A primitive madness seized her, throbbing in her veins, aching in her heart. But Jeff ended the kiss and gripped her shoulders to hold her back. She turned her eyes up to his. Her voice sounded as strange as the rest of her body felt.
She whispered, “I feel so close to you tonight."
"I know. I feel it, too.” Jeff looked worried. “But—"
"Don't say it,” Peggy commanded, the wildness dying inside her as quickly as it had arrived.
"How do you know what I was going to say?"
"I know you.” She withdrew from his arms. “I know your type."
He laughed hoarsely, the urgency of the moment before still discernible in his voice. “What type am I?"
"The noble type. The ‘I'm no good for you’ type.” Peggy said. “I mean it. I don't want to hear it!"
A clog of tears suddenly caught in her throat, and Peggy cursed. She couldn't look up at him. If she did, there would be a ridiculous scene. Peggy hated weepy women, and she was damned if she was going to start being one herself. Jeff touched her, but she hunched her shoulders and turned away.
Jeff said quietly, “It's true, you know."
"Shut up!"
Soothing her, he said, “My life's a disaster, Peggy. The last thing I need right now—"
"I know, I know. Just-just don't expect me to like it!"
"One entire day ago, I'd have said that you didn't even like me."
"I don't,” she snapped. “I don't like you. I'm going inside. Charlie will talk to me."
"Peggy..."
She shook off his restraining hand. “Do it."
He let her go, then. Peggy raced up the path, leaving Jeff to fend for himself in the darkness. Choking down sounds that some others might have suspected were sobs, Peggy slammed through the door and stormed into the cabin. Charlie looked up from the book he was reading by the fireside.
He took one glance at Peggy's face and asked mildly, “Lovers’ quarrel?"
Peggy merely responded by suggesting an especially illogical location for him to put his stupid reading material.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 8
Jeff slept upstairs in the bed that night. Charlie and Peggy shared the floor by the fire. Peggy didn't care how uncomfortable it was this time, or that the dogs curled up next to her. She spent the night thinking—planning. There had to be some way out of that incredible mess for Jeff.
In the morning, Charlie got up early and made coffee. Peggy dragged herself out of her blanket half an hour later. It quickly became apparent to her that Charlie wasn't a morning conversationalist, because he drank his coffee and went outside to look at the sunrise. Peggy made breakfast with the adoring beasts at her feet.
Jeff woke up an hour or so later. He came down the stairs slowly, but looking alert and so attractively disheveled from his bed that Peggy found she couldn't speak for a moment.
He smiled and advanced upon her as lithely as a spirit, taking Peggy into his arms and kissing her warmly on the mouth. “Morning."
She sniffled, and he smiled, and they stood for a while in a pool of morning sunshine that slanted in through the window. Time seemed to suspend itself, while a warm glow radiated through Peggy's entire body.
Jeff said, “Forgive me for last night?"
"There's nothing to forgive. We were both under the influence of-of something."
"Yes..."
"How do you feel?” Peggy asked at last.
"Terrible.” Jeff smiled and cradled her in his arms. “Like a grizzly bear has been gnawing on my shoulder half the night. But my chest is just itchy, and my headache is reduced to a dull thud, so I'm going to live. I just need a day of ‘Tender Loving Care’ and I'll be as good as new."
Peggy couldn't resist smiling up at him. “You're sure of that diagnosis, Doctor?"
"Positive.” He arched his eyebrows “All I need is a willing nurse—someone who could tuck me back into bed again, and with strict orders not to get up until noon."
"Maybe I should apply for the position."
"What kind of experience do you have, ma'am?"
"Not much. But I'm willing to learn."
"Well ... after we get you a work permit, I could teach you all the finer points.” He began to trace patterns on her back with delectable caresses.
"I'd like that.” Her eyes were half closed. She wanted to absorb everything about that moment: the sunlight; her own lazy heartbeat; Jeff's strong body; his playful tone of voice.
He pulled her closer “Maybe we should get started right away. Is Charlie still here?"
Remembering reality, Peggy laughed and slipped out of Jeff's embrace. “Yes, indeed. I think he's afraid to leave you alone with me. He's out on the porch, no doubt eavesdropping, in case I try to hurt you again."
Jeff sighed.
On cue, Charlie pulled open the door and came inside. He didn't bother with any good mornings. But in a low, tense voice he said, “Someone's coming."
"Who?"
"Small boat. Two passengers. They're coming around the point right now."
Already on her way out the door, Peggy said to Jeff, “Stay here. Keep out of sight."
He was going to disobey, but as he started to follow Peggy, Charlie barred Jeff's way. “She's right. If it's trouble, I'll pretend I'm you. Got it?"
Peggy leaned out over the balcony to get a glimpse of the newcomers. The dogs followed her, one putting its paws up on the railing, as if to take a look, too. Peggy put one hand up to shield her eyes from the blaze of sunshine and the dazzle of the water.
In a moment, she made out the oncoming boat, and quickly saw that it was her friend. It was the boy from the village, the one who'd taken her message yesterday. Sitting in the bow of his boat was another fellow.
At first, Peggy didn't recognize him. But she hurried down the path and walked out onto the dock with the two dogs at her heels. As the boat drew closer, she felt a stab of horror in her heart.
"My God,” she muttered. “It's Frank."
Frank Fascisti, top reporter for a tabloid newspaper chain which occasionally sent Peggy on the trail of sensational news stories. The new administration censored all of the really important news, but it usually allowed almost any and all kinds of celebrity scandal to be reported.
Frank was originally from New York, and he had a reputation for being tough. He was also suspected of being an informer for Homeland Security. He could possibly turn people in for the rewards, and thus finance his personal lavish lifestyle. He had absolutely no friends. No one liked him, and no one trusted him.
"He's a lying son of a bitch,” were the actual words others used when they talked about Frank. “Watch out for that sneaky, little prick."
What in the hell was Frank doing there? Suddenly, Peggy knew. And it terrified her. She saw a paddle stowed on Charlie's boat, and by instinct, she reached for it.
Then she stood on the dock with her heart pounding as the boat drew closer. She was holding the paddle as if it could protect them all from what was coming. The youth waved.
"Hey there, New York lady! I did what you asked me to do."
"Thanks a heap,” Peggy muttered before the boat came within earshot.
Frank sat in the bow of the rocking little boat, clutching the gunwales for support. He made no attempt to help dock the craft. But when the boy steered the boat against the dock, he jumped out quickly.
He had a smile like a reptile—lots of tiny little teeth, in a very wide mouth, which was open in an oily kind of grin. He was dressed inappropriately in loose trousers and a tweed coat with an unraveled spot on one sleeve. His eyeglasses were tinted. And there was, as always, the currently in-power political party badge on his lapel.
"Waz up?” He tried to sound cool in the urban dialect.
Then in the local dialect, “Peggy, eh? We met a couple of years ago at a Big Apple reporter party. I'm Frank."
"Yeah, sure.” Peggy ignored the handshake he extended. “What are you doing here?"
"Sharon? What did she tell you?"
Frank grinned and tapped a cigarette out of the pack. “About the Jeff Redmond story."
"The what?"
He laughed. “Sure, sure. Your assistant was doing research for you, eh? Well, she needed some help yesterday, and soon the word got around."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your assistant. She spilled the beans, as they say in the Big Apple."
Peggy nearly screamed. How stupid could she have been? Sharon had unwittingly let something slip. Now, Jeff's name was being blasted all over the reporting department of one of the city's leading newspapers! Jeff's whereabouts were probably known halfway around the planet! Desperate, Peggy began to bluff. “I don't know what you're talking about, Frank. Sharon must have gotten the name wrong. I was sent here to look for a pop singer named Jonny O'Dawg."
"Don't give me any of that bullshit!"
"Give you what bullshit? What's this other guy you're talking about? Jack Redman?"
"Don't bother pulling that act on me. The name is Jeff Redmond, as you very well know.” Frank lit up his unique cigarette, blew smoke, and began to look less pleasant. “Don't get your temper up. The editor said you're not the best writer for this story. So, I'm here to interview him and get his side. I'll split the byline with you, if you're going to get touchy. Where is he?"
Peggy backed up a pace. “I don't know what you're talking about."
"You don't?” Frank leaned closer and deliberately blew strange-smelling smoke in Peggy's face. “Listen, little honey. You're a hot piece of ass sitting on a hot piece of stuff here. You want it all for yourself? Fine. I can understand that. But you're going to have to share access to this Redmond guy eventually. I mean, he's going to be super hot news soon, and you can't keep him a secret forever. This place is going to be swarming with reporters by sunset. Now, I've got to file by nightfall, so let's—"
"Get out.” Peggy brandished the paddle.
Frank looked startled, but not undaunted. “Oh come on, little honey—"
"I mean it.” With her hand, Peggy shoved Frank in the chest, and he staggered backwards.
"Hey!"
"Clear out, you dickhead!” Peggy shouted. “This is private property. Get off of this island before I set the wolves on you!"
For good measure, the one of the dogs began to growl. Frank looked stunned. He stared at the beast, then at Peggy. “Are you serious? You really think you can keep Jeff Redmond all to yourself?"
"Get out of here!” With the paddle, she took a swat at him for good measure, hitting him on the shoulder.
"Ouch! That hurt, you god damned bitch!"
"Go on!"
Frank threw his controlled substance cigarette into the lake, and scuttled for the boat. He climbed in, but gave Peggy a murderous look. “I'll be back, and I'll fix it so you're swamped with press. You won't get away with this."
The boy in the boat looked stunned, but scared. When Peggy threw him some money to cover the cost of the errand she'd sent him on, he was too amazed to thank her. He jammed the engine into reverse and cleared out fast. Peggy ran up the path and charged into the cabin. Inside, she came to an abrupt stop, panting hard. “We've got to get out of here."
Brusquely, Charlie said, “We heard everything."
They were already packing, hastily assembling enough gear to make an escape. Without a word, Jeff was stuffing an extra shirt into a large traveling bag. Beside him, Charlie was checking a box of ammo rounds and setting out the shotguns. Neither man looked at her.
"I'm sorry,” Peggy said, suddenly very frightened.
Jeff said, “It's done now."
Peggy hurried to him, but then she didn't have the courage to touch him. “Jeff, you've got to believe me. I didn't know this was going to happen!"
"It did,” Charlie snapped.
Peggy grabbed the edge of the table, to keep from flinging herself into Jeff's arms and begging for forgiveness. “It was an accident. I sent a letter to my assistant in New York yesterday. I told her it was secret. I just wanted some information. That's all. It was instinct!"
"Yeah,” Charlie said grimly. “Now the wolves are howling, aren't they? Nice job there, you stupid cunt."
"Watch it.” Jeff shot Charlie a look of warning.
Charlie said, “Sorry. I just can't believe this is happening."
Jeff never looked at Peggy. He turned to Charlie. “I have to go through the cabin. There are bound to be papers, letters ... I don't know what else. I can't leave that kind of evidence—"
"I'll do it,” Charlie said. “You have to get out of here fast. What about the chemicals?"
"I'll take the vials with me. I'll head for the campsite we used last springtime, remember? The islet off the eastern side of Kelvin Island."
"Okay. I'll bring the plane tonight, after I've cleaned up here. If we're lucky, we'll be a few hundred kilometers away by morning."
They were acting like she wasn't even in the room.
"Bring the dogs,” Jeff said. “I can't leave them here."
"Yes. I will."
"And the books, you'll have to go through the books. Oh hell, it will take all day. But I may have left notes between the pages. Charlie, maybe we'd better just torch the place."
"Set fire to it? Jeff, this has been in your family for generations. You just can't—"
Peggy said, “The two of you are acting really stupid."
They looked at her.
"I mean it,” she said. “If a mob of reporters shows up here and finds a burned-up cabin, what are they going to think? That you're guilty, of course. You don't know what kind of lengths they'll go to find you. They'll hire aircraft. They'll even bring in professional hunters. They'll—"
Charlie snapped, “I'll have him out of here before they can mobilize—"
"Oh, stop talking like a weekend warrior! It's too late for that. The story's already in progress. If you disappear, you'll just make the story bigger."
Jeff said, “What do you suggest?"
Charlie swung around. “Don't ask her! She's the enemy! Goddamn her! This bitch is one of them!"
"Exactly,” Peggy said calmly. “And I know exactly how they think and act. I can help."
"How?” Jeff asked.
"There's only one way to kill a story of this magnitude,” Peggy told them. “And that's to create an even bigger story."
"Like what?” Charlie demanded coldly. “You planning to declare war on the entire planet or something. Maybe threaten to dry up all of our Great Lakes?"
"No, I've got something even bigger than that."
Jeff was watching her face.
"Jonny O'Dawg."
"Who?” Charlie asked. “Wait, you mean that dead singer?"
"Show me how to use the radio,” Peggy pleaded with Jeff.
He asked, “Do you really expect your idea to work?"
"Sure. I'll make a couple of calls, tell people that I've spotted Jonny O'Dawg here and alive. I can absolutely guarantee it. There will be hysterical fans flocking all over this lake before noon."
"That'll just make things worse!” Charlie cried. “It'll be an instant magnet for Homeland Security!"
"It'll be safe,” Peggy interrupted. “We can hide in a crowd. The more people, the easier it will be to slip away. And judging by the number of people who believe Jonny O'Dawg is still alive, I think we'll be hip deep in music fans in no time. They'll come from all over, including from New York."
Musingly, Jeff said, “It sounds just crazy enough to work."
"Are you insane?!” Charlie grabbed Jeff's shirt. “How can you stand there and listen to this lying slut with a straight face? She's the cause of all of your troubles!"
"She's not the cause.” Jeff gently disengaged Charlie's grip. “I did that to
myself. Peggy's made one mistake, that's all. Let's give her a chance to fix things."
Peggy felt her eyes start to sting as she looked gratefully at Jeff.
Charlie let out a disgusted sigh. “Now I've heard everything."
Peggy pulled herself together. “Not quite everything. Here's the deal, Charlie. You stay here and clean out anything that could possibly prove that Jeff is the one the press is looking for. Burn it. Or wrap everything up in a waterproof bag and sink it into the lake for safekeeping. Then sit out on the porch for the rest of the day and pretend you're Brent Barnard."
"Are you kidding?"
"I mean it. How many others up here can actually identify Jeff? Just act like yourself, deny everything. But, most importantly, stall the press."
Jeff said, “I'll make camp on Kelvin and wait for Charlie to show up tonight. If anyone stops to question me in the meantime, I just claim I'm a music fan, right?"
"Right. Jeff, have you got a portable radio?"
"A what? Sure."
"Good. Every radio station on the planet will soon be playing nothing but Jonny O'Dawg songs. And maybe even a few of the banned ones. You've got to look like an authentic fan. Too bad we don't have an old anti-government logo t-shirt or something. Oh, well. Now, somebody tell me how to work your cell phone."
With Charlie's less than willing assistance, Peggy began placing calls. She started with the big newspapers in the cities, the towns, and the villages. Then she called a couple of close friends—one in television, the other in broadcast radio—and she asked them to start spreading the story.
Her most important contact was with a well-based tabloid. The kind which always spread any and all gossip about anyone famous. Except, of course, about the political leaders.
"I'm killing my reputation,” she muttered between calls.
Charlie was standing right nearby. “What?"
She shook her head. “Nothing. It was time for a career change, anyway. Hello? Yeah, this is Peggy Schmidt. Fasten your seatbelt, sweetie, have I got some news for you!"
Isle of Intrigue Page 14