Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance

by H. D. Thomson

  “How strange?”

  “Well, I watched the whole thing. Anyone else would’ve been dead. The car was inches from him, and he did this mind-blowing move.”

  Again both men stopped talking. Clark couldn’t stand it any longer. Easing forward, he peered into the hallway, which intersected the one leading to the front entrance. He found it empty. Frustrated, he inched down the hall until both men came into view.

  Spalding’s visitor, street post thin and dressed in a navy suit, stood a good foot taller than Spalding. As Jason turned, Clark backed away, but it was enough to catch sight of the man’s profile, the weak chin, the hooked nose and slicked-back gray hair.

  Clark didn’t recognize or remember the face. Damn. But then, what the hell had he expected? A miracle? All his past to come rushing back after looking at some slimy friend of Spalding’s? Nothing had altered since finding himself in Arizona with a dead man next to him. Why expect anything to change just because he wanted it?

  Pressing the identifications closer to his chest, Clark moved back into the game room and mentally shoved his anger and disappointment to the back of his mind. He didn’t dare to let his emotions get in the way. Not with two sick killers feet away.

  “It was probably luck more than anything else,” Spalding said.

  “No. It was more than that. Something’s really weird about him.”

  “How so?”

  “Another car got in the way and trapped this lady inside. Well, he goes and rips the door off like it’s nothing, and, before anyone thinks to stop him, he takes off. And we’re not talking at a run. One second he’s there, and the next he’s gone. The whole thing’s really weird.”

  As visions of the car accident and the crowd swept through his mind, Clark cringed. He remembered the stares, the fear and shock in everyone’s eyes, and how they’d made him feel like some circus freak. The look in Katherine’s eyes from across the street hadn’t been any better.

  He wanted to be normal, go home to a family or work a nine-to-five job—anything other than living with this power—this curse.

  Spalding’s words, slow and thoughtful, pulled Clark from his dark thoughts. “I wish I’d been there. It would have been interesting to watch.”

  “Interesting? That’s all you’ve got to say?” A short pause of silence followed. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “Of course not,” Spalding volleyed back, too smoothly, too quickly.

  The bastard was lying. Spalding’s sharp intake of breath, indiscernible to the normal ear, exposed the lie. That and the rapid beat of his heart, Clark’s magnified hearing picked up.

  What the hell was going on? Spalding knew about Clark’s powers. But why keep it from Jason?

  Before Clark had time to take it all in, both men’s steps cut the distance between him and them. In seconds, they’d see him.

  Clark sped across the game room. He couldn’t be discovered. Not when Spalding held a stacked deck and Clark lacked the leverage to protect Katherine. How could he hope to combat Spalding when his past, his personality, the knowledge of who or what he was had been torn from his mind?

  He unlocked the back door, stepped outside and closed the door far too loudly. Damn it. He knew he’d just given himself away. As he raced over the snow-covered yard to the fence, he fought against a dark wave of exhaustion and defeat.

  ~~*~~

  “What’s that?”

  “The back door.” Paul rushed into the game room with Jason right behind. Finding the room empty, Paul stumbled to a halt and frowned.

  “There’s no one here.”

  He ignored Jason’s comment, strode to the back door and stepped outside. Frigid, winter air bit into his face and hands and dug through his suit to the tender skin beneath as he scanned the yard, past the pool, the bushes, the lawn furniture. Then he looked at the snow by his feet. Gaze narrowing, he stared at the trail that led from the porch and disappeared around the side of the house.

  “It must have been something else,” Paul murmured, keeping the knowledge of fresh footprints to himself as he retreated back into the house’s warmth and closed the door.

  But when Jason left, those imprints continued to plague Paul until a knot of anxiety twisted his insides. Fisting his hands at his sides, he strode into his office and noticed his desk. Several sheets of paper and a pen littered the carpeted floor by one of the legs.

  No. Impossible. Pulling air in and out of his lungs, again and again, Paul fought against the panic as suspicion and dread propelled him across the room. He clasped the top handle and pulled the drawer out, sweeping a hand beneath the bottom, blindly searching for the package taped to the wood.

  Nothing.

  Son-of-a-bitch. Paul ripped the drawer out, upended it, and spilled file folders, computer cartridges and pencils across the carpet.

  The package. Gone.

  Shock rolled through his body. Then rage, sharp and bitter, poured through his arms, his legs, every muscle and tendon. He stumbled forward as if someone hit him from behind.

  I’ll kill you. I swear to God I’ll kill you. You son-of-a-bitch.

  Paul hurled the drawer across the room. It crashed against the wall, the wood seams cracking at the impact. Then the broken pieces thudded to the carpeted floor. Paul turned away from the mess and glanced over at the portrait of a woman on the other wall.

  He stilled.

  Jennie.

  Paul walked over and stared at his wife seated beneath the umbrella of an oak tree. Sunlight winked through the leaves, dappling the flowing white dress spread out around her. With her legs tucked beneath her, she held a sprig of vibrant spring flowers and smiled back at Paul. She wouldn’t be considered beautiful in the normal sense. Her jaw was too strong, her brow too wide and high, but her features held such character and strength. And that smile. He adored the crooked curve at one corner of her mouth and how her smile lit up her green eyes to deep flawless emeralds.

  His Jennie. He’d loved everything about her. How she trounced him in cards and gave him as good as she got in a verbal battle.

  “Why did you have to die?”

  So many times over their marriage he’d always wondered what she’d seen in him. She hadn’t stuck it out all these years because of the money. She’d had her own coming into the marriage. No. She’d loved him, not some image or expectation of what she believed him to be.

  “I don’t understand.”

  She’d been his sanity, his reason for living. Then Jennie had left, forcing him to turn to work for survival. So he’d submerged himself in Miltronics and found a new meaning to his life. But right now, it felt so damn hollow.

  He sighed. A tear slid down his cheek, over the curve his lip and into his mouth. He stood in the house they’d shared. So damn alone.

  Chapter 19

  Katherine walked through the front door of her parent’s home, shrugged out of her jacket and hung it and her purse up on the coat rack. The murmur of voices and the smell of baking ham drifted from the kitchen.

  She had made a point of being on time for dinner tonight, not wanting to fall victim to her mother’s disapproval and lose sight of her quarry. Paul Spalding. She’d called earlier in the week and casually learned he was joining her parents for dinner—the very reason she’d invited herself here tonight.

  She needed to quiz her uncle. Nothing overt. She wasn’t crazy enough to throw some heinous questions his way, and she didn’t expect Paul to confess. But maybe, just maybe, if she tripped him up in some way, Katherine might find out something of interest regarding Miltronics, Clark and the missing boys.

  Then there was her mother. They hadn’t spoken since their quarrel at her uncle’s birthday party, but Katherine couldn’t avoid her mother any longer with what she’d recently learned—which raised even more pressing questions—ones that she didn’t know if she had the guts to ask. Maybe after getting completely drunk on a bottle of wine... Maybe not even then...

  Wiping clammy hands on the
sides of her navy skirt, Katherine followed the murmur of voices and stepped into the media room. A massive gray, stone fireplace swallowed one wall. Behind the wrought iron fire screen, flames hissed and cackled as they attacked the moisture in the cedar logs. A large, flat-screen television, a prized state-of-the-art device, devoured the other wall.

  Her mother didn’t curl up with a good book. Oh, no. Sharon preferred CNN by firelight, while her father, he’d be the first to admit he loved watching a good game of basketball.

  Tonight, the television, the volume low enough for conversation, broadcasted the local news in a bland and dispassionate flare. A family of five gunned down by their father. No survivors. The lives of three children, a mother and a crazed father destroyed by one single, violent act.

  Katherine looked away from the screen, unable to stomach the tormented face of a relative describing the event. So much violence. Unlike many of the teenagers who sought solstice at the Morning Dove from family brutality, she’d always observed from a safe distance. But now she found herself thrust into a world of violence and subterfuge.

  On the rust-colored leather sofa that faced the television, her parents sat watching the headlines, while Paul, a drink dangling from one relaxed hand, reclined in a matching, overstuffed chair. He looked so innocent, so normal, so non-threatening sitting there. But beneath that urban veneer lay something apathetic, violent and—

  No. She needed to stop thinking like that; otherwise, she’d crack before dinner started.

  When Katherine walked further into the room, Sharon turned and smiled. “Hello, dear.”

  From her mother’s pleasant expression, Katherine realized all was forgotten. Katherine quickly revised that. Her mother never “forgot” anything. Goodness knows, her mother would throw their last argument back in Katherine’s face sometime in the future.

  Urging her lips into a welcoming smile, Katherine bent down and kissed her mother’s smooth cheek. She drew away and searched Sharon’s face. With what she now knew of her mother, she somehow expected to see a difference. But, like Paul, she looked innocent. How? Katherine didn’t understand.

  “Is something wrong?” Sharon asked. “You’re staring at me in the strangest way.”

  “No. I’m just thinking how well you’re looking,” Katherine said in a surprisingly normal voice. “I really like your dress. The dark brown brings out the highlights in your hair.”

  Looking pleased, Sharon touched a silk sleeve with a discreetly jeweled hand. “Thank you, dear. I couldn’t resist buying it last weekend.” Sharon tilted her head to one side. “I’m glad to see you’re on time tonight.”

  Katherine ignored the backhanded compliment. “The traffic wasn’t as bad as usual.”

  Diana, the housekeeper, came to the door to announce dinner. As usual, her father took the seat at the head of the table. The place settings worked in Katherine’s favor as she sank down in the chair beside her mother and across the table and at an angle to her uncle. The idea of sitting within touching distance from Paul made her want to curl up with revulsion and her skin—well, that didn’t define description. But Katherine didn’t feel much better sitting beside her mother.

  The night of her uncle’s birthday party, she hadn’t realized why Kirkwood Incorporated had sounded so familiar, but yesterday, the name had clicked. She’d seen a folder on it in her mother’s office several weeks ago.

  Katherine didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but then, she couldn’t close her eyes to the truth—a possible bogus company tied her mother and uncle together. The idea made Katherine almost physically sick.

  She inhaled deeply. Okay. One thing at a time. She’d worry about Kirkwood after she got through dinner with her uncle. As she draped her napkin across her lap and Diana served, Katherine struggled for a way to broach the topic of Miltronics.

  “So how is the Morning Dove doing?”

  She glanced over at her father’s raised brow. So much for getting prepared. “We did get a donation. Something we desperately needed. It’ll keep the doors open that much longer.”

  “Really?” Paul snapped open his linen napkin and dropped it onto his lap. “That’s good news then. Is it through the government or private sector?”

  “Actually I don’t know. It was anonymous.”

  Alex paused with his wine glass in mid-air. “How strange. Do you have any idea who it could be?”

  “No.”

  The lie came easier than Katherine imagined. Maybe she had more in common with her family, she thought with some disgust. After all, her mother and uncle seemed experts at it.

  “I’d just be thankful and not worry about the benefactor.” As Sharon leaned forward for her glass of wine, the sharp floral scent of her perfume drifted Katherine’s way. “You’ll probably find out soon enough. I’ve never met a person yet who couldn’t keep quiet when it comes to donating their time or money. Everyone wants to be recognized.”

  Thinking of Clark and how closed mouthed he’d been when it came to giving money to the shelter, Katherine tended to disagree. Clark didn’t want to be recognized for doing good. He just did it. A characteristic that, Katherine suspected, lay deeply embedded in him.

  Unlike her uncle. Paul never offered his time or money unless it benefited him. No. She was being unfair. Miltronics might be a small pharmaceutical company in comparison to others, but in areas of research, they were one of the top in their industry.

  Katherine looked down at her plate. She cut a slice of ham, placed a piece in her mouth and chewed, tasting salt and little else. The asparagus tips didn’t fare much better. Giving up on dinner, she set her fork down and clutched the napkin on her lap, twisting the corner around her thumb over and over again. She guessed now was as good a time as any.

  “Uncle Paul, I’ve been meaning to ask how Miltronics is doing? Were you able to recover after all the damage the fire did to the building?” Katherine leaned back against her chair, affording Diana enough room to replace Katherine’s main course with a dessert of Black Forest Cake. “It must have been terrible for the families involved.”

  “We’re coping, and as to the families—I’ve seen that they’ve been amply compensated. I’m sure nothing can replace their loved ones, but money does have a tendency to ease the hurt.”

  Money. How could Paul say that having survived his wife’s death? Had he grown that indifferent? Or had Katherine always been blind to Paul’s lack of character?

  Then she thought of something Clark had said several weeks back, but at the time she hadn’t paid much attention to it. “And the arsonist? He was a janitor, right?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I thought most companies screen their employees.”

  “They do. We do. He just managed to get through the system.”

  With a prior record? Katherine thought in disbelief.

  Paul placed his fork on his plate and stared across the table at her. “Why this sudden interest in Miltronics?”

  “I didn’t realize until your birthday party how much I’ve neglected the family. I’ve been so focused on the shelter that I’ve ignored everything and everyone else in my life. I also realized that I’ve never really expressed enough interest in your work.”

  Paul laughed. “Why start?”

  An awkward silence followed, which Sharon interrupted. “We all tend to focus on our own lives and forget the little things. I’m just as guilty with this gala event coming up at the end of the month. So far, everything’s running smoothly, but there’s always something that materializes unexpectedly—no matter how much planning’s involved. All I know is, without Jason, I’d be floundering. Thank you, Paul, for recommending him to me.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  “Yes, well, without him, I’d be overwhelmed. But I think everything will be well worth it. The event should generate a great deal of publicity. Particularly since a portion of our proceeds is going to breast cancer.”

  Katherine frowned at her cake. She was not going to
get angry. Taking a deep, slow, soothing breath, she waited a minute before asking, “Have you ever thought of partnering with a charity for runaway teenagers?”

  “Of course I have, dear. What with it being your pet project—”

  “It’s not a pet project—”

  “Sorry,” Sharon retracted, inclining her expertly frosted head. “Pet project wasn’t what I meant.”

  But Katherine knew that’s exactly what her mother “meant.” Sharon didn’t say anything unless carefully thinking it through first.

  “The homeless issue isn’t on people’s minds right now, dear,” Sharon explained. “Maybe another time. I’ll have someone at the office look into it.”

  Which meant “forget it.” Runaway teens didn’t help get the public’s vote. My goodness. She sounded too cynical, Katherine realized with some dismay as she placed her napkin by her untouched desert. If she got out of here without a migraine, she’d be happy.

  Katherine scraped back her chair and rose. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll be right back. I need to check in at the shelter. There’s a new client who isn’t doing very well. Mother, is it all right if I use your office to make a private call?”

  Another lie. But she didn’t care. She wanted to get out of the room and away from her uncle, her mother, even her father. And she wanted answers. She just hoped that file on Kirkwood Incorporated was still in her mother’s office.

  “That’s fine. Just don’t mind the mess. I haven’t had a chance to go through this last week’s paperwork, and until today, Jason hasn’t been in for days. He’s been spending all his time lately at the downtown office.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t touch anything,” Katherine reassured, adding another lie to her growing list as she slipped from the room.

  When Katherine reached the doorway to her mother’s office and snapped on the light, she paused. Every time she walked in here, it took her a moment to adjust. Compared to the wood, brick and masculine feel of the rest of the house, this room couldn’t get much different. White, silver and little else spoiled the sterile atmosphere. Even the pictures on the wall lacked warmth or color. Completely modern and completely cold. No doubt, just like her mother.