SYDNEY FELT as if she were trapped in a nightmare. This couldn’t be happening to her.
Her husband not her husband.
Dead but not dead.
Even Benno didn’t seem to believe her this time.
She sat frozen on the sofa for hours, while police came and went and the bagged body of the real Kenneth Lord was taken away. The murder site was cordoned off until it could be properly searched and photographed by evidence technicians in daylight.
Sydney was questioned; copious notes were taken. Over and over, she reiterated everything that had happened from the first time she’d met the man she now knew to be an imposter through the moment when she’d stumbled over the corpse. When she tried to explain the dream, she was looked at with a combination of pity and disbelief. Even though the authorities didn’t immediately arrest her, she got the feeling they had already had her tried and convicted.
Again, she was warned not to leave town. They left just before midnight.
Martha flounced off to the police station with Officer Brickman, saying she would be back, but if she had to share her house even for one night, she would be sure to lock her door and “protect” herself if necessary. Then Sydney was left alone except for Benno. She waited for him to abandon her, too. And how could she blame him?
Instead, he stood in the shadows, leaning on a widow sill, staring out into the dark.
“You don’t believe me anymore,” she said quietly.
“You have to admit it would take a real stretch of the imagination to give your story credibility.”
“It’s much easier to believe I made up a marriage and a husband, then killed Kenneth Lord and called the police only to claim I never saw the dead man before.” She could hardly keep her voice from shaking. “Right?”
He turned to her, his face deep in shadow. “That doesn’t make sense, either.”
“Not even if I thought I could make big money on some grand scheme Martha thinks I concocted?”
“Not even then.”
“Maybe I have gone around the bend,” Sydney said as much to herself as to him. “Maybe I’m crazy and had no motive. Maybe I can’t tell fantasy from reality any more.”
Even as she made the charges against herself, Sydney wasn’t convinced. Before finding the body, she had gone over every detail of her romance with “Kenneth Lord.” Everything had to have happened just as she’d said.
Her mind was filled with memories, not delusions.
Benno was silent for a moment before asking, “Do you have any enemies?”
“What?”
“Someone who would want to set you up?”
Blinking, startled by the thought, she tried to make out his expression which she thought serious enough. “No. I don’t think so. Set me up for what? Murder?”
He shrugged. “If you really did marry someone claiming to be Kenneth Lord–”
“I did!” she said vehemently, not realizing until that moment how very certain she was.
Sounding more sure of her, he offered, “Then you may have been the victim of a con.”
“Conned?” Her mind began spinning again. The Kenneth Lord she’d met and married had been an imposter. That was undeniable fact. So what else did that make her erstwhile husband but a con man? “For what purpose?”
“To provide a patsy to take the fall when the real Kenneth Lord was killed?”
“If you’re correct...” Her hand went to her throat and she took a deep, shaky breath. “I can’t for the life of me think of who would hate me so much.”
“Or hate Kenneth.” Benno seemed to be deep in thought. “Perhaps you were merely... available. You were burned out, feeling fragile, and our murderer recognized your susceptibility when he met you.”
With each word Benno uttered, Sydney’s anger grew. Yes, she had been experiencing burn out because of her job. And the dreams had disturbed her even more. She hadn’t been ready to accept these psychic warnings back into her life and so had multiplied the pressure on herself.
“But why? Who would want to take such advantage of me?” And another thought crystalized. “He’s still alive. The man who married me is alive. He must be, right? He had to have been part of some elaborate scheme. He might be the murderer.”
“Sounds like a safe bet to me,” Benno said, his brow furrowed. “A man pretending to be Kenneth falls off a cliff. And then the real Kenneth Lord turns up dead.”
“Sounds crazy. How will I ever convince the authorities?” Her situation seemed hopeless. “Without proof, they’ll continue to think I’m crazy or a murderer or both.”
From the depths of her soul, Sydney drew on the very fiber of her true nature. Her innate resilience had been bruised and battered and had done a good job of eluding her lately, but she hadn’t lost it yet. Anger, hot and sharp, jolted her into a frame of mind that gave her an odd and opposing feeling of inner strength, a state of certainty, a sense of purpose that she hadn’t felt in months.
Remembering the premonition that had turned into frightening reality – that of her erstwhile husband calling her to join him in death - she calmly said, “I’m going to find him if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
Benno drew closer. “How do you propose to accomplish that when you don’t even know who he is?”
At least he wasn’t questioning whether the man existed. “I don’t, but someone must.”
“If these speculations are correct.”
Listening to her instincts, Sydney felt they were on the right track. “I don’t know whether the intended victim was Kenneth or me. Maybe I just got caught in the crossfire.” She stared at Benno who now loomed over her. “But one way or another, I’m going to find out. And I’m going to prove my innocence and sanity to all of you.”
His expression was unreadable when he said, “Sounds like you’ve lumped me with the others.”
“Aren’t you?”
“It would be a first.”
For all the time she’d spent with this man during the past few days, for as well as she’d grown to know and care for him, Sydney couldn’t believe she was just now realizing how far he was from fitting in the big picture around Stone Beach. She’d been too self-absorbed, too immersed in her own troubles to realize the ramifications of his being at odds not only with Martha, but Mick Brickman or Parnell Anderson, as well.
But the real Kenneth Lord had been his friend.
“As cockeyed as your story sounds,” Benno was saying, “I want to believe you.”
“That’s something, then.”
Probably more than she should have hoped for given the circumstances. Even she had thought she was losing her mind.
“But what I think doesn’t count for much around here,” he went on, confirming her suspicions. “My being on your side might hurt you in the long run.”
For the life of her, Sydney couldn’t figure out why and she didn’t feel as if she had the right to ask. She sensed his reasons were very private, and that his hurt ran very deep. If Benno wanted her to know the source of his trouble with the town, no doubt he would tell her in due time.
She realized how permanent that sounded, as if they would be allies forever, when she, in fact, was eager to leave Stone Beach as soon as possible -- as soon as she cleared her name. The thought of being without Benno left her with a sense of loss she couldn’t quite comprehend.
Edgy, she rose and paced the length of the living room. “If I could pick anyone in the world to be on my side,” she assured him honestly, “that person would be you.”
A hint of a smile mellowed Benno’s granite features. “That’s quite an endorsement.”
“A sincere one.”
“So where do we start?” When she stopped her pacing and raised her brows in question, he said, “Kenneth was my friend, you know. An accident is one thing, murder another.”
Suddenly she became aware of the grief that Benno was feeling... the grief that she had claimed as her own for the past several days. All tha
t was changed now. She was freed of one cause for suffering, filled with another. She had a different reason to mourn.
Hers had become a loss of innocence.
“I wasn’t even thinking of him,” she admitted softly.
Discovering the identity of the dead man must have come as quite a shock to Benno, much more so than when she’d told him about the supposed accident. Bodies lost at sea were so much less tangible than ones riddled with bullets and covered with blood. She herself was still shaken albeit for a variety of different reasons.
“Benno, I’m so sorry.”
Their eyes met as they shared a quiet moment in which words weren’t necessary.
Then he broke the silence. “So where do we start?” he asked again, his tone more positive this time.
“There’s the justice of the peace who married us...” Her voice faltered. “My God, I’m married to a man whose name I don’t even know.”
“If the marriage is considered legal considering the circumstances. You think the J.P. will be able to tell you something?”
“I won’t know until I ask him.”
“Until we ask him. I’m going with you.” He cut off any objection by adding, “You’re not supposed to leave town, remember? We’ll sneak you out in my car and get you back before anyone misses you.”
Though Sydney could tell Benno still had some reservations, he was giving her the benefit of the doubt. She couldn’t ask for more.
“All right, we’ll do this together. I appreciate the offer. The excursion will have to wait until morning.” She looked around. “But we don’t have to. Maybe we can find some of the answers right here.”
“You mean search the house. I don’t have the faintest idea of what to look for. Do you?”
She shrugged. “Anything out of the ordinary. At least it’ll keep us busy. I certainly am in no mood to sleep.” Realizing he’d left his business to come when she called, Sydney said, “Sorry, I’m not thinking. You should get back.”
”Poppy can take care of things,” he said. “I’ll call and explain.”
Happy that she wouldn’t be abandoned, she said, “I’m really going to owe you one... Lord, I owe you now.”
“No. Kenneth was my friend. And now you are.” His expression was grim, intensely personal. “I want to know what’s going on just as much as you do.”
Once again Sydney was struck by whatever Benno wasn’t saying. “Why don’t you go through Kenneth’s study while I check Martha’s room before she returns.”
“You’d better be careful. If she even suspects you’ve gone through her things, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Sydney laughed. “I’ve been to hell and back in less than a week. I’m not afraid of Martha.”
“Perhaps you should be...”
If Martha were the murderer? Sydney silently finished. The smile died on her lips.
“Benno, too much has happened to me, too much is at stake for me to sit by and idly watch what’s left of my life be destroyed. I’m ready to take on anyone to learn the truth. Even a murderer.”
With that, she headed for the stairs.
“So we’re looking for anything out of the ordinary,” Benno muttered. “Now if only we can figure out what that is.”
He disappeared inside Kenneth’s office as she made the landing.
Sydney tried to keep her mind off Benno and on her purpose as she entered Martha’s room and snapped on the light. He was helping her for Kenneth’s sake, she told herself, and simply because he was a good man, a caring human being. She was his friend – he’d told her as much – and she needed to be content with that. She might want more from Benno, but she had too many doubts about her own judgment.
Besides which, there was no second-guessing the future until she’d settled her present.
With that in mind, she tried to view the room she disliked with fresh eyes. But nothing had changed. Sydney saw Martha’s stamp on every item: furniture and possessions not bought for appropriateness or simple beauty but for their cost and pretentiousness.
So what did that tell her?
That Martha Lord was greedy and liked to put on airs... not that these facts made her a murderer. Sydney had no idea of whether or not Martha was capable of concocting an elaborate scheme to get her brother out of the way for his money... or of hiring and coaching an imposter who would seduce a vulnerable stranger and set her up for a fall.
A chill shot through Sydney as the phrasing reminded her of her own close call with death the night before last; she quickly checked the balcony doors to make sure they were locked. Even though she couldn’t be manipulated again, she didn’t want any nasty surprises.
With the room secured, she started with the mirrored dresser. She tried not to think about the man she’d known as Kenneth, a man she’d been convinced she loved, one who might have seduced her to her death on that balcony.
Would the police have found a suicide note along with her and the real Kenneth Lord’s bodies?
She concentrated on her search. The glass-covered top held nothing but the finest creams and lotions and perfumes. A quilted satin and velvet box cradled expensive costume jewelry and a few smaller pieces of real gold set with gems. The drawers overflowed with luxurious lingerie and designer accessories. Having occasionally shopped on Rodeo Drive herself, Sydney recognized the labels. Martha certainly had a taste for the extravagant.
Extravagant enough to need her brother’s money? she wondered again. While the woman had put up a good front playing the grief-stricken sister earlier, Sydney hadn’t felt any genuine emotion coming from her. And she’d noticed Martha hadn’t once touched her brother’s body.
Making sure everything was neatly in place, Sydney slid the last drawer closed.
She decided to check the desk next. The only understated expensive piece of furniture in the room, the desk was actually a spindly-legged writing table with a row of pigeon-holes in the back, a single drawer in front. There was nothing understated about the jewel-encrusted gold clock on its surface – it’s hands indicated the hour was twelve-nineteen – nor about the mother-of-pearl and gold pen, which lay across heavy cream-colored stationary emblazoned with Martha’s name in gold letters.
Noting the faint indentations in the top sheet of paper made Sydney curious.
When she picked it up, the fancy pen rolled off the paper and onto the desk’s surface. Carefully, she picked up the pen and set it back exactly as she’d found it in case Martha had a photographic memory. No need to let the other woman know they had been snooping or suspected her.
Whatever Martha had last written had pressed through to the layer of paper in her hand. Before she could figure out how to tell what that might have been, she heard the Porsche pull up in the drive.
“Damn!”
Hoping Benno had heard, as well, she leaped for the light switch, threw the room into darkness and exited before Martha could catch her playing detective. Folding and stuffing the piece of paper into a pocket, she hurried across the landing and was just coming down the stairs when Martha entered the house.
“What are you still doing here?” Martha demanded, though she wasn’t looking at Sydney.
Benno stood at the liquor cabinet where he casually poured himself a drink. “Having a nightcap. Want something?”
“I want you to leave.” The expression she turned from him to Sydney was cold. “And you, I expect you to be out of my house first thing tomorrow. I still don’t understand why you weren’t arrested.”
”The police didn’t find any evidence to implicate Sydney,” Benno said. “And she doesn’t have a clear-cut motive. How about you?”
For a moment, Martha went speechless. Then she sputtered, “K-Kenneth was my b-brother.”
“And we all know how much you loved him, don’t we?”
Martha bristled. “Get out. Now.”
Benno looked questioningly at Sydney.
“I’ll be all right,” she said.
“
You’ll be?” Martha muttered, truly sounding worried. She rushed for the staircase. “I’m the one who has reason to be afraid. Just don’t try anything, Sydney, or you’ll be sorry.”
“What does that mean?” Benno asked. “Do you have a gun?”
Martha almost tripped, then caught herself. She sped up the steps without looking back in their direction.
“Do you think she does?” Sydney asked, suddenly wondering if she weren’t being stupid to stay in the same house with Martha for even a single night. If she the motels were filled to capacity, she could sleep in her car. “I didn’t have time to check everything.”
“Neither did I. And now we can’t do anything without raising her suspicions. Knowing Martha, she’d call the police and demand they arrest us for attempted theft.”
“Given the circumstances, she might succeed.”
“I guess we’ll have to call it a night,” Benno said. “I don’t think you have any real reason to worry about Martha doing you harm, though I expect you to make sure you’re safely locked in your own room when I leave.”
Remembering the paper in her pocket, Sydney dug it out. “Don’t leave yet.” She looked around. “I need a pencil.”
“On the coffee table.”
She hurried to the couch where she smoothed the paper out on the wooden surface. She used the graphite edge of the pencil to lightly color in the written area.
“What are you doing?” Benno asked.
“Finding out what Martha wanted to tell someone,” Sydney whispered. “Look,” she said, as the indentations turned into a message which was faint but clear against the smudged graphite.
She tilted the paper to the light so they could read it:
Meet me at midnight.
M.