If the ring had, indeed, existed.
Eyes opening, Sydney suddenly realized she was standing in front of the house, in the middle of the empty driveway. Martha hadn’t returned. She was alone on the property. Why not check for herself?
Wandering around to the back of the house, she stopped below her balcony in a shady area nearly free of grass. The sun was setting, its thin beams squeezing through the copse of trees behind her. Still, enough daylight remained to see clearly. If she had really dropped the ring in the area, she would find it.
After gauging the trajectory of a small object flying from the balcony, she backed up a few yards. While the day’s warmth had hardened the earth, the soil was still damp from days of rain. On the ground were a man’s footprints... and a couple of cigarette stubs. She bent to pick one up and her heart began to pound. Thin and dark brown, this was a remainder of the type of cigarette Kenneth smoked.
Nothing unusual about finding them on his own property, she told herself.
Reminded of her short-lived marriage, Sydney squeezed her eyes tight against the threat of tears. Once she got herself under control, she continued her search half-heartedly. More footprints led off into a wooded area, punctuated by another cigarette butt on the trail.
She returned to the original spot and stared up at the perfect view of the balcony and windowed doors. What fascination had Kenneth had with the guest bedroom?
Sydney rubbed her arms as a chill shot through her and her head went light, a forewarning of sorts. Determined to nip the coming ordeal in the bud – to leave – she stopped as a last ray of light beamed through the trees to fall at her feet. Her gaze followed the ray to its end where a glimmer caught her eye.
The ring?
Sydney bent to retrieve the object but was disappointed when she rose with the piece in hand.
Not a ring, but a coin.
An arcade token, she corrected as she inspected the round metal piece more carefully. The imprint was distinctive. A seagull in flight on one side, a boardwalk on the other.
What in the world would an arcade coin be doing on the property?
CHAPTER FIVE
NO SOONER HAD the question occurred to her than Sydney heard a car pull up into the driveway. Slipping the token into an outside pocket of her shoulder bag, she rounded the house to see who had arrived.
Martha’s white Porsche stood in the drive and the woman herself was pulling a large suitcase from the trunk. She’d changed from the red silk sundress to a gold lame jumpsuit with giant beaded shoulders and a plunging neckline. The outfit made Sydney believe Martha had special plans for the evening. Good. Then she could spend the time alone. Unfortunately, peace of mind was not yet hers.
“Planning on staying long?” she asked, trying to keep her voice friendly.
Martha gave her a haughty, knowing look. “You’d like me to leave, wouldn’t you? So you could get hold of Kenneth’s assets without a struggle?”
“I don’t want to fight. I don’t want–”
”Well, I could care less what you want. You have a fight on your hands you didn’t count on, you little gold-digger, whether or not you’re ready for one.”
Sydney’s mouth gaped open as Martha pushed by, practically hitting her with the suitcase. She stood staring at the rude woman. She’d been about to say she didn’t want anything of Kenneth’s but a sentimental keepsake, a reminder of the love they’d shared if for a short time, but now she’d bite her tongue before saying so. Martha Lord would merely laugh and deride her.
“Oh, by the way,” Martha said, “I’ve already moved your things out of my bedroom.”
“Your bedroom?”
“The one you’ve been using without my permission.” Martha set down the suitcase in front of the door which she quickly unlocked. “I personally chose every object in that room.” She threw open the door so that it strained against its hinges. “I’m not about to give them over to some upstart, for no matter how short a time you’ll be here.”
Once having met Kenneth’s sister, Sydney figured she should have guessed why the bedroom had seemed so repugnant. The decor was every bit as offensive as the woman who had created it.
“I put your things where they belong,” Martha went on, “if you really are Kenneth’s wife, that is.” She entered the house and marched straight for the stairs. “I shudder to think the master bedroom was being defiled by a liar and a cheat.”
Uneasy at the thought of staying in the room she’d been trying to avoid, Sydney swallowed her objections. Besides, now that she had met Martha, she had no desire to remain in the other woman’s room.
Crossing to the bottom of the staircase, she looked up at her sister-in-law. “All your doubts about my marriage to your brother will be put to rest tomorrow when I pick up the photographs from Stone Beach Photos.”
On the landing, Martha paused and her deep-set, dark eyes narrowed. “That’s to be seen, isn’t it? But no matter what you show me, my doubts will never be erased.” Managing to sound genuinely upset, she added, “If you really did trick Kenneth into marrying you, you used some clever subterfuge or he wouldn’t have excluded me from his plans.”
With that, Martha disappeared into her room and slammed the door behind her.
Sydney breathed a sigh of relief and wondered if she could successfully avoid any more unpleasantness. She hoped her sister-in-law did have other plans for the evening so she would be free to roam the house at will. She dreaded entering the room she was to have shared with Kenneth and couldn’t tolerate the thought of being cooped up there.
Deciding to take advantage of the other woman’s immediate absence, Sydney found the dinner Asia had left her the day before and heated it in the microwave. By the time she’d eaten, darkness had fallen. Then her sister-in-law came out of her room. Prepared for a confrontation, Sydney was thankfully spared. Without a word to her, Martha flounced out of the house and drove away in her Porsche.
Sydney checked all the first floor doors and windows to make sure they were locked before returning to the kitchen where she intended to warm her milk. Not that she needed a tranquilizer tonight. She was exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
The refrigerator held a surprise, however. No milk carton. And she couldn’t remember seeing it when she took out her food earlier. Maybe Benno had finished the milk that morning while he was making breakfast. No big deal, she assured herself as she turned off all the lights but that closest to the front door.
Finally, she ascended the stairs to Kenneth’s bedroom.
Her heart pounded as she opened the door and she entered with a sense of expectation that went unfulfilled. She didn’t sense any trace of Kenneth’s presence.
How odd.
Putting away her things which Martha had strewn around the room gave her something on which to concentrate. For a while, at least, she wouldn’t have to dwell on what her first night in this room should have been like.
Too much time to think -- that was her problem.
Thoughts too disturbing, too sad, too frightening.
Once finished reorganizing, she climbed into her comfortably familiar cotton nightgown and turned off all but a low light on top of the chest of drawers. Then she curled up in a leather chair set at an angle near the windows. A matching hassock gave rest to her achy legs. All the while she’d worked, she’d been mentally preparing herself for this moment when she would have nothing to think about but Kenneth.
Yet as she looked through the glass doors out over the windswept grounds, the image Sydney confronted in her mind’s eye was a strong, angular face framed by dark hair sliced back into a pony tail. The diamond in his ear winked, hypnotizing her until she drifted off to a place without fear...
DANGER WOUND ITS DARK PATH through the copse of trees. The runner fled, legs pounding the uneven ground, arms flailing against the black night, breath sucking at the wet air. Effort added onto effort, yet made no gain. The shelter of the trees
was as good a place as any to stop, to control the choking spurt of fear.
Stealth and cunning meant safety.
The nearby ocean whispered its warning: Be like a wild animal... seek cover. Camouflage. A hiding place. Otherwise, be recaptured, caged... and then what?
The crunch of a dried branch underfoot warned of another presence.
Heart pounding... pulse ringing... gut churning...
It’s now or never... must run.
Too late.
Confronted, the hunted lunged for the hunter and forced away the hand with the gun. But, with seeming ease, the deadly weapon revolved inexorably inward.
Heart nearly rupturing from fright, the would-be victim cried out. No sound. The barrel lined up in slow motion, its perfect round mouth a dark, yawning chasm of death.
Use both hands to stop it! the ocean warned.
No grip.
Something pulling free...
Curled fingers securing the object, the victim propelled backward from the force of a bullet. The ground hit hard, ungiving. A gush of salty blood welled and gurgled past dry, cracked lips while disbelieving eyes widened with shock.
“Why?”
The single rasp was swallowed by a second explosion.
“AAAHHH!” The gunshot still ringing in her head, Sydney screamed herself awake.
Body rigid, right fingers clutched in a painful fist, she looked down at her stomach which was pulsating with pain and frantically patted the front of her white nightgown. But for the clinging dampness caused by her sweat, the garment was clean – free of the brilliant red she had seen so clearly. She took a choked breath and opened her clenched fingers. Though the flesh felt penetrated, her palm was empty.
“A dream,” she choked out.
But the fear and the noise and the pain had all been so real.
Sydney quickly looked around the room to make sure she was still safe. Nothing out of line. The light on the chest shone. The door was closed. The windows were locked. Yet she was shaking as if the earth had quaked beneath her. This dream had been even more violent than any previous.
Heart palpitating in an unnatural rhythm, Sydney tried to calm herself and replay the nightmare in her mind as best she could, now, while it was still possible to remember.
She was running... no, a man... no, she.
Which?
Think harder.
A dark haired man, she decided, closing her eyes. She grasped the image and refused to let go. A dark haired man was running from someone. Terrified. Determined. But who? She couldn’t make out his features. Too murky. Even so, his fear became her own. Terror welled within her anew, cradled her in its ugly grasp, threatened to swallow her whole.
And then the foreboding receded and dissipated altogether.
She squeezed her eyelids shut tighter. “No, not yet.”
Unable to retain the vision any longer, Sydney opened her eyes and gasped in frustration.
How should she interpret what she had seen? Was someone in danger? Who? A dark haired man?
Kenneth had dark hair, but he was already dead, wasn’t he?
Her thoughts turned to the only other dark-haired man in her life. Benno DeMartino. But Benno was definitely alive. At least for now, a nasty little voice whispered.
She sprang out of the chair for the telephone next to the bed. Probably sounding like a madwoman, she demanded the number of Benno’s Place from the operator. Then, with shaky fingers, she punched out his number. Four rings.
“Benno’s Place,” came a woman’s voice over the volume of the jukebox and noisy customers in the background.
“Poppy? It’s Sydney. Can I speak to Benno?”
“He’s not here.”
“Not there?” Anxiety made Sydney’s pulse pound. She hadn’t considered she wouldn’t be able to warn him. What if he were in danger at this very moment? “Where is he?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. He left a half hour or so ago and told me he’d be back in a while...” Poppy’s voice trailed off as someone shouted to her. Then she said, “Listen, I’m the only one here and the natives are getting restless. I’ve got to go. Should I give Benno a message?”
“Tell him to call me.”
Sydney set the receiver in its cradle and checked the bedside clock. Twelve-twenty-six. Where could Benno be so late? Surely nothing had happened to him yet.
Suddenly, she realized she was sitting on the bed. Kenneth’s bed. And she was feeling nothing but concern for a man other than her late husband. Unable to conjure even a little guilt, she propped up the pillows behind her and waited. With the passing of each minute, her anxiety lessened and her doubts about the dream increased.
The clock read twelve-thirty-nine before the telephone rang. Sydney snatched the receiver before Martha could.
“Is something wrong?” came Benno’s concerned query.
She let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know... I mean, no, not with me, not now.”
“What? Did someone try to break into the place?”
She was confused until she remembered the incident with the lights when he’d brought her back to the house. “No. It was one of those awful dreams I told you about.”
Silence was followed by his offering, “You want me to come up there?”
“I don’t need you to hold my hand,” she told him. Though she might not mind his doing so, she thought with shock and a sense of disloyalty to Kenneth. “I wanted you to know.”
Now she was feeling a little foolish.
“Know what?”
“Be careful. Someone may be planning to hurt–”
”Wait a minute, would you?”
Despite her growing reservations, Sydney would have explained further if Benno hadn’t interrupted. She heard his interchange with a couple of customers, one of whom sounded as if he were getting out of line.
And she heard the downstairs door open and close and the clack of heels tap against the wooden floor. Martha. She must just be coming in now. Sydney held her breath as her sister-in-law ascended the stairs then passed her door.
Then Benno was talking to her again. “Listen, I have a nasty situation here.” His tone was terse. “Can I call you back?”
Now Sydney was really feeling impulsive. She had no concrete reason to believe Benno was in danger. And, if he were, the situation wasn’t necessarily imminent. The explanation could definitely be put off, she decided, if not forgotten.
“No, don’t call me back,” she finally said. “This discussion can wait.”
“Why don’t I pick you up for a late lunch tomorrow afternoon,” Benno suggested. “Say one-thirty? You can tell me all about your dream then, before we go back to Stone Beach Photos.”
The warmth of relief shot through her. Sydney had thought she’d be performing that task alone. But Benno wasn’t planning to abandon her in the middle of the crisis.
“All right,” she agreed. “One-thirty.”
Sydney hung up and leaned back against the pillows. Most of her anxiety had subsided though she was by no means at ease with the dream and its implications. She’d gone through too many years of this type of thing not to recognize it for what it was – a warning.
Whether or not she wanted to be in tune with her most basic self, she didn’t seem to have a choice. Therefore, she had to act on what she knew. With knowing came responsibility. Her whole world seemed determined to turn upside down, and it was up to her to right it again.
“I CAN’T BE SURE who is in danger – you, me, or someone else entirely,” Sydney was saying over lunch at The Sugar Bowl, a restaurant at the north end of town.
“Dreaming about death isn’t so unusual under the circumstances.” Benno glanced out the window across the beach to The Sugar Loaf, the largest of a dozen sea stacks dotting the shallows – the one that reminded him of death every time he saw it. “Nor is the fact that you dreamed about a man.”
“I can see your point, but I hope you can see mine.”
He’d been listenin
g with mixed feelings, a combination of alarm and disbelief. “What? That I should take this warning seriously?”
“Yes,” she said, the single word filled with frustration. “A few weeks ago, I dreamed I was drowning–”
”Among being caught up in myriad other dangers,” Benno quickly reminded her. Picking up the second half of his grilled chicken sandwich, he noticed she hadn’t eaten a thing. “You really ought to try something. The food here is great.”
She ignored the suggestion. “But I wasn’t the one who drowned.”
“Ergo, you won’t be the one shot.”
She nodded. “That’s entirely possible. You think I’m crazy.”
“Only in the nicest of ways. Remember the premonition you had about your brother – you were sure he was the one in trouble. Why the doubts now?”
“Maybe I used to be more certain because I was more open then. Psychic abilities aren’t as straightforward as real life, Benno. Maybe if I’d been encouraged to work with professionals and develop my potential, I could give you all the answers... but I wasn’t, and God knows I can only give you more questions.”
Sydney’s face was pale beneath her California tan. In the strong light of day, the freckles on her snub nose stood out, giving her a childlike innocence that belied the grown-up hell she was going through. Tension oozed from her and Benno knew she believed every word of what she was saying.
“This ability has made me nothing but unhappy and that’s why I’ve suppressed it for so long,” she went on. “But the dream invaded my peace whether or not I wanted it, and I just can’t let it go at that. Not after what happened to Kenneth. Do you understand?”
“I truly don’t know what to say.”
“Say you believe me at least on some level. Promise you’ll be extra careful. When I tried to figure out who the dark-haired man could be–”
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