All Things New (Virtuous Heart)

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  “Well, hello, gorgeous. You sound happy. Can I take that as a good omen?”

  She was so shocked she pulled the receiver from her ear. “What? Who—”

  “Hey, it’s Ryland. Don’t tell me I’ve been gone so long you’ve forgotten me?”

  “Er—”

  “Well, that’s what I get for putting business before pleasure. But I’m determined to make up for lost time. And we’ve got some celebrating to do.”

  “Oh?”

  “That’s right, Baby. The deal is in the bag. Got the last form filled out and filed yesterday. I tell you, we could build that whole hotel out of the triplicate forms and red tape I had to wade through, but it’s done.”

  “Er, what about Mrs. Larsen’s group?”

  “Hey, no problem. She’s a sweet, well-meaning lady, what can I say? Doesn’t quite understand how things work in the real world, but sweet. Very sweet. But we’re wasting time. Put your glad rags on—something sunny and sexy. I’m picking you up in an hour.”

  Sunny and sexy? She didn’t own anything like that. And she wouldn’t have worn it for Ryland Carlsburg if she had. But she didn’t really have anything else to do. She could already hear Byrl’s computer clicking away. And she had no desire to wash dishes or sew at the moment. In the end she put on a soft, wraparound skirt and knit top.

  She was almost ready when Byrl emerged. “Oh, going out with Adonis?”

  Debbie shook her head. “That was Ryland on the phone. I’m going out with him.”

  “Oh.” Byrl bit her lip.

  “Oh, what?”

  “Well, I didn’t know whether or not to tell you, but I think you need to know. Margaret Larsen really does have a lot on him and—” she paused. “Well, you’ll learn about it soon enough. It looks like Gayle Masefield was involved up to her eyebrows.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Duane Larsen was going to take it to the press just before he died. I’ve asked her to hold off—at least until Greg leaves Seaside—but the story will go statewide. I thought you should be warned.”

  Ryland’s little black sports car pulled into the driveway. “Thanks for telling me, Byrl. We’ll talk more later.”

  Ryland drove down the coast to the Crab Broiler. The natural wood interior decorated with green plants was refreshing, and the stuffed crab thermidor served in the shell was exquisite, but Debbie hardly noticed. She had determined to put Greg out of her mind. At least for the moment. But the things Byrl had told her kept pushing at her. And she might as well focus on Ryland’s business deals as anything else. It seemed she had been involved from the sidelines all summer, so she was interested in how it had all turned out. She phrased her question obliquely, not wanting to accuse her host or Greg’s wife. But Ryland hooted at her question.

  “Bribery! Of course there were charges of bribery. There always are by the side that loses.” He took a sip of his iced tea, regarding her over the rim of his glass. “You’re such an innocent. That’s probably one of the things I find most attractive about you. But you are making an enormous issue out of something that is no more than standard business practice. Lobbying elected officials is part of the American system.”

  Debbie wanted to ask where he would draw the line between lobbying and bribing, but she let it go. “OK, so you obtained the license without corrupt practices, but can you really deny that the whole gambling industry reeks of corruption?”

  “Of course I deny it. You’ve been watching too many gangster movies. Why shouldn’t the West Coast have an Atlantic City?”

  The rest of the crab thermidor disappeared somewhere between arguments over organized crime, law enforcement costs, and promoting compulsive gambling versus increased local jobs, enhancing tourism, and expanded recreation. At last Ryland tossed his napkin onto the table. “Ah, that’s what I like. Good, stimulating discussion over a meal. It’s good for digestion, you know. But, Deb, you’re too uptight. You’ve got to learn to relax and have fun. That’s what a casino is all about—people having fun. But since mine isn’t built yet, I can’t show you; so I have an alternate plan.” He held her chair for her to get up, opened the restaurant door, then held the door of his sleek sports car—all with a flourish.

  He put a CD of romantic show tunes on the player built into his dashboard and drove up a thickly wooded, littleused road toward Tillamook Head. The music was light, the scenery soothing. Debbie began to relax. They chatted casually, Ryland interspersing his conversation with jokes. He really could be very witty. Very fun to be with. The road wound steeply upward, the vegetation becoming more thickly verdant. Debbie commented on the beauty of the banks of dark yellow flowers along the road.

  Ryland assented, but unfortunately, that made her think again of the environmental issues of his development. And the other problems surrounding it. “If it’s all such an aboveboard, fun thing, why did you keep your plans so hushhush?”

  The car jerked. Muttering an expletive under his breath, Ryland pulled to the side of the road and turned off the motor. “There were sound business reasons for what I did. None of which I feel compelled to explain to you at the moment. But there is something else I feel a very strong compulsion to do.”

  Before Debbie even realized what was happening, Ryland pulled her into his arms and began kissing her urgently. She was so shocked it was a moment before she reacted, then she pushed hard with her hands flat against the starched white shirt front. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Ryland chuckled. “I knew you were an innocent, but I didn’t expect it to go that far. It’s called a kiss—something two people—”

  “Something two people do when they care deeply for one another. Not when one of them wants to win a political argument.”

  “Innocent. And wrong too. That’s not what I kissed you for, but it has been known to work. As a matter of fact, my construction foreman quite recently used it very effectively on a highly placed female administrative assistant.”

  Debbie blinked. The woman Byrl saw in Alex’s room?

  “And now I’ve shocked you again. What a day this has been. You wouldn’t believe what our Alex has been up to. Matter of fact, I just got off the phone with him before I picked you up. Afraid he’s rather overstepped his bounds. I had to sack him. Pity, he’s a useful fellow, but he was getting above himself. Sorry, my dear, didn’t mean to bore you with business. Now, to get back to us, I want to be absolutely, soul-baringly honest—”

  “Is that possible?”

  He passed over her jibe with a raised eyebrow. “The fact of the matter is that although I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I met you at Hugh Parkinson’s party, the reason I stopped just now is that I think we have a tire going flat.”

  “Well, at least that’s a little more original than the running-out-of-gas gambit.” Debbie folded her arms and leaned back in the seat. “So why aren’t you out fixing it?”

  “Right.” He yanked his door open, but waited to get out until an old blue pickup, the only vehicle they had seen since turning up the mountain trail, lumbered past them and on down the dirt road. “Now, don’t bounce around any when I get this thing up on the jack or you’ll have to get out. But you better roll the windows down for a little fresh air.”

  Fresh air was definitely what she needed. Fresh air to blow away the clammy feel of Ryland’s hands on her arms and his lips on her mouth. One idea of hers had certainly backfired. Ryland was no defense against missing Greg. Nothing she could possibly experience could show her more vividly how much more she wanted to be with Greg than with any other man.

  What she really wanted was a good wash. The old desire returned to plunge neck-deep into a hot, soapy tub of water, to wash her hair and scrub her hands over and over. But that wasn’t possible here. The best she could do was to put her head out the open window and take a deep gulp of piney forest air.

  Unfortunately, the effect was not soothing. The pungent odor of the yellow wildflowers blooming in profusion by the roadside tickled her nose. A
violent fit of sneezing ensued.

  Sniffing loudly and dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand, Debbie dug in her pocket for a hanky. She didn’t have one. And she felt another round of sneezing coming on. In desperation she opened the glove compartment before her. A package of tissues almost fell in her lap. She pulled one out and mopped at her streaming eyes and nose.

  She was just replacing the package when Ryland cranked the jack down rapidly. The car settled onto the road with a jolt. The papers in the glove box slid out and fell to the floor. Debbie fumbled for them, pushed them into a pile, and reached to replace them. Then she froze. What was that? there—in the bottom of the compartment?

  An airplane control.

  But surely not the same one. She leaned forward for a closer inspection. It still had bits of sand clinging to it. Was this, as she suspected, the second control box, used to override Larsen’s and plunge the plane into his head? Ryland hadn’t returned it as he promised. The slamming trunk lid told her he was coming. She jammed the papers and tissues in the glove box and closed it just as he got into the car. The square of black plastic she edged into the deep pocket of her skirt.

  Her mind whirled. There could be an explanation. Surely. He’d been out of town. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he’s still going to do it. Maybe …

  She had to know. “Ryland, I never heard what became of that radio control for the Larsens’ airplane we found. Did you get it back to them OK?”

  He started the car. “Yeah, sure. The kid—er, Rick, I think his name is—was real glad to get it back. Said he knew he’d dropped it somewhere, but of course hadn’t had a chance to go back and look.”

  “You gave it to him personally?”

  “Yeah. Before I went to Salem. The fact that his mom was leading a campaign against me was no reason not to be nice to the kid.”

  He chatted on, but Debbie wasn’t listening. She was too busy watching it all again in her mind: father and son flying the soaring model, the freak behavior of the plane, the horror of the blood on the sand, and something she hadn’t thought about before—Ryland Carlsburg walking to her through the crowd—from the far side of the dune. From precisely the spot she had found the control buried in the sand the next morning. Was that why Ryland was out there at the same place so early the next morning? To retrieve the incriminating evidence he knew he’d left behind? Had he dropped it by mistake? Or buried it because he didn’t want to take a chance of having it discovered on him?

  Was she being driven along a deserted mountain trail by a murderer?

  But in the next heartbeat her mind conjured up another, far more alarming, scene. Gregory, running to her from the far side of that same dune—when he had supposedly been out on the beach.

  She tried to pray. But she was so frozen with horror and confusion that words wouldn’t form in her mind. Just sit here quietly, she told herself. Try to sort it out. Act like nothing’s happened. Don’t give it away that you know anything. When you get back to town you can take it to the police. Let them work it out.

  Even if it was Greg? Was it possible that sheltering Melissa from scandal was important enough to him that he tried to discourage Larsen? Not kill him. She could never believe that—but just keep him out of the way for a while—and then the whole thing had gone terribly wrong? Greg had demonstrated his skill at remote flying with the stunt kite. Could that have been a warm-up exercise? She shook her head.

  As impossible as it was to think that Gregory Masefield could be involved in anything shady, it was even more impossible to think of Melissa being hurt. But yes, even if, incredibly, Greg was involved, the truth had to be known. Debbie had suffered too much in her own life from keeping the truth hidden.

  Her hand brushed her pocket where the control made an awkward bulge. And that action brought such relief she almost shouted. Of course it wasn’t Greg. Ryland was the one who had lied about the control. And they couldn’t possibly be working together. No, not even for Melissa’s sake, Greg wouldn’t.

  “… So what do you say to that?”

  She jumped. She hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “What? Sorry. I wasn’t following.”

  “I must say, that’s not very flattering. Most women would jump at an invitation to cocktails and dancing on a yacht at sunset.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve just got time to make it.” He pushed the gas pedal down in spite of the roughness of the road.

  “No. I can’t really, Ryland. I have plans this evening. I promised Byrl. I can’t. No.” She knew she was babbling. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Why wasn’t she a better actress? Ryland would see her desperation. He would guess she knew. She had to get away.

  And then the words were out of her mouth before she realized she had spoken. “Ryland, stop!”

  “What?”

  She spoke with a calm she could only wish she felt. “Stop the car. Please. I have to, er—well, just be a gentleman and stop.”

  He grinned at her. “Anything you say. Drank too much iced tea, did you?”

  She forced herself to walk slowly until she was sure she was out of sight of the car. Then all pretense of calm left her as she began running wildly, blindly, propelled by nothing but sheer animal terror.

  There was no path. She wouldn’t have dared use one if there had been. How long would Ryland wait in the car before he realized something was wrong? Would he guess what had happened? Look in the glove compartment and learn what she had with her?

  Debbie dodged bushes, tree stumps, low branches, trying to make as much speed as possible without injuring herself. And there was the need to be quiet. Noises could carry great distances in the woods. If he came after her, his long legs and greater strength could make much better time than she, especially if he had the sound of her trailblazing to follow.

  She crawled over a fallen, decaying tree and lay still for a moment in the soft grass beside it. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart.

  She pushed herself to her feet and went on. She had no idea where she was going, but she reasoned that if she continued downhill she would eventually come to the town or highway or somewhere she could get help.

  Her skirt caught on a ragged stump, forcing her to halt her flight. And then she heard it—the unmistakable sound of someone crashing through the woods behind her. Was he even calling her name? She yanked. Her skirt came free with a ripping sound. She rushed wildly on, unsure how much longer her burning lungs and aching legs could keep up the pace.

  But it didn’t really matter how long she could keep on because the noise behind her was getting closer every second. She shot a look over her shoulder and thought she caught a glimpse of his white shirt through the branches. She must keep on as long as she could. “Debbie!” Her heart was pounding so hard, her breathing so raspy she could barely recognize her own name.

  Faster. She had to go faster. She plunged, misjudged the height of a low-hanging pine branch and ran face-first into a clump of stinging needles. She reeled back, lost her balance, and slammed into a granite boulder. That was the last thing she remembered.

  Chapter 18

  Debbie struggled against the darkness holding her down. If only she could get her eyes open, the darkness would go away and take her headache with it. She started to blink, but the effort was too great. She sank again into the blackness.

  “Debbie!” A man’s voice was calling her. Why was he so far away? If he’d come closer, maybe she could answer him.

  “Debbie!” Was that Ryland? Why didn’t he just strangle her and get it over with? She tried to turn away from him, but the effort was too great. She had lost. A man who had killed once wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

  “Debbie!” She felt his hands on her.

  She tried to struggle. “No!”

  “Open your eyes.” The command was accompanied with a firm shake.

  She struggled to obey the command. She opened them just enough to see the white shirt. Danger. The white shirt meant danger. She had been running from a white shirt.

/>   “She’s coming around. Over here, Charlie!”

  Again she opened her eyes just enough to see the white shirt, this time from the back. Something was wrong … Her eyelids shut again. Then snapped open. The head above the shirt was blond.

  “Greg?”

  “Oh, thank God.” He came to her bed. “Don’t sit up yet.”

  “All right. But I’m OK. Except for the headache.” It did feel good, though, to lie there with her eyes closed. Greg would take care of everything. Greg? Greg was here? Then did that mean—No, it couldn’t. She would never believe he was capable of working with Ryland. Yet she had to know. “Greg! What are you doing here?”

  “It’s a long story. Quick version is that Charlie here had been fixing a leaky pipe in a cabin on the mountain. He saw you by the side of the road with Ryland. Didn’t think you looked very happy about the situation, so he told me.”

  “But he couldn’t have. You weren’t there.” Now she remembered. That was why she had gone with Ryland in the first place. She struggled to an upright position, in spite of the swirling blackness that threatened to overwhelm her. “You left. I went over and you were gone. You just—”

  “Shh.” He put a finger gently on her lips. “Don’t upset yourself. I’ll explain everything. Later, when you feel better.”

  “But how did you get there? Were you the white shirt I was running from? Where’s Ryland?” Now she opened her eyes wide and looked around. “Where are we?”

  “One thing at a time. In reverse. We’re at the hospital. Emergency room. You had a really bad crack on your head.”

  She put her hand to the back of her head. She hadn’t realized it was bandaged. She prodded with her fingers, then groaned.

  “Ryland is with the police. Yes, you were running from me. I yelled and yelled, but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

  She shook her head. All she had heard was her own panic—in such confusion that she might have kept running even if she had realized it was Greg. “Police? Do they know he murdered Larsen? I have the control. I found it in his car.” She reached to her pocket. “It’s gone!”