Scott...
He was the first person she wanted to tell about her visit with Malcolm.
CHAPTER SIX
NEW YEAR’S EVE was the last night the Lodges was open for the season. Edgar Clayton preferred to close the cabins and facilities for the winter, though he’d confessed to liking the solemn yet dazzling interlude between autumn and spring more than any other time of year. Edgar was a pensive soul, Isabelle had decided. Never married, he devoted himself to making the Lodges a memorable experience for his guests.
She had to admit she admired Edgar’s sentimental side, which was why she would not abandon him this New Year’s Eve. Once again, she’d agreed to organize the decorations, the flowers and the menu for an extravagant party...at least to the extent that his somewhat limited budget would allow.
Aqua, silver and indigo helium balloons with long, metallic ribbons that nearly skimmed the heads of the tallest guests covered the ceilings of the main dining room and the enclosed patio. Isabelle always used a lake or water theme for her New Year’s decorations and this year was no exception. She’d filled the center of each table with silver netting studded with glitter. Aqua tapers and votive candles nested among silver and aqua glass balls and branches that resembled coral. Soft cedar and bells of Ireland created the illusion of seaweed, and the overall effect was that of a mystic lake.
The silver-banded wine and champagne glasses and the matching bone china had belonged to Edgar’s mother. Each time Isabelle helped the serving crew place the dinnerware, she wished she’d met the older woman, but she’d died years ago.
Odd, she thought, that she yearned for guidance from Edgar’s mother but not her own.
Connie didn’t feel the joy of creating “tablescapes” or planning parties the way Isabelle did. When Isabelle was a child, she’d told herself that her mother simply wasn’t creative and artistic the way Isabelle was. However, Connie was a gifted architect. She had phenomenal vision and was capable of creating entire cities in her head, then rendering them on graph paper and in the intricate and time-consuming balsa wood and paper model layouts she perched on bookshelves in her den.
Still, Connie had shunned all domestic duties once Isabelle’s father died. Those duties had gone to Isabelle and she still resented them. She had felt too much like a servant to the needs of her brothers and sisters. She didn’t blame them for her fate; it was the way it was. The heartbreaking truth was that Connie had become emotionally disconnected from her children once she became the sole provider. As much as Isabelle understood that, now that she was an adult, it didn’t mend the fissure in her heart. A dull ache, perpetual and reliable, thrummed inside Isabelle, underscoring her decisions, actions and needs. Connie had sacrificed her love and care for her children and had burdened Isabelle with responsibilities that were too great for a ten-year-old to bear.
Isabelle admired her mother’s career, but deplored the mundane, day-to-day rut of domesticity. Children held an artist back and Isabelle decided it would be best for her career if she never had babies. Isabelle had seen what having a family and an absorbing career could cost. And the price was too high.
“Isabelle.” Scott wrapped his arm around her waist. He’d walked up from behind, surprising her.
“You look amazing,” he said as she turned toward him, his hands still on her waist.
She shrugged, sending ripples through her iridescent silver crepe de chine gown. “I thought I’d blend in. Match the décor.”
Scott’s lips quirked into a rascally grin. “You couldn’t blend in any more than fireworks in a midnight sky.” He pulled her closer. They were nose to nose. “You’re a knockout.”
“I could say the same about you,” she said, glancing down at his blindingly white tuxedo shirt, black silk bow tie. He wore his immaculately cut tuxedo every New Year’s Eve.
Scott in a tuxedo was nothing short of a woman’s dream. His wide shoulders were enhanced by the jacket, though she noticed that this year, his biceps seemed to be straining against the sleeves. But all that was eclipsed by his ease and manner when he wore his tux.
That first New Year’s Eve when Scott had moved back to Indian Lake, she’d commented on the fact that he owned a tux. He told her then he’d bought it his first year at the Tribune and had intended to wear it when he won prizes for his journalism.
She lingered on the gold flecks that sparkled in his eyes. Did he think about those days anymore?
“I aim to please,” he said, holding her gaze.
Isabelle didn’t know what was happening, but she could swear Scott wanted to kiss her. Not one of his friendly pecks on the cheek, but a real kiss. Suddenly she felt uneasy. Why was she noticing how handsome Scott was? He was just Scott. He would dance with her at midnight and she’d finish her chores like they always did on New Year’s Eve. Wouldn’t they? She looked around nervously and gave him a wide, friendly smile.
“Scott, I have to get back to work. I was just checking the champagne glasses.”
His eyes never left her lips. He lifted his hand to her neck and touched her tenderly. “Right. The glasses.”
His thumb traced the line of her jaw. She was melting and she never melted. Everything about this night was orchestrated for romance, including a torchy love ballad being played by the Milo Orchestra in the background.
“Glasses,” she repeated, trying to recover her composure and remember her job. What had she been doing before she’d slipped into this dreamy state?
“Isabelle.”
She’d never paid much attention to his voice before, but now, when he said her name, her stomach fluttered. Why was she reacting to him as if she had a crush on him? She didn’t need a mirror to know her cheeks were flushed.
All she could feel was his hand on her waist. The sound of Scott saying her name echoed in her head.
She swallowed hard. She had to snap out of this. It was this kind of romance that lured women into domesticity.
She had to force herself to focus. “Yes, the glasses. Uh, for the midnight toast.”
He brushed his lips against her cheek. “And I’ll find you for my kiss to ring in the New Year.”
Isabelle hadn’t realized she’d shut her eyes, immersing herself in the moment with Scott.
She felt a whoosh of air, the temperature dropped and she blinked, returning to the present. Scott had left her to join Luke and Sarah at their table.
Luke had risen from his chair to slap Scott on the back. Trent Davis sat nearby, looking more like a GQ model than the Indian Lake police detective that he was. He stood to shake Scott’s hand, then Scott bent down and kissed Cate Sullivan’s cheek before going around the table to hug Sarah. The glimmering, moon-glow lighting Isabelle enhanced Scott’s good looks. Or was she seeing Scott in a new light tonight?
Isabelle had a dozen chores to finish before midnight. There were party favors, hats, noisemakers and streamers to distribute. The servers were busily placing clean champagne glasses at everyone’s place. The soloist who would sing “Auld Lang Syne” had not yet arrived. Edgar always gave the countdown, but as she wended through the dining room, making sure guests were happy, she didn’t see him anywhere.
At midnight, her duties would be over. The kitchen crew and extra bus boys she’d hired would handle the cleanup. Then she would have Scott all to herself and Isabelle planned to dance with him until the band’s contract was up at one in the morning. Admittedly, she felt terrible about the way she’d treated Scott over these past weeks—months, really. Immersed in her ongoing quest to get her work noticed, she’d lost sight of what a good friend he was. He’d always been fun to flirt with and she’d forgotten how much his smile lifted her spirits. Overlooking Scott had become a habit, and she was ashamed of it. She owed him thanks for so much.
This old year was ticking away and Isabelle wanted her regrets where Scott was conce
rned to die with it. In the new year, she would be more conscientious toward him. She was grateful that he’d been patient with her selfishness. She intended to scrape her egocentric attitudes off her palette. Scott deserved better from her.
The folds of her silver gown eddied around her silver, open-toed, peau de soie heels as she breezed up to his table. She greeted Sarah and Cate again with a little wave. Scott was in deep discussion with Trent.
She placed her hand on his shoulder.
He reached up to touch it, but he didn’t take his focus from Trent, who was now whispering.
“Scott?” Isabelle said.
He turned his face to her.
Why was his expression so disturbed? Lines of worry settled around his eyes. She knew that look and she didn’t like it. “Is everything okay? It’s not your mother again, is it?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “No. Mom is fine. What’s up?”
She leaned closer and smiled. “I just wanted to say that at midnight, Scott, you’re all mine.”
He kissed her palm and smiled. “Ditto.”
* * *
SCOTT WAITED UNTIL Isabelle was out of sight and earshot before he said to Trent, “Why tonight?”
“Captain Williams has given my team the nod. We want to catch Ellis in the act. Remember the ordinance plant?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“He’s set up a lab out there. We found it yesterday. I didn’t tell you because we were waiting on confirmation about an apartment where we thought he was living. I just got the word.”
“Should I wait till the morning? I don’t want to get in the way,” Scott said, though he was already bursting with anticipation of another on-the-scenes story.
“I trust you to hang back until I give you the signal. You can stay in your car, take video and photos. And stay low. Then you come in. And trust me, the chief knows you’re involved.”
Scott nodded. He knew it was his job to be objective when covering a story. At the same time, he admired men and women in uniform who made sacrifices, risked their lives to protect others. They made the world a better place to live. And what had Scott done? He’d reported it. Written a few sentences about some brave men who should have been commemorated in bronze.
Suddenly, he felt ashamed and sharply disappointed in his life lately.
Only he could make the kind of changes he needed to put himself back together and find that feeling of worthiness again.
Scott remembered the prickles of commitment and even flames of ambition spur him when he’d written the article about the bust. He’d lost track of time. He’d investigated, interviewed and researched for every snippet of fact.
“So are you game?” Trent asked.
“I am,” Scott said. He wanted to help. To make a difference in the frightening rise of drug dealing in his town. “So, when is this going down?” Scott asked.
“Right after midnight.”
“Okay.” Scott rubbed his chin thinking of beautiful Isabelle and the fact that they’d both caught the magic of New Year’s. “Isabelle’s not going to like this. And what about you and Cate?”
“Luke and Sarah will take Cate home. Danny’s staying over at their house tonight. Danny’s always up for a sleepover with Timmy and Annie. I don’t know if it’s their golden retriever or playing in the tent in Timmy’s room that he likes most.”
Scott chuckled. “It couldn’t be that cute little red-haired Annie, could it? I mean, I know Danny is only six...”
“Just turned seven.”
Scott spread his hands. “Well then, there you are!”
Their smiles faded as their thoughts went back to the seriousness of their decision.
“I promised Isabelle I’d dance with her at midnight.”
“Sorry,” Trent replied, looking over at Cate, who was pointing to the dance floor. “I’m being summoned. It’s up to you if you want to come, Scott. But I’m leaving at twelve.” Trent rose from his chair and started to walk away. “I forgot to tell you...this is top secret. You can’t tell Isabelle about any of this.”
Scott sighed.
Trent slapped his shoulder. “Tough changing the world, isn’t it?”
“Seriously,” Scott replied as he watched Edgar walk toward the stage with a microphone in his hand. It was nearing midnight. The witching hour. The New Year.
Isabelle walked toward him through the groups of couples making their way to the dance floor for the final countdown. Her face was filled with expectation and more happiness than he’d seen in her green eyes in a long time. Her smile was enough to kill most grown men.
He held out his hand. “Wanna dance, beautiful?”
“I do,” she said, taking his hand and then yanking him toward the floor. The orchestra was just finishing up a romantic ballad. Edgar was thanking everyone, rattling off the Lodges’ reopening dates.
Scott inhaled the scent of lavender and rose that Isabelle wore, and rested his cheek against her soft one. She felt perfect in his arms. Tonight she looked like a goddess, silver and sparkling like a moonbeam off the lake.
“I have plans for us,” she whispered wistfully.
He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. For months they’d been at odds. They’d had little that reminded them of why they were together at all. He knew she wanted to be with him tonight. Maybe share a brandy by the giant fire in the Lodges’ bar. Or her favorite, a moonlit walk in the snow by the lake. Half an hour ago, Scott would have given anything to do either of those things with Isabelle, but he’d committed to leaving with Trent. He needed this story.
“Ten!” Edgar shouted into the microphone.
“Isabelle, I can’t.”
She stared at him. “Can’t what?”
He could feel his insides ripping in half. He wanted to be with Isabelle, but a rare opportunity had presented itself. Scott was taking a chance on this assignment with Trent, but he knew if he didn’t try, he’d never know if he could live out his journalism dreams. He was hoping Isabelle would understand. He’d always supported her art; surely she’d return the kindness.
“Nine!” Edgar shouted. The crowd was now counting with him. Excitement sparked through the room.
“I have...another commitment.”
“Eight!”
“Tonight? Is it your mother?”
“Not my mom.”
“Seven!”
“Scott, it’s New Year’s Eve,” she replied, her eyes filling with confusion. Then, her eyes misted as if she was truly disappointed that he was leaving. With a shock, he thought: She loves me.
“Six!”
“I know. It can’t be helped.”
“Five!”
Isabelle stopped dancing. She dropped her arms. “What is it? Someone else?”
She loves me not.
“What?” he asked incredulously.
“Four!”
“There’s only one reason you would leave me here on New Year’s Eve in the middle of all of our friends...”
“Isabelle, there’s never been anyone but you. You know that! You have to know that,” he urged. She loves me.
“Three!”
He stared at her. She loves me not. “If there was someone else, would that even matter to you? You’ve never come close to committing to me.”
“Two!”
Isabelle’s eyes watered, but she didn’t answer him.
Scott took a step back from her. She backed up a step. Tiny movements, yet that distance between them felt as wide as the universe. This was Isabelle. His Isabelle. Or so he’d thought.
“One!”
“Happy New Year, Isabelle.”
Scott moved past her and stalked toward the door. Never had he thought his New Year’s Eve would turn out like this. As the cl
ock struck midnight, Scott had turned onto a new path in his life. He was finished with being underappreciated and inconsequential. Isabelle only paid attention to him when it suited her and she didn’t have anything better to do. Of course she wouldn’t commit to him. He was nothing but detritus to her. No more. His anger toppled the pedestal he’d put her on.
He would regret not kissing Isabelle soundly that night, but the last chime of the New Year’s clock was Scott’s signal to make some big changes in his life.
And he was ready.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SCOTT SAT IN his truck outside the two-story house, dictating notes into his iPhone. The front porch boards were rotted and looked as if they’d collapse with the weight from the next snowfall. One window had a black plastic garbage bag taped over the half-broken pane.
Trent and other cops in unmarked ILPD cars had surrounded the house and blocked off the street. There were no lights or sirens cutting through the night, though in the distance, Scott could still hear the fireworks explosions over Indian Lake.
“Probably at the Lodges,” he mumbled. Scott was glad he’d downloaded an app for shooting in very low light. He took another photo of Trent and the cops advancing on the house in a semicircle as two other cops raced around the back. They wore black parkas with ILPD emblazoned in bright yellow letters on the back.
Trent had his gun pulled and at the ready as he banged on the front door and announced, “Police!”
Scott zoomed in to record the scene. Of course there was no answer.
Trent tried the door, which was locked. He kicked the flimsy door down.
Scott heard a woman scream. He guessed it was the woman Ellis had duped into letting him stay with her. She screamed again.
Scott heard shouting from behind the house. He couldn’t take it. He got out of the truck and inched closer to the house, still recording. Two cops, one he recognized as Sal Paluzzi, were walking a scrawny man, handcuffed now, toward the front of the house.
The man was cursing and spitting at the cops, trying to wrench himself out their grasp. He kicked Sal, but Sal kept his cool. Scott kept recording.
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