On the plus side, he thought he had become a fairly good cop, the kind of cop that Hugh Stenson would have approved of. He upheld the law here in Dunsley. He had never accepted a bribe, not that bribes were a big temptation in a town where incomes tended to range from modest to low. And he kept people’s secrets, just as Stenson had taught him.
Lately he’d even been thinking of trying to resurrect something resembling a social life. Half a dozen times in the past month he’d almost picked up the phone and called her. But always he had hesitated. She was a good woman, a pretty woman, a compassionate woman. The problem was that she considered him a friend. He hadn’t been sure how she would react if he tried to turn their friendship into something else.
He looked at the phone on the table beside the chair. One thing was certain, he sure as hell could not call her now. The return of Irene Stenson had changed everything. One look at those haunting eyes and all the guilt that he had buried so carefully had been exhumed from the grave.
He knew that nothing he had accomplished as chief of police could compensate for what he had done seventeen years ago.
Eleven
A thunderous roar of hard rock music blasted out of Cabin Number Six just as Irene handed a bottle of beer to Jason.
“That does it.” Luke straightened away from the wall where he had been leaning and set his own beer down on the table. “I knew those guys were going to be a problem when Maxine checked them in this afternoon. Be right back.”
He opened the back porch door and went outside.
Irene watched him go down the steps and walk through the trees to the neighboring cabin.
“Always a treat to watch Luke in action,” Jason said, teeth flashing in a grin of happy anticipation. He went to stand at the window where he had a better view of the offending cabin. “He’s at the door now. I give that music five more seconds, max. One, two, three—”
Silence descended abruptly.
“Make that three seconds,” Jason said.
“Your brother does have a way about him,” Irene observed.
“A few years in the Marines will do that for you.”
“I know.” She opened the refrigerator and took out the washed and crisped romaine. “My father was a Marine.”
Jason whistled. “So that’s it.”
“That’s what?”
“Why you seem to understand Luke better than most women I know.”
She glanced up, startled. “What makes you think I understand him?”
“Something about the way you two communicate, I guess. He gives orders. You ignore him. Seems to work well for both of you.” Jason shrugged off the issue. “Need any help with dinner?”
“I think everything’s under control, thanks. How long are you staying?”
“I’m going back to Santa Elena tomorrow morning. Got a meeting with a supplier. I just came up here to see how Luke was doing and to make sure he’s still planning to come to the Old Man’s birthday party.”
She opened the oven door. “Who’s the Old Man?”
“That’s what we all call Dad.” He examined the pan she was removing from the oven with acute interest. “Hey, is that corn bread?”
“Yes. Like it?”
“Oh, yeah. But I’m strictly a bush league fan compared to Luke. He loves corn bread. Actually, he loves anything home cooked. I think he ate one too many MREs in the field.”
“That would be those instant meals that the military uses?”
“Right.” Jason sniffed appreciatively. “What with one thing and another, Luke hasn’t had a lot of home-cooked meals since he left to go off to college, and that was a long time ago. He was married for a while once but his ex didn’t like to cook. Mostly she specialized in takeout.”
“Luke has an ex?” she heard herself say in her best oh-so-casual sort of way. Just a reporter, doing her job. Getting background.
“Don’t worry, she’s way out of the picture. Been five or six years since they split up. One of those whirlwind things. Lasted about five minutes.”
“I see.”
“Well, actually, it lasted a little longer than that. They had a couple of months together before Luke was deployed abroad. By the time he got back, it had finally dawned on his bride that there was more to Luke than a good-looking uniform. She concluded that she did not want to be a Marine officer’s wife.”
“Luke never remarried?”
She knew instantly that she had stepped into forbidden territory. Jason’s cheerful, open, easygoing expression was suddenly veiled behind a protective barrier.
“He was engaged for a while six months ago, but—” Jason stopped very suddenly, as if he had said more than he’d intended. “There was a problem. Things didn’t work out.”
Irene felt the familiar tingle of curiosity stirring deep inside. Some mystery here, she decided. What was it Luke had said about family secrets? One thing’s for sure, every family’s got ’em.
She sprinkled a little coarse salt on the three salmon fillets she had brought home from the Dunsley Market. She had selected the fish from the frozen foods section after recalling her mother’s advice on the subject of purchasing fish from the Dunsley Market. Never buy fresh. No telling how old it is.
“Where’s the big birthday bash to be held?” she asked, trying to reinvigorate the faltering conversation.
“Santa Elena.” Jason seemed relieved that she had changed topics. “That’s where the family business is.”
“What, exactly, is the business?”
Jason raised his brows. “Luke hasn’t told you much about himself, has he?”
“Not a lot, no.” She took the bottle of inexpensive white that she had purchased earlier out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter. “We’ve been busy. Haven’t had a lot of time for casual conversation.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true, all right.” Jason studied the bottle of wine she was opening. “But I think it’s more likely he doesn’t want to talk about the family business these days because the Old Man and his partner are putting a lot of pressure on him to come into it. Ever heard of Elena Creek Vineyards?”
“Well, sure. Anyone who lives in and around wine country has heard of Elena Creek Vineyards. Very classy, upscale wines. They win lots of awards.”
“We certainly like to think so,” Jason said.
She took another look at the label on the bottle of white. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”
“Don’t worry about the white. Luke and I sure won’t.”
“Your family owns Elena Creek Vineyards?”
“My dad and his partner, Gordon Foote, founded it about forty years ago. The Old Man was the business brains of the outfit. Gordon was the winemaker. They had a dream and they made it come true. Now they want to pass that dream down to the next generation.”
“How does the next generation feel about that?”
Jason smiled wryly. “My brother Hackett and I are on board. So is Katy, Gordon’s daughter. In fact, I don’t think you could keep the three of us out of the wine business. It’s in our blood.”
“But not in Luke’s?”
“That’s what he claims, but the general consensus in the family is that Luke doesn’t know what he wants. See, Luke has never really settled into anything for long. Take college, for instance.”
“He dropped out?”
“He was doing great. Got his B.A. and got accepted into grad school. We all thought he was on track to enter the academic world.”
“What did he study?”
“You’ll never believe it.” Jason chuckled. “Classical philosophy.”
She was momentarily dumbstruck. Then she started to laugh. “You’re kidding. It does sort of boggle the mind.”
“Don’t let that laid-back former-Marine routine fool you. Luke can shoot the academic bull with the best of them. As I was saying, it seemed like he was headed for the ivory-tower world, but the next thing we know, he tells us he’s enlisted. It was a real shocker. He was sen
t off to some sort of new strategy and warfare training program. He actually managed to finish up his Ph.D. in the Corps. But he got deployed. A lot.”
“A lot?”
“Things have been busy for the Marines in the past few years.”
She chilled. “Yes, I know.”
“Anyhow, six months ago he got out. He let the Old Man and Gordon talk him into going to work at the winery.”
“I take it that was not a successful career move.”
“It was what you might call an unmitigated disaster. Like I said, he also got engaged about the same time and that fell apart, too.” Jason swept out a hand. “Now, here he is in Dunsley operating a tumbledown old fishing lodge.”
“Let me take a wild guess. The family is deeply concerned.”
“There is outright panic in some quarters,” Jason admitted. “Personally, I think Luke is just one of those people who take a while to find their thing in life, you know? But the others are afraid he’s in a bad downward spiral.”
She considered that briefly and shook her head. “I don’t think that’s it. Just the opposite, I’d say. Luke may be taking a different route, but I think he knows where he’s going.”
“I’m with you.” Jason hesitated. His face grew somber for the first time. “But you can’t blame the family for worrying. Luke probably hasn’t told you this, but he saw some very rough duty during the last few years.”
She thought about what she had glimpsed once or twice behind the iron-clad self-control in Luke’s eyes. “I had more or less assumed as much.”
“He was very good at what he did. There are some serious medals tucked away somewhere in a drawer. But that kind of thing exacts a price.”
“I know,” she said gently.
The tension in Jason’s face eased. “Had a hunch you’d probably figured it out. Like I said, the two of you seem to communicate pretty well. Which is a little weird because Luke’s not what anyone would call a great communicator.” He paused to peer through the window. “Not unless he’s giving orders, that is. He’s real good at communicating orders.”
The door opened abruptly. Luke walked into the kitchen. He came to a halt, looking first at Jason and then at Irene.
“What?” he asked.
Irene smiled serenely. “I just discovered that I’m about to serve what can only be called an extremely unassuming white wine to a couple of men who grew up in a legendary California wine-making family.”
“I told her not to worry about it,” Jason assured him, “on account of there’s corn bread.”
“Oh, man,” Luke said, looking as if he had just had a religious experience. “Corn bread.”
“Your tongue’s hanging out,” Jason said. “Try not to embarrass the family here.”
“What did you tell the guys in the cabin who were playing the loud rock?” Irene asked, popping the cork out of the bottle.
Luke shrugged. “I just reminded them of the lodge’s do-not-disturb-your-neighbor policy.”
Irene leaned down to check the salmon. “That’s all it took to make them lower the volume?”
“I also reminded them that I happen to be one of their neighbors, and I made it clear that if they didn’t lower the volume immediately and keep it down I would personally drop each one of them off the dock into the lake.”
Jason grinned. “Like I said, Luke communicates orders real well.”
“Far be it from me to offer advice to a budding resort operator,” Irene said, “but if you’re hoping for repeat business, you might want to develop a more diplomatic approach to dealing with your guests.”
“Luke joined the Marines, not the foreign service,” Jason said. “Different culture entirely.”
She took the salmon fillets out from under the broiler. “I’ve heard that.”
Twelve
Luke awoke to darkness. The distant whap-whap-whap of a helicopter faded into the night along with the other brittle shards of the dream.
He sat up slowly on the edge of the bed. Sweat plastered his tee shirt to his back and chest. He was wired; preternaturally alert. All of his senses were energized, battle ready.
He knew the sensation all too well. He also knew that the only antidote was to move around, work off some of the adrenaline and force himself to focus on something other than the dream.
It had been a bad one this time. He’d been back in the narrow lanes and dark alleys of an urban landscape that had been ancient before the United States had even been a gleam in the Founders’ eyes. There in the shadows he and his men played a deadly game of three-dimensional warfare, one in which the enemy could be anywhere—above, behind, in front or even in a maze of tunnels underground beneath your feet. There was no safe zone, no place where you could relax even for an hour or two and allow your overworked senses to recover. The only way to survive was to stay constantly alert and aware.
Don’t go there. Focus on something else. You know the drill. Fill your head with other thoughts.
He punched the little button on the side of his watch to check the time. In the green glow that briefly illuminated the dial he saw that it was ten minutes to one.
He got to his feet but did not turn on the light beside the bed. The last thing he wanted to do was awaken Jason, who was sound asleep on the couch in the front room. He went to the window and twitched the curtain aside.
Cold moonlight gleamed on the lake. The lights were off in the cabin that Maxine had rented to the hard rock aficionados. But every window in Irene’s cabin was still ablaze.
He knew exactly what he wanted to do to release some of the excess energy pounding through him. But he was pretty sure that it was against the rules for innkeepers to jump their female guests.
Hell of a dumb profession with rules like that.
He crossed the small space to the battered wooden desk that stood against one wall and powered up the laptop. Maybe doing some work on The Project would help take his mind off the aftereffects of the dream. That had been the whole point of creating The Project, after all. In simplest terms, the strategy was to replace one obsession with another. It sounded good in theory, and many nights it actually worked.
The computer screen winked on and glowed expectantly. He opened the file and paged through the text until he got to the chapter he had been working on all week.
The soft sound of a small car moving at low speed interrupted his thoughts. He stopped in mid-sentence and listened closely. If the guys in Cabin Number Six were driving into town to look for some excitement, they were going to be sadly disappointed. Harry’s Hang-Out was closed by this time.
He waited, but no beams speared the darkness. Whoever was at the wheel was driving toward the main road without lights.
“Damn.” He got to his feet and grabbed his jeans off the back of the chair. “There she goes again.”
He yanked on the denims, ripped a dark shirt off a hanger, shoved his feet into his running shoes and left the bedroom at a run.
Jason raised his head when he went past the couch.
“Where are you going at this time of night?” he mumbled sleepily.
“Out.”
“Right.” Jason dropped back down onto the pillow. “Knew when I saw the corn bread that you were a goner.”
Thirteen
She hated the thought of going back into the house, especially at this hour.
Irene stopped in the pool of darkness that drowned the steps outside the utility room and took the key out of the pocket of her trench coat. She had a flashlight with her, but she didn’t dare switch it on until she was inside. She had also taken the precaution of leaving her car parked out of sight down the road.
Tonight she did not want to risk being seen anywhere near the Webbs’ summer place. What she was about to do probably came under the heading of illegal entry, she thought. Sam McPherson was already unhappy with her. She did not want to give him a reason to try to run her out of town.
A ghostly breeze slithered through the trees. The interior of th
e house was drenched in night and shadow. Unlike last night, no light burned in the front room.
She unlocked the door, dropped the key into her pocket and held her breath as she moved into the deep darkness of the utility room. Closing the door very quickly, she removed the small, pencil-slim flashlight and switched it on.
As soon as the narrow beam sliced through the shadows she was able to breathe again.
She moved cautiously into the hall and went toward the staircase that connected the living and dining area to the upper floor. The darkness downstairs seemed especially dense. It took her a moment to realize that someone had drawn the curtains across the floor-to-ceiling windows after Pamela’s body had been removed. Sam, probably, she thought. His goal had no doubt been to deter morbid curiosity seekers, but the result was that she did not have to worry about a passerby noticing the thin beam of her flashlight.
It gave her an eerie jolt to realize that everything looked so House & Garden normal tonight. Surely there should have been some sense that a person had died here recently. But Pamela’s death had not involved overt violence or blood, she reminded herself, just booze and pills.
Booze and pills. One of the classic suicide strategies. What if she was wrong and everyone else was right? What if Pamela really had OD’d, accidentally or otherwise?
Okay, so call me a conspiracy theorist.
She did not linger downstairs. If Pamela had hidden any secrets before she died, they would be in her bedroom.
Over the course of the summer that she and Pamela had been close, she had come to know her friend’s bedroom almost as well as her own. She had spent hours upstairs in this house, listening to the latest music, talking about boys and reading an endless array of fashion and celebrity gossip magazines.
She climbed the stairs to the second floor and turned toward the bedroom that Pamela had used when she was a teen. The door was ajar.