by Sharon Sala
Tony was sprawled out on the bed behind Sarah, spent from the passion of their lovemaking, but she hadn’t been able to sleep. The stimulus of the dinner party earlier in the evening had kept her mind too active to relax. Reluctantly she’d crawled out of her warm bed and Tony’s arms and gone to the windows.
As usual, the security lights on the property cast a glow in the back, but only to a certain distance. Beyond that was total darkness. Once she’d seen the shadow of an intruder from these windows. Another time she’d stood on Tony’s deck and come close to losing her life. Now the fears she might have had were stilled, thanks to the men she knew were on guard. They did not sleep so that she and Tony could.
She looked back at Tony and sighed. If only she could sleep. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and forget, even if it was just for the night.
As she stood at the windows, a cloud that had been covering the sliver of moon began to pass, and as it did, for the first time, she could see the lake. The perfection of the view was slightly marred by the presence of trees, but there was enough space between the limbs for her to see the glitter of moonlight on the water.
She would never be able to see that lake and not think of it as anything but a place of concealment and horror. Swimming in it would be like playing on her father’s grave. She was thankful that Marmet was no longer her home. It was a place of too many secrets. She’d seen that for herself tonight at Moira Blake’s. All the money and fine trappings in the world would not have been able to hide the undercurrents of jealousy and old sins that had been present at the table.
Charles Bartlett was a strange man. He seemed to have it made, yet his envy of Tony was obvious. And then there was Paul Sorenson. She felt certain he resented her—maybe even hated her—and she had no idea why. Harmon Weatherly was a nice, gentle man. She’d sensed that from their meeting in town. Tonight, at the dinner table, he’d done his best to keep the conversation light and congenial.
She shivered, wishing for the bright lights and vivacity of New Orleans to take away this damp, clinging chill, and thought of the pretty women who worked the streets of New Orleans like the pros that they were. Sometimes, a couple of them would come into her restaurant for a cup of coffee and a beignet, other times they would be with a “date.” She’d never judged them. But for the grace of God and Lorett Boudreaux, she might have wound up the same way.
As for the women who’d been at Moira’s, they were an odd collection, to say the least. Tiny Bartlett was pretty, but she tried too hard. Tony had mentioned earlier that he and Charles Bartlett had grown up on the same side of town. Apparently Tiny had married beneath her, but it seemed to have paid off. Her husband’s business acumen had been obvious, and he worked hard to maintain an image with which he had not been born. His nails were manicured, his haircut perfection. He wore the finest of suits and shoes. But the veneer between his public persona and the street kid he’d been was thin at best.
Annabeth Harold had seemed, to Sarah, the odd person out. She still worked at a job, had never been married, and was much lower on the financial scale than the others. More than once during the night, Sarah had caught a look that might have been envy on the older woman’s face, but it had been so fleeting that she’d passed it off as her imagination. She understood why Annabeth might feel that way, but these people were her friends. They accepted her as she was. Why, then, didn’t she accept herself?
Marcia Farrell was a widow, or so she’d been told, but she’d overheard enough chitchat between Tiny and Annabeth to realize that when Marcia had left Marmet years ago, she’d been an ordinary woman, trained in simple secretarial skills. She’d come back to Marmet a few years later claiming widowhood, but with a child in tow. Soon after, she had inherited a great deal of money, making her a very wealthy widow. Tiny had mentioned the sadness of the husband’s passing without even knowing his name. She said Marcia never liked to talk about him, so they honored her tender feelings.
And then there was Laura Hilliard. Besides the fact that she’d been all over Tony, Sarah flat out didn’t like her. She was too smooth, too cold, and too sure of herself—basically, an emotionless bitch.
Correction. Rich bitch.
According to Tony, she had more money than she would ever be able to spend in one lifetime. A million dollars would have been the perfect seed money in acquiring such a fortune.
And then there was Moira. Poor Moira. She’d tried so hard to make everything nice. Sarah sighed. Part of it was her own fault for baiting the guests. But she’d never been able to bear condescension, and the room had been full of it. All Sarah knew about Moira was the little Tony had mentioned. She had been widowed a few years back, was recently retired from the bank where her father had worked, and she’d lived in the same house for ages. Nothing remarkable. Nothing new. But she did make good chocolate cake.
Tony shifted on the bed behind her, and Sarah turned, eyeing his long body beneath the covers and remembering how quickly he could bring her to joy. He was an amazing man who, with the help of a well-to-do uncle, had made something of himself. She felt just the least bit of guilt in thinking that she’d never checked into his story of how he’d made good and then shrugged away the thought. He’d been too young to pull off a bank heist and a murder, never mind the fact that he wasn’t that kind of man. And before she could chide herself for being swayed by the fact that he was damned good in bed, she reminded herself that she considered herself a good judge of character. No way could she be falling in love with the man who had heartlessly stuffed her father’s body into a trunk and dropped it into Flagstaff Lake.
No way.
Then what she’d thought hit her, and she leaned against the windowsill to steady herself. Falling in love? Was that what this was? This heart-wrenching, blood-thundering, weak-kneed feeling of helplessness, coupled with the adrenaline rush that came from something as simple as his smile?
Oh, fine. She’d waited all these years to fall in love again and she had to do it now—when all hell seemed to be breaking loose in her life?
She shuddered once, then turned back to the window. And as she did, she caught a brief glimpse of motion on the water. From this distance, it appeared as little more than a small, round object, and then it was gone. More than likely it was a loon, or even a piece of deadwood from the many trees surrounding the lake.
Tony murmured in his sleep. Suddenly weary and tired of being afraid, she crawled back into bed and into his arms. Within minutes, she was asleep.
The storm broke around three. A large clap of thunder pulled Sarah out of her sleep, leaving her momentarily disoriented. But the flash of lightning that followed told her there was a storm, and the brief illumination it shed across the room confirmed the fact that she was alone in her bed. She got up and turned on the light before looking out in the hall for Tony. There was a light on downstairs, and she remembered the bodyguards. He was probably with them.
Thinking little of it, she looked around the room for her robe, saw it on the chair and quickly put it on. Moments later she was running down the stairs, calling Tony’s name as she went. Just as her foot hit the bottom step, the power went out and the house went dark. Power went off all the time during storms, so she was only mildly irritated.
“Tony! I hope you have a flashlight or some candles,” she called.
To her surprise, no one answered. No one came.
She moved toward the front door, and as she did, a gust of wind swung it inward, bringing a wash of blowing rain. She gasped and ran to close it, and as she did, she tried to imagine a reason why Tony and the bodyguards would be outside. She ran to the front windows, peering through the darkness and intermittent flashes of lightning, trying to see where they’d gone, but she saw only blowing leaves and rain.
A faint sound from somewhere behind her sent her spinning around.
“Tony! Is that you?”
Again no one answered. Again no one came.
Now her nerves were definitely on edge. Where the hell were those body
guards who were supposed to be so great? Why wasn’t one of them in here waving a flashlight in her face?
“Dunn! Farley! Where is everyone?”
She heard a board creak overhead and stifled a gasp. Someone was upstairs moving around in the dark. If it was someone who belonged here, they would have answered her calls. A second board squeaked, then a third, and she knew that whoever it was, they were coming down the hall. Suddenly she was very, very scared.
“Oh God, oh God.”
Without thinking, she started to run.
Thanks to the racket from the storm, her bare feet were soundless as she ran across the polished pine floors. Almost immediately, she remembered a small cubby of a closet beneath the stairs and bolted for it. It wasn’t all that large, but there was enough space for her to hide in, and that was all she could think to do.
The doorknob turned silently beneath her grasp, and the hinges were equally silent when she pulled the door open. Quickly she moved inside and closed the door just as the intruder started down the stairs. He was moving quickly now, taking the stairs two at a time. She grasped the doorknob with both hands and held her breath, afraid to inhale for fear she would be heard. Now he was at the bottom of the steps. A cold sweat suddenly covered her body, and, instinctively, she started to pray, silently begging God to save her.
The intruder was hurrying now as he moved down the hall past where she was hiding. Just when she thought she was going to be safe, she heard the footsteps stop.
No, no, no.
Sarah was shaking so hard she could barely stand. Slowly, slowly, the sound of footsteps came closer, until she actually felt the intruder’s energy on the other side of the door.
Sweet Jesus, save me. Don’t let me die.
The doorknob turned slightly beneath her hands, and just when she thought it was over, the lights flickered twice and the power returned. The thin thread of light beneath the door was, to Sarah, a most welcome and beautiful sight. Following that, she felt the intruder’s shock as vividly as if they’d been face-to-face.
Immediately, the pressure on the doorknob ceased, and Sarah heard a muffled curse, then running footsteps. Before it occurred to her to look and see who was running away, it was silent. She started to open the door and then stopped, wondering if she was being conned, if the intruder would be waiting for her on the other side, ready to finish her off. She waited a moment, and then took a deep breath before pushing the door wide.
The hall was empty; the only thing visible were a few wet tracks on the polished floor. She turned slowly, looking behind her, and as she turned, she noticed a darker shadow inside the closet in which she’d been hiding. She stepped back and turned, then started to scream. It was Tony, unconscious and bleeding from the head. She ran to the front door, screaming for help as she went. Within minutes the house was crawling with security, and Sarah was hustled to one side under armed guard, while the others took over.
She had blurred images of finding Dunn and Farley unconscious in their room, and the flashing lights of ambulances and sirens as both they and Tony were taken away. Sarah begged and cried to go with Tony, but the head of the security team Tony had hired wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Sobbing hysterically, with nowhere to turn, she was oddly consoled by the appearance of Sheriff Gallagher and two of his men.
“Sarah! Tell me what happened?” Gallagher said, as he took her into the living room.
“I woke up when the storm hit. I couldn’t find Tony or either one of the bodyguards, and then the power went off. I kept calling for them, but they never answered. Then I heard someone moving around upstairs and knew that whoever it was, they didn’t belong there. If it had been Tony or the guards, they would have answered me.”
Ron nodded. He’d already heard most of this from some of the men on the security team, but he let Sarah talk because it was calming her down.
“What did you do next?” he asked.
“I heard the footsteps coming along the upstairs hall so I ran and hid in the closet beneath the stairs.” Her chin quivered, her eyes filling with tears as she looked up at Ron. “Tony was in there all that time and I didn’t know.” She shuddered. “God…just like Daddy. All those years people swam and boated on that lake…they were playing while he was down there in that trunk.”
“Don’t think like that,” Ron said, and pointed at one of his deputies. “Get her a drink of whiskey, neat, from the bar.”
“I don’t want anything to drink,” Sarah said. “I want to see Tony. I need to know if he’s going to be all right.” Then she started to sob. “This is all my fault. He got involved because of me, and if he doesn’t…if he—”
“He’s going to be okay,” Ron said, even though he didn’t know that for a fact.
The deputy handed a shot of whiskey to Ron, who handed it to Sarah. “Drink this.”
She took it like medicine, shuddering as it went all the way down.
“Good girl,” Ron said. “Now tell me what you did after you hid.”
Sarah closed her eyes briefly, remembering the horror and the fear.
“It was still dark, and I hid in the closet with my hands on the doorknob because there was no lock. I heard the intruder running down the stairs and then past the closet where I was hiding. And then the footsteps stopped and began coming back. I was so scared. I just knew I was going to be found. Just as he was about to open the door, the power came back. I could tell it startled him. He turned and ran. When I came out, I was alone, and then I turned and saw Tony and…” She covered her face with her hands.
Ron touched the crown of her hair briefly, absently noting that it was as soft and silky as it looked, then turned to the man who was in charge of the security team.
“Did your men see anything?”
“Not a damn thing,” he said. “We weren’t aware of any problem inside the house until we heard Miss Whitman scream.” Then he added, as if absolving them of any blame, “We were assigned to the exterior of the property. We had no way of knowing that the security team inside had been immobilized.”
“It’s okay,” Sarah said. “No one’s blaming you. I just thank God you were there.”
The man looked at Sarah for a moment and then made some sort of decision. “I’ll have men posted directly outside the house, as well as on the property, until Mr. DeMarco orders otherwise. No one will enter the house without our permission.” Then he walked away, giving orders as he went.
Sarah stood abruptly, gathering her robe around her.
“Where are you going?” Gallagher asked.
“To get dressed. I’m going to the hospital to see Tony.”
Ron sighed. “Go ahead and get dressed,” he said. “I’ll take you myself.”
“I have a car,” she said. “It’s not that far into Marmet.”
“They’ve taken Tony to Portland,” he said.
Sarah groaned. “That far?”
“Like I said, I’ll get you there, but you’re going to have to put up with a bodyguard.”
“Better than the other two, I hope,” she muttered.
“I heard one of the paramedics say they thought the men had been drugged.”
Sarah frowned. “That makes no sense. How could they have been drugged? Tony said they’re into health food. I think they even prepare their own meals.”
“I don’t know. That’s just what I heard. They’ll know more after they run tests on everyone concerned. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll accompany you upstairs and we can see if anything is missing.”
Sarah flinched as if she’d been slapped. That was something she hadn’t even considered.
“I just assumed the intruder was looking for me.”
“Probably,” Ron said. “But we’ll check to make sure.”
They started up the stairs with Sarah sandwiched between the sheriff and an armed security guard carrying a semiautomatic. If she hadn’t been so scared, she would have laughed. This was like something out of a bad B movie. Girl running for her life in a d
ark house, then finding her lover unconscious and bleeding. Enter the police, and pitiful heroine is reduced to having total strangers guarding her as she dresses.
“Have mercy,” Sarah muttered.
“You say something, miss?”
“What? Oh. No,” she said, and made a mental note to keep her thoughts to herself.
It wasn’t until she was dressed and looking for her shoes that Sarah realized what was missing. She turned abruptly, looking at the table where the box with her father’s things had been sitting.
“The box! It’s gone!” she cried.
Ron had already inspected her room and was across the hall in Tony’s room, trying to see if anything had been disturbed, when Sarah cried out. He came running back, his weapon drawn, although the security guard was still outside her door.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, as he ran into the room.
She pointed to the table. “I didn’t notice it before, when we were looking through the room, but the box with the things from my father’s desk was on that table. Now it’s gone.”
“You’re sure you didn’t put it somewhere else and then forget?”
“Positive,” Sarah said, and sat down on the bed with a thump. “Why would anyone want to steal a box of silly little keepsakes?”
“Maybe there was more in there than you thought,” Ron said.
“The only thing that might have been useful was that calendar,” Sarah said. “Thank goodness you have a copy of the pages.”
Ron frowned. “How many people know that?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I didn’t tell anyone, so no one except me, Tony, you and your staff. Oh…and Maury Overstreet.”
“Who’s Maury Overstreet,” Ron asked.
“The private investigator Tony put on the case.”
“Oh yeah, right. For now, let’s just keep it that way,” he said.
Sarah nodded and then remembered her shoes. “I can’t find my shoes,” she said.
The sheriff turned around, searching the room, then pointed at the closet.
“Have you looked in the closet?” he asked.