Pushed to the Limit

by Patricia Rosemoor

  No matter how much she wanted to deny it, no matter how many times she reminded herself she’d been in love with “Kenneth,” her feelings for him were growing, and there was nothing she could do to stop that from happening. It was as if knowing she really hadn’t been married to his friend – hadn’t been married to anyone – had set her emotions loose.

  “I mean, the whole thing happened so quickly,” she went on, giving him a sideways glance. “The romance was whirlwind, the marriage impulsive. He didn’t spend much time at his hotel in Lincoln City, but he, um, never actually registered at The Cascades where I was staying.”

  She hoped that was enough of an answer for any questions he might have.

  He took a moment to digest her statement before asking, “So there’s no other place we could go to check out someone who might be able to give us a lead?”

  Sydney thought hard. “We had casual contacts, but no one who seemed to really know Ken... uh, him.”

  “So much for that idea.”

  As they drove back through town, Sydney suddenly remembered something they could check.

  “The car. I forgot all about his car. The day we got married, we used mine. He said he’d been having trouble starting his and didn’t want to chance spoiling our wedding day with a breakdown. So we left it in the parking lot at my hotel with the intention of picking it up the next day. Of course taking care of a vehicle was the last thing on my mind after I thought I’d lost a husband.”

  “Chances are it’ll have disappeared as conveniently as its owner. Or it might have been impounded sitting in the lot.”

  “What have we got to lose but a little time?” Sydney asked, her excitement growing. “Maybe he never planned to go back for the car. Maybe it’s still there and we can find out who he is through the registration.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” Benno agreed, though he sounded far from convinced.

  This time when they passed Three Arch Rocks, Sydney averted her gaze. Throughout the past days, she’d experienced a gamut of emotions – grief, fear, anger. Now sadness colored her view. She’d been full of positive daydreams of the future when she’d posed for a photo in front of the refuge. Every woman should be able to remember her wedding day as the happiest of her life. Now that hers had been exposed as nothing but a sham, part of some baffling plot, she felt cheated. A lump stuck in her throat.

  As if he sensed her upheaval, Benno reached over and covered her hand. Sydney sent him a swift glance. He didn’t take his eyes from the road, but she would have sworn his granite features softened a bit. Unsettled by an attraction she wasn’t yet and might never be ready to act on, she nevertheless gave him directions to The Cascades, a resort near Lincoln City, without letting on. He considered her a friend, she reminded herself, and she couldn’t ask for a better one.

  Yet Benno didn’t remove his hand from hers until they entered the resort’s grounds.

  And Sydney steeled herself for what was to come.

  The Cascades was an environmentalist’s dream come true, one of several such resorts developed and financed by Reynard Stirling, wealthy industrialist and the Pacific Northwest’s most ardent and outspoken environmentalist. The magnificent setting -- seven hundred and fifty acres between endless ocean and primeval forest -- was inspiring and romantic.

  Here, Sydney had foolishly fallen in love.

  “Keep to the right,” she said, unprepared for the intensity of the memories the place conjured.

  Swimming in a sheltered inlet of the wave-tossed sea... playing tennis on courts surrounded by contoured shrubs and flower gardens... walking through the woods hand-in-hand... dancing by candlelight... making love in front of an open hearth fireplace.

  “How far do I go?” Benno asked, interrupting her retrospection.

  “Oh.” Heart pounding, she snapped to. For a moment she was confused, all the guest buildings looking alike because of the covered walkways connecting them. Then she spotted the giant Sitka with the split trunk that had been part of her view. “Two buildings ahead. Take the drive to the rear.”

  Sydney hadn’t thought returning to The Cascades would be such a painful experience, not after being disillusioned so thoroughly. Having been shared with an imposter, her memories were tainted and yet no less potent. She only hoped time would have the power to heal her wounds.

  “It’s the silver Oldsmobile.” She pointed to the loner at the back of the lot as a thought struck her. “That isn’t the real Kenneth Lord’s car, is it?”

  “Nope. Kenneth drove a Saab.”

  Benno pulled the Thunderbird alongside the more conservative automobile. When they checked its doors, they found all were locked.

  Chagrined, Sydney said, “I hadn’t thought about how we were going to get inside.”

  “We may have to break in.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  “Let me count the ways.”

  Wondering where he’d gleaned such knowledge, Sydney frowned as Benno circled the car and ran his hand under the wheel wells and bumpers. She really didn’t know anything about the man’s background, but she didn’t feel as if she were in a position to question it now.

  “I think we should go to the lobby, to Guest Services. I could make up some story... I’m certain guests occasionally lock themselves out of their cars.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” At the rear passenger wheel, Benno straightened. He held a set of keys in his hand. “Key magnets. A car thief’s delight.”

  Sydney couldn’t help wondering if Benno had ever stolen a car himself. She shoved the unpleasant speculation away. She didn’t want to know. She’d had enough experience with dishonesty to last her a lifetime.

  “Why don’t we start by looking for the registration,” she suggested.

  Obliging her, Benno unlocked the passenger door and opened the glove compartment. “No paperwork in here but the owner’s manual.” He pulled it out and flipped through the pages, then held the booklet by one cover and shook. “Nope, no registration, no insurance card.”

  “You’re not surprised.”

  “Can’t say that I am.”

  “So let’s see what else we can find.”

  Benno unlocked the driver’s door for her. Sydney started searching every niche of that side – under the seat, next to the center console, inside the door pockets – and worked her way to the back seat.

  Equally thorough, Benno probed the passenger side. “Not a thing,” he said when he finished.

  “Nothing,” she agreed. “Maybe we’ll get lucky in the trunk.”

  He leaned across the passenger seat and hit a button hidden in the glove compartment. The trunk lid popped up and Sydney circled to the rear of the car. The interior was loaded.

  “This’ll keep us busy for a while,” Benno said, digging into the mess.

  To get to the bottom of the trunk, they had to empty it. Within minutes, the contents were spread along the ground behind the car. They knelt and carefully inspected every item. They sorted through pillows and a blanket, a gym bag with smelly shoes and exercise clothes, a tool box, a plastic bag filled with hangers, loose generic fast food wrappers, and assorted small items equally valueless.

  No name tags, no I.D.’s of any kind.

  “Nothing,” Sydney said in disgust. “What now?”

  “Load her back up before someone sees us, I guess.” Benno rose. With fists balled on his hips, he stared into the trunk as if he could conjure up the information they sought. “Hang on a second.”

  He did a more thorough inspection of the trunk’s empty interior – the wells behind the brake lights, a small storage compartment empty save for jumper cables, the open area under the back seat. Finally, he lifted the rug covering the recessed spare tire and ran his hands around the well.

  Balancing the pillows and blanket on the fender, Sydney heard a crinkling noise as Benno pulled out a wad of brown paper.

  Shaking his head, he straightened the crumpled sack. “The guy’s a real pig. We can us
e this for his garbage.”

  Sydney dumped the bedding in the empty trunk as he bent over and reached for some of the fast food wrappers. A small rectangular piece of blue paper floated from the mouth of the bag. Benno’s hand flashed out and caught the slip before it hit the ground.

  About to shove it back in the bag, he turned the piece of paper over. “A register tape.”

  Sydney moved close. Her side was pressed against his, yet she still couldn’t make out the figures. “The ink’s so light you can hardly read anything.”

  “This is the important part,” he said, tapping the line at the top. “S-E. A couple of blanks. I-D-E. And a second word. L. Blank. Q. More blanks. Liquor? Something Liquor,” he said with more certainty.

  Sydney tried putting the letters together. “Se–ide Liquor.”

  “Seaside Liquor. What do you think?”

  Tempted to hug Benno, she restrained herself. “That must be it.” Instead, she stepped back to safety.

  Too late. His voice lowered to a throb when he said, “We make some team.”

  Sydney stared into light brown eyes that sizzled with the same excitement she was feeling. But which had provoked the greater reaction – the lead they found or the “some team” part? Her pulse skittered through her as she speculated. Friends, she reminded herself. They were friends.

  Trouble was she was feeling more than friendly...

  Trouble was she had felt that way about the fake Kenneth Lord only a week ago.

  Tearing her eyes from Benno’s, feeling the pulse beating strongly in her throat, she concentrated on the register tape in his hand. “Seaside is so close to Stone Beach that our mystery man could easily have been staying there while keeping an eye on me.” Benno’s eyes were still on her, making Sydney’s heart pound. “Can you read the date?”

  She needed a distraction. She would be foolish to get too close to any man, no matter how appealing, supportive or attractive, in the foreseeable future.

  “July something.”

  “I met him in July,” she said, sobering. “We’ve got to go to Seaside to find him.”

  “If he’s even there now. And Seaside isn’t nearly as small as Stone Beach, you know, and at this time of year it’s loaded with tourists. We can check the liquor store, but–”

  ”We can check the liquor store,” she repeated firmly. “That’s a start.”

  Sydney told herself to remember what was important – her freedom and future well-being. She didn’t need a distraction all wrapped up in a virile male package complete with beard stubble and long hair and a diamond in his ear. She didn’t need a man who made her feel things she didn’t want to feel right now, who filled her with confusion every time they got too close.

  And yet she feared she did need Benno...

  Focusing on his chin scar, she said, “And in the meantime, we can get the authorities to track down the registration of this car.”

  “It’s probably stolen.”

  Brow furrowed, she met his gaze. “Do you have an obsession with stolen vehicles or something?”

  “Not any more,” he said, making her wonder whether or not he was teasing. “I’m just being practical. I don’t think a felon would want a car traced to him... and I don’t think we want the authorities in on this before necessary. You weren’t supposed to leave town, remember? Let me think this through before we do something rash. I’ll write down the license plate and serial numbers. Got a pen?”

  “I think so.”

  Grateful for the distraction, Sydney fetched her shoulder bag from the Thunderbird. She dug through the interior. No pen. As she was about to say so, her fingers brushed the zippered compartment.

  “My God, I forgot,” she said, excitement rising once more. She retrieved the arcade token and held it out to him. “Look. Seagull on one side, boardwalk on the other. Where would you say this came from?”

  “Seaside has a boardwalk.” Benno took the token. “Where did you get this?”

  “I found it on the Lord property the day after you saved me from falling off the deck. I went looking for the ring and found the token instead. There were cigarette stubs all around the area. The kind our imposter smokes.”

  Benno turned the arcade coin in his fingers. “Maybe we’re about to find him, after all.”

  Part of Sydney was looking forward to facing the man who’d so cruelly used her, part of her dreading the reunion. “He was in my room that night, you know. My drugged milk theory explains a lot. Why he was there one minute, gone the next.”

  “Your reaction times would have been slowed if you had been drugged,” Benno continued.

  “He could have done anything while I was out, could have slipped a duplicate wedding ring on my night stand to confuse me.” She shuddered. “He could have led me to my death... if you hadn’t been around. You always seem to be around when I need you, Benno.”

  “You aren’t going gooey on me again, are you?”

  She’d almost forgotten that gooey made him uncomfortable. “How about if I save gooey for after we find the bastard and turn him over to the cops,” she said with a grin, the tension she’d been feeling moments earlier dissipating. “But first we have to write down those numbers.” She started to check her bag once more.

  “I think there’s a ballpoint in the glove compartment,” Benno told her as he slammed shut the trunk lid.

  “I’ll get it.”

  Sydney tried to open the glove compartment but it wouldn’t budge. Benno must have replaced the owner’s manual the wrong way. The thing was jammed shut.

  “Great. Now it won’t open. Give me the keys.”

  When he handed them to her, she inserted the correct one in the lock for extra leverage. After sliding sideways in the passenger seat, she jiggled, tapped, then slammed the heel of her hand against the small door.

  “Want me to try?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, gritting her teeth in determination. “Just give me a sec–”

  The door unjammed as she gave a great tug, and in the process tore the entire compartment free of restraints. It flipped upside down, its meager contents spewing across the passenger floor.

  “Great,” she muttered again.

  At least she’d found the ballpoint. Bending over to pick it up, she froze when another object that had rolled under the dash caught her eye.

  She retrieved the mechanical pencil, not at all the cheap sort of writing instrument a person would normally put in a glove compartment.

  “Is something wrong?” Benno asked, leaning over the open door to see.

  Sydney shook her head. “The tape register, the token and now this. You know the old saying. Three’s a charm. Guess who this belongs to.”

  She held out the object in question, its mother-of-pearl and gold casing glinting in the sunlight.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BENNO TOOK the expensive mechanical pencil from her. The mother-of-pearl looked fragile against his large tanned hand. “A woman,” he guessed.

  “Give the man a gold star.”

  “Martha?”

  Sydney nodded. “That’s half of a set. She used the other half to write the ‘Meet me at midnight’ note. I found the ballpoint pen with her stationary. Needless to say, its uniqueness caught my attention. Now we know there’s a connection between them.”

  “Not necessarily,” Benno argued. “If the fake Kenneth was wandering around the house, he could have picked this up and carried it off.”

  “And Martha could have been in this car with her hired cohort.” When Benno didn’t respond, she asked, “Do you know something I don’t? Or do you just refuse to believe Martha is guilty for some reason.”

  “Kenneth was her brother.”

  ”Do you really believe she loved him?”

  “Sometimes love and hate are emotions that easily get confused.” Benno quickly busied himself jotting down the license plate number on the back side of the register tape. “I suspect Martha felt both for Kenneth.”

  Then he wa
lked to the front of the car and looked through the windshield to find the vehicle identification number. He added that information to the tape which he then stuck in his shirt pocket. He handed her the pencil and token.

  “Let’s lock up and get going.”

  Sydney had let him do the talking because she was getting that feeling again, the one that told her whatever Benno wasn’t saying was more important than what he was. But if she questioned him too thoroughly, he would think she didn’t trust him. She didn’t want that kind of friction between them, not after all he’d done for her.

  He secured the Olds. She slipped the pencil and token in the zippered compartment of her shoulder bag and climbed into the Thunderbird.

  The drive to Seaside took the better part of an hour, enough time to do a lot of thinking... about Martha’s probable involvement and motive... about her own gullibility... about Benno’s secretiveness.

  Her sense of friction was certainly building. Questions hung between them that she needed answered. How to accomplish that without destroying their growing bond?

  She hadn’t come close to figuring it out by the time they arrived in overcrowded Seaside. At noon, the streets were packed with tourists and conventioneers shopping and eating and taking advantage of the sun. The parking lots were filled, eager beach goers waiting their turn for a spot so they could join the fun off the two mile long cement beach promenade. After ten minutes of cruising and waiting, Benno finally found a spot.

  “This place is a zoo,” Sydney said, stretching as she climbed out of the car.

  “A pretty spiffed-up zoo,” Benno told her. “Seaside used to have a reputation of being a hurdy-gurdy hustler town, but it’s really been cleaned up in the past few years. Now it’s a respected resort town. I hardly recognized the place when I moved back from California.”

  California. Sydney stored away that bit of information and decided to go for more. “Why did you decide to come back?”

  “I guess I wanted to prove something,” Benno admitted before slickly changing subjects. “Let’s find a telephone booth.” Grabbing her elbow, he steered her through a crowd of teenagers. “You can find the address of the liquor store in the directory, while I call Stone Beach Police and give them the information about the car.”