Authors: Adrianne Lee
A muted noise sounded behind her, near the doorway. She flinched and spun around. A chill shot through her before she could stop it. Damn. She was doing it again. This foolishness had to end.
Concentrating on the wines, she located a Chablis from California and checked it off the list, then gathered a Washington Riesling and did the same. She took the two bottles to the kitchen and returned.
On a rack near the back wall, full of very old, very dusty bottles, she found the requested French Bordeaux. She lifted the bottle. The ancient framework creaked, alarmingly. With widening eyes, April backed away from the decrepit structure. How solid were these racks? It looked as if this one could collapse at any minute. God, the weight of all those bottles, the flying glass—could badly injure, even kill someone.
Shivering, she hastened to the wine cellar door, gave the bottle a swipe with the cloth and set it on the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, April caught a movement. Her imagination? Rats? Or…?
“
Is someone here?”
No answer.
Calm down, April. Don’t do this to yourself!
Forcing herself to continue, she moved between the racks, hunting for another bottle of Washington wine. A Zinfandel.
After an extensive search, she finally found it on a bottom shelf of another unstable looking wine holder.
Gingerly, she hoisted the bottle. The rack vibrated and screaked.
To her right, she heard a different sound. Somebody else’s breathing? Her head snapped around. She caught a movement of shadow on the wall. This wasn’t her imagination. Her pulse zinged. Clutching the bottle to her trembling heart, she started to rise.
“
Thane, is that you? July? Are you playing games again?”
She could have sworn she heard a grunt. A second later the full-packed wine rack came crashing toward her.
Chapter Twelve
Loud, tinny clanks rattled the walls of August’s workshop as Karl and Spencer entered. The place reeked of wood smoke and grease and boiled coffee. The latter came from a blackened pot atop the old fashioned airtight stove in the far right corner, the sole source of heat. Because the shop was usually either too warm or too cold, Spencer suspected August only fed the rumbly, black contraption whenever the chill reached him. Three steps into the room, he started to sweat.
August sat on a tall, metal stool, hammering a length of pipe that was wedged in the vise attached to his work table. Catching sight of them, he stopped and laid the hammer aside. A puzzled frown crinkled his freckled brow. “Is something wrong?”
As Karl rapidly explained the incident on the ferry, the color drained from August’s face. “Dear Lord, my daughter could’ve been killed.” The realization of this seemed to hit him hard. His face reddened in an odd splotchy pattern. He leaped off the stool and shouted at Karl. “Why didn’t you let me know the barge was in such a state of disrepair?”
Spencer had never before heard August raise his voice in anger. Obviously, Karl was equally stunned by the outburst. He took a defensive backward step as though expecting to be struck. “Johansen told you about the ferry before he retired last month.”
“
He did not!”
Karl’s tan face went ashen and his blue eyes widened in disbelief. His head bobbed on his shoulders like a velvety dog in the rear window of a car. “Man, you’re such a space-case you can’t remember what day it is, let alone what you’re told. Johansen gave you a whole list of things that need repairs.”
August blinked, clearly taken aback. “Then why didn’t you follow up on it, son?”
Crimson charged up Karl’s neck. “Don’t call me ‘son’.
My
pa is dead,” he growled defensively as though being fatherless explained being derelict.
Instead of August laughing it off as he expected, Spencer saw a flicker of guilt steal through the wizened navy blue eyes. Did August feel somehow responsible for the defective jack that had caused Lily’s sports car to crush Jesse Winston’s chest?
But, of course. That would explain why August had financed Karl’s two failed attempts at college, why he’d give him this job, and why he tolerated his negligence. Lord, could he empathize with feeling responsible for another’s death, but until this moment, he hadn’t considered the trauma August must have endured; first with Jesse, then Lily, then April.
How dare Karl play on it now in order to save his own butt! Without a thought to the man’s superior strength, Spencer grabbed Karl by the collar and pulled him close, intending to smash his perfect nose unless he apologized.
“
Don’t touch me!” Karl smacked Spencer’s hand away, and stepped out of his reach. For five whole seconds, he glared at both men, breathing hard, then wheeling around, he stormed to the workshop door. “All this family’s ever given mine is grief!” he hollered and slammed out.
Caught in the wake of his own anger, Spencer mumbled, “Of all the ungrateful, insolent…”
“
I shouldn’t have called him a liar.” August’s expression wavered between flustered and embarrassed.
Spencer couldn’t believe it. August was apologizing for Karl. “That guy’s always been a spoiled brat. And he’s gotten worse since Jesse died.”
“
Well, you can’t blame Helga for indulging him overmuch these past twelve years. Hell, I’ve been guilty of it, too. Perhaps, we’ve made him a bit lazy, but Karl’s young. He’ll grow up.”
Spencer considered reminding August that Karl was twenty-eight and should have outgrown such immature conduct by now. But why waste his breath? “We inspected the ferry railings before we came up here to tell you about them. Actually, they’re in better condition than it first appeared. April had the unfortunate luck to crash against one of the few weak points.”
“
I thank God she wasn’t hurt.” August wiped his brow on the sleeve of his blue flannel shirt. “But I’m worried about the rest of Calendar House. Now that I think about it, Karl was right. I seem to remember Johansen giving me a list, but I was in the midst of redoing the speed launch. One project at a time keeps the mind clear.”
August threw his hands in the air. “God only knows where I put the list, or how many dozens of things need repairing. What in the hell am I going to do?” His voice dwindled to a whisper, and the sudden slackness in his face said the undertaking was more than he thought he could execute.
A tight band squeezed Spencer’s heart. Frowning, he contemplated the mortality of this man who’d been the only father figure he’d ever known. Granted, August exuded a fitness and health few men his age did, but he was nearly seventy, and just as susceptible to the strength-zapping effects of time and nature as the next person.
Spencer had already had to juggle his schedule to be here for the engagement party; somehow, he’d find a few more days. He pressed his palms to the worn surface of August’s work table.
“
Look, I’ll help Karl compile a new list and take care of getting estimates on the jobs he can’t handle.”
August’s’ expression brightened, but he shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, Spence. However, I won’t ask you to take more time away from your campaign.”
“
You didn’t ask. I offered. And I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, we could probably do most of it in a couple of days.”
“
Really?”
“
Yes. Now that’s settled.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get up to the house. Helga told me dinner was ready fifteen minutes ago.”
By the time Spencer and August arrived at the house, large raindrops were falling. In the kitchen, they found the counter spread with a mini-smorgasbord of cold cuts, condiments, and salads. The attractively arranged platters showed signs of violation and, indeed, only four unused plates remained.
Helga sat alone at the table, eating. Her greeting was polite, but strained. Spencer concluded Karl had run directly to his mother after the blow up in the workshop. Although she would never voice the irritation, it was as plain as August’s freckles that she resented his treatment of her son.
Trying to keep his own voice level, Spencer asked, “Where is everyone?”
The housekeeper glanced up from her position at the end of the table, chewed faster on her sandwich, then washed it down with a swallow of milk. “July’s already eaten. Your mother’s seeing to her bath. Thane and Vanessa took their plates upstairs.”
“
And April?” August queried. He seemed totally oblivious to the housekeeper’s mood as he reached for a plate and began layering it with ham and cheese slices.
“
Don’t know. Maybe in her room.” Helga took another sip of milk then filled her fork with potato salad. “I figured she’d come eat when she got hungry.”
August nodded, but disquiet chattered in the recesses of Spencer’s brain. He could no more define the feeling than its source, except to say it had its root in the discovery that the electricity had been turned off on purpose. He tried to shove the worry aside. Probably, she was just taking a nap—she had looked beat earlier—and would not appreciate being disturbed.
He reached for a plate, but suddenly realized he was no longer hungry. To hell with it. Let her get mad. He’d rather be chastised than sorry. “I’ll go check on her.”
Three knocks on her door brought no response from April. The prospect of being caught snooping in her room again had Spencer grimacing as he turned the knob and silently slid the door inward. The room was empty, the bedspread smooth. He shut the door then trekked down the hall away from the back stairs.
The bathroom door stood wide open. Bright light and the boisterous whirr of a hair dryer spilled into the hallway. He stopped in the doorframe, and wedged his shoulder into the jamb.
Dressed in flannel Minnie Mouse pajamas, July stood with her neck bent forward as their mother kneaded her wet tresses with one hand and plied the drier with the other. Cynthia’s red skirt had damp patches as though his young sister had shaken her dripping hair across it. She smiled at him. “Hello darlin’. What’re you up to?”
July peeked from beneath the damp tangle of fiery hair. “Hi Spencer!”
“
Hi twerp. Have either of you seen April?” He had to shout to be heard about the noise dryer.
Cynthia cut the motor. “Not since July and she returned from Friday Harbor. Is it somethin’ important?” There was more than curiosity in his mother’s eyes. He sensed she suspected his true feeling for April, but he wasn’t sure she approved.
“
Not really.”
“
Well, if you happen upon my gold cross let me know. I seem to have misplaced the thing.”
“
Sure.” He threw July a kiss, and continued toward the front stairs. Thane’s door was ajar. The murmur of a low, intense-sounding discussion drifted to him. He hesitated; his arm raised to knock, then decided not to bother them. Maybe April was in the living room or her fathers den.
* * * *
Sprawled on the earthen floor with her cheek pressed to the dank ground, April drew a constricted breath and tried again to buck the weight off her back. Something sharp dug into her shoulder. She winced with the pain and abandoned the effort to free herself.
God, how long had she been here, trapped beneath the heavy wine rack? Long enough for the stench of wine to gag her, long enough for her voice to grow hoarse from hollering from help. Another attempt produced only a dry croak.
Surely someone would be wondering where she was by now. She closed her eyes and strained to hear possible footsteps coming down the stairs, or a voice calling her name. Instead, she heard the squeak of a rat. Terror shot through her. She twisted her neck, peering in the direction of the unwelcome noise. From amid the rubble of broken glass and shattered wood came the flash of four beady eyes.
* * * *
Within five minutes Spencer had searched the main level, and was standing in the otherwise unoccupied den. Frustration deepened his worry. Where was she?
Wind rattled the French windows, startling him. He stared at the flickering lace curtains, contemplating the bizarre notion that some greater force might be trying to tell him she’d gone outside. What the hell? At this point he’d accept help from any source. He threw open the glass doors and was immediately sorry. Rain slashed against him in sheets, wetting his clothes, his face, his hair.
He yanked the panels back together and wiped his face across his damp sweater sleeve. Even if she’d started for a walk before the rain began, she’d have been back by now.
He returned to the kitchen. Karl and Helga sat at the table, talking over steaming mugs. There was no sign of August.