Dawn in Eclipse Bay (30 page)

He gave her his slow smile, showing just a hint of teeth. “Honey, if I want Harte Investments, I'll buy the whole damn company when your dad puts it on the market in a year or two.”

Everyone stared at him in dumbfounded silence.

Lillian met Sullivan's eyes. He grinned. She felt the laughter bubble up inside.

“Yes, of course,” she gasped between giggles. “Why didn't I think of that. It's no secret that H.I. will be up for sale soon. You can buy it outright when Dad retires. No fuss, no bother, no need to get married.”

“Trust me,” Gabe said. “it would be a whole lot simpler that way.”

Mitchell grunted. “Never thought of that.”

“Probably because business is not your forte, Mitch,” Sullivan growled. “It was obvious right from the start that Gabe didn't need to marry Lillian to get his hands on Harte. All he has to do is wait a few years and do a buyout.”

Gabe wrapped his fingers around Lillian's wrist. “Come on, let's go someplace where we can discuss our private affairs in private.”

He opened the porch door and led her outside into the bright afternoon light. Together they went down the path toward the rocky beach.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the bottom.

“You're serious about this?” she said at last.

“Never been more serious in my life.” He tightened his hand around hers. “Did you mean it when you said you'd marry me?”

“Yes. But you don't have to give up a share of Harte Investments for me. I mean, I appreciate the grand gesture but it's not necessary. Really.”

“It's necessary.”

“Why?”

He stopped and pulled her around to face him. “Because I'm a Madison. A Madison does things like turn down the offer of a third of a multimillion-dollar company for the woman he loves. It's in the genes.”

The woman he loves
.

“Oh, Gabe.” The brilliant colors of happiness splashed through her, effervescent and glorious. She went into his arms. “I love you so much.”

He kissed her.

Except for a few details such as the fact that they were on the beach, not on the bluffs, and she wasn't barefoot and there was no gossamer gown, the scene was just the way it had been in the romantic fantasy she had conjured up when she had set out to meet him on the path.

Perfect.

Sullivan surveyed the seating options in Mitchell's living room and chose the recliner that provided a view of the bay. He lowered himself into it with a long sigh and looked out at the water. The light was starting to go. He never liked this time of day.

“We came mighty close to screwing that up pretty bad, didn't we?” he said.

“What's with this
we
business?” Mitchell settled into the other well-worn recliner. “You're the one who damn near screwed things up. What the hell did you think you were doing trying to buy Gabe with a chunk of H.I.?”

“You're the one who told me I was supposed to fix things.”

“You don't fix things between a Madison and a Harte with a business contract.”

“Seemed like the logical thing to do. Pretty clear that Lillian wanted him and I just wanted to encourage him to see the benefits of marriage to her.” Sullivan stretched out his legs, wincing when his joints protested. “How do you stand this damp, cold weather all year long?”

“I'm used to it. You've gotten soft living down there in Arizona.”

“Not soft, smart. If you had any sense you'd move to the desert, too.”

“I like it just fine here in Eclipse Bay.” Mitchell rested his head against the back of the chair. “You figure to drive back to Portland tonight?”

“Had enough driving for one day. Knees stiffen up when I sit in a car for a long period of time.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Mitchell absently rubbed one of his own knees. “Occurs to me that if you're gonna hang around town for a while, you might as well stay here with me.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“If you stay at the cottage you'll get in the way of Gabe's courting.”

“Maybe I'll take you up on that offer. Don't want to interfere with the lovebirds.” Sullivan chuckled.

Mitchell eyed him suspiciously. “What's so funny?”

“Just thinking about what the folks in town will say when they find out that I'm your houseguest.”

“Huh.” Sullivan grinned. “Probably figure we'll try to knock each other's teeth out.”

“Probably.”

“Now that's settled, maybe I should fill you in on some of the stuff that's been happening around here.”

Fifteen minutes later Sullivan was ready to explode. “Why the hell wasn't I told about the break-ins? I didn't have a clue that Lillian was in danger.”

“Take it easy. Like I just said, everything is under control. Gabe took care of Flint for you.”

“I should have been informed.”

“Gabe put the fire out before anyone realized just how big it was.” Mitchell heaved himself up out of his chair.

“Bryce will have dinner ready in a while. I generally have a glass or two of something beforehand. As I recall, you used to do the same.”

“I haven't changed.” Sullivan watched the darkness close in over the bay. “A little something at this time of day helps a man relax.”

“That it does.”

Mitchell went to a cabinet, hauled a bottle out of a cupboard and splashed whiskey into two glasses. He brought the two drinks back across the room and handed one to Sullivan without comment.

They drank their whiskeys and watched the darkness thicken outside the window.

After all these years, Sullivan thought, it was good to sit here and share the twilight with the one other person in the world who understood why this was such a bad time of day.

“They say the memories fade as you get older,” Mitchell said after a while.

“They lie.”

Lillian parked her car in the driveway behind Claire's red compact, got out and walked across the graveled drive toward the porch steps. All four doors and the lid of the compact's trunk were open wide. Two suitcases and a file box occupied the trunk.

The front door of the house banged open just as she reached out to knock. Claire lurched forward, head down, onto the porch, struggling with an oversized suitcase. She was dressed in sweats and running shoes. Her hair was anchored in a ponytail.

The loud, strident voice of a radio talk-show host holding forth on politics poured out of the doorway behind her.

“Need a hand?” Lillian asked above the hammering of the radio pundit.

Claire jolted to a stop, breathing hard. She looked up quickly, startled.

“Lil.” She let go of the suitcase. “Sorry, didn't hear you drive up. What are you doing here?”

“You told me you were leaving town today. I came by to see if I could help with the packing.”

“Thanks.” Claire looked at the compact's trunk and then down at the suitcase that she had angled through the doorway. “I underestimated the job. Guess I hadn't realized how much stuff I had accumulated here in Eclipse Bay. I'm taking the essentials with me in the car. The moving-van people will be here at two o'clock for the rest.”

“Point me in the right direction.”

“I finished my office. I was just getting started on the bedroom and bath. If you want to take the kitchen, I would be forever grateful.”

“No problem.” Lillian moved through the doorway.

Claire followed her. She went to the table where the radio blared and turned off the political hot talk. The sudden silence left an uncomfortable vacuum.

“You're a good friend,” Claire declared. “Unlike some others I could mention. You will notice how none of the other members of the
team
bothered to show. Turns out they all had something unexpected come up at the last minute. Why am I not surprised?”

“Claire—”

“Getting fired from a political campaign staff endows you with instant invisibility. Did you know that? Like being in the wrong crowd in high school.”

Lillian cleared her throat. “Where are the packing cartons?”

“In the laundry room off the kitchen. Help yourself.”

Lillian went toward the kitchen.

“There's coffee on the counter,” Claire called after her. “And some croissants from Incandescent Body. You know, that bakery is one of the few things I'm going to miss about this place.”

“Understandable. It's very good.”

Lillian went into the kitchen and opened the cupboard doors. She did a quick survey of the contents of the cabinets, getting a feel for the size of the job, and then went into the laundry room to look for boxes.

The small space was crowded with the usual jumble of odds and ends that tend to wind up in laundry rooms. A long shelf above the aging washer and dryer held a collection of soap, bleach, and dryer-sheet packages, together with squeeze bottles of glass cleaner and stain remover. A mop and a broom were propped in a bucket in the corner. The basket on the floor next to it was filled with rags.

A selection of empty cardboard cartons was stacked on top of the washer and dryer. She chose two and went back into the kitchen. Methodically she began emptying Claire's cupboards.

Impulse had brought her here today. She did not know what she was looking for. She only hoped that she would know it when she saw it.

Half an hour later, the two cartons filled, she went out into the living room and down the hall to the room Claire had used as a second office. The desk and file cabinet were still there but they had been cleaned out.

Claire appeared in the hall, a box filled with bathroom items in her arms.

“Finished with the kitchen already?”

“No. I need some strapping tape.”

“On the table in the living room.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't know what I'd have done without you today.” Claire went past her toward the front door. “Next time you're in Seattle, give me a call. I'll take you to dinner.”

“I'll do that.”

She waited until Claire disappeared outside and then ducked into the bedroom. The closet doors and the drawers in the chest beneath the window stood open, making a quick search easy. She examined an array of shoes first. Ignoring the high heels and pumps, she looked for a familiar pair of loafers.

They were nowhere in sight. Maybe they had already been packed. She opened one of the unsealed cartons.

Claire's footsteps sounded on the porch. Adrenaline surged through Lillian, making her hand tremble.

This was pointless. She was wasting her time. She dropped the lid of the carton and hurried out of the bedroom. She started back along the hall.

Too late. Claire was already in the living room, looking at the strapping-tape device that rested on the coffee table. She turned and saw Lillian. A frown crossed her face.

“Didn't you find the tape?” she asked.

“I stopped to use the bathroom.” Lillian kept moving. She went to the coffee table and picked up the tape. Her pulse was pounding. “I'm almost finished with the kitchen.”

“Terrific.”

She took a deep breath and made herself walk briskly but not too briskly back into the kitchen. She knelt beside the cartons and went to work sealing them.

Claire's footsteps receded back down the hall toward the bedroom.

Lillian wondered if her heart would ever stop pounding. Clearly she was not cut out for this kind of thing. But there would never be a better opportunity to satisfy her curiosity.

She finished taping the boxes, got to her feet and went back into the laundry room for more cartons. Her pulse had finally slowed. She moved two large boxes aside to get at the medium-sized one that looked right for the contents of the silverware drawer.

She noticed the crumpled piece of navy blue cloth on top of the rag basket when she put the boxes down beside it. The blue fabric was not faded or torn. It looked new.

It looked familiar. She had an artist's eye for colors. She remembered them.

Her pulse picked up speed again. Her heart was pounding now.

Don't get too excited. Probably nothing. Just a rag.

Cautiously she reached into the basket, picked up the wad of navy blue cloth and shook it out. It was the shirt Claire had worn the day she had stopped by the cottage to warn her that Marilyn still wanted Gabe.

There did not appear to be anything wrong with the garment. No rips or holes that would have explained how it had come to be relegated to the rag pile. Could have fallen out of the laundry hamper by accident, she thought.

She flipped the shirt around to examine the back.

The smear of dried red paint on the right cuff made her go cold.

“Oh, damn,” she whispered.

She had come here this morning on the off chance that she might get some answers.
Be careful what you wish for.

“How are you doing in here?” Claire came to stand in the doorway of the laundry room. “Need more boxes? I've got some—”

She broke off at the sight of the navy blue shirt dangling from Lillian's fingers. Her eyes went to the paint-stained cuff.

“It was you who trashed my studio.” Lillian put the shirt down on the washer. “I knew there had to be some evidence somewhere. It's almost impossible to work with a lot of paint and not get some on your clothes.”

The blood drained from Claire's face. She swallowed twice before she managed to speak.

“You can't prove anything,” she stammered. “You can't prove a damn thing, do you hear me?”

“Probably not. Unless, of course, you kept the VPX 5000. But I'm sure you had enough sense to ditch it. Did you throw it into the bay? That's what I did with my client files.”

Claire eyes filled with tears. She seemed to collapse in on herself.

“There was no need to injure Arizona,” Lillian said. “She had nothing to do with this. Do you realize what might have happened if you had hit her even a little bit harder? She's an elderly woman, Claire. You could have killed her.”

“I didn't want to do it but I had no choice.”

“No choice? What are you talking about. No one made you hit her and steal her camera.”

“I had to get the camera.” Claire's hands knotted into fists at her sides. “Don't you understand? She had pictures.”

“Pictures of you breaking into my cottage?”

“I didn't see her until I left. I had parked my car in the woods nearby. But when I started to drive away, I saw her truck parked on the opposite side of the road. She wasn't in it so I knew she was probably nearby conducting her idiotic surveillance rounds. I was afraid she might have spotted me coming out of your cottage.”

“For heaven's sake, Claire, you know as well as I do that it wouldn't have mattered if she had noticed you in the vicinity of the cottage. No one ever pays any attention to A.Z.'s claims and theories. Everyone knows she's a little weird.”

“When she came out of the woods a short time later she was carrying that damn camera. I panicked. Of course, no one would have listened if she had claimed to see me near your cottage on the day a break-in was reported. Everyone knows she's paranoid about people who work at the institute. But they sure as hell would have paid attention if she had produced some time-and-date-stamped photos of me coming out the back door of your place with a tire iron in my hand.”

“You followed her home, waiting for an opportunity to take the VPX 5000 from her, didn't you? She knew that she was being tailed.”

“I watched her for a while but I realized that sooner or later she would go back to that fortress. I got there ahead of her, hid the car in the trees and waited on her back porch behind the woodshed.”

“You planned to attack her.”

“No.”
Claire wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “I didn't know exactly what I was going to do. I couldn't think straight. I guess I had some vague idea of catching her off guard when she went into the house. I just wanted to get that camera.”

“But something made her walk around the porch to check the rear door. You saw your chance, grabbed the plant stand and hit her.”

“I didn't mean to put her into the hospital.” Claire's voice rose on an anguished wail. “You have to believe me. I just wanted to knock her down. Make her drop the camera.”

“You gave her a concussion, Claire. You could have killed her.”

“I told you, I never meant to hurt her.” Claire sniffed. “What's more, you can't prove that I took the camera. Just your word against mine.”

“Sure.” Lillian leaned back against the dryer and gripped the white metal edge on either side. “And since its just us girls talking here, I've got some questions. What gave you the idea of going after my client files in the first place? Did you come up with it all on your own or was it something Anderson said?”

Rage infused Claire's face. She turned a shade of red that rivaled the paint on the shirt.

“Flint. I heard that bastard tell Marilyn about your files the day he came to see her at the institute. He actually bragged about them to her. He used them to talk his way into
my job
. Promised her he could get them for her.”

“I see.”

“Got to give credit where it's due. Marilyn is no fool. She understood the value of those files immediately.”

“Did Anderson tell her he planned to steal them?”

“Of course not. He just said he was working an angle to get them. Told her not to worry. He'd handle all the details.”

“Where were you when they had that conversation?”

“I was packing up my desk in the adjoining office. Marilyn closed the door but I simply switched on the recording system.” Claire smiled bitterly. “That was one of my jobs, you know. Recording Marilyn's meetings and conversations with important people. She plans to publish her memoirs someday.”

“Later you decided to see if you could find my client files before Flint got to them, right?”

Claire shrugged. “He said they were on your computer. Sounded easy enough. I could have used them the same way Flint planned to use them.”

“To buy your way into another job?”

“Yes. The data on your high-end clients would be worth a fortune to any candidate in the Northwest.” Tears welled in Claire's eyes again. “But I couldn't find your computer when I broke into the cottage. And there was Arizona with her damned camera when I came out. Everything went wrong. All that risk for nothing. It's not fair.”

“That day you stopped by the cottage to warn me to watch out for Marilyn, you overheard my conversation with Gabe when he was on his way back from Portland. You learned that we had concluded I might be the target of a stalker. That made you very nervous, didn't it? You realized that we were no longer dismissing the break-in as the action of a transient. So you came back to trash my studio to add some credibility to our theory.”