Rough Harbor

by Andrea Stein

  “Well, certainly, you know Caitlyn’s background.”

  “Her background?”

  Michael retreated a little, his chin pulling up and in.

  “Ah yes, I see. You’ve heard rumors. Well, she could hardly escape them. Your father gave her the benefit of the doubt, gave her a position, and now you’re committed to justifying his decision.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Yes, I am terribly sorry. I did hear. My own father remembers him a bit. Apparently they had done some business together at one point or another.”

  Michael didn’t say it, but the implication was clear. A point long before Maxwell had gone off the deep end.

  “Thank you.” Noah took another sip and waited, sitting back casually on the sofa, legs crossed, trying to look for all the world like nothing this man could say to him would cause any amount of concern.

  “As I said, I’m here as a courtesy to you.”

  “Yes, you said.”

  Michael leaned in and put his glass down. “Caitlyn Montgomery is not a well woman.”

  “Excuse me?” Noah stopped mid-swallow.

  “I can see that you’re surprised. Yes, you see, I knew her quite well once. We were engaged.”

  “Yes,” Noah said through gritted teeth. Stay cool, he told himself, don’t let the bastard get a rise out of you.

  “You probably heard what that was like as well. It ended badly, no other way to say it. And Caitlyn couldn’t handle it. She went, quite literally, crazy. I mean, I always thought she was a little melancholy, a private one, you know. Happy face to the outside world, crying on the inside. The death of her grandfather, she seemed to blame you for.”

  He paused and looked at Noah.

  “Me?” Noah couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Well, you, your father. It sort of all got jumbled together when she went off on one of her rages. Swearing revenge to her dying day on you.”

  “Revenge?” Noah was losing his taste for his drink, but he didn’t put it down, couldn’t let Michael St. John know he was getting to him.

  “Yes, went off the deep end at some point, as I said. Went after me.” Michael St. John gave a small grunt of laughter. “Well, she seemed to lose it, after that. It was no good. I tried to help, but she seemed to be intent on revenge of some sort. Making me look bad. She used my name to get several clients, and then she stole from them. Almost like she wanted to be caught. And she was, of course. It could have been bad, very bad. But, luckily we were able to help her, as much as we could. She left London, of course. She couldn’t stay, not after what happened.”

  “No. Not after that story made its rounds, I would imagine.”

  “No one would hire her. I tried to help her find a job, but she didn’t want help. And then she disappeared. Back to her homeland.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this?” And why now? Noah wondered.

  “This pains me, but I think she may be at it again. I think she’s ready to do something that will destroy you. I think it’s like a compulsion with her. Doing something like this, so she’ll get caught. Maybe she wants the attention. I don’t know. I am not a doctor, just a banker, of course.”

  “Of course,” Noah said.

  “She’s been calling me, leaving messages, sending things to my apartment, my office. I think she wants to get back together. I mean, she’s a lovely girl and all, and well, she can be quite a good bit of fun, if you know what I mean.”

  Noah couldn’t help the flush of anger that spread across his face.

  “Oh my.” Michael St. John leaned back. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. You’re, well, you’re involved with her.”

  “No,” Noah tried to say and found his voice was gone. “We’re not really that involved.”

  “I see she is developing a pattern. Not only with the money, but also with men. I mean, I’m sorry. I’ve been hearing some things. I just wanted to give you a little bit of a warning. Common courtesy. It can be so difficult these days to really say anything against anyone.”

  Noah looked at him. He seemed to be telling the truth. Every inch of his face radiated sincerity.

  “I’m afraid,” Michael said, his eyes dropping to the glass in his hand, “I still love her. I know it’s pointless. But I just want to help her.”

  “I knew her. I thought I knew her,” Noah said. His drink was gone, and Michael poured more.

  “Here, to falling under the spell of the lovely Caitlyn Montgomery.”

  Noah clinked his glass and felt the hot liquid burn down his throat. All he could think about was her and what she had done. He hadn’t known her, not since she was young, since the death of her grandfather.

  <<>>

  Noah waited until he was safely in his own hotel suite, much father downtown than Michael St. John’s, before he made the phone call. It was earlier in California, so he caught Ted at his desk.

  “We need to start an investigation,” Noah said without preamble. “Of course.” Noah could hear the other man reaching for a pad and pen, and Noah began to dictate the details.

  Chapter 43

  Caitlyn got out of the car and pulled her coat tight. She gave a look around her, as if she expected to see something. Too many secrets, Caitlyn thought uneasily, and remembered the intruder in her house. She needed to get the locks changed.

  A light wind rustled the bare branches of the trees, the sound a rough creaking of wood on wood that set her teeth on edge and sent a shiver down her back. The sound of wet tires on the road gave her pause, and she turned and saw a vehicle drive by. In the dark, she could not see the true color, only that it was dark, rather than light. It was impossible, she thought. This was suburbia, the land of station wagons and SUVs. There was no reason at all to think it was the same one she’d seen in Paulet or even earlier in Queensbay. Paranoia whispered in her head.

  No reason at all, she repeated to herself. Caitlyn lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it fall once, twice, before she took her gloves off and pounded on the door with the base of her open palm. Her blows rang heavily on the wood, and when she paused, she could hear footsteps. The white curtain that hid the glass pane next to the door pulled back, and she caught a glimpse of red hair. She waved at Marion, who unlocked the door and stood there in her blue housecoat and pink slippers, glasses sliding down her nose. Without makeup, her pink skin seemed less smooth and showed more of her true age. Caitlyn thought of the two of them, living here, growing old together, and she was reminded of how much time she spent worrying about the past.

  “What in the name…?”

  Caitlyn pushed into the foyer, glad even for the marginal improvement in warmth.

  “I need to see her. Is she up?”

  Marion looked at her, surprise and shock still on her face.

  “But it’s late.”

  “Not that late,” Caitlyn said and started to walk down the hallway that led to the library. She hadn’t made it far when Adriana, dressed in a high, white-necked nightgown and robe, stood out from the shadows and stepped into the dim light.

  “We need to talk,” Caitlyn said when she saw her.

  Adriana had no make-up on, her face suddenly small, her hair held back by a wide, white band, so tight it pulled the skin at her temples back, giving her face a drawn, surprised look. But her voice was perfectly even as she nodded and said, “I suppose we must.”

  Without another word, Caitlyn followed Adriana towards the back room, where the lamps were all on, casting pools of light over the dark wood and crimson tones of the leather chair and wool rug. She took off her coat, and Marion reached out a hand for it.

  “Coffee?”

  Caitlyn nodded and raised a hand, dismissive and appreciative all at once. Adriana gestured towards a chair, and Caitlyn sat, running her hands through her hair, fighting the urge to shiver.

  �
�Will you light the fire?” Adriana asked, and Caitlyn did, finding the matches in the small box on the mantle, dropping to one knee and watching as the light curled around the edges of the paper and kindling that had already been laid on the hearth. She stayed as close as she could until she could take no more and then sat back in her chair, the two of them catty-corner to each other, flanking the small but bright fire.

  Marion brought in coffee before they began to speak, and Caitlyn poured it for them both, adding milk and sugar for herself and eagerly taking advantage of the oatmeal raisin cookies that had been provided.

  Now alone, Caitlyn asked, “Who is Peter Flynn?”

  Adriana snorted and answered, “A nuisance. That is what he is.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “I think I do, but I thought I might understand it better if it came from you.”

  “First, tell me what you know,” Adriana said.

  Caitlyn continued, “You wouldn’t have agreed to see me so easily, if you didn’t think I knew.”

  “True, but I promised to keep it a secret.”

  “For how long?”

  Adriana moved her shoulder. “Forever, I suppose.”

  “Does it matter now?” Caitlyn asked.

  “No, it probably doesn’t. Time has a way of changing things. What seemed so vitally important then… well, now it seems to have little power to shock or scare. You have to remember, as time changes, things that seemed so important at one time stop being so. What was once considered damaging, now most likely isn’t. So, don’t judge us too harshly.”

  Caitlyn felt her heart sink. It was as she had thought.

  “How did you find out?” Adriana said.

  “Peter Flynn called me, looking for something. Information. He offered to trade me, to tell me the truth about something that had been on my conscience, plaguing me. He said there was more to the story. More about why my grandfather, your lover, killed himself.”

  “We told some lies.”

  “Why?” Caitlyn spat out the word.

  “You know that your grandfather and I had an affair. It started almost twenty-five, thirty years ago, and went on and off, while your grandmother was still alive, while I was very much married to Trip Randolph. I am not proud of it, but I cannot deny what we had. Your grandmother died quite early on, before you were born.”

  Caitlyn shook her head. The memories of her grandmother were indistinct and hazy, filtered through her mother in rare moments of closeness.

  “Well, you would think that divorce would be easy. Everyone was getting them. But not for the Randolphs and, well, he was quite rich. So rich that he was the one who gave Lucas the money to start the firm in the first place. And continued to invest, the silent partner.”

  Caitlyn nodded. She had thought that the initial capital needed to come from somewhere. Lucas Montgomery had made the mistake of falling in love with the patron’s wife. A sticky situation.

  “I ended it with Lucas. Someone had found out and threatened to tell Randolph. I knew if that happened, Randolph would be livid and would try to destroy the firm, destroy everything your grandfather had built. I couldn’t let that happen, so I ended it, without explanation. And then your grandfather killed himself.”

  “That’s it?” Caitlyn asked.

  “No. The stories came out about the missing money. It all seemed to make perfect sense. People were sympathetic to Maxwell because he was left holding the bag. He made such a deal out of it, without seeming to, stoic and uncomplaining, a man whose mentor had betrayed him. Had destroyed everything that they had worked together to build, had been duping him. It was masterful, really. Trip stepped in, and together he and Maxwell were able to bail the company out, let it survive, using the story, using the excuse of criminality to cover up.”

  “Cover up what?”

  “Incompetence, perhaps crime, perhaps simple bad luck. I was never sure what happened, but the fact was that there was quite a lot of money missing or lost.”

  “What else?” Caitlyn said, staring at Adriana until the woman looked at her briefly, the pale blue eyes flicking over her face and then returning to stare into the dancing light of the fireplace.

  “After your grandfather died, I was mad with grief, of course. And guilt and betrayal. It seemed that I had made my sacrifice for nothing, given up Lucas to save what was so important to him and then only to find out those things. And then we found out he had cancer. We have to remember that, no matter what, your grandfather wouldn’t be here with us today.”

  Caitlyn shook her head, and Adriana continued on.

  “After Luke’s death, Flynn came to me. He was the one who had the pictures, the proof of the affair. Not a pretty sight in black and white, middle-aged love. But there it was, proof that would send Trip through the roof and destroy what chance they had of rebuilding, what chance your grandfather thought was worth dying for. Maxwell told me that they had worked it out together. Lucas knew he was dying, if he took the fall for the missing funds, then it could continue. Flynn was threatening everything they’d worked so hard to protect. I couldn’t let that happen either.”

  Caitlyn started to speak, but Adriana cut her off, “Maxwell said he would handle it. I said I would allow him to, to keep my secret, if he did one thing.”

  “What was that?”

  “Take care of you and your mother. Make sure that you had what you needed in terms of money and education and opportunities.”

  “I see,” Caitlyn said, so much becoming clear.

  There had been surprisingly little money left, when her grandfather had died. It allowed them to keep the house, allowed her mother the luxury to teach and work on her pottery, for Caitlyn to go to college. Internships that had seemed like long shots, mysterious opportunities complete with stipends, had opened for her, chances to go to London, to Europe, to travel, to study abroad. Now she could see the invisible hands that had moved them all, the phone calls, the favors that had been traded and dealt. The currency of guilt.

  Adriana looked at Caitlyn. “All this time, you thought there was something you could have done to stop him?”

  “Haven’t you thought that, too?” Caitlyn asked.

  Adriana nodded. “Yes, of course. But it seemed like Luke had his own plans. I think he thought things would work out for us all.”

  Caitlyn wiped away the tears, and Adriana handed her a tissue.

  “Do you feel any better?”

  “No. Yes.” Caitlyn laughed. “Maybe. I’ll never know the whole story.”

  “What do you mean? Didn’t Peter Flynn tell you?”

  Caitlyn shook her head. “He’s dead. And so is Maxwell.”

  “Oh my.” Adriana’s hand rose to her throat and dropped down. “Perhaps that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “I was expecting a call from him after Maxwell died. I’m the next link in the chain. Flynn knew I was still alive, and I thought he would try and make me pay. I’m sure that’s how Maxwell got him off our backs then.”

  “You think Flynn was a blackmailer?” Caitlyn said, but it made sense. It explained the nice house and why Helen Flynn hadn’t wanted to talk to her or have the police look too closely into her husband’s death.

  “Oh, I am quite sure of it. Flynn was good at digging up the dirt. I think he was also pretty good at hiding it.”

  “But he didn’t call you,” Caitlyn said.

  “No, I think the story had lost its power, at least from my perspective. I wouldn’t have paid, I don’t think. Trip is dead, and Mr. Biddle wouldn’t care, not in his state. And now with Maxwell dead, I suppose there is no sense in keeping it a secret. I am sorry, dear, so sorry, that all these years I let you think Lucas did something he didn’t. But he wanted it that way…”

  “There’s more,” Caitlyn said, wondering how mu
ch she could tell Adriana.

  “What more? Did you find something in Sully’s papers?”

  Caitlyn nodded. “I did…”

  She explained what she was thinking, and when she was done, Adriana reached out a hand and said, “What can I do to help?”

  “Do you have any other friends like Sully? I mean ones who are clients of the Randall Group, who might be thought to be a little…”

  “Old, out of it, dear?”

  Caitlyn smiled. “I meant not likely to check their statements all that closely.”

  Adriana smiled. “I can think of a few.”

  “Good.” They talked for a few minutes more, and when Caitlyn left, Adriana gave her a hug and told her to be careful.

  Chapter 44

  Caitlyn had vetoed Adriana’s suggestion that she stay the night. She wanted to go home to her own house. She wanted a bath and a drink. Caitlyn got into her car and pulled out her cell phone from the glove compartment. The screen glowed dimly as she punched in Noah’s number. She pressed send and waited. And waited. She looked at the phone, checking the strength of the signal, and saw that she must be in one of Queensbay’s notorious cell phone dead zones.

  He would have to wait, she decided, and for all she knew, he was wrapped up in business meetings. She started the car and pulled away, carefully shifting into gear to avoid her tires skidding.

  Caitlyn yawned. Now it was late, and she was tired. She had driven over a good portion of the state today, through traffic and bad weather. Unpleasant things had been revealed, surmises had been concocted and an unflattering portrait of a blackmailer painted. There was little anger towards Adriana, Caitlyn thought with some surprise. All these years she had known, had kept it quiet. She and Maxwell had kept the secret as Lucas had wished. Was she mad at them? A little. But there was little use in it. Two of them were dead. Adriana was alive and, Caitlyn thought ruefully, one of a handful of her friends. And Flynn, well, for whatever reason, perhaps he had gotten what he deserved. It was an uncharitable thought, and she put it out of her head immediately.