“Everyone I know seems to think that not ending up in prison will be a major accomplishment for me.” He swung back around to look at her. “What about you? What kind of business are you planning to open, Ms. Most Likely to Achieve?”
She took a few steps across the pebbly beach and sank down on a rock. “I’m not sure yet. I’m still researching possibilities. I’ve been talking to my dad. He says that the secret is to carve out a small niche in the service sector. One that big companies can’t fill because of their size.”
“Something along the lines of outcall massage, or maybe one of those private escort services?”
“Very funny.”
“I’ve seen the ads in the Yellow Pages. You know, the ones aimed at traveling businessmen and conventioneers. Discreet personal services offered in the privacy of your hotel room.”
“You know, your sense of humor is as limited as your idea of an evening’s entertainment.”
“Well, what do you expect from a guy who doesn’t have his Ph.D. ?”
“Too much, obviously.” She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them.
He moved to stand next to her rock. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you like that.”
“Forget it.”
“I’m sure you’ll find your niche or whatever. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“Is marriage on your list of personal objectives?”
She glanced up at him, startled. “Well, yes, of course.”
“I guess you’ll probably marry someone like the jerk, right?”
She sighed. “I was never serious about Perry. He was just someone to have fun with this summer.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not that he turned out to be a lot of fun tonight.”
“Definitely not Mr. Right.”
“No.”
“Bet you’ve got a long list of requirements that Mr. Right will have to meet before you agree to marry him, don’t you?”
The dry question made her uncomfortable. “So, I know what I want in a husband. So what? Just because you don’t make long-range plans doesn’t mean everyone else has to play their life by ear.”
“True.” Without warning, he dropped down onto the rock beside her. The movement was easy, almost catlike. “Tell me, what kind of hoops will Mr. Right have to jump through before you’ll agree to marry him?”
Stung, she held up one hand and ticked off the basics. “He’ll be intelligent, well educated, a graduate of a good school, and successful in his field. He’ll also be loyal, honorable, decent, and trustworthy.”
“No criminal record?”
“Definitely no criminal record.” She held up her other hand and continued down the list. “He’ll be dependable, kind, sensitive, and capable of making a commitment. Someone I can talk to. Someone who shares my interests and goals. That’s very important, you know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’ll also get along well with my family, love animals, and be very supportive of my career.”
Rafe lounged back on his elbows. “But other than that, just an ordinary guy?”
For some inexplicable reason his mockery hurt. “You think I’m asking too much?”
He smiled faintly. “Get real. The guy you’re looking for doesn’t exist. Or if he does, he’ll have some fatal flaw that you didn’t expect.”
“Is that so?” She narrowed her eyes. “How about your Ms. Right? Got any idea of what she’ll be like?”
“No. Doubt if there is one. Not that it matters.”
“Because you’re not interested in a monogamous commitment?” she asked acidly.
“No, because the men in my family aren’t much good when it comes to marriage. Figure the odds are against me getting lucky.”
She could hardly argue that point. His grandfather’s four spectacularly failed marriages were common knowledge. Rafe’s father, Sinclair, had had two wives before he had engaged in the tumultuous affair with his model that had produced his sons. The assumption was that if he had not died in the motorcycle accident, Sinclair would have racked up a string of divorces and affairs that would have made Mitchell’s record pale in comparison.
“Marriage should not be viewed as a lottery or a crap-shoot,” she said sternly. “It’s a serious step, and it should be treated in a logical, rational manner.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
“I never said it’s easy. I said it should be approached with intelligence and sound common sense.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
She gritted her teeth. “You’re teasing me again.”
“Face it—we Madisons don’t usually do things that involve common sense. We probably lack that gene.”
“Don’t give me that garbage. I’m serious about this, Rafe. I refuse to believe that you can’t change what you see as your destiny.”
He slanted her an appraising glance. “You really think I could be the one to break the mold?”
“If you want to break it badly enough, yes, I really think you can do it.”
“Amazing. Who would have thought a Harte would be such a dreamer?”
“All right, what are you going to do with your life?”
“Well,” he drawled, “I’ve noticed that the cult and guru businesses are profitable.”
“Get serious. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t throw it away. Think about what you want. Make some concrete plans. Develop solid goals and then work toward them.”
“You don’t think my present career objective is a worthy goal?”
“Staying out of jail is okay as far as it goes. But it’s not enough, Rafe. You know it isn’t enough.”
“Maybe not, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment.” He glanced at his watch. The dial glowed in the moonlight. “I think it’s time that you went home.”
Automatically she looked at her own watch. “Good grief, it’s after one. It’s going to take at least half an hour to walk home from here. I’ve got to get going.”
He came up off the rock in a fluid movement. “I’ll walk with you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Yes it is. I’m a Madison and you’re a Harte.”
“So what?”
“So, if something were to happen to you between here and your place and your folks found out that I was the last guy to see you, I’d get the blame, for sure.”
She smiled. “And maybe get tossed into jail by Chief Yates?”
“Yeah. And that would put a real crimp in the only viable career plan I’ve got at the moment.”
The broad, semicircular sweep of the bay began in the distance behind Hannah, near the treacherous waters of Hidden Cove. It ended somewhere up ahead in the darkness, at a jutting piece of land known as Sundown Point. There were no streetlamps on the long, curving bluff road that rimmed the restless waters of Eclipse Bay. The sparse lights of the pier, the marina, and the town’s tiny business district lay more than two miles to the rear, in the direction of Hidden Cove.
Up ahead, Hannah could make out only a vast pool of darkness. Sundown Point was invisible in the all-enveloping night. She knew that a handful of cottages and homes were scattered along the heavily wooded bluffs, but she saw no illuminated windows. Her family’s summer place was nearly a mile from here, perched over a small, sheltered cove. Her aunt’s big house, Dreamscape, was at least another half mile beyond that.
It was, indeed, going to be a long walk.
She glanced back over her shoulder. The faint glare of a well-lit parking lot could be seen on the hillside. It emanated from a clearing in the trees above the town. The parking facility belonged to the Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute, a recently established think tank that had been built close to Chamberlain College.
“My parents are up there at the institute tonight,” she said at one point, just for something to say. “They’re attending the reception for Trevor Thornley.”
“The hotshot who’s running for the state legislature?”
“
Yes.” She was surprised that he was aware of Thornley’s campaign. He didn’t seem like the type who paid attention to politics. But she refrained from making that observation aloud. “It looks like the event is running late. I may even get home ahead of Mom and Dad.”
“Lucky for you, hmm? You won’t have to go into a lot of awkward explanations about why you came home with me instead of the jerk tonight.”
She glanced at him, surprised. “I’ll tell them what happened in the morning.”
He slapped his forehead with the heel of his palm. “That’s right, I keep forgetting. I’m with Ms. Goody Two-Shoes here. Of course you’ll tell your parents that you spent the night on the beach with me.”
Shock brought her to a sudden halt. “I did not spend the night on the beach with you, Rafe Madison. And if you dare tell your friends down at the Total Eclipse Bar and Grill that I did, I swear I will . . . I will sue you. Or something.”
“Don’t worry,” he muttered. “I’m not planning to announce to the whole town that we did it under Eclipse Arch.”
“You’d better not.” She gripped her purse more tightly and started walking quicker. The sooner she got back to the house, the better.
Rafe fell into step beside her again. She was intensely aware of him. She had walked this road many times over the years, but never at this hour. Crime was minimal in Eclipse Bay, but not completely absent, especially during the summer when out-of-town visitors flocked to the beach. She was very glad to have company tonight. The long walk home alone would have been more than a little nerve-racking.
Half an hour later they reached the tree-lined drive that led to the Harte summer cottage. Rafe walked her to the porch steps and stopped.
“This is as far as I go,” he said. “Good night, Hannah.”
She went up one step and paused. It struck her that the strange interlude was over. A wistful sensation trickled through her. She stomped on it with all the ruthlessness she could muster. It was okay to have a few romantic fantasies about Rafe Madison. He was the most notorious male in town, after all—at least, the most notorious in her age group. But you couldn’t get serious about a guy like this. There was no future in it.
“Thanks for seeing me home,” she said.
“No problem. Not like I had anything better to do tonight.” In the yellow glare of the porch light his eyes were enigmatic pools. “Good luck with that five-year plan of yours.”
Impulsively she touched the sleeve of his jacket. “Think about making some plans of your own Rafe. Don’t screw up your whole life.”
He grinned. Without warning he leaned forward and brushed a quick, stunningly chaste kiss across her mouth. “A man’s got to capitalize on his strong points, and I’m so damn good at screwing up.”
The brief, casual kiss caught her off guard. Heat infused her whole body. It was followed by a tingling sensation. She covered the awkward moment by hurrying up the rest of the front steps.
At the door she paused to dig out her key. Her hand trembled slightly as she unlocked the door. When she finally got into the house, she turned to look back at Rafe. He was still standing there, watching her. She raised one hand in farewell and then quickly closed the door.
The rumble of voices awakened her the next morning. She opened her eyes and found herself gazing into a wall of fog.
Morning mist was a regular feature of summer and early fall. It would likely burn off by noon, although the cloud cover might last all day. With luck there would be enough scattered sunshine to drive the temperature into the mid-seventies in the afternoon, but that was the most that could be expected. Nobody came to Eclipse Bay to get a tan. Southern California beaches catered to those who liked to fry their bare skin in the glow of the big nuke in the sky. The wild, rugged beaches of the Oregon coast were for people who preferred to put on a windbreaker and brave the morning fog to explore tidal pools and rocky shoreline caves. They were for those who appreciated adventurous walks along high, windswept bluffs and views of seething seawater churning in stony cauldrons at the bottom of steep cliffs.
The voices downstairs grew louder. Her parents were talking to someone in the kitchen. A man. She could not make out the words, but the conversation sounded tense.
She listened for a while, curiosity growing swiftly. Who would come calling at this hour? Then she caught a name. Rafe Madison.
“Oh, damn.”
She tossed aside the covers, scrambled out of bed, and hurriedly pulled on her jeans and a gray turtleneck. She stepped into a pair of loafers, ran a brush through her hair, and headed for the stairs.
She found her parents at the kitchen table with a balding, heavy-bellied man she recognized instantly.
“Chief Yates.”
“ ’Morning, Hannah.” Phil Yates nodded in his ponderous fashion. He had been the only law enforcement in town for as long as Hannah could recall, but this was the first time he had ever come to the Harte cottage.
She masked her uneasiness with a bright smile and turned to her parents for an explanation. A single glance was enough to tell her that something was terribly wrong.
Elaine Harte’s attractive face was tight with anxiety. Hampton’s jaw was set in a grim line. A formless dread wafted through Hannah. It was as if a ghost had brushed up against her.
“What is it?” she asked with an urgency that made her father’s eyes narrow behind his glasses.
“I was just about to come upstairs and wake you, dear,” Elaine said quietly. “Chief Yates has some bad news.”
For one horrifying instant Hannah had a vision of Rafe lying sprawled on Bayview Drive, the victim of a hit-and-run. He’d had an even longer walk home last night than she’d had.
She went to the table and gripped the back of the empty chair. “What happened?”
“Kaitlin Sadler was found dead at Hidden Cove this morning,” her father said in somber tones.
“Oh, my God.” Not Rafe, then. He was safe. Hannah sank down into the chair. Then the name registered. “Kaitlin Sadler?”
“Looks like an accident,” Yates said. “Apparently she fell from the path above the cliffs. But I’ve got to ask you a few questions.”
Something in his voice got Hannah’s full attention. Rafe was okay, but his girlfriend was dead. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Chief Yates had come here today. When a woman died under mysterious circumstances, the cops always came looking for the boyfriend or the husband first. Her brother had told her that.
Hamilton studied her with a troubled look. “There seems to be some confusion, Hannah. Phil says that Kaitlin was on a date with Rafe Madison last night. But Rafe told Yates that he was with you last night at about the time that Kaitlin died.”
“We explained to Phil that that was not possible,” Elaine said crisply. “You were with that nice young man from Chamberlain College. Perry Decatur.”
Yates cleared his throat. “Well, now, I talked to Mr. Decatur. He says that’s not quite true.”
Hamilton flicked an irritated glance at Yates’s broad, patient face. “We also told him that even if you hadn’t been with Decatur, you were highly unlikely to have been anywhere near Rafe Madison.”
“I’m well aware of the fact that Hartes don’t socialize with Madisons,” Yates rumbled. “But young Rafe swears he was with Hannah here, and I got to check out his story.”
The full implications of what he was saying finally hit Hannah. “I don’t understand. You just said Kaitlin’s death was an accident. Is there some question about how she died?”
“Can’t rule out the possibility that she jumped.” Yates wrapped one ham-size fist around a mug of coffee. “That girl always was kind of high-strung.”
Elaine frowned. “She comes from an unfortunate family situation, but I never heard anyone suggest that she might be suicidal.”
Yates sipped his coffee. “There’s another possibility.”
They all looked at him expectantly.
“There may have been an argument,” Yates said quietl
y.
“My God,” Elaine whispered. “Are you saying she might have been pushed off the path?”
Hannah planted her hands on the table “Wait a second. Are you suggesting that Rafe Madison killed Kaitlin?”
“Could have been an accident,” Yates said. “Like I said, maybe they got into a fight.”
“But that’s crazy. Why would Rafe do such a thing?”
“Word around town is that he didn’t like the fact that she was seeing other men,” Yates said.
“Yes, but—”
Hamilton looked at her. “Rafe is trying to use you for an alibi, honey. I don’t like him dragging you into this one damn bit. But I’ll deal with that later.”
“Dad, listen to me—”
“Right now you just need to tell Yates where you were last night between midnight and two this morning.”
Hannah braced herself for the explosion she knew would follow. “I was with Rafe Madison.”
Kaitlin Sadler’s death was officially ruled an accident three days later. It took a lot longer for the firestorm of gossip to fade. The news that Hannah had been with Rafe Madison the night Kaitlin died swept through the small community with the force of a tsunami. Few believed for a moment that the pair had engaged only in casual conversation.
The one person who seemed genuinely happy about the fact that Rafe and Hannah had spent two whole hours together on a moonlit beach was Hannah’s great-aunt Isabel Harte.
At eighty-three, Isabel was the sole self-avowed romantic in the family. She was a retired professor of English lit who had never married. She lived alone at Dreamscape, the huge three-story mansion her father had built with the fortune he had made in fishing.
It was Isabel who had provided the seed funding for Harte-Madison, the commercial real estate development company founded by Sullivan Harte and Mitchell Madison all those years ago. The bitter feud that had destroyed the firm as well as the friendship between Sullivan and Mitchell was a source of frustration and disappointment to Isabel. She still harbored dreams of ending the rift that had shattered the partnership and ignited the hostility between the two men.
Hannah was very fond of her great-aunt. She was also well aware that her parents had been trying to get Isabel to sell Dreamscape and move into an apartment in Portland. But Isabel refused to budge.