the arch until she promised to give up her folly. Another case of doomed love? No, because the warrior, being one of the Sky People, waited until the Evening Star rose and descended on its rays to rescue her and bear her back to his people in the sky.
Mari sighed. “I like happy endings.”
Russ shrugged. “Who doesn’t?”
“I was thinking about the Evening Star myth, one that did have a happy ending. Maybe some version of it actually did happen.”
“Evening Star and all?”
“That’s so romantic. It could be the warrior rescued her by the light of the star.”
He smiled. “If you say so.” He took her hand and led her back to the buggy. “Next you can tell me what you think of my choice of a picnic spot.”
With her hand nestled warmly in his, Mari, who had never been a fearful or dependent person, suddenly felt safe and protected. Unsure whether she wanted to accept the feeling or not, she tugged her hand free, saying, “You’re hungry already?”
Grinning at her, he said, “For many things.”
They rode for some time, heading into a thickly wooded area, where he finally turned off onto what was scarcely a trail. “Have to leave the buggy and walk the rest of the way in,” he told her when the trees began to grow too close to permit passage.
He lifted a blanket off the buggy seat and, carrying it with the picnic basket, led the way among the trees until they came into a small grassy clearing. Stopping, he turned to her. “Romantic enough for you?”
“If you say so,” she mocked.
Laughing, he set down the basket and flung the blanket over the grass. With a bow, he invited her to sit.
Diana’s choice of picnic food was not exotic—sandwiches, cookies and bottled water—but the bread was homemade, as were the sandwich fillings, and her ginger cookies were to die for.
“Diana and Pauline seem very fond of Mr. Haskell,” Mari said when they’d finished eating and stowed the remainders back inside the basket.
“Joe’s mellowed a lot.”
“I understand your father is his attorney.”
Russ would lay odds she’d heard that from Pauline. “And his friend. My father called me this morning to say they’re moving Joe out of the cardiac care unit today. My dad’s been acting as family, since Joe doesn’t really have any.”
“I’m glad someone is there with him.”
Russ didn’t comment, waiting to see if she’d make some excuse for not being there herself.
She fidgeted, then changed position on the blanket, sitting straighter and clasping her hands around her jean-clad knees. He continued to wait.
“I’d be there with him,” she said finally, “if I could be sure I had the right to be.”
“I don’t understand.” A barefaced lie, but he could hardly admit to the truth—that he knew exactly why she was on the island.
She shifted around until she was facing away from him. “You know about Mr. Haskell asking on TV for his daughter Isabel to come home.”
“Yes.”
“Well, my uncle Stan got to thinking about my birth mother.” She glanced at Russ, then away. “You see, after my aunt Blanche and he adopted me, they got my birth certificate changed so they were listed as my parents. That’s the one I always used when I had to show one. I knew they weren’t my birth parents, but I didn’t think about that—they were the only family I’d ever had.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.
“My uncle got out my original birth certificate, where my birth parents are listed, and he wondered if the Ida Grant who gave birth to me might not be Isabel Haskell. You see, he remembered my aunt Blanche telling him Ida had the same color hair as I do, the color Mr. Haskell mentioned on TV. My aunt died two years ago or she might have argued with him about what he did next, I don’t know. Anyway, he made a copy of the birth certificate and wrote a letter,” after a moment she added, “my uncle has always been a gambler and so I guess he convinced himself Isabel was my birth mother.”
She paused. Russ said nothing, afraid if he made any comment, she might not continue.
Swiveling to face him, Mari said, “My aunt Blanche was a blackjack dealer in one of the big Reno casinos. One day she went into the woman’s bathroom on her break and found this poor, sick and pregnant woman leaning against the wall crying. My aunt was always bringing strays home—dogs, cats, a goat and once a llama. So she took Ida Grant to the hospital and stayed with her while the baby was born—me. My birth mother lived only a few hours after I was born, long enough for her to sign papers listing Blanche Crowley as next of kin and my guardian.”
Running her hand over her forehead, Mari sighed. “I always thought Blanche really was my aunt. It wasn’t until Uncle Stan decided Ida must be Isabel that he told me the truth. Blanche was no relation to Ida, so no blood relation to me. But this was after he sent the birth certificate copy, my picture and the letter he wrote explaining his theory to Mr. Haskell. I wasn’t consulted beforehand.”
Russ thought this over. “You’re saying you didn’t know your uncle had contacted Joe?”
“Not until Uncle Stan got the phone call from Mr. Haskell inviting me to come here. I was really upset at first and meant to refuse to go. But then I couldn’t help but wonder who I really was. Could I be a Haskell? As Willa told me, if I didn’t go I’d never find out. And then there was Mr. Haskell—old and ailing. If it was possible I was his granddaughter, was it fair to him for me to refuse to come here?” She spread her hands. “I’m still not sure I did the right thing.”
Mari was damn convincing, Russ had to give her that. Still, he was none too sure any woman could be as straightforward as she made herself sound.
“Do you think my decision is so very terrible?” she asked. “I’d hate to hurt Mr. Haskell.”
Russ cleared his throat. His father had told him that he was going to ask Joe as soon as he improved if, as Joe’s lawyer, he could arrange to have blood and DNA tests done on Mari. His dad felt it was important to get the tests done before Joe was well enough to return to the island. If Mari was an impostor, then she’d be long gone and not around to upset the old man.
“I should think that Joe would arrange for tests to be done to confirm whether or not you are a Haskell,” he said at last. “That way you’d know for sure, and so would he.”
“That’s what I thought. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t have me get tested
in Nevada.”
Russ wasn’t about to tell her. Joe had seen her picture, noted the color of her hair and asked his attorney to arrange for her to fly to the island as soon as possible. When Russ’s dad had argued for testing first, Joe refused. “I have this feeling she’s Isabel’s girl, Lou,” Joe had insisted. “I want to see her. We’ll do the damn tests while she’s here.”
No one could have predicted Joe would wind up being airlifted to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital at the same time Mari was flying to the island. So what was she? A truth-teller or a clever impostor?
“It would have been easier for everyone if the tests had been done in Nevada,” Russ said, thinking not only of Joe and Mari, but of himself, as well. Negative tests would have exposed her, and his father would never have enlisted him as a spy. If they’d proved positive, then he wouldn’t be in this unenviable position, either.
“That’s what I meant,” she said. “It’s the not knowing that’s so hard for me. And for Mr. Haskell as well, especially since he’s ill. Is he my grandfather? I’ve never had one, you know.”
A grandfather as wealthy as Joe Haskell was a real prize, Russ thought cynically, discounting her wistful tone. Denise had been quite the actress, but Mari was even better at it.
Waiting for Russ to say something, while looking at his withdrawn expression, Mari felt close to tears. Just as she feared, his attitude toward her had changed since she’d told him why she was on the island. She’d desperately needed a friend to confide in, and who else did she have here? Now everything was changed. She should have realized he might suspect she’d come under false pretenses—after all, his father was Mr. Haskell’s best friend. And his attorney.
Without saying anything more, she rose and picked up the picnic basket. Russ stared at her for a moment before jumping up. As he folded the blanket, he said, “You’re right, it’s time for the next revelation.”