Thunder in the Night (Crimson Romance)
Thunder in the Night
Kate Fellowes
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 2012 by Jill A. Giencke
ISBN 10: 1-4405-4535-9
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4535-1
eISBN 10: 1-4405-4533-2
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4533-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
For Joan Giencke
Every line of my pen, every beat of my heart is for you.
I miss you, Mom.
Contents
Chapter One
Not far away from me, two men were arguing in low voices.
I sat still, leaning against the bus window, trying to locate them, trying to hear, but it wasn’t easy. The hotel shuttle was loading and all around me people were talking and laughing and bumping their luggage into the rows of seats.
The men weren’t here, on the bus. They were outside, near my open window.
“What are you playing at? This isn’t a game, you know.”
“Just shut up and follow directions,” a harsher voice snapped. “Think you can manage that for seven days?”
“I’m not talking about this trip.” There was anger in this voice. Frustration, too. “I’m talking about — ”
My seatmate jogged me with her elbow. She’d talked almost nonstop since our plane left the States and headed for Belize. I’d tried to be polite, but even feigned interest glazes over after a while. At least it was only a twenty-minute ride from the airport to our hotel.
“Excuse me. Mrs. Underwood has a question for you.” She pointed to the elderly couple just behind us.
I gave up any attempt to eavesdrop and turned awkwardly in my seat. I was here on assignment and that was to do a puff piece on this tour, nothing more.
“Aren’t you that new writer with the
Breeze
?” the older woman asked, leaning forward with genuine interest. “We saw you on the
Wake Up Show
last week. But you’re much prettier in person.”
“Oh, don’t go embarrassing the girl, Elaine,” her husband chided.
My cheeks flushed. It hadn’t been my idea to go on the local morning show. That had been the brainchild of my editor. The
Rochester Breeze
was a monthly, with a very local flavor. Now that I’d come aboard, it was time to meet the community, and in Rochester that meant drinking coffee and being chatty on the
Wake Up Show
. I’m not at my best at five in the morning, but I couldn’t look much better now after hours in airports and airplanes.
I stretched my hand back. “I’m Allison Belsar and you’re right. I just started last month.” She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. Her husband’s shake was much firmer.
“I’m Dan and this is the missus, Elaine,” he said. “You’re fresh out of college, hmm?”
I shook my head. “I’ve been a few other places,” I said, which was true enough. “Now, I’m really happy to be at the
Rochester Breeze
.” That was also true.
“And you’re getting a free vacation right out of the gate. I’d call that lucky,” Dan said.
“A working vacation,” I said and he nodded, but not like he believed me.
“Rain Forests and Ruins,” sponsored by the local zoo and billed as educational, was the latest in a series of weeklong “zoo treks.” With attendance capped at about a dozen and the emphasis on sights and amenities, the treks had proven so popular that the magazine decided a story was in order. Through my article and on our blog, the
Breeze
would share the experience with those who couldn’t afford the trip.
Armchair travelogues hadn’t been my beat, but they were now. Just for the time being, I told myself. Just until I proved my skills and got back to hard news and investigative journalism. Although what there could possibly be to investigate in Rochester I couldn’t imagine. Still … .
“Who’s that up there?” I asked, watching two men climb aboard. They weren’t arguing. In fact, they were quite pointedly not speaking as they took seats at the front of the bus, one behind the other.
From behind me, Dan gave a hearty laugh. “You really are new here. That’s Clark Webster, the zoo director.”
“And the other man,” his wife said, “the younger one, that’s — ”
“Lawler. Mart Lawler.” My seatmate interrupted in a voice like a purr. “Tall, dark, and everything else,” she said, winking her approval.
“He’s the assistant director,” Elaine explained, her brow furrowing. “Kind of makes you wonder who’s minding the store!”
She laughed a cascade of lilting notes and we all chuckled at the image of the animals running free in happy abandon, like some television commercial.
The bus started up, pulling out onto the main road in a slow lumber.
“So … those two work together?” I returned to our topic and lifted my eyebrows. “I just heard them arguing.”
“They don’t see eye to eye, dear. Everyone knows that.” Elaine paused, adding, “At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
“I’ve got it on good authority that they don’t share the same ‘mission statement,’” my seatmate said, putting finger quotes around the words.
“The zoo has a mission statement?” I made a mental note to check the website.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Dan sounded amused as the bus bumped along, hitting every pothole, as buses seem to do all over the world.
May as well get to work
, I thought, and pulled a notebook out of my backpack.
I looked first to the woman beside me. “I feel I know so much about you from our conversation on the plane, but I never caught your name.”
“Didn’t I mention that? Sorry! I’m Jen Carlino,” she said.
About forty, color coordinated, her blonde hair in a geometric cut, Jen fit the image I’d expected of my fellow travelers. As did the Underwoods.
Their names had rung a very little bell earlier, as if I should recognize them. It took me a few moments — after all, I’m new in town — and then the information slipped into place.
Dan Underwood was Rochester’s biggest philanthropist, a regular figure at every society fundraising event. He even attended charity runs, handing out water and awarding the prizes since his running days were long over. His plentiful gray hair had been mussed during the plane ride and stood up around his head now, like snow swirled by a winter wind. His eyes, watery blue, had a spark that seemed permanent. This was a cheerful man.
“You’ve been on these junkets before, right?” I asked the Underwoods.
“Gosh, yes. We’ve been all over.” Elaine held up her hand, ticking off locations as she named them. “There was Namibia and Kenya and Alaska and the Amazon.”
Her voice was high pitched and thin, suiting her small frame. Her hair, cut short and fluffy, had been colored an unlikely shade of silver that was almost pink. All this together gave her the appearance of a delicate bird, just the right size to fit in the palm of a hand or a teacup.
“You’re going to love it,” she assured me, reaching out to pat me on the arm. Several rings glistened on her fingers. Elaine didn’t appear particularly wealthy in her comfortable knit traveling outfit, but the chunky gemstones belied her husband’s affluence.
“It’s not a bad deal,” Jen put in. “You learn a little something. See the sights. Get away from the husband for a while.”
“I got away from mine permanently last summer,” I said, glad I could say that without feeling a pang of remorse or disappointment or inadequacy.
Jen got it in one. “Good for you!” she said. “Clear the decks.”
I liked that image. Me, alone on the deck of a ship with my hands on my hips, mistress of all I surveyed.
“Let’s just hope,” Jen went on, glancing at the back of Clark Webster’s head, “that our trek doesn’t end like the last one and everyone gets home alive this time.”
Chapter Two
“What are you talking about?” I asked, staring at Jen and clicking my pen on and off. My reporter radar tingled. “Someone died on the last zoo trip?”
“That was an unfortunate incident,” Elaine said in apparent agreement. “But hardly our concern.”
“What happened?” I pressed.
“The less said, the better,” Dan brushed my question aside. “Young men sometimes do foolish things.” He gave Jen a quelling look.
From the front of the bus there was a bit of commotion and I wondered if the two men’s argument had resumed. Then the younger one, Mart, stood up, bracing himself as the bus swayed along. He reached for a microphone and turned to face us.
“We’ll talk later,” Jen promised in a stage whisper. “My friend was on that last trip. It’s quite a mystery.” She glanced again at Clark and I heard Dan harrumph behind us.
You bet we’ll talk,
I thought.
“Hello, fellow trekkers,” Mart called. “Could I have your attention for just a moment, please?” The group immediately fell silent.
What I could see of him was appealing. Brown hair that just brushed his collar, square chin, dimples when he smiled.
“First off, I’m Mart Lawler and I’d like to extend the official welcome to this zoo trek,” he began, sending a look in every direction. “We’re going to have a fantastic journey and see many wonderful, beautiful things. As you know, the rain forest is in great danger today. Unless we take steps immediately to stop the destruction, soon there won’t be any left. With that in mind, we’re going to show you some of the marvelous things that could be lost. I’ll go over our schedule for the rest of the day and listen up, because we’ll be hopping.”
I pulled out the printed itinerary I’d received in advance of the trip and reviewed it as Mart went on. We’d spend seven full days in Belize, which lies east of Guatemala and south of the Yucatan. From that base, we’d trek to the ancient ruins in Tikal and elsewhere, exploring the rain forest with an expert as our guide — touring caves, visiting conservation sites, and soaking up local atmosphere in the marketplaces.
“So, we’ll check into our hotel soon,” he concluded, “but don’t get too comfortable because this afternoon we’re heading to one of the area’s wildlife sanctuaries to do some bird-watching. We’ll take a guided tour by boat. I’ve been here before, folks, and it is spectacular!” Mart spread his arms wide, radiating enthusiasm. “We’ll watch for macaws, parrots, and egrets. A magnificent creature called the snake bird.” He swirled his hands in the air, mimicking a snake’s motion. “Boat-billed herons, storks — ”
