Jayne Ann Krentz (26 page)

“I know.” Hannah glanced at him. “Why did the two of you hit it off so well, anyway?”

“I don't know why she liked me, but I can tell you why I took to her.”

“Why?”

“She was the only one who never tried to tell me what I should do with my life.”

Hannah winced. “Okay, I can see the appeal there. Did she ever tell you anything about her past?”

“Nope.”

“Ever wonder about it?”

“Sure.” Rafe shut the cupboard door. “Everyone in town wonders about her past. Most people figure she's just one hundred percent bonkers.”

“When I was younger,” Hannah said slowly, “I imagined that she was an ex–secret agent who was forced to retire after her mind cracked under the strain of undercover work.”

“That's as logical as any of the other theories I've heard over the years.”

When they finished the dishes they wandered out into the darkened solarium. Rafe put two glasses on the table between a pair of wicker loungers and filled each with gently steaming water. He picked up a bottle of orange liqueur and splashed some into two balloon glasses. Then he cradled the bowls of the balloon glasses over the hot water to warm the liqueur.

When he was finished, he lowered himself into one of the loungers and handed one of the balloon glasses to Hannah.

She accepted the pleasantly warm glass and took a sip of the sultry liqueur. Winston stuck his head over the edge of the lounger. She stroked his ears. An air of doggy bliss emanated from him.

The darkness grew heavier. So did Rafe's mood. Hannah resisted the urge to break the silence. She was determined that he would be the one to do that. If he wanted to brood, that was his business. It wasn't like she was his wife or even a close friend, she reminded herself. It wasn't her job to cheer him up when he was down or jolly him out of a bad temper. Sure, they had made love a few times, but that didn't mean they were lovers.

Instead of rallying her, that thought lowered her own spirits.

Wonderful. Now she was brooding too.

For a while she thought Rafe might not speak at all. She was telling herself that she was getting accustomed to the silence when he finally started talking. The first words out of his mouth startled her so much that she was the one who was momentarily speechless.

“Ever since the night Kaitlin died,” he said, his voice seeming to come from a distant place, “I've always wondered whether or not Mitchell believed that I might have killed her.”

Hannah opened her mouth and then closed it again. She was so taken back she could not think of an appropriate response. Maybe there wasn't one.

“He never said a word.” Rafe turned the heated glass between his palms. “But that didn't mean anything. His first loyalty is to Gabe and me. I've always known that. Even when we were going toe-to-toe about everything from my lousy job prospects and the motorcycle to my choice in girlfriends, I knew that he would stand by me no matter what. He might disapprove. He might be disappointed. He might be furious. But he would be on my side in a fight. Just like Gabe.”

Hannah stared at him. “You actually thought that all these years Mitchell has been wondering what really happened that night? You weren't sure he believed your story?”

“I was never certain.” Rafe's jaw tightened. “And I was too damn proud to confront him and ask him straight out.”

She pondered that for a moment. “Maybe you were afraid of the answer.”

He looked out at the lights on the far side of the bay. “Maybe. Or maybe I just didn't want him to be put in the position of having to pretend that he never doubted me. Mitchell and I have had our problems, but we've always been straight with each other. Didn't want that to change.”

She thought back to what Mitchell had said about Rafe the first night they had invited him to dinner.
He's a Madison. He's got a temper. But if he had been with Kaitlin that night and if there had been some terrible accident, he'd have gone for help and then he'd have told the flat-out truth about what happened.

“Your grandfather knows that you had nothing to do with Kaitlin's death,” she said. “He never doubted you.”

“I know that now.”

Hannah exhaled slowly. “Well, if nothing else good comes from this situation, it sounds like you and he are working out some sort of long overdue reconciliation. That's worth something.”

Rafe gave her a laconic, sidelong look. “Why do you care whether or not Mitchell and I patch up our differences?”

“I live to bring joy and happiness to those around me.”

“Try again.”

She made a face. “Don't pin me down.”

“Right.” He took another swallow of the liqueur.

She gave him a few seconds. When he did not volunteer anything further in the way of conversation, she tried another tack.

“I promised myself I wasn't going to ask what happened between you and Mitchell outside on the porch a while ago, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me.”

“No surprise there.”

She ignored that. “Look, you just told me that you're no longer worried that Mitchell might be harboring some deep, dark suspicions about what happened on the night of Kaitlin's death. And the two of you have decided that you'll work together on our little investigation. Heck, you're even having your grandfather over for dinner these days. Obviously your relationship is improving rapidly. So what went wrong out there on the porch?”

“Nothing went wrong.”

“Don't give me that baffled, befuddled male stare. I'm not buying it.”

He sank deeper into his lounger and wrapped his long-fingered hands around the balloon glass. “I thought I was pretty good at doing baffled and befuddled.”

“Not funny, Madison. When you went outside you were in a reasonably good mood. You came back in a lousy mood. You can't blame me for wondering what transpired on the front porch.”

For a moment she thought he would not answer. Then he tilted his head against the back of the lounger and closed his eyes. “Mitchell made it clear that he didn't like the fact that you and I are, and here I quote,
shacking up
together.”

“Shacking up?”
Hannah sucked in an outraged breath. “He actually used that term?”

“He did, yes.”

“Ridiculous. No one uses that phrase anymore.”

“I mentioned that.”

“It's old-fashioned. Downright archaic. It implies an outdated value system that demeans and insults two rational, intelligent adults who choose to make their own decisions in an extremely private area of life.”

“Damn right.”

“It's a stupid phrase implying low morals and a complete disregard for societal norms.”

“You can say that again—I think.”

“It takes absolutely no allowance for alternative lifestyles, freedom of association, and the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

“Well, Mitchell never was what anyone would call politically correct, even on his good days.”

“Besides,” Hannah concluded, “it's not even true.”

“Sort of hard to explain the facts to Mitchell.”

“We are
not
shacking up.” She batted at the air with one hand while she fumbled for words. “We're not even sharing the same floor here at Dreamscape, let alone the same bedroom.”

“Believe me, I am well aware of that.”

“We haven't even
done
anything,” she raced on wildly. “Not since I moved into Dreamscape, at any rate.”

“That fact has not escaped my notice, either.” He sounded disappointed.

“I own half this house.” She gripped the arm of the lounger. “If I want to use part of it, that's my business.”

“You're entitled, all right.”

“Furthermore, it was
your
idea for me to move in here.”

“I take full responsibility,” Rafe said piously.

“Oh, stop being so bloody reasonable about it.” She flopped back in the lounger in disgust. “You're a Madison. You're not supposed to be reasonable.”

“You want the logbook from the night Kaitlin Sadler died?” Arizona Snow squinted her eyes against the smoke that rose from her cigar. She regarded Hannah and Rafe across the expanse of the wide table that dominated the space she fondly called her war room. “Well, now, isn't that an amazing coincidence?”

Hannah tensed. She felt Rafe, sitting beside her, do the same. Winston, apparently sensing the suddenly charged atmosphere, paused in the act of sniffing around the base of a metal file cabinet. They all looked at Arizona.

“Okay, you've got our attention, A.Z.,” Rafe said. “What's with the crack about a coincidence? Are you saying that someone else has been here asking for that particular log?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Arizona shoved her hands into one of the half dozen pockets of her khaki cargo pants. She chewed thoughtfully on the fat stogie she had stuck between her thin lips. “But he didn't exactly ask politely. The institute sent an agent to break into my place a week or so after Kaitlin's death. Took only one thing. Give you two guesses what that one thing was.”

Hannah leaned forward, stunned. “The log that covered that particular night?”

“You got it,” Arizona said. She removed one hand from a pocket and slammed the table with the flat of her palm. “I knew right then and there something big had gone on that evening. But the next morning the only thing everyone in town could talk about was Kaitlin Sadler's so-called accident and the possibility that Rafe, here, might have offed her. Now, don't that tell you some-thin'?”

Rafe studied her warily. “You still think Kaitlin was killed by someone up at the institute?”

Arizona gave him a grimly triumphant look. “The way I figure it, there's only two possibilities. Either that poor gal was murdered by an agent in order to create a distraction for whatever the hell they were doin' up there at the institute—”

“Or?” Hannah prompted cautiously.

Arizona lowered her voice to a whisper laden with portent and dark implication. “Or like I said the other night, the Sadler girl saw somethin' she wasn't supposed to see. Either way, it's obvious that the institute got rid of her before she could spill the beans, and then they set Rafe up as the fall guy. If it hadn't been for you, Hannah, he might have gone to prison.”

Hannah's heart sank. She did not dare to meet Rafe's eyes. They had both known that it would be difficult to talk to Arizona Snow. But neither of them had allowed for the fact that her logbook for the fateful night might have gone missing.

“You got any ideas of who might have taken your log?” Rafe asked.

“I just told you who took it. One of the institute agents.”

“Huh.” Rafe flicked a glance at Hannah.

She smiled encouragingly at Arizona. “I don't suppose you remember any cars that left the institute parking lot that night sometime around midnight and returned before the reception ended?”

Arizona shook her head regretfully. “Been eight years now. All I recall is that there was an awful lot of activity up there that night. The parking lot was full most of the evening. Lots of coming and going. There was the media, some out-of-town institute agents, and all the innocent dupes of Eclipse Bay who paid good money to cheer for Thornley.”

Rafe sat back. “Damn. Told you years ago that you should start entering your data on a computer, A.Z.”

Arizona gave a snort of disgust. “Can't trust computers. Any kid can break into them and help himself to anything he wants.”

“Filing your information in hard copy sure didn't do us much good,” Rafe muttered.

Arizona raised one massive shoulder in a shrug. She regarded her guests with a crafty gleam in her eyes.

Hannah turned to Rafe. “Got any more bright ideas?”

“Let me think.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Jed Steadman mentioned that he might be able to dig up an institute guest list for that night.”

“Checking the whereabouts of everyone on the list for that two-hour window would take days and days of work,” Hannah said. “Even assuming it could be done at all. And we couldn't ever be sure of the accuracy. Like Arizona said, it's been eight years. No one's going to recall many details.”

Rafe studied the large topographic map of Eclipse Bay and the surrounding vicinity that was laminated to the surface of the war room table. “Jed might be able to help us out there, too. He covered the reception. He might still have his notes.”

Hannah thought about that approach and shook her head. “He might have some old notes regarding the most newsworthy people in attendance. But he certainly wouldn't have kept tabs on everyone in the crowd.”

“If we're right, we're looking for someone who may have been newsworthy, or at the very least, attached to the Thornley campaign.” Rafe rose from his chair. “It's just barely possible Jed will be able to help us. Worth a try.”

“Well, it's not like we have anything else to go on.” Hannah started to rise. “Without Arizona's log for that night—”

“Didn't say there wasn't a log for that night,” Arizona drawled.

Halfway to her feet, Hannah paused. “What?”

Rafe planted both hands on the laminated map and leaned across the table. “A.Z.? You told us that log was missing from your file.”

A deep, hoarse chuckle rumbled through Arizona. “The original was stolen, like I told you.”

“Original?” Rafe waited.

“I didn't just fall off the turnip truck,” Arizona said with cool satisfaction. “I've been in this business a long time. First thing I do when I get back from a recon job is make a copy of my log.”

Rafe started to grin. “I should have guessed.”

Hannah felt a small flicker of hope. “Where's the copy of your missing log, Arizona?”

“Hidden in the bunker along with all the other copies.” Arizona glanced at the massive multifunctional steel watch on her wrist. “Take a couple of hours to drive to the site, dig out the log, and get back to town. What d'ya say we meet up out at Dreamscape at 1100 hours?”

“We'll be waiting.” Rafe straightened. “Thanks, A.Z. I really appreciate this.”

“Sure. Any time.” Arizona gripped the arms of her desk chair and shoved herself to her feet. “Just glad to see some folks from around here finally start paying attention to what's going on up there at the institute.”

“Innocent dupes of the world, arise,” Hannah murmured. “You have nothing to lose but your innocence.”

Rafe took her arm and headed toward the door. “We'll keep you informed of everything we discover, A.Z.”

“You do that.” Arizona hesitated, concern furrowing her forehead. “And you two take care, hear? You're tangling with the institute crowd now. That means you're dealing with some ruthless types. Someone up there ordered the Sadler's girl's death to cover up something. Whoever did it might be willing to kill again.”

A chill went through Hannah. She cleared her throat. “Well, on that cheerful note—”

“By the way,” Arizona interrupted rather casually, “how long are you two gonna shack up together out there at Dreamscape?”

Anger surged, temporarily submerging the little thrill of dread Hannah had felt a few seconds ago. She jerked to a halt, spun around, and glared at Arizona.

“We are
not
shacking up.”

Rafe tightened his grip on her arm. “Hannah, this isn't the time to go into it.”

“The heck it isn't.” Hannah grabbed the edge of the door as Rafe tried to haul her forcibly out into the hall.

“I want to set the record straight before we leave. Listen, Arizona, Rafe and I are
sharing
Dreamscape until we negotiate a way out of the mess Isabel left us in. We are not shacking up there.”

“Sorta hard to tell the difference,” Arizona answered through a cloud of smoke.

“Not from where I stand,” Hannah retorted. “We're sleeping on separate floors.”

“Sounds uncomfortable,” Arizona said.

Hannah was a bundle of simmering outrage. Rafe could feel her vibrating on the seat beside him. Winston had draped himself over the back of the seat and licked her ear repeatedly in an effort to console her, but she refused to be restored to a more reasonable mood.

Rafe tried distraction first.

“A.Z.'s got a strange view of the world, but she doesn't make things up out of thin air,” he said. “She thinks that logbook was stolen. I'm inclined to believe her.”

“It's been eight years. She probably misplaced it.”

“Not A.Z. She's one well-organized conspiracy theorist. Trust me.” He downshifted as he drove past the pier. “Makes you wonder, doesn't it?”

“I'll say it does. It was bad enough when people suspected that we were having an affair. But now the whole town apparently thinks that we're living together openly out there at Dreamscape.”

“We are. Sort of.”

“Doesn't it bother you?”

“Well, no, not really. Hannah, I'm trying to hold a rational conversation here. We were discussing the missing logbook, if you will recall.”

“It bothers me. I realize that you Madisons are accustomed to being gossiped about here in Eclipse Bay. But we Hartes try to avoid being the subject of idle rumors and speculation.”

She was tight and wired, Rafe realized. Her arms were crossed beneath her breasts. Her face was pinched with irritation.

“People have been talking about us since the day we arrived,” he said evenly. “It didn't seem to bother you so much at first. Why are you going ballistic now?”

“I'm getting tired of it.” She looked out at the bay. “I thought everything would be settled by now. It all seemed so simple back at the beginning. I would buy out your share of Dreamscape and start work on my inn. But things just keep getting more complicated.”

“By ‘things,'” he said carefully, “I assume you are talking about our relationship, not the possibility that we may have awakened a sleeping murderer?”

“Yes, I am talking about our relationship.”

He gripped the wheel and braced himself. “Okay. You want to discuss that instead of the missing logbook?”

“No.”

He drew a deep breath. He should be feeling relieved, he thought. But for some reason, he was vaguely disappointed.

“Well, that simplifies matters,” he said. “Let's get back to the logbook.”

“Why bother? There's nothing we can do until Arizona finds her copy.”

He flexed his hands on the wheel. “Whatever you say. I need gas.”

“So? Get some.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

He drove past the library and the small park next to it, then turned the corner into the town's main shopping area. Chamberlain College and the institute had had an impact here. For years the post office, together with the hardware, drugstore, and grocery store had formed the core of Eclipse Bay's tiny business district. But lately a smattering of new shops, including a bookstore and a restaurant, had appeared to cater to students and faculty.

He pulled into the Eclipse Bay Gas and Go, stopped at the first pump, and switched off the engine. He realized that his own temper was starting to fray.

“I wish you'd stop that,” he said.

“Stop what?”

“Stop fuming. You're starting to make Winston and me tense.”

“I'm angry. I've got a right to be angry. I intend to stay angry for as long as it suits me.”

That did it. He turned halfway around and flung his arm over the back of the seat. “What the hell is going on here, anyway? I don't know why you're letting a simple crack about us shacking up together upset you like this.”

“I hate that term.”

“Shacking up?” He shrugged. “You've got to make allowances for the older generation.”

“Now you're starting to say it, too. For the last time, we are not ‘shacking up.'”

“Okay, okay, take it easy.” Rafe watched a vaguely familiar figure garbed in grease-stained coveralls emerge from the garage and amble toward the car. “Son of a gun. Is that Sandy Hickson?”

The question got Hannah's attention for a moment. She peered through the windshield. “Yes, I think so.”

Rafe popped the door. “He sure hasn't changed much, has he?”

“No.” Hannah's mouth thinned. “He still looks like the kind of guy who checks out rest room walls for the names of potential dates.”

“A man has to use whatever resources are available.” Rafe climbed out from behind the wheel and closed the door. He braced one hand against the roof of the Porsche and leaned down to look at Hannah through the open window. “Better stop glaring at me like that. Sandy might come to the conclusion that we've having a lovers' spat. If you think the gossip is unpleasant now, just imagine what it will be like if word gets out that we're fighting.”