ShadowsintheMist (26 page)

I felt ridiculous wearing it. I suspected it was chosen by
Leo rather than Anna, for it was much too elaborate for Anna’s quiet tastes. It
was intricately embroidered with pearls and sequins, with a high lace collar
and long, fitted sleeves. The skirt was meant to be belled out with hoops and
petticoats but I drew the line there and had the hemline raised so it could
drape naturally.

I endured the fittings apathetically, grateful to pull on a
pair of comfortable jeans afterward. I thought wryly of my own so-called
wedding and wondered if I’d ever have another. The logical side of me viewed
large weddings as a waste of time and money, though the romantic in me longed
for all the frills and frippery of a traditional ceremony.

Darla made herself more and more at home at Beacon, despite
her professed insecurities. I couldn’t see she was accomplishing much of
anything in the way of secretarial duties. Occasionally, she shut herself into
my father’s—now Grant’s—office and I heard the click of computer keys or the
whir of the fax machine. Still, it seemed the woman was more than dispensable
as an employee and I deeply resented her presence. I tried my hardest to avoid
her but she seemed set on confronting me at every turn and was forever popping
up “coincidentally” at the oddest times and places.

My mother’s diaries drew me like a magnet. I brought them
down to my room and read each one carefully, particularly attentive to the most
recent one. The more I studied it, the deeper was my conviction that Anna was
genuinely afraid of Grant. She never said so directly but her references to him
were emotion-packed and it was obvious she wished he hadn’t come to Beacon.

The idea that Anna’s fall might not have been the accident
we’d all assumed came suddenly upon me one evening as I sat working on my
neglected manuscript. At first, I tried to put it from my mind, telling myself
I was getting paranoid. But surrounding events and occurrences began to slide
into place, fueling the suspicion. I switched off my computer and went
downstairs to the library, hoping to find something to distract me.

Martha was sitting in a wingback chair, reading. Her hair
was curled with clips and a pair of bifocals was balanced on the end of her
nose. She was covered from neck to ankles in a warm lavender dressing gown and
her feet were encased in soft, fluffy, white slippers. She glanced up
surprised.

“Don’t get up,” I said smiling. “I didn’t mean to disturb
you.”

She removed her glasses and held up the book. “It’s very
good,” she said.

I recognized it immediately. My novel. The one I’d so
proudly discussed with Leo as proof of my talents. Now it seemed like a stale
memory written by a novice still filled with boundless ambition and enthusiasm.
I realized, unhappily, that I’d be hard-pressed to recapture that spirit and
zeal again.

“It’s a bit sappy, don’t you think?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. It’s very romantic.”

Romantic! What did I know about romance?

“Is something wrong, dear?”

“No. I’ve just hit a snag with the new novel and thought I’d
take a break. Thought I’d see if I could find something to read.”

She nodded. I hesitated, then sat down opposite her. “Actually,
there’s something on my mind,” I said. “I’ve been thinking of Mother. I found
her journals. Do you remember the ones she used to write?”

Martha nodded, her eyes sad. “I put them in the attic after
the accident.”

“Some of the pages are missing. It looks as though they’ve
been ripped out. Do you know if anyone else has read them?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think so. Who would want
to, other than you? Your father wanted me to destroy them. But then, he wanted
everything of your mother’s removed. Her death was so hard on him. I just
couldn’t burn them, though. I thought one day you might want them.”

“I’m grateful for that. Just reading them makes me feel I
know her better.” I paused uncertainly, then plunged on. “Mother talks of Grant
in her journals. I get the impression she really disliked him. Do you know why?”

She shifted uncomfortably and I expected her to try to
sidestep the question. Instead, she sighed and met my inquisitive gaze with
resignation.

“She didn’t talk about it much,” she said, “but I think she
resented your father’s attachment to Grant. Your mother was a bit insecure. You
know she came from pretty humble beginnings and to find herself suddenly thrust
into a world of wealth and fame—well, it was overwhelming, to say the least.

“It was difficult for her to function in her new role
without Leo’s constant support and you know your father. He was always jetting
off, leaving her alone here at home. I’m sure he’d have taken her with him more
often but she didn’t feel comfortable in his world. The times he did spend with
her she treasured and I think when Grant came onto the scene, she felt Grant
was taking a bit of that time from her.”

She shrugged. “Your mother spoke to Leo once about sending
Grant away and it was the only heated argument I recall them having. Leo
stubbornly refused to discuss it and Anna went to her room in tears. Later, he
tried to make it up to her by spending more time at home. As far as I know, the
subject was never discussed again.”

“And what about Grant?” I asked, intensely interested. “Did
he know how Mother felt?”

Martha shook her head. “I really don’t know, dear. He was
such a broody boy in those days. If he did, he was tactful enough not to
mention it. After the argument, Anna was careful to avoid Grant. I think she
might’ve even been a bit frightened of him. It would only be natural, since she
knew he’d once been a petty thief and grew up under unsavory conditions. But
what difference does all of this make now?”

“I really don’t know,” I hedged. “I’m just trying to
understand some of what she wrote. What about the accident? Do you know any of
the details?”

“Probably no more than you,” she said. “Your mother and father
went out riding and she fell. That’s all I know.”

Her answer was brisk and I knew I must drop the subject. It
wouldn’t do to frighten Martha with my interrogation. Any further questioning
would surely arouse her suspicions and I wasn’t ready to share what could very
well be just paranoia.

Unfortunately, Martha knew me too well and she eyed me with
skepticism. “You’re worried about something, Suzanna,” she said, putting the
book aside.

I frowned but didn’t meet her eyes.

“I know these past weeks have been a great strain on you,”
she said, “on all of us but I don’t think digging up the past will help anyone.
I also know you married Grant only out of a sense of duty to your father. It’s
only natural you’d resent it but if my opinion means anything to you, I think
it was the right thing to do.

“Grant is a fine man—take it from me. He’s held this family
together, in one way or another, for years. Perhaps in his younger days, he was
a bit callous and distrustful but those days are gone. I really feel he has only
good intentions when it comes to the business and the family…and you.” She
looked at me intently and her eyes glistened. “He loves you, you know. Has for
a very long time.”

I stiffened. “Why, that’s ridiculous,” I sputtered. “I mean,
excuse me but how could you ever get such an idea?” I was certain Martha must’ve
lost her marbles.

She smiled patiently. “You can’t see it because you don’t
want to.” She held up her hand as I opened my mouth to retort. “I only want to
put your mind at ease, dear. Grant isn’t the person you should fear. He worries
about you. Why do you think he’s trying to run the firm from this house? He’s
trying to protect you. No, don’t scoff. Whether you want to believe it or not,
it’s true.

“Still,” she fingered her robe nervously, “there’s someone
on the loose who is very dangerous. I only wish Grant could be here more often
than he is.” She shuddered and I softened.

The memory of Giles and his recent tragedy was obviously
still too vivid to her. In my preoccupation, I’d all but forgotten the personal
loss Martha had suffered.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish,” I said. “You’ve been under
just as much strain as anyone and I shouldn’t be bothering you with my
problems.”

“Our problems,” she corrected. “I’m afraid we’re all in this
together. It seems to me there’s no rhyme or reason for Giles’ death. And now,
if what they say about your father is true… Well, it makes me shudder to think
of it.”

I nodded. I didn’t know how much she knew or guessed about
Leo’s ”accident”, but it wasn’t a secret the police were investigating Giles’
death as a homicide. They’d been to the house numerous times to question
everyone, including Martha but so far there was nothing substantial to go on.

They took the speedboat away after going over it carefully
for clues. As expected, nearly everyone’s fingerprints were on it somewhere and
the rain that soaked the beach that morning successfully washed away whatever
other evidence might have been left. Still, they wanted to inspect the hull and
propeller, so they impounded the craft for an unspecified period of time. I
wasn’t sorry. I doubted any of us would ever want to set foot on it again,
anyway.

I left Martha some time later. I was still uneasy and more
confused than ever. It was obvious Grant had a firm ally in our housekeeper and
it would be pointless to try to sway such loyalty. Grant knew his trade
well—knew how to win people over. Martha’s belief that he was somehow in love
with me was probably just another part of his scheme. It was a way to present
himself in the best possible light—as a caring, concerned, if not
misunderstood, husband who had only my best interests at heart. My affection
for David would only serve to martyr him in the eyes of those who supported
him. His own questionable association with Darla LaTrobe had offered nothing
overtly illicit yet. I figured he’d be too cunning to let a sordid dalliance
interfere in his game plan.

David met me on the stairs with obvious relief. “Here you
are! I was worried. I knocked on your door and there was no answer.”

I sighed. As much as I appreciated his care, sometimes his
concern felt stifling. I was not in the mood for his attention right now.

“I was just in the library,” I said. “Where have you been?”

His hair was windblown and his face flushed. His canvas
shoes were wet and I detected the fresh scent of lake spray on his clothes.

“Just walking. I went down to the beach. It’s nice this time
of night.”

I nodded thoughtfully, still preoccupied.

“Come on,” he said taking my hand. “I could use a cup of
something hot. Let’s raid the kitchen.”

“Sure,” I agreed, welcoming the distraction.

Together, we foraged in the pantry, deciding on hot cocoa. “With
marshmallows,” I insisted, catching his enthusiasm.

David prepared the cocoa as I spread honey on buttermilk
biscuits left over from breakfast.

We were comfortably settled at the kitchen table, chatting
through mouthfuls of fluffy dough, with steaming mugs cupped in our hands, when
Grant came in. He entered through the side door from the garage, his briefcase
in hand and raincoat slung over one shoulder. A gust of cold air followed him
in and his look, as he took in the companionable scene, did nothing to lessen
the chill.

“Well, well, isn’t this cozy?”

I lowered my eyes, feeling a deep blush creep up my neck.
David smiled, undaunted. “Want to join us? Or are cocoa and biscuits too
mundane for your tastes?”

“As a matter of fact, it sounds like just the thing!” He
dropped his coat over a chair in the corner and tossed the briefcase onto the
floor nearby. His suit coat came off, along with his tie and he casually rolled
up his shirt sleeves as he searched the cupboards for the necessary
ingredients.

“Sit down,” I said. “I’ll get it. I know where everything
is.”

He didn’t argue but settled himself in the chair next to
mine while I poured more milk into the pan and put a few more biscuits on the
platter. The silence that ensued was distinctly uncomfortable. David and Grant
gazed at one another with cool appraisal, while I nervously rattled the spoons
and cups. When I sat down, Grant turned to me and smiled. “You look cute with a
moustache.”

“What? Oh!” I reached for a paper napkin and wiped the cocoa
from my top lip.

“There’s marshmallow on your nose,” he added and made to
wipe it with his own napkin but I shrank away and rubbed the spot with my palm.
His brows lowered and his eyes hardened and I cursed myself for being so
transparent.

“How are the family fortunes?” David asked, diverting
attention.

“Still intact despite an increasing number of freeloaders.”
Grant’s sarcasm wasn’t lost and David’s eyes narrowed.

“Suzanna was just telling me you’re letting a lot of the
staff go, including Mike. Are you planning to replace him or are you going to
join the ranks of lowly commuters?”

I could’ve kicked David. I didn’t plan to confront Grant
with that information just yet and the fact I confided in David certainly
wouldn’t enhance the situation.

Thankfully, Grant appeared unperturbed, stirring his drink
nonchalantly as he replied. “It’s impractical to keep Mike on the payroll
full-time when he’s only needed once in a while. There are plenty of pilots
around who’ll work on a standby basis. It’s more economical. Besides, I thought
Mike was working for you now.”

“We give him what work we can.”

“Surely, we can afford to keep him on?” I piped up. “He’s
been with Dirkston for so long. I don’t think it’s fair to just fire him.”

Grant eyed me with skepticism. “How much do you know about
Mike Kensington, Suzie?”

I met his gaze, lifting my chin. “I know he’s been a loyal
employee for at least three years and that Dad trusted him implicitly.”