Jayne Ann Krentz (3 page)

Half an hour later they reached the tree-lined drive that led to the Harte summer cottage. Rafe walked her to the porch steps and stopped.

“This is as far as I go,” he said. “Good night, Hannah.”

She went up one step and paused. It struck her that the strange interlude was over. A wistful sensation trickled through her. She stomped on it with all the ruthlessness she could muster. It was okay to have a few romantic fantasies about Rafe Madison. He was the most notorious male in town, after all—at least, the most notorious in her age group. But you couldn't get serious about a guy like this. There was no future in it.

“Thanks for seeing me home,” she said.

“No problem. Not like I had anything better to do tonight.” In the yellow glare of the porch light his eyes were enigmatic pools. “Good luck with that five-year plan of yours.”

Impulsively she touched the sleeve of his jacket. “Think about making some plans of your own Rafe. Don't screw up your whole life.”

He grinned. Without warning he leaned forward and brushed a quick, stunningly chaste kiss across her mouth. “A man's got to capitalize on his strong points, and I'm so damn good at screwing up.”

The brief, casual kiss caught her off guard. Heat infused her whole body. It was followed by a tingling sensation. She covered the awkward moment by hurrying up the rest of the front steps.

At the door she paused to dig out her key. Her hand trembled slightly as she unlocked the door. When she finally got into the house, she turned to look back at Rafe. He was still standing there, watching her. She raised one hand in farewell and then quickly closed the door.

The rumble of voices awakened her the next morning. She opened her eyes and found herself gazing into a wall of fog.

Morning mist was a regular feature of summer and early fall. It would likely burn off by noon, although the cloud cover might last all day. With luck there would be enough scattered sunshine to drive the temperature into the mid-seventies in the afternoon, but that was the most that could be expected. Nobody came to Eclipse Bay to get a tan. Southern California beaches catered to those who liked to fry their bare skin in the glow of the big nuke in the sky. The wild, rugged beaches of the Oregon coast were for people who preferred to put on a windbreaker and brave the morning fog to explore tidal pools and rocky shoreline caves. They were for those who appreciated adventurous walks along high, windswept bluffs and views of seething seawater churning in stony cauldrons at the bottom of steep cliffs.

The voices downstairs grew louder. Her parents were talking to someone in the kitchen. A man. She could not make out the words, but the conversation sounded tense.

She listened for a while, curiosity growing swiftly. Who would come calling at this hour? Then she caught a name. Rafe Madison.

“Oh, damn.”

She tossed aside the covers, scrambled out of bed, and hurriedly pulled on her jeans and a gray turtleneck. She stepped into a pair of loafers, ran a brush through her hair, and headed for the stairs.

She found her parents at the kitchen table with a balding, heavy-bellied man she recognized instantly.

“Chief Yates.”

“'Morning, Hannah.” Phil Yates nodded in his ponderous fashion. He had been the only law enforcement in town for as long as Hannah could recall, but this was the first time he had ever come to the Harte cottage.

She masked her uneasiness with a bright smile and turned to her parents for an explanation. A single glance was enough to tell her that something was terribly wrong.

Elaine Harte's attractive face was tight with anxiety. Hampton's jaw was set in a grim line. A formless dread wafted through Hannah. It was as if a ghost had brushed up against her.

“What is it?” she asked with an urgency that made her father's eyes narrow behind his glasses.

“I was just about to come upstairs and wake you, dear,” Elaine said quietly. “Chief Yates has some bad news.”

For one horrifying instant Hannah had a vision of Rafe lying sprawled on Bayview Drive, the victim of a hit-and-run. He'd had an even longer walk home last night than she'd had.

She went to the table and gripped the back of the empty chair. “What happened?”

“Kaitlin Sadler was found dead at Hidden Cove this morning,” her father said in somber tones.

“Oh, my God.” Not Rafe, then. He was safe. Hannah sank down into the chair. Then the name registered.

“Kaitlin Sadler?”

“Looks like an accident,” Yates said. “Apparently she fell from the path above the cliffs. But I've got to ask you a few questions.”

Something in his voice got Hannah's full attention. Rafe was okay, but his girlfriend was dead. It didn't take a genius to figure out why Chief Yates had come here today. When a woman died under mysterious circumstances, the cops always came looking for the boyfriend or the husband first. Her brother had told her that.

Hamilton studied her with a troubled look. “There seems to be some confusion, Hannah. Phil says that Kaitlin was on a date with Rafe Madison last night. But Rafe told Yates that he was with you last night at about the time that Kaitlin died.”

“We explained to Phil that that was not possible,” Elaine said crisply. “You were with that nice young man from Chamberlain College. Perry Decatur.”

Yates cleared his throat. “Well, now, I talked to Mr. Decatur. He says that's not quite true.”

Hamilton flicked an irritated glance at Yates's broad, patient face. “We also told him that even if you hadn't been with Decatur, you were highly unlikely to have been anywhere near Rafe Madison.”

“I'm well aware of the fact that Hartes don't socialize with Madisons,” Yates rumbled. “But young Rafe swears he was with Hannah here, and I got to check out his story.”

The full implications of what he was saying finally hit Hannah. “I don't understand. You just said Kaitlin's death was an accident. Is there some question about how she died?”

“Can't rule out the possibility that she jumped.” Yates wrapped one ham-size fist around a mug of coffee. “That girl always was kind of high-strung.”

Elaine frowned. “She comes from an unfortunate family situation, but I never heard anyone suggest that she might be suicidal.”

Yates sipped his coffee. “There's another possibility.”

They all looked at him expectantly.

“There may have been an argument,” Yates said quietly.

“My God,” Elaine whispered. “Are you saying she might have been pushed off the path?”

Hannah planted her hands on the table “Wait a second. Are you suggesting that Rafe Madison killed Kaitlin?”

“Could have been an accident,” Yates said. “Like I said, maybe they got into a fight.”

“But that's crazy. Why would Rafe do such a thing?”

“Word around town is that he didn't like the fact that she was seeing other men,” Yates said.

“Yes, but—”

Hamilton looked at her. “Rafe is trying to use you for an alibi, honey. I don't like him dragging you into this one damn bit. But I'll deal with that later.”

“Dad, listen to me—”

“Right now you just need to tell Yates where you were last night between midnight and two this morning.”

Hannah braced herself for the explosion she knew would follow. “I was with Rafe Madison.”

Kaitlin Sadler's death was officially ruled an accident three days later. It took a lot longer for the firestorm of gossip to fade. The news that Hannah had been with Rafe Madison the night Kaitlin died swept through the small community with the force of a tsunami. Few believed for a moment that the pair had engaged only in casual conversation.

The one person who seemed genuinely happy about the fact that Rafe and Hannah had spent two whole hours together on a moonlit beach was Hannah's great-aunt Isabel Harte.

At eighty-three, Isabel was the sole self-avowed romantic in the family. She was a retired professor of English lit who had never married. She lived alone at Dreamscape, the huge three-story mansion her father had built with the fortune he had made in fishing.

It was Isabel who had provided the seed funding for Harte-Madison, the commercial real estate development company founded by Sullivan Harte and Mitchell Madison all those years ago. The bitter feud that had destroyed the firm as well as the friendship between Sullivan and Mitchell was a source of frustration and disappointment to Isabel. She still harbored dreams of ending the rift that had shattered the partnership and ignited the hostility between the two men.

Hannah was very fond of her great-aunt. She was also well aware that her parents had been trying to get Isabel to sell Dreamscape and move into an apartment in Portland. But Isabel refused to budge.

On the fourth day of the seething rumors, Isabel sat with Elaine Harte in the Harte family kitchen.

“It's so romantic,” Isabel said, blithely indifferent to Elaine's exasperated expression. “Just like Romeo and Juliet.”

“That's ridiculous,” Elaine gasped.

“Darn right,” Hannah said from the doorway. “We all know what happened to Romeo and Juliet. A very nasty ending, if you ask me.”

“This would be Romeo and Juliet with the right ending,” Isabel said, unperturbed. “A happy conclusion that would end the long-standing feud between the two families.”

Elaine raised her eyes to the heavens. “Sullivan and Mitchell are engaged in a feud, Isabel. The rest of us just ignore each other. Rafe Madison has no real interest in a nice girl like Hannah.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.” Hannah went to the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee. “Why don't you just label me boring and be done with it?”

Elaine gave her a repressive look. “You know perfectly well what I meant.”

“I sure do, Mom.” Hannah made a face. “And you're absolutely right. Rafe doesn't have any interest in me. I'm not his type.”

Isabel's vivid blue eyes brightened with interest. “Whatever do you mean, dear?”

Hannah smiled wryly. “Rafe thinks I'm a prim, prissy, goody-goody overachiever.”

“What do you think about him?” Isabel asked quickly.

“I think he's wasting his life. Told him so, too. The only thing we had in common the other night when we ran into each other on the beach was the fact that we both had to walk home after a bad date. Trust me, seduction was the last thing on his mind.”

“Unfortunately, almost no one in town believes that,” Elaine said grimly. “I'm told that Kaitlin Sadler's brother believes far worse. He's convinced that Rafe really did shove Kaitlin over that cliff and later seduced you in an effort to persuade you to cover up for him.”

“I know,” Hannah said. “Poor Dell. He's lost his sister, and all everyone can talk about is how Rafe spent the night making wild, passionate love to me on the beach.”

Isabel's eyes lit with speculative interest. “I don't suppose that he actually did—?”

“No, he did not,” Hannah said brusquely. “I told you, all we did was talk.”

Elaine shook her head. “I believe you, dear. And I'm relieved to know that Rafe was nowhere near Kaitlin at the time she died. I just wish that he had found someone else to give him his alibi that night. I'm afraid it's going to be a long time before people stop talking about this unfortunate affair.”

“Actually it's kind of weird when you think about it,” Pamela said the next day over veggie burgers and French fries at Snow's Café. “I mean, what are the odds that either you or I would ever spend a couple of hours on a beach with a guy like Rafe Madison?”

Hannah eyed her friend over the top of the bun. Pamela attended Chamberlain College. She had her sights set on a career teaching English literature to undergraduates. She already wore the uniform of the successful young academic: black tights, chunky black shoes, a long black skirt, a slouchy jacket, and glasses with thin frames. Her shoulder-length brown hair was held at her nape with a mock-tortoiseshell clip.

“I admit the odds are not high.” Hannah took a mouthful of her tofu burger. “It was just one of those things. I owe it all to Perry Decatur.”

Pamela made a face. “So much for your mom's opinion of Perry. She was so sure he was the nice, upwardly mobile type.”

“He's definitely committed to upward mobility. Probably go far in the academic world.”

“But not a nice guy, huh?”

“Smooth. Slick.” Hannah thought back to the scuffle in the front seat and shuddered. “Not nice.”

Pamela glanced around the crowded café. Apparently satisfied that no one could overhear, she leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “So what really did happen between you and Rafe Madison?”

“Nothing. I told you, we just talked. That's all.”

Pamela's eyes clouded with disappointment. “That's all? Honest truth?”

Hannah briefly considered the insignificant good-night kiss Rafe had given her. “Pretty much.”