Trust No One (19 page)

T
he old dream rose out of the depths on a dark tide of panic.

. . . She tried to control her breathing. She did not want the boy to realize that she was terrified. Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid he might hear it.

The boy seemed frozen with horror. She gripped his thin shoulder with one hand. In her other hand she clutched the neck of the vodka bottle. Together she and the boy listened to the monster come down the stairs. Each thud of the boots sent a tremor through both of them.

The narrow beam of the killer’s flashlight lanced through the well of night and splashed across the plastic-shrouded body. Then it probed into a far corner of the basement. He was searching for the boy. As soon as he turned around he would see them hiding in the shadows.

“Run,” she said to the boy.

She used her grip on his shoulder to haul him out from under the staircase and propel him toward the stairs. Her stern voice and the physical shove she gave him combined to break through his paralysis.

He charged up the stairs toward the open door.

She followed, taking the steps two at a time. Trager yelled at her. She did not stop.

And then he was on the stairs behind her, moving so fast she knew she could not outrun him. He was so much bigger and stronger.

The boy reached the top of the steps. He paused and looked back.

“Go,” she said again. “Don’t stop.”

The boy disappeared into the gloom that infused the atmosphere beyond the doorway.

Trager caught her jean jacket. She was trapped. She smashed the vodka bottle against the railing, creating a jagged blade. She slashed wildly, felt the resistance when the sharp glass struck skin and bone. Trager screamed. There was blood everywhere.

The crimson rain splashed her clothes, her hands . . .

“Grace. Grace, it’s all right. You’re safe, I’ve got you. Just a dream.”

It was Julius’s voice, pulling her out of the dark fog. She came awake, shivering as she always did after the nightmare. Her eyes snapped open and she gasped for breath. Someone was holding her down—pinning her to the bed.

“No.” She struggled, frantic to get free.

Julius released her instantly. She bolted upright, pushed the covers aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She tried to go into her breathing routine.

Should have slept in the guest bedroom. Shouldn’t have taken the risk. What had she been thinking?

“Sorry,” she said. Her voice was tight and thin. “Old dream. Haven’t had it in a long time but ever since I found Sprague’s body—”

“I understand,” Julius said. “Been there.”

His voice was calm and steady, as if he was accustomed to being awakened by a woman who was emerging from a nightmare. No, she thought. He was talking about himself.

“You know something about nightmares,” she said.

“Oh, yeah.”

The breathing exercises weren’t working. She lunged to her feet and grabbed the robe that she had left on the wall hook. She looked out the window. It was still dark, still raining, but the cityscape glittered and sparkled in the night.

Breathe.

She turned and watched Julius climb out of bed. He was wearing the T-shirt and briefs he’d put on after the shower. She was suddenly very conscious of the fact that she was enveloped in his robe.

“I know this sounds weird,” she said, “but I need to get some air. I need to move. I need to get
outside
.”

“Not a problem.” He pulled on the jeans he’d left on a nearby chair. “Got meds?”

He sounded so matter-of-fact she knew that he’d meant it when he said that he’d been there.

“Yes,” she whispered. “My purse.” Desperate to appear normal, she tried to inject some brittle humor into her voice. “I never leave—”

“You never leave home without them. Neither do I. Haven’t had to use them in years but I keep them handy.”

That reassured her as nothing else could have done in that moment. He really did understand. But the terrible jittery sensation and the tightness in her chest were not improving.

“I’ll use them if I need them,” she said, “but I think I’ll be okay if I can just get through the door—outside.”

She rushed into the vast living room. The light coming through the wall of windows was sufficient to guide her to the balcony slider. Julius got there first. He reached out to open the door. His fingers brushed against hers. She jerked back.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay.”

He unlocked the slider and pulled it aside.

The door at the top of the stairs was open. She had to get through it. There was no other way to escape.

She stepped out onto the balcony. Julius followed her out into the chilled night.

She gripped the railing and went into the breathing exercises.

Julius stood beside her and waited calmly, as if there was nothing unusual about a date who had panic attacks and needed to go outdoors in the middle of the night.

Slowly she got herself under control.

“Sorry,” she whispered again. “Among other things, this is really embarrassing.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not. Are the dreams getting worse?”

“Sprague’s body. The stalker. The damn vodka bottle. The rat. The trapped feeling. It’s been a very heavy couple of weeks. I should have known better than to think I could get away with sleeping in your bed. I never spend the night with . . . with a date.”

Gradually her pulse slowed. Her breathing calmed.

When she was sure she was back under control she released her death grip on the railing and straightened.

“Damn,” she said softly. “I hate these crappy panic attacks.”

“I know how you feel. I told you, I’ve been there.”

“For me it all goes back to that day in the basement at the asylum,” she said.

“Reason enough for an anxiety attack.”

“Trager tried to stop me.” She sucked in a deep breath. “When I ran up the stairs, he grabbed my jacket. I was trapped. I knew that he was going to kill me.”

“But you slashed his face with a broken bottle. You escaped.”

“Yes. If I hadn’t grabbed that bottle—”

“But you did grab the bottle. You saved yourself and the boy.”

She took in another deep, square breath and let it out slowly.

“I’ve been mildly claustrophobic ever since that day. But that’s not the worst part. I can handle elevators and airplanes so long as they are in motion. The worst part is the dream. The real bad attacks are always linked to it.”

“But you never know when it will strike. That’s why you never let a date spend the night.”

She nodded, mute.

“Nights were always the worst for me, too.” Julius gripped the railing beside her. “It’s been better in the past few years. I did my time with the shrinks and with meds. But once in a while it all comes roaring back.”

She looked at him. “No decent person could go to war and not be changed.”

He leaned on the railing and gazed out over the glowing city. “Things looked different to me afterward.”

“Because you were different.”

He nodded. “But for a while I made the mistake of trying to pretend that nothing had changed. It was time to move forward with my life and all my big plans. And that’s just what I did. Got the job, with Harley. Learned from him. Started my own business. Got rich. Got married.”

“You were determined to be normal,” she said.

“Absolutely determined.”

“You set an objective and you pursued it,” she said. “Is that why your marriage fell apart? Because you were focused on trying to get back to normal?”

“No,” he said. “My marriage fell apart because I was not the man Diana wanted me to be. Not her fault. I had fooled both of us into thinking I could become that man. Diana is a beautiful woman and she is also a very nice person, at least she is when she isn’t attacking my dates in the women’s room.”

Grace managed a weak laugh. “But otherwise—”

“Otherwise, she’s a good person. But I think I was attracted to her mostly because she seemed to fit so perfectly into my fantasy of a new life.”

“She completed the normal scenario.”

“Right. It took me a while to accept that there is no reset button when it comes to normal. And it soon became clear to Diana that I was never going to fit into her definition of normal, either. The more she tried to transform me into the kind of husband she wanted, the harder I worked to build Arkwright Ventures. I used my business the way an addict uses drugs.”

“You pushed each other away,” Grace said.

“I knew that I was losing her and that it was my fault. Then I started having the nightmares again. Diana was frightened. I think she also found the situation embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?”

“She’d had to overcome a lot of objections from friends and family to marry me. My money got me through the front door of her world but it didn’t give me the social polish, the education and the connections required to really fit in. Diana did her best to smooth the transition. I learned a lot from her. She taught me how to dress and how to pretend to enjoy a cocktail party or a reception. But it soon became clear to both of us that I wasn’t going to go through some magical transformation.”

Grace smiled. “You probably also made it clear that you weren’t going to waste a lot of time trying to be someone else.”

Julius’s mouth kicked up at one corner. “Busted. You’re right. I think the fact that I might be having some post-traumatic stress issues was just one more piece of data confirming that she had made a mistake. She felt she couldn’t confide to friends or family. But Edward
Hastings was close enough to the situation to see what was happening. She turned to him. It worked out well for both of them.”

“What about you?”

“I had to acknowledge that I was a failure in the long-term-relationship department but the nasty little truth is that another part of me was relieved. I could finally focus on my obsession.”

“Right. Your business. It never asked questions. Never tried to change you. Never wondered why you came home late at night. But in the end you found out what every addict learns—there’s always a dark side to your drug of choice.”

“Yep. The more money I made, the less satisfying it was to make money.”

“That’s because your life lacked balance.”

He smiled. “Is that the problem?”

“I think balance is always the problem. I doubt that anyone ever gets it perfectly right. The trick is to recognize when things are tilting too far in the wrong direction and make course corrections.”

“That sounds like one of those dorky Witherspoon Way affirmations.”

“I’ve been told that some people find them annoying,” she said.

“Amusing would be more accurate.”

Grace took a breath and let it out slowly, with more control this time. The exercises were doing their work.

“You know,” she said, “there is a Witherspoon saying that does cover this situation rather nicely.”

“Of course there is.” Julius looked at her. “What is it?”

“There can be no true definition of normal because life is ever-changing.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Julius asked.

“Danged if I know, but I thought it sounded rather pithy when I wrote it.”

“Very deep,” Julius said.

“Thanks. I used it as a tagline for the recipe for Harmony Vegetable Soup in the cookbook.” She paused. “The idea was that no two versions of vegetable soup are ever exactly the same.”

“Got it.” He did not move. “Feeling better?”

She ran an internal check. All the vital signs were once again green. “Yes.” She hesitated. “Thanks.”

He nodded once and she knew that he did not need an explanation.

“I made it a rule long ago not to discuss the nightmare or the anxiety episodes with my dates,” she said.

“What a coincidence,” he said. “I made the same rule.”

“Did you?”

“I had the same policy that you have when it comes to spending the night. I shelved the policy for a time for marriage and things did not end well. Lesson learned. I went back to that policy after the divorce.”

She smiled. “Cinderella Man. Home by midnight.”

“No glass slippers, though. I refuse to wear glass slippers.”

“Glass slippers are so last year,” she said.

“Good to know.” He looked out at the glowing cityscape. “So, to sum up recent developments, we have both broken our own rules.”

“Yes,” she said. “We have.”

She moved her palm along the railing until she was touching the edge of his hand. This time she did not flinch. He was warm and strong and rock-steady. She relaxed a little more.

After a while Julius tightened his fingers gently around hers.

“Okay now?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so.”

He led her back inside and back to bed. This time she fell into a dreamless sleep.

I
’ve been thinking about your ex-wife and your former vice president,” Grace said.

“Don’t think about Diana and Edward,” Julius said. “I sure as hell don’t want to think about either of them.”

“But there are issues here that you can’t ignore.”

“Watch me.”

She was doing just that, watching him from her perch on the other side of the kitchen counter. Julius was cracking eggs into a bowl. He did it with an easy, one-handed action. A man who was in the habit of cooking for himself, she thought. A man who was accustomed to living alone.

“I take it you don’t believe in getting closure?” she said.

“There is no such thing as closure as far as I’m concerned.” Julius tossed the contents of another egg into the bowl. “Things are what they are. You deal with reality and move on.”

“Listen up, Mr. Realist, I’m the one who was confronted by your ex
in the ladies’ room last night. I’ve got a right to tell you what I think is going on and you should listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re sleeping together now, that’s why,” she shot back. “This is a relationship. In a relationship people are supposed to talk to each other.”

Julius groaned. “Okay, talk. But talk fast because we’ve got other To-Do items on our agenda today.”

“I’m aware of that.” She folded her arms on the granite and watched him whisk a little cream into the eggs. “Here’s my take on Diana. I think she feels guilty.”

“About walking out on me? I doubt it. Hell, she had cause. Just ask her.”

“I don’t think she feels guilty about walking out on you,” Grace said patiently. “I’m sure in her mind she did the right thing—she set you both free from a broken relationship that she knew could not be repaired. And what’s more, she had the good sense to figure out that things were not going to work before there were any children to consider.”

“I’ll give you that point.” Julius poured the beaten eggs into the frying pan. “So what’s she feeling guilty about?”

“She blames herself for being the reason you are trying to destroy her husband’s company.”

“Except that I’m not trying to destroy Hastings.”

“That is precisely what I told her.”

“Fine. You did what you could to straighten her out on that score.” Julius picked up a spatula and began dragging it slowly through the eggs. “Can we all move on now?”

“I think you should talk to Edward.”

“About moving on? Trust me, he’s got enough on his plate at the moment trying to save Hastings. He doesn’t have time for therapy.”

“I was thinking that you could offer to help him salvage the company.”

Julius looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “In case you haven’t noticed, I also have a lot going on right now.”

“Yes, I know, and I appreciate what you’re doing on my behalf but I think your issues with Edward and Diana are important.”

“I just told you, I don’t have any issues with either of them,” Julius said.

“You said you thought the problems were coming from within the Hastings family empire. If that’s true, Edward may be too close to the situation. Couldn’t you, perhaps, offer to consult for him?”

“He wouldn’t want my help, believe me.”

“Do you know that for a fact or are you just assuming that he would turn down an offer from you?”

Julius removed the pan from the burner. “I think it’s time we brought closure to this conversation and moved on to another topic.”

“What topic is that?”

“Your issues with a certain stalker. You’re supposed to make up a list of people in Witherspoon’s orbit, remember?”

“I did that for the police,” she said.

“The cops are looking for the killer.” Julius spooned the scrambled eggs onto two plates. “You and I are going after the stalker.”

“What if they’re one and the same?”

“That will certainly simplify things,” Julius said. “I think there’s a connection between the murder and the stalking but whether we’re looking for one or two people is still an open question.”

She did a quick little staccato with her fingertips on the granite counter.

“You’re not the first person to come up with that theory,” she said. “Kristy suggested that Nyla and Mr. Perfect might have conspired to murder Sprague. Millicent agrees with her.”

“It’s certainly a viable possibility.”

She reached for the tablet of lined yellow paper and the pen he had put on the counter. “Okay, I’ll see if I can expand the list.”

Her phone rang just as she finished writing
Nyla Witherspoon
. She glanced at the screen and saw her sister’s name. She picked up the phone.

“Hi, Alison, what’s going on?” she said.

“I don’t know,” Alison said. “You tell me, little sister.”

Alison’s voice was too cool and a shade too neutral. She was in lawyer mode. Grace went blank.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Is something wrong? Alison, are you okay? Are Ethan and little Harry all right?”

“We’re fine. You’re the one who showed up on every business and financial blog that covers the Pacific Northwest this morning, to say nothing of social media.”

“What?”

“You were Julius Arkwright’s date for that Seattle business dinner and charity auction last night.” Alison’s voice started to rise. “There are pictures, Grace. He kissed you right there in front of half of the movers and shakers in the city. There are rumors of a scene with his ex—in the restroom, no less.”

“Oh, jeez.”

Grace glanced at Julius. He was sitting right next to her. She could tell from the flash of amusement in his eyes that he could hear Alison.

“Just a second, Alison.”

Grace jumped off the stool and hurried across the big living room to the window wall. She did not think that Julius could hear the other side of the conversation from that distance.

“Calm down, Alison,” she said softly. “I told you that Irene and her husband set me up with a blind date in Cloud Lake. I said the date’s name was Julius.”

“You never said his name was Julius
Arkwright
,” Alison snapped.

“I didn’t think it was important. Besides, you didn’t ask.”

“Good grief, do you have any idea who you’re seeing?”

Grace glanced back at Julius, who was now drinking coffee and putting on a good show of pretending to be oblivious.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I know who I’m dating,” she said, speaking in low tones.

“Why are you whispering? Wait. Where, exactly, are you?”

“I’m still in Seattle.”

“You gave up your apartment there,” Alison said. “Good grief. You’re with him, aren’t you?”

“Stop talking as if I’m about to single-handedly launch Armageddon.”

“Too late,” Alison said. “If you’re sleeping with Julius Arkwright, the world as you know it is about to be drastically changed. Listen to me, my naive little sister, there are rumors circulating about Arkwright.”

“You mean that gossip about him trying to destroy the Hastings family business? Yes, I know. But they aren’t true.”

“I heard you defended Arkwright to his ex. And I’m inclined to agree with you. Given his reputation, I have a hunch that Hastings would be in much bigger trouble than it is if Arkwright had decided to take down the company.”

“Exactly,” Grace said.

“But,” Alison continued, “that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a lot of dangerous drama going on between Hastings, Arkwright and the ex-wife. You do not want to get caught in the middle of a three-way war. Do you hear me? That isn’t something you can fix with a couple of dumbass affirmations and the application of positive-thinking principles.”

“Dumbass affirmations?”

“Pay attention, Grace. This is your life we’re talking about.”

“Alison, I appreciate your concern, really I do, but I’ve got things under control. Trust me.”

“Said the bunny rabbit just before the wolf ate her.”

Grace smiled. “Little Red Riding Hood.”

“What?”

“Never mind. I take it that you didn’t hear that Julius and I were attacked by a couple of thugs in the garage after the business affair.”

“Good grief.” Now Alison sounded stunned. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, but don’t worry, Julius and I are fine. A little bruised, but okay. Those self-defense exercises finally came in handy. Unfortunately the gorgeous piece of art glass that Julius had to buy at the charity auction was smashed to smithereens. But Julius caught one of the assailants. We’re hoping the cops will get some information that will lead to the arrest of the guy who got away.”

“I can’t believe this. I think I may need to lie down and put a cool cloth on my fevered brow. What in the world are you doing?”

“Don’t know for sure, yet, but it turns out that Julius is a pretty good bodyguard.”

“He is?” Alison sounded bewildered.

“Marines. Then he worked as a fixer for a man who ran construction sites in various parts of the world. Anyhow, I’m in good hands. But don’t tell Mom, okay? Not yet. She’ll freak.”

“I’m freaking.”

“My life will calm down as soon as the cops catch the person who murdered Sprague Witherspoon.”

There was a short pause on the other end of the connection.

“Are they making progress?” Alison asked in her lawyerly accent.

Grace decided to go for a positive spin. “They’re expecting a big break any day now.”

“In other words, no progress.”

“Look, I’ve got to go.”

“Promise me that you’ll be careful,” Alison said.

“Promise. Talk to you later. Love you. Bye.”

Grace ended the connection and looked at Julius.

“My sister.”

Julius watched her with an unreadable expression.

“Yeah, I got that much,” he said. “I take it she doesn’t approve of our relationship?”

“She’ll be okay,” Grace said. “Alison is just somewhat in shock because she got the news through social media instead of from me. Perfectly understandable. And naturally she’s concerned about the lack of progress in the murder investigation.”

“So am I,” Julius said. “But getting back to the subject of our relationship.”

She walked across the room and sat down at the counter. “What about it?”

“You’re okay with it?”

The present is the only thing that is certain. Live it fully.

She smiled. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t okay with our relationship.”

Julius did not look entirely satisfied with her response but he went back to his coffee. She reached for the yellow pad and the pen.

Another phone rang. Julius’s this time. He glanced at the screen and took the call.

“No problem, Eugene. I told you to call me the minute you came up with anything interesting. What have you got?”

Grace put down her pen and waited.

“Thanks,” Julius said. “Yes, this is important. Contact Chief Nakamura at the Cloud Lake PD and give him what you’ve got. He’s coordinating things with Seattle. Good work.”

Julius ended the connection. “That was Eugene, one of the wizards I asked to follow the money.”

“I remember,” Grace asked. “What did he find?”

“I told you I asked the wizards to go deeper into the Witherspoon financial records. They found an interesting item marked Medical Expenses.”

“What’s unusual about that?”

“Every month for the past few months several thousand dollars have been transferred from Witherspoon’s private account to an account in New York. The name on the NYC account is William J. Roper. Eugene says he can’t find a William J. Roper at the address on the account.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would Sprague have been paying medical expenses in New York? I don’t think he had any East Coast connections.” Grace stilled. “Wait, is that Nyla’s missing inheritance?”

“No, that’s definitely gone, probably sitting offshore. This looks more like a slow bleed.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Blackmail.”

Her email alert chimed, startling her. She froze, the way she always did lately when she heard an alert. Julius went still, too.

They both looked at her phone. Grace picked it up, looked at the screen and sighed in relief.

“It’s from Millicent,” she said. “Not the stalker.”

“Millicent gets star billing on our suspect list,” Julius said. He looked grim. “What does she want from you?”

Grace pulled up the email and smiled.
“Life is short. Eat more chocolate.”

Julius frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It was an office joke. Kristy, Millicent and I used to amuse
ourselves thinking up funny affirmations. Millicent came up with that particular slogan. She loves chocolate.”

Julius glanced at his watch. “It’s eight o’clock in the morning. Why is she sending you that email now?”

“I have no idea.”

“Does she make a habit of sending you emails like that?”

“No, she doesn’t. The line about eating chocolate was just a little joke around the office but Millicent isn’t one of those people who emails things like that.” Grace glanced at the email and the time. “It is a little weird, isn’t it?”

“Call her,” Julius said. “Find out why she sent it.”

The cool edge on his words sent a chill through Grace.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said. She eyed the phone. “But I will admit that a funny email at this hour is a little out of character for Millicent. Unless—”

“What?”

Grace made a face. “I’ll bet she heard about that little scene last night at the business banquet.”

“The scene between you and Diana?”

Grace cleared her throat. “More likely it was that kiss in front of all those people that got her attention. Alison says there were pictures.”

Julius did not look amused. He was very intent. “Why would Millicent email you a jokey affirmation because I kissed you at that damn banquet?”

“Got a hunch she’d think it was . . . entertaining. Millicent was always teasing me about my rather boring social life.”

“I’m not seeing a connection with chocolate.”

“It’s a female thing.”

“By all accounts, Millicent is very good with money,” Julius said. “A lot of it has recently gone missing. In addition, my financial wizards
have uncovered something that looks a lot like blackmail. And now this Millicent, who is so good with money, is sending you funny emails at eight o’clock in the morning. Call her. Find out what’s going on.”