Dawn in Eclipse Bay by Jayne Ann Krentz
“I hope you’re right,” Gabe said. “But the important thing is to get something solid on this door. I don’t want Lillian spending another night here with a busted lock.”
“No problem.” Torrance absently scratched the snake tattoo that slithered out from beneath the sleeve of his grimy work shirt. “After you called us this morning, we stopped off at the hardware store. Picked up just what we need. We’ll have this fixed in no time.”
Walter selected some tools from a polished metal box. “Won’t take long. We can fill in those gouge marks and paint ’em out for you, too.”
“That would be great,” Lillian said. “I really appreciate this. I know how busy you are with Dreamscape.”
“Rafe and Hannah would be the first to tell us to take care of this for you,” Walter said. “But I got to admit, they’re keeping us real busy over there at the inn.”
“You got that right,” Torrance agreed. There was a groan of metal and wood as he leaned into the task of removing the broken lock. “Walt and me didn’t even bother to bid on any of the work on the new wing of the institute. Knew we wouldn’t have time.”
“Not that we was invited to bid, mind you.” Walter removed the new lock from its packaging. “Perry Decatur is runnin’ things up there now. Doesn’t like dealin’ with local business if he can avoid it. Made it real clear he wanted to bring in out-of-town contractors. Said they were more competitive.”
“Like money’s the most important aspect of a good job,” Torrance scoffed. “No respect for fine craftsmanship these days.”
“So you two didn’t even get a slice of the project?” Gabe asked.
“Nope.” Walter positioned the new lock. “Not to say we don’t get some work on the side from time to time. Lot of the folks employed up there are local. They know us. They call us when they got a plumbing problem or need a hot-water tank replaced. Those fancy out-of-town contractors aren’t interested in the small jobs.”
“Claire Jensen mentioned that she had you take care of a clogged toilet for her,” Lillian said.
“Yep, she did, as a matter of fact.” Walter exchanged a meaningful look with Torrance. Both men smirked.
“What’s the joke?” Gabe asked.
“Nothing much.” Torrance readied a drill. “Just that while Walt and me was in Claire’s bathroom we couldn’t help noticing that she had some birth control pills and a box of condoms under the bathroom sink.”
Lillian frowned. “Don’t you think it’s a little tacky to snoop in people’s bathroom cupboards when they hire you to fix their plumbing?”
Walter had the grace to blush. “You’re right. We shouldn’t have said nothin’ about it.”
“Why not?” Torrance said. “Not like it’s news. That woman always did have what you’d call an active social life, even back in the old days. Remember how she used to sneak around with Larry Fulton?”
“Sure do,” Walter said. “The two of ’em used to crawl into the back of his dad’s delivery van and go at it like a couple of bunnies.”
Lillian straightened in the doorway. “She ran around with Larry Fulton? But he’s married.”
“This was back before he married Sheila Groves and took over his dad’s grocery store,” Walter assured her. “Way back when he was still in college. That sound right to you, Torrance?”
“Yep, sounds about right. Way I hear it, Claire hasn’t changed much over the years.”
“I think that’s enough gossip about Claire,” Gabe said.
He spoke quietly, but Walter and Torrance immediately changed the subject. Lillian smiled to herself. Everyone knew that whatever else you could say about the Madison men, they didn’t kiss and tell. Apparently, they didn’t listen to other masculine gossip about women either. That kind of old-fashioned chivalry was an extremely endearing trait in a man.
chapter 18
The following morning Arizona held her security briefing from her dimly lit hospital room. She certainly looked the part of the heroically wounded warrior, Lillian thought. The bandages around A.Z.’s head gave her a dashing air. It was clear from the glittering determination in her eyes that she was recovering rapidly.
Lillian was quite relieved to see Arizona looking so much better this morning. She and Gabe had received the phone call summoning them to A.Z.’s bedside half an hour ago, just as they were finishing breakfast.
The only other attendee present today was Photon from the Incandescent Body bakery. He stood in the corner, serene and silent in his strange robes and jewelry. His shaved head gleamed green in the light of a nearby monitor. Could have passed for a space alien, Lillian thought.
“Way I figure it,” Arizona said, “the institute spy followed me home because he spotted me taking my routine sector surveillance photos. I cover the whole town right out to the boundaries three mornings a week, you know. Check up on the institute daily, of course. I must have caught something on film that they didn’t want anyone to see. When he saw his chance he knocked me out and stole my VPX 5000.”
“Don’t worry about it, A.Z.,” Gabe said. “You can replace the camera and get back to your daily recon work in no time.”
“Forget the camera,” Arizona said. “Now that we know for sure that we’re on to something, we’ve got to get inside.”
That sounded ominous, Lillian thought.
“Inside?” she repeated cautiously. “Inside what?”
“The new wing, of course. Listen up here.” Arizona’s voice lowered. “Got no choice now. We need to get a firsthand look at whatever is going on in there. My guess is they’ve made the big move.”
Dread settled on Lillian. “Oh, I really don’t think they’ve had time—”
“Probably brought ’em in with the HVAC equipment,” Arizona said.
“If that’s the case,” Photon murmured, “whoever goes inside will have to search for a large freezer compartment somewhere in the new wing.”
“Right.” Arizona adjusted her position on the pillows, checked the door and then lowered her voice again, this time to a raspy whisper. She motioned with one hand. “Move in as close as you can. The institute probably has spies out there in the hall. Be easy enough to disguise them as orderlies or janitors.”
Lillian suppressed a sigh and obediently leaned over the bed. Gabe and Photon followed suit.
“We all know that they’ll never let me or one of the Heralds step foot inside the institute.” Arizona gave Lillian and Gabe a meaningful look. “That leaves you two.”
Lillian gripped the bed rails. “Wait a second here, A.Z. We’re not, uh, trained in this kind of work.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a few pointers before you go in.”
“How do you plan to get us inside?” Gabe asked, looking interested.
Lillian frantically tried to get his attention but he pretended not to see her.
“I figure the Leaders of Tomorrow open-house event will give you both the perfect opportunity,” Arizona said. “Easy for you to get invites because one of you is a Harte and the other is a Madison. Perry Decatur and the folks who run the institute will fall all over themselves to get you there. You’re both potential donors.”
Phonton nodded somberly. “An excellent plan.”
“Just might work, A.Z.,” Gabe said.
“But the new wing won’t be open yet.” Lillian struggled to bring some common sense to the situation. “We won’t be able to get in there.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Gabe said. “Everyone will be busy with the reception. Don’t see why we can’t slip out at some point and take a look at the area under construction.”
“It’s settled then.” Arizona gave them a thumbs-up. “You two will go in the night of the open house.”
“What about a camera?” Lillian said quickly. “I don’t have one and I doubt if Gabe has one either.”
“Could always get one of those little throwaway cameras they sell at the pier,” Gabe said helpfully.
“One of those gadgets won’t
chapter 19
Gabe gave up trying to work, closed the laptop, grabbed a jacket and went down to the beach. He walked for a long time, trying to make sense of the screwy dream that had awakened him in the middle of the night. It had featured broken locks and the grinning faces of the Willis brothers. Not quite a nightmare but close enough.
He stopped at the edge of the water and watched a gull angle into the offshore breeze. Normally he didn’t pay much attention to dreams. He didn’t believe in intuition, premonitions, or the like.
But he had a healthy respect for his own hunches. They had served him well in business.
Something J. Anderson Flint had said the other night at the restaurant was running through his brain again and again this morning.
“Disgruntled employees can be dangerous.”
When he added it to the dream he got a very uneasy feeling.
What if Lillian’s first intuitive suspicion had been correct? What if the break-in at her cottage had nothing to do with what had happened to Arizona but was, instead, linked to her fear that someone had intruded into her Portland apartment?
The knock on her front door interrupted her just as she was about to mix some paint. She put down the palette knife with a sense of deep resignation. What had ever made her think she would get some work done today?
She opened the door warily.
Gabe stood there, one hand braced on the door frame. There was no sign of his car. He was dressed in a black-and-tan windbreaker, jeans, and running shoes. His dark hair was tousled from the wind and a little damp from the mist-heavy air.
“We need to talk.” He walked into the hall and shrugged out of his jacket.
His cold, grim expression silenced whatever comment she had been about to make on the subject of interruptions.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’ve been thinking about something Flint said about Claire.”
She took the jacket from him. “What was that?”
“He mentioned that disgruntled employees could be dangerous. It occurred to me that maybe disgruntled boyfriends of former clients might fall into the same category.”
She stared at him, the jacket clutched in her hand. “Are you talking about Campbell Witley?”
“Yeah.” He disappeared into the kitchen. “Got any coffee?”
She draped the jacket over the hanger, jammed it into the closet and hurried to the doorway of the kitchen.
“What are you thinking?” She watched him fill the coffeemaker with fresh water. “That Witley might be responsible for the break-in here?”
He removed the lid of the coffee canister. “It would explain the incident at your apartment.”
“Assuming there was an incident.”
He nodded. “Assuming that.”
A shiver went through her. “But that would make Witley a stalker.”
“I know.” He finished spooning ground coffee into the filter and switched on the machine. “I don’t want to scare you. Sean Valentine probably got it right when he concluded that whoever conked A.Z. on the head was a transient who had tried to break in here, first. But there is a remote possibility that the two incidents are related. Which, in turn, means that the break-in here could be connected to what happened in Portland.”
“It would explain why nothing was taken. A stalker probably wouldn’t be interested in stealing stuff.”
He crossed the kitchen and cradled her face in his hands.
“Look, this should be easy enough to check out,” he said. “All we have to do is find out where Witley was when someone here in Eclipse Bay was breaking into your mudroom. Shouldn’t be too hard to see if he’s got an alibi. If he can account for his whereabouts during that time period, we can go back to Valentine’s theory of a transient burglar.”
She swallowed. “I never considered the possibility of a stalker.”
“Neither did I until I got to thinking about Flint’s comments.”
“I can call Nella Townsend, the investigator I used to check out my clients. She might be able to verify Witley’s alibi.”
“Fine. Call her. I’ll speak to Valentine, too. Let him know what’s going on. But from what I’ve read, stalkers can be very slick. Very devious. It’s hard to prove that they’re doing anything illegal.”
She bit her lip. “I know.”
“I want to see this guy myself.”
“What?”
“I want to meet Witley face-to-face. Ask him some questions,” Gabe said.
“No.” Alarm washed through her. “You can’t do that.”
“Take it easy, honey. I’ve done a lot of deals with a lot of people who have things to hide. I’m good at knowing when I’m being lied to.”
“Are you nuts?” she yelped. “You can’t confront Witley on your own. What if he really is a stalker? He could be very dangerous.”
Gabe looked first surprised and then pleased. “Worried about me?”
“Of course I’m worried. No offense, Gabe, but this is not one of your more brilliant ideas.”
“I’m just going to drive into Portland and meet the guy. Don’t worry, if he is a stalker, I doubt that he’s a danger to me. Stalkers are obsessed with their victims, not other people.”
“Listen, I don’t want you handling this on your own. If you insist on going to Portland to see him, I’ll go with you.”
“No.” There was no give in the single word. “I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
“Witley is a big man. He’s had military training. He works in construction. Get the picture?”
“You think he might beat me to a pulp. Gee. You really don’t have much faith in my manly skills, do you?”
“Your manly skills are not the issue here,” she said. “I don’t want you to take that kind of risk on my account. I mean it. You can’t do this by yourself and that’s final.”
He hesitated. “I guess I could take along some backup.”
That stopped her for a heartbeat or two.
“Backup?” she repeated cautiously.
“A guy I know. He’s big. Had some military training. Worked construction for a while.”
“Do I know this man?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me again why we’re going to drive all the way into Portland to see this guy, Witley,” Mitchell said, buckling his seat belt.
“Long story.” Gabe put on his dark glasses and turned the key in the ignition. “It’s just barely possible that Witley is stalking Lillian. She’s going to have an investigator check out his movements in the past few days, but I want to talk to him myself. Lillian made it clear that she didn’t want me meeting him alone. I refused to take her along. You’re the compromise.”
“Well, shoot and damn,” Mitchell said cheerfully. “This sounds like fun. Any chance of a fight?”
“Probably not. But there’s always hope.”
chapter 20
She stared at the blank canvas, knowing that she was even less likely to get into the zone now than she had been earlier in the day when Gabe had interrupted her.
All she could think about was that he and Mitchell were on their way to Portland together to confront Witley.
The phone rang in the living room. She turned away from the canvas and went to answer it.
“Lillian? This is Nella. I got your message. What’s up?”
“Thanks for calling me back.” She sank down onto the arm of the sofa. “I’ve got a little problem here. Remember that guy Witley I asked you to check out?”
“Sure.” Nella paused. “Something happen?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Can you find out if he left town sometime during the past few days?”
“Shouldn’t be too difficult. What’s going on, Lil?”
&nb
“I’ll get right on it,” Nella said. “Meanwhile, watch yourself, okay? These guys tend to escalate.”
“What do you mean?”
“The incidents get more serious. It’s a progressive thing. Do me a huge favor. Lock all your doors and windows and keep them locked until your friend Madison gets there or until I give you the all-clear. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something solid.”
“Thanks.”
Lillian ended the call, put down the phone and went back into the studio.
The blank canvas might as well have been sitting in another universe, a place where she could not go today.
A red compact pulled into the drive just as she was about to pour herself another cup of tea. Her fourth that afternoon. She went to the window and saw Claire Jensen, dressed in a navy blue shirt and a pair of jeans, get out from behind the wheel and walk up the front steps.
Just what she needed. Another interruption. She put down the cup and went to open the front door.
“Hi.” Claire looked and sounded as if she had not slept much in recent days. “I need to talk to someone. Mind if I come in for a few minutes?”
More sisterhood stuff. How much of this kind of thing was a woman supposed to do to retain her politically correct status?
“No, of course not.” Lillian held the door open. “I made tea. Want some?”
“That would be nice. Thanks.”
Claire walked into the front hall, took off her coat and gave it to Lillian to hang in the closet.
“Come on into the kitchen,” Lillian said.
“I assume you know that Marilyn fired me.”
“I heard.”
“It’s not exactly the end of the world.” Claire folded her hands on the table and looked out the window. “Campaign managers get canned a lot. Goes with the territory.”
“I’m sure you’ll find another position.”
“Sure. Something will turn up. That’s not what’s bothering me. It was the scene in the Crab Trap. It’s all over town. I have never been so embarrassed in my life. The worst part is that I have no one to blame but myself.”