Obsession Falls

by Christina Dodd

  Maleficent’s staff had been cardboard with a Christmas ball glued on top. Summer had laughed scornfully at that, and on the way back from the costume shop they had paid a visit to the Virtue Falls SF/gaming/comic book shop. There she acquired a heavy walnut staff carved to look like Gandalf’s. Personally, Kateri thought mixing fairy tales and Tolkien was blasphemy. But Summer said if Michael Gracie and his goons came at her, she could take them out with a swift clip behind the knees.

  Kateri couldn’t argue with that.

  Summer gripped Kateri’s arm. “Listen.”

  Kateri knew that sound, knew it from her days in the Coast Guard, and more intimately from her own rescue after the tsunami. A helicopter was headed their way.

  Summer’s clasp tightened. “They’re coming.”

  Kateri pointed at the empty spot, rimmed by lights, at the edge of the parking lot. “That’s a makeshift helipad. Probably the Hollywood guests are too important to bother with limousines.”

  “That makes sense. It really does.” But still Summer clung to Kateri’s arm.

  A small helicopter dropped out of the clouds and discharged a couple dressed as Henry the Eighth and one of his wives. They slipped on their masks and headed for the porch. The helicopter rose again.

  “That’s Gwen LeFavre and Kharabora,” Kateri said. “Color me impressed!”

  “Yeah…” Summer stared at the popular celebrities, and tripped over the hem of her dress. “Damn it!” She kicked at it viciously, glanced up, and tripped again, dropping down on her knees between two cars.

  “Summer!” Kateri bent over her. “Are you okay?”

  Gradually, noiselessly, Summer got to her knees and peeked through the windows of a Mazda Miata. “He’s here,” she whispered.

  Kateri looked.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man in a nineteenth-century military costume with gold epaulettes ran up the porch steps. He came to a halt, donned a simple black mask, and entered the resort.

  Kateri lowered her voice. “Is that Michael Gracie?”

  Summer got to her feet. “No, it’s Kennedy McManus.”

  What the hell? Kateri slammed her walker in front of Summer. “Who’s Kennedy McManus?”

  “The man Michael Gracie hates with all his heart.”

  “That sounds like the good guy to me.” Kateri deliberately narrowed her eyes at Summer. “So why would you duck when you see him?”

  “Because he and I…” Summer struggled to speak.

  “Were involved in your former life?” Kateri guessed.

  “Not exactly.” Even in the uneven light, Summer was clearly rattled. “I contacted him with information about Michael Gracie and he came here to meet me. To help me.” She tried to walk toward the resort again.

  Kateri hadn’t been the local Coast Guard commander without learning a few tricks. Again she slammed the walker in Summer’s path. “Here? As in, he just arrived in town?”

  “Not exactly that, either.”

  “He’s been in town for…?”

  “A day. Or two.”

  Kateri made the next and obvious leap. “He’s been in town, the two of you are involved but things aren’t going well between you.”

  Summer gave a guilty nod.

  Kateri felt completely betrayed. “Way to not tell me!”

  “The less you know, the less chance you have of being collateral damage.”

  Kateri’s temper bubbled over. “Don’t give me that righteous shit. I don’t need to know about the scheme to catch Michael Gracie. I do need to know how you managed to get involved with Kennedy McManus, a guy you’ve barely met. You did just meet him, right?”

  Summer looked around. “Do we have to stand in the parking lot and talk about this?”

  “We can go inside and talk about it, but people will overhear.”

  Summer glanced toward the house. “I didn’t think he’d be here at all. He’s supposed to stay at the house so no one identifies him. I don’t even know how he found out about the party. Although that’s stupid. He says he can find out anything, and I believe him. I shouldn’t go in.”

  “He’s in a costume. He put on a mask. No one’s going to know it’s him, except you, and you can avoid him.” Kateri’s exasperation overflowed. “And we’re dressed. So what’s the problem?”

  “Last time he and I talked, things didn’t end well.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s a sanctimonious prig.” Summer straightened, then sagged against the Miata. “I don’t know. Is this a good idea?”

  “We’re in costumes. We’ve got masks. From the look of the parking lot, I’d conservatively say there are a couple of hundred guests. I don’t know if it’s a good idea. But sneaking back home again is for cowards. So we’re going in.” Kateri stared sternly at Summer.

  “Right you are.” Summer pulled on her purple, jeweled, cat-eyed mask. “We’re going in.”

  Kateri followed suit with Cruella’s black-and-white feathered mask. “And we will have a good time.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Summer could hear music, laughter, conversation, even before they entered the resort. And it was early; the party had just started. Tony Parnham must be popular. Or successful. Or he served really good liquor. She hoped he didn’t serve drugs for, she had no doubt, Margaret Smith would run him out at the point of a sword.

  Before they stepped through the open front door, Kateri said, “Chin up. Shoulders back. Remember who you are. You are Maleficent, the baddest Disney villain ever.”

  Summer looked at her friend, at the all-enveloping white coat, the red gloves, the dramatic makeup, and most of all, that half-black, half-white hair, and grinned. “And you look positively terrifying.” Kateri’s intention had been to focus attention on herself, not her walker or her disabilities.

  She had succeeded.

  They walked into the great room. Servers gestured them through and toward the restaurant.

  Before Summer could bring herself to step into the party, she took a long breath. Even dressed like Maleficent, with the headdress and a jeweled and feathered mask over her face, she felt the crawly fingers of doom up her spine.

  Would Kennedy recognize her? She had recognized him easily enough, even in the dim lights of the parking lot, even with his back turned.

  Would Michael Gracie be here? Tonight’s party could very well be a trap, yet two weeks ago, when Summer had dined at the resort, Margaret Smith had known about the party. Would Michael Gracie have made arrangements so far into the future? He had no reason to believe his first attempts at murdering her would fail.

  The logic of that fortified Summer. She adjusted her mask and stepped through the restaurant’s wide doors.

  The dining tables were gone. The formally dressed waitstaff had been replaced by black-and-silver-clad skeletons who circulated with trays of drinks and appetizers. Pocket doors on the far wall had been pushed aside to open the next room and double the space, and the mirrored and gilded walls reflected a flurry of color. Bold reds and yellows. Bruised blues and purples. Glittering golds and silvers.

  Guests in jesters’ outfits and royal princess gowns, Superman tights and French-maid miniskirts, laughed loudly, talked shrilly, drank freely. Jewels flashed in sumptuous tiaras, dazzling rings, elaborate necklaces. Everyone wore a mask: of glittering sequins, of birdlike feathers that swept out from the temples, of mannequin-like flesh molded into eerie immobility.

  The noise, the colors, the merriment, made Summer want to retreat … and that desire alone sent her into the midst of the party.

  Kateri was right. Fear could not rule Summer’s life.

  Besides, somewhere in here, Kennedy McManus disdainfully watched the common dreck of the human race, judging them according to his superior standards of excellence. She would not be him, alone and isolated; she would join the party and be a person who lived rather than stood aside and watched.

  One of the skeleton-waiters swooped in with a tray. “Champagne?” On his bone-white
face, rotting teeth decorated his upper lip and chin, and black rings around his eyes provided the illusion of death … and madness. The costume was effective; perhaps too effective, for Kateri and Summer stared, transfixed, then shook their heads.

  “What can I bring you?” The waiter’s voice sounded reassuringly normal, with a reassuringly slow and gentle Southern drawl.

  “Water,” Kateri said. “We don’t drink alcohol.”

  “Coming right up.” He disappeared into the crowd.

  Margaret Smith rose from a giant thronelike chair beside the door and made her way over, leaning on her cane. “Welcome, my dears.” She sounded absolutely gleeful. “Isn’t this grand?”

  “It really is,” Summer said.

  Scarlet flowers hung in vases from the ceiling. Streamers fluttered in the draft of the air-conditioning. A live band played in the corner: one guy on a keyboard, one on the trumpet, one with a clarinet, a woman on the drums and another with some zitherlike instrument that slid up and down the scales in a dizzying whirlwind of notes.

  “And you look grand, too,” Kateri said.

  Margaret wore a costume worthy of Downton Abbey’s first season, with a small lace hat, ruffles, and a long strand of luxurious pearls. “This is one of the gowns my mother-in-law wore as a debutante,” she said smugly. “I debated whether I should sport about in such a relic, then I thought—what else is one to do with it? Shall I let it rot? I think not.”

  Summer laughed in delight. “You are absolutely right. You’re perfect.”

  The waiter returned with a tray laden with flutes of bubbling water.

  All three women took one, then lifted their glasses, clinked, and took sips.

  Kateri grimaced. “Flavored,” she said disparagingly.

  Summer laughed. “You can’t imagine they would serve tap water at a do like this.”

  “I can bring you anything you like,” the waiter assured them.

  “This is fine,” Summer told him.

  He bowed and disappeared into the crowd.

  Summer noted no one stopped him to retrieve a glass; the flavored water wasn’t nearly as popular as the champagne.

  Margaret drained half of her drink. “Johnny Depp is here. He kissed my fingers.” She showed the wrinkled, veined hand. “I can die happy.”

  Kateri craned her neck. “Where is he?”

  “He’s Captain Jack Sparrow,” Margaret said.

  Summer scanned the ballroom. “Which one? I can see three from here.”

  “He’s the handsome one.” Margaret’s eyes twinkled beneath her mask.

  “Is Elizabeth here?” Kateri asked.

  “She’s upstairs. She’s very ill.” Margaret’s happiness faded. “Pregnancy does not agree with her.”

  “I am sorry,” Summer said. “Give her my best wishes.”

  “I will.” Margaret glanced at the door. “I did think Garik would be here by now. That’s the trouble with having a son who’s the sheriff. He’s perpetually late. That will have to change when the baby’s born. Now, you girls go on.” She shooed them. “Remember, you are required to keep your mask on, visit with as many guests as you can, and have a thoroughly good time. If you need me, I am at your service, and will be at my station by the door.” New guests arrived, and she turned to greet them.

  Kateri and Summer moved farther along the perimeter of the room.

  A waiter—the waiter?—appeared beside Kateri and Summer with a plate of appetizers and a handful of cocktail napkins. After they had helped themselves, he moved off again.

  Kateri shivered. “There is an element of creepiness about that guy.”

  “That grinning skull. I know. There’s an element of creepiness about all the waiters.” Everywhere Summer looked, a stream of people were in constant motion, like a snake slithering around the room, and the mirrors reflected and magnified the motion. “They move as if their movements were choreographed.”

  Kateri lowered her voice. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.”

  Summer felt a sense of relief. She had broken out of her shell. She had come to the party. She’d had a drink and a canapé. “So … You want to go?”

  At that moment, they heard shouts of, “Commander! Commander Kwinault!” and saw four of Kateri’s Coasties heading their way.

  “I’ll check in with them.” Kateri placed her drink between two fingers, leaned into her walker, and promised, “Then we’ll go.”

  “Take your time.” Summer moved toward the wall, planted her staff, sipped her water, and watched the dancing. Creepy, yes, but she had to admit that it was fascinating to watch so many people hiding behind their masks, behaving with wild abandon and no thought for tomorrow. This party was Mardi Gras, Prohibition, and the end of the world, all rolled into one.

  A man spoke near her right shoulder. “You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman here.”

  She turned—and took two steps back. She groped behind her, got rid of her glass on a discard tray, and took a solid, two-handed grip on her staff.

  This guy was a little over six feet, slender with broad shoulders, and dressed like a romance hero in a white ruffled shirt opened halfway to his waist, black breeches, and tall black boots. His mask was simple, velvet black on one side and shiny white on the other, and it gave his face an oddly half-bulging look.

  He could be Michael Gracie.

  She thought he was Michael Gracie. Except that his hair was pale blond, and Michael’s hair was sun-streaked, and she thought Michael was taller … although she wasn’t sure,… she hadn’t really stood beside him, only for a moment, and all her memories were skewed by terror.

  Belatedly, she said, “Hello.”

  “Hello?” He smiled rakishly. “I call you the most beautiful woman at a party filled with beautiful women, and all you can say is hello?”

  “I could point out I’m covered from head to toe with a voluminous gown, I’m wearing a headdress and a mask, and—”

  “And you could take me out with that staff.” He pretended terror.

  She grinned. If he was Michael Gracie, he was a very unthreatening Michael. “Thank you for noticing.”

  A waiter walked by with a tray of drinks.

  The romance hero snatched two and offered one to Summer.

  Before she could refuse, another waiter came by—or was it the first waiter?—and offered water in a fluted glass. She accepted and sipped, and wondered if she was nuts to stand in the middle of a vibrant, high-end Hollywood party and think with longing about the isolation of the Sawtooth Mountains.

  Mr. Romance moved closer. “When a woman wears a mask, what better time to know that she is beautiful? I judge you by your soul.”

  “My soul is not on display, and you do not know it.” No, this man wasn’t Michael Gracie. He was too normal, bantering with typical party inanity.

  “I’d like to.” He offered his hand. “Shall we dance?”

  She didn’t think twice. “Sure.” Because she’d just spotted Kennedy; with a barrel chest, an impatient air, and a scowl. She wished he didn’t look so dashing in his military officer’s uniform. And she wished he wasn’t headed her way.

  She would dance with the devil to avoid Kennedy McManus.

  Mr. Romance handed her staff to a waiter—the waiter?—and swept her onto the floor. The band played a waltz. Summer caught a glimpse of Kennedy watching her. She laughed as Mr. Romance swung her in dizzying circles, and thought she could learn to like this uninhibited decadence, especially if her behavior irked Kennedy McManus.

  Best of all, she knew it did.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Kateri’s Coasties greeted her with grins, loud appreciation for her costume, and gentle hugs. She hugged them back fiercely, trying to tell them without words that she wasn’t f+ragile and knowing they would never believe her.

  Ensign Mark Brown, Ensign Keith Dawson, and Petty Officer Tyler Kovavitch had been assigned to the station during Kateri’s command. Seaman Layla Monroe was new, on
her first Coast Guard assignment, but she’d heard about Kateri and acquired the guys’ attitude, a reverence predicated in part on hearing of Kateri’s swift and decisive action that had saved two of the three Coast Guard cutters in port the day of the tsunami, and in part because she had survived the tsunami. Kateri supposed she didn’t deserve that kind of worship. On the other hand, she didn’t deserve being drowned and crippled, either, so she took it all in her stride.

  When the greetings were done, she looked around, searching for the rest of the crew. For Luis. “Where are the other guys?”

  Silence fell. Looks were exchanged. The four Coasties pulled her into a corner.

  Mark pushed up his Frankenstein mask, and in a low voice, said, “Lieutenant Landlubber sent them out on a mission. He waited until they had their costumes on and were ready to come to the party, then he sent them to check out a possible drug-smuggling operation at Catawampus Bay.”

  “But there’s a storm coming in,” Kateri said. “They might be needed for a real mission. Like, you know, search and rescue?”

  “We know,” Keith said.

  Kateri continued, “When the wind’s from the southeast, Catawampus Bay’s got the most treacherous currents on the coast.”

  “We know that, too,” Tyler said.

  “Is Landlubber trying to get them all killed?”

  Everyone looked down at their shoes.

  Layla muttered, “He’s the wicked stepsister. He can’t stand the competition.”

  Kateri spotted Landlubber in his dress whites, wearing a small blue mask and talking animatedly to a very tall, very curvaceous young woman in a mermaid costume that looked as if it had been spray-painted on. Kateri pushed up her fur sleeves and turned in that direction.

  Mark grabbed her arm. “Don’t. Don’t say anything. Don’t do anything. He got the promotion, he’s pissed, and he takes it out on us. Every time Captain Sanchez tries to check him, Landlubber punishes him. If you said something, he couldn’t get to you, so Captain Sanchez would take it in the shorts.”

  Kateri stared at these men and women, her friends, her people. She could do nothing to help them. The frustration ate at her guts. “Guys, I am so sorry.”