ShadowsintheMist (6 page)

Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.

Elizabeth I,
On Monsieur’s Departure

I can’t be sure how long I slept. The moon was high in a
blue-black sky and Venus shone brilliantly in its usual place below. Lightning
bugs flickered on and off and crickets chirped in rhythm, undisturbed by my
presence. I shivered, uncurled my legs from their cramped position and swatted
at a mosquito as it whined near my ear. I had to go back. Everyone would be
wondering where I was.

It was then I heard the voices drifting softly on the night
air. I listened with halfhearted curiosity. The murmuring came from some spot
beyond the bushes and hedges, nearer the house. I could make out Alicia’s
unmistakable tones but the other voice was muffled and I turned my head in that
direction, my interest piqued.

“Of course it’s impossible, darling,” Alicia was saying in a
transparent whine. “Leo was a tyrant! Besides, she’d never make you happy.”

It was Grant’s impatient voice that answered. “That’s the
least of my concerns. The problem now is how to accomplish this charade without
anyone getting hurt.”

I caught my breath as I realized they were talking about me.

“You don’t plan to go through with it, do you?” She dropped
her stage drawl and seemed genuinely agitated.

“There’s nothing else to do. If I explain it to her, I’m
sure she’ll understand. You should be the last one to object, considering Colin
will stand to lose the most if we don’t go through with it.”

“I don’t care! I couldn’t stand to see you with her!”

“Alicia,” Grant’s voice was exasperated, “what I do with
Suzanna has nothing to do with you. And whether you could ‘bear’ it or not is
really irrelevant to me!”

“Oh, Grant!” She was pouting again. “Don’t say such things.
You know how I feel.”

He gave a cold snort. “Cut the act, Alicia. I know exactly
how you feel and I also know what you’re doing. Does Colin know about your
little games? Or are you playing them for someone else’s benefit? One of these
days, you’ll push him too far and you’ll be out on your ear.”

She chose to ignore the warning for when she spoke again,
her voice was low and inviting. “Let’s go to the gazebo—for old time’s sake!”

“Alicia—” he began but she interrupted and her voice was
almost a whisper. I shuddered, imagining her coaxing fingers stroking his
shirtfront.

I chose the momentary lapse in conversation to hurry from my
hiding place. I didn’t want to hear any more. I was sickened by the inferences
of the conversation and stunned Grant would consider trying to talk me into
going along with a farcical marriage. It seemed they were all playing games and
my father was the mastermind behind them all. I wondered if Leo knew about
Alicia’s involvement with Grant. Now, I could understand why Colin was so
remote. Alicia too transparent to hide her flirtations, seemed to savor the
excitement of a juicy scandal, especially when she was in the spotlight. My
already shaky respect for Grant plummeted. It made me ill to think he could
give in to her shallow seductions.

I hurried through the darkened paths and came out on the
sweep of lawn at the other side of the garden. The grass was soft underfoot and
damp from the automatic sprinklers, just turned off. I didn’t glance back
toward the patio where I knew they were. I didn’t want to know if Grant had
succumbed to Alicia’s pathetic pleas and gone with her to the gazebo.

I always knew he had no scruples. But somewhere deep inside,
I felt a hollow disappointment as another childish dream dissolved and
bitterness hardened like a stone in my heart.

I crept in through the servants’ entrance at the side of the
house and climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor. A round, stained glass
window dropped moonlit colors onto the landing but I was oblivious, running on
to open the door to the hall and eventually gaining the blessed sanctuary of my
own room.

According to the clock on the bureau, it was nine-thirty. I
sank onto the bed, refusing to give in to my curiosity by peering out the
window. I would not let Beacon and its ill-played melodramas interfere with my
life.

With renewed purpose, I went to the desk and pulled my
laptop onto it. Ideas for my new novel were beginning to form in my head and I
set to work, grateful for the distraction.

* * * * *

I awoke late the next morning, refreshed. When I opened my
eyes, the sun was streaming through the windows and the smell of fresh coffee
filled the room.

“I thought you might like some breakfast.” Martha bustled
about, uncovering dishes on the table near my bed.

“I haven’t had breakfast in bed since the time I had the
measles,” I exclaimed, propping myself up on the pillows and pushing a stray
lock of hair out of my eyes. “What’s the occasion?”

She smiled and lay the tray across my lap. “No occasion. It’s
just so nice to have you home again. We’ve missed you here.”

I was touched and grateful for this one friendly face. After
my mother’s death, Martha had ministered to most of my needs. I couldn’t
imagine Beacon without her and often wondered how she managed the extensive
supervision needed here as well as the additional demands of Spindrift.

For its size, Beacon had a meager staff. There was Lottie
Wilson, the ponderous cook, who worked Wednesday through Sunday and since the
death of her husband a few years before, lived alone in a small cottage some
five miles away. Rudy Coleman, besides his gardening and handyman duties,
doubled as a chauffeur on the odd occasion Leo needed to make a public
appearance on this side of the lake.

Martha ran the entire house with the help of just one
part-time maid, a position that constantly changed as the girls came and went
from an agency in Ludington. At the moment, the position was vacant since
Polly, an eighteen-year-old from Scottville, went away to college. The agency
was having trouble locating anyone willing to move to the relative isolation of
Beacon.

By providing servants’ quarters in the house itself, Leo
outdid himself. There were enough rooms on the third floor to house a staff of
twelve but aside from Martha, who lived alone in a small corner room, the rest
were vacant. It was a real waste. Leo had expected to fill the house with
lavish entertainment—grand parties and regular gala festivities like those held
by upper classes in the bigger cities of Chicago, Los Angeles or New York.

It obviously didn’t occur to him that grand parties meant
little to the simple folk who lived in this neck of the woods. Of course there
were parties but nothing so often or extravagant as to require permanent staff.

Martha sat down companionably in a chair near my bed. “I
didn’t really have a chance to welcome you back, Suzanna. Things have been so
hectic.” She frowned and looked down at her hands folded neatly in her lap.

She wasn’t a small woman. Despite her plumpness, she exuded
a solid strength, developed from years of manual labor. Her face was pleasant,
falling into the gentle folds of age and lined delicately around a thin, liquid
mouth usually set in patient determination. Her hair was a soft crown of silver
waves. Behind thinly framed glasses, her eyes were a sparkling gray and
magnified by the lenses, attested to a beauty muted only by time.

“It’s just not the same without your father,” she said
quietly.

I played with my scrambled eggs. “I find it all so
unbelievable. Maybe you could shed some light on what happened that night?”

She looked up, surprised. “Why, surely you’ve been told?”

“Yes, yes. David told me the facts and the others, well—it
still doesn’t seem possible Dad could be so careless. Did he seem upset to you?
Was he drinking a lot?”

“No.” She hesitated. “I mean, not like before but… Well,
that night he did seem a bit tipsy. You know he always liked to have a drink after
dinner. He said it relaxed him.” She looked up at me thoughtfully, then added, “I
don’t know for sure, dear but I think something was bothering him. He seemed so…so
restless.”

“The business?” I queried.

She shook her head. “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. I guess
it’s just a feeling I had.” She plucked nervously at her apron for a moment,
then stood up abruptly.

“But listen to me ramble on!” She smiled. “How we do prattle
when we get older. It was an accident, that’s all. Just a horrible, senseless
accident. Can I get you anything else, dear?”

She didn’t sound very convincing but I knew it was pointless
to pursue the issue. I’d only alienate her and I wanted as many people on my
side as I could muster.

“No, Martha, everything is lovely. Thank you again.”

She smiled and left, obviously anxious to get away. Puzzled,
I watched her go. Perhaps she wasn’t as open and honest as I assumed.

It was nearly eleven o’clock when I finally went downstairs
and wandered into the rear parlor. This was one of my favorite rooms and I
often came here to read or write or just think. Sunlight streamed in through
the sliding glass doors that accessed the stone-paved patio and pool. Plush
cream rugs were scattered about a buffed hardwood floor and a comfortable
two-seater sofa and twin chairs, upholstered in a refreshing peach-and-cream
floral, were grouped in front of a white marble fireplace.

In the winter, heavy draperies were drawn across the doors
to keep the warmth from escaping. Now, however, only the fly screens were shut
and a warm breeze swirled in carrying the scent of chlorinated water and damp
earth.

I glanced at the mirror over the hearth, self-consciously
fingering my dark hair. There was no doubt I was Leo Dirkston’s daughter. I had
his stubborn chin and Greek coloring. My eyes, however, were my mother’s—a rich
brown flecked with gold. They tended to show my emotions too readily, so I
learned early in life to veil them discreetly with my thick fringe of lashes.
Still, I’d always secretly envied Alicia, who was as fair and glamorous as I
was dark and unsophisticated. I often tried to convince myself practicality and
intelligence were traits far superior to sexiness and physical beauty but I
still coveted those pouting lips and that slinky body.

My eyes dropped from the mirror to the neat display of
framed photos covering the mantle top. One in particular stood out and I picked
it up. It was a shot of my mother taken shortly before her death. She looked
lovely, captured candidly on the beach, her fawn-brown hair loose and drifting
in delicate fingers about her face. She had turned, laughing, toward the camera
and her eyes sparkled in wild abandon. I smiled back sadly.

I’d rarely seen her so carefree. She’d always seemed timid
and skittish, like a doe caught in an alien environment. I guessed the gossip
surrounding Carmen’s death and Leo’s remarriage too soon after, caused a lot of
pressure. It was probably responsible for the nervous disquiet that forever
surrounded her.

I set the photo back and glanced fleetingly at the others.
There was myself astride Dimmy, my pony. Another of me in my graduation cap and
gown and one of the whole family posed in front of Beacon. The rest were of
Colin and Grant and one studio print of Leo taken for the cover of
Business
Week
. I turned away brusquely.

“A bit of useless nostalgia, eh?” Colin gave a wan smile as
he came in through the patio doors. I made a cynical assessment of him. In his
frayed and patched cut-off blue jeans, faded yellow T-shirt and bare feet he
looked every bit a beach bum, except for his pasty complexion, which was odd,
considering the time and effort he’d once put into suntanning.

“I thought you’d be at the marina,” I said. “What’re you
doing home?”

“David’s minding the store,” he replied absently, fingering
the photo of Anna. He rubbed his thumb along the face of the glass, a frown
creasing his brow. “I suppose Grant has told you the wonderful news?”

I nodded. There was no point in trying to avoid a
confrontation. Colin had every right to feel slighted. Still, I wasn’t ready to
deal with his feelings yet. I hadn’t yet dealt with my own.

“What do you plan to do?” His voice was guarded.

Once I might have felt sorry for him—even tried to offer
sympathy—but over the years, he’d made it quite clear he didn’t want my concern
or any other emotional bond between us. I suppose that to him I was Leo’s
favorite. That alone was enough to create a rift. The ten-year difference in
our ages served to broaden it.

“I don’t intend to marry Grant, if that’s what you mean.” I
chose to be as blunt as he, hoping he would drop the subject and leave me
alone. Instead, he gazed at me with eyes full of sadness and resignation. He
sat down and ran his fingers through his disheveled curls. My defensiveness
ebbed and I sat down nearby, assessing him less harshly.

“Do you think I’m wrong?” I asked.

He sighed and shrugged. “No. I suppose if I were in your
shoes, I’d be insulted. But I hoped…” He smiled sheepishly. “I have my own neck
to look out for, you know.”

I cocked a brow. “I hate to be trite, Colin but money isn’t
everything. Surely, the marina is doing well enough?”

A shadow passed over his face and I frowned. This wasn’t
like Colin. I expected sarcasm, accusations, demands. I could cope with those
but this quiet defeatism was so out of character that I was bewildered. Dare I
hope the rebellious Colin of old had mellowed? Had he lost some of his dark
broodiness?

“You know I’d like to save this place,” I said. “But…well…maybe
it’s time we all quit living in Dad’s shadow and made lives for ourselves.”

“I think the problem goes a little beyond that.” He picked
up a small figurine from the table and turned it around in his hands. “I know
you’ve never thought much of me. I guess I deserve it. I’ve never gone out of
my way to be fair.”

I opened my mouth to speak but he waved an impatient hand. “I
never meant to take things out on you. There were times, though I never told
you, when I wished we could’ve been closer—like brothers and sisters are
supposed to be—but my damn pride always got in the way and after a while, it
was just too late.”