Dark Water (15 page)

Tony slipped a hand beneath Sarah's elbow.

“No, she's sitting with me. Paul won't mind trading places, I'm sure.” Then he shrugged an apology. “It's either that, or the bookends will be sitting at the table with Sarah.”

“Really!” Laura drawled, as she gave Sarah a more serious look. “She must mean more to you than I thought.”

“Someone tried to kill her,” Tony said. “I take no chances with people I care for.”

There was a communal gasp among the guests and then a twitter of indistinguishable words that all amounted to the fact that they'd already heard, but were just now finding a way to express their dismay. After that, there was a moment of pregnant silence, and then Moira giggled nervously.

“Of course you must sit beside Sarah. Do whatever makes you comfortable. After all, you
are
the guest of honor,” she said, and gave Sarah's arm a quick pat. “This way, please.”

The group followed Moira toward an array of enticing scents, and so the evening went.

It wasn't until they were waiting for the dessert to be served that Charles Bartlett became anything more than the man on Tiny Bartlett's left.

“So, Silk…I hear you're building a second club. How is it progressing?” he asked.

Tony looked at Charles and nodded.

“Yes, actually, it's almost finished. It will open before Christmas, but I'll have the grand opening on New Year's Eve.”

Bartlett barely managed to stifle a sneer. “Always chasing the almighty buck. When will you have enough?”

There was an embarrassed lull in the conversation as everyone looked uncomfortably from Tony to Charles and then back again. But it was Sarah who took the burden of answering away from Tony.

“Charles…I'm curious as to what you consider enough. You have a most charming and attractive wife, and from the conversation, I gather you're quite successful. You've come a long way over the past twenty years yourself. Are you not happy with your life?”

Charles was pinned, and he knew it. He lifted his glass to Sarah and grinned wryly before covering Tiny's hand with his own.

“On the contrary, I am extremely happy. With a woman like my Tiny, who could ask for anything more?”

“Exactly,” Sarah said, and then impulsively lifted her glass and made an impromptu toast to Tiny.

“To happy marriages,” she said softly.

“To happy marriages,” everyone echoed.

“What did I miss?” Moira cried, as she came back into the room with a towering chocolate cake dripping with fresh raspberry sauce.

“Just a toast,” Annabeth said, and tried not to feel left out of the fact that she had no husband—ex, deceased, or otherwise—to toast.

“Who wants dessert?” Moira asked.

All hands went up except Laura's. “I never indulge,” she said, and ran her hands down her svelte figure.

Sarah didn't like Laura Hilliard. It had taken less than five minutes for her to come to that decision, and she was honest enough with herself to realize that part of it was because she suspected Tony and Laura had some kind of a history. While she wasn't one to be jealous, she was also aware that she could match Laura curve for curve with a good twenty years of youth on her side. Besides that, she was sick of her snide remarks.

Smiling sweetly, she let her glance linger just a bit longer than proper on Tony's face before answering.

“I'll have some. I always indulge,” she said, and then pretended great interest in the cake Moira was cutting.

Anger surged, but Laura hid it admirably. Being reminded of her fading youth by some insignificant woman from the South did nothing to make her fate any less inevitable.

“You'll pay for it one day, trust me,” she said.

Remembering Maury Overstreet's warning to Tony, Sarah started to laugh.

“Oh…I've already been warned, and by someone much more daunting than you. But I've got a hole card, you see.”

“Really,” Laura asked. “If it's not a big secret, I'm sure we'd all love to know what it is.”

Now it was Tony's turn to save Sarah from answering. He was already chuckling when he put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug.

“Oh, I can tell you that,” he said. “She was recently told by an expert in the field that when she loses her face and figure, she'll never lose her man, right, honey?”

Sarah grinned.

“And why not?” Laura asked.

“Because she can cook like an angel, and when it's all said and done, we know that the way to a man's heart is truly through his stomach.”

Laura smirked. “Unless of course you have the money to pay for fine gourmet chefs. Then you could have it all,” she told Tony.

“That brings up an interesting question,” Sarah said.

Tony held his breath. The moment Laura had mentioned money, he'd known what was coming, and for a moment, he almost felt sorry for her.

“And that question would be?” Laura drawled.

“You said you used to be a working girl?”

Laura flushed angrily. “I said I used to work out of town.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” Sarah said, but she wasn't. “About that money…exactly where did you get yours?”

A slight gasp rose around the table. In fine circles, it was extremely rude to speak of money, although Charles had skirted the issue briefly already.

“I can't see as how it could possibly be any of your business,” Laura said.

Sarah leaned forward, her gaze raking the guests at Moira's table.

“There's a million dollars still missing from the bank where my father worked, and we all know he damn sure didn't take it or spend it. So…I am extremely interested in anyone in Marmet whose circumstances have improved since that time.”

Tiny gasped. “And you suspect one of us?”

“In my eyes, no one is innocent until Sheriff Gallagher finds the person responsible for what happened to my family.”

“I heard you were on some quest for revenge,” Sorenson said.

“It's not about revenge, Mr. Sorenson. It's about justice.”

Then she smiled at Moira, who had just served her a piece of cake. “It looks marvelous,” she said. “I can't wait to taste.”

Moira managed a smile and then sighed. It served her right. She should have known better than to try to bring peace to people when the continuity of their lives had been broken by a murder and a lie.

 

“I thought that went well,” Sarah said, as Tony took the last curve in the road toward his home.

He rolled his eyes. “Now I know what the straight man feels like,” he said.

Sarah grinned. “Why? Did you feel as if I was ignoring you? You were my dinner partner, and I'm sorry if I was rude to you in my efforts to cause strife and concern to all assembled.”

He laughed aloud. “God, Sarah, remind me never to make an enemy of you.”

“I can't think why you would even say something like that to me,” she said primly.

“You're incorrigible, and you know it, so don't play innocent.”

She looked at him, her face lit by nothing but the dashboard light, and still he could see the wanting in her eyes.

“I'm not an innocent,” she said. “I haven't been for a long, long time.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asked, his voice suddenly husky.

“Take it any way you like.”

“Oh, trust me, sweet thing, I most definitely will.”

The promise of what was to come was there on his face for her to see. She shuddered suddenly, but from longing, not fear. She'd spent the day with Tony, but when it got dark, she wanted Silk in her bed.

“As soon as you put Frick and Frack to bed, you know where I'll be,” she said.

“They don't sleep,” he said.

“Vampires?”

He rolled his eyes.

She grinned. “Okay, I was just teasing.”

“I should have qualified that statement by adding…at least not at the same time.”

“Just keep them off the second floor, okay?”

“Why?” Tony asked.

“Just because.”

“Good enough for me,” Tony said, and took the turn into his driveway in a skid.

T
ony was sprawled out on the bed behind Sarah, spent from the passion of their lovemaking, but she hadn't been able to sleep. The stimulus of the dinner party earlier in the evening had kept her mind too active to relax. Reluctantly she'd crawled out of her warm bed and Tony's arms and gone to the windows.

As usual, the security lights on the property cast a glow in the back, but only to a certain distance. Beyond that was total darkness. Once she'd seen the shadow of an intruder from these windows. Another time she'd stood on Tony's deck and come close to losing her life. Now the fears she might have had were stilled, thanks to the men she knew were on guard. They did not sleep so that she and Tony could.

She looked back at Tony and sighed. If only she could sleep. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and forget, even if it was just for the night.

As she stood at the windows, a cloud that had been covering the sliver of moon began to pass, and as it did, for the first time, she could see the lake. The perfection of the view was slightly marred by the presence of trees, but there was enough space between the limbs for her to see the glitter of moonlight on the water.

She would never be able to see that lake and not think of it as anything but a place of concealment and horror. Swimming in it would be like playing on her father's grave. She was thankful that Marmet was no longer her home. It was a place of too many secrets. She'd seen that for herself tonight at Moira Blake's. All the money and fine trappings in the world would not have been able to hide the undercurrents of jealousy and old sins that had been present at the table.

Charles Bartlett was a strange man. He seemed to have it made, yet his envy of Tony was obvious. And then there was Paul Sorenson. She felt certain he resented her—maybe even hated her—and she had no idea why. Harmon Weatherly was a nice, gentle man. She'd sensed that from their meeting in town. Tonight, at the dinner table, he'd done his best to keep the conversation light and congenial.

She shivered, wishing for the bright lights and vivacity of New Orleans to take away this damp, clinging chill, and thought of the pretty women who worked the streets of New Orleans like the pros that they were. Sometimes, a couple of them would come into her restaurant for a cup of coffee and a beignet, other times they would be with a “date.” She'd never judged them. But for the grace of God and Lorett Boudreaux, she might have wound up the same way.

As for the women who'd been at Moira's, they were an odd collection, to say the least. Tiny Bartlett was pretty, but she tried too hard. Tony had mentioned earlier that he and Charles Bartlett had grown up on the same side of town. Apparently Tiny had married beneath her, but it seemed to have paid off. Her husband's business acumen had been obvious, and he worked hard to maintain an image with which he had not been born. His nails were manicured, his haircut perfection. He wore the finest of suits and shoes. But the veneer between his public persona and the street kid he'd been was thin at best.

Annabeth Harold had seemed, to Sarah, the odd person out. She still worked at a job, had never been married, and was much lower on the financial scale than the others. More than once during the night, Sarah had caught a look that might have been envy on the older woman's face, but it had been so fleeting that she'd passed it off as her imagination. She understood why Annabeth might feel that way, but these people were her friends. They accepted her as she was. Why, then, didn't she accept herself?

Marcia Farrell was a widow, or so she'd been told, but she'd overheard enough chitchat between Tiny and Annabeth to realize that when Marcia had left Marmet years ago, she'd been an ordinary woman, trained in simple secretarial skills. She'd come back to Marmet a few years later claiming widowhood, but with a child in tow. Soon after, she had inherited a great deal of money, making her a very wealthy widow. Tiny had mentioned the sadness of the husband's passing without even knowing his name. She said Marcia never liked to talk about him, so they honored her tender feelings.

And then there was Laura Hilliard. Besides the fact that she'd been all over Tony, Sarah flat out didn't like her. She was too smooth, too cold, and too sure of herself—basically, an emotionless bitch.

Correction. Rich bitch.

According to Tony, she had more money than she would ever be able to spend in one lifetime. A million dollars would have been the perfect seed money in acquiring such a fortune.

And then there was Moira. Poor Moira. She'd tried so hard to make everything nice. Sarah sighed. Part of it was her own fault for baiting the guests. But she'd never been able to bear condescension, and the room had been full of it. All Sarah knew about Moira was the little Tony had mentioned. She had been widowed a few years back, was recently retired from the bank where her father had worked, and she'd lived in the same house for ages. Nothing remarkable. Nothing new. But she did make good chocolate cake.

Tony shifted on the bed behind her, and Sarah turned, eyeing his long body beneath the covers and remembering how quickly he could bring her to joy. He was an amazing man who, with the help of a well-to-do uncle, had made something of himself. She felt just the least bit of guilt in thinking that she'd never checked into his story of how he'd made good and then shrugged away the thought. He'd been too young to pull off a bank heist and a murder, never mind the fact that he wasn't that kind of man. And before she could chide herself for being swayed by the fact that he was damned good in bed, she reminded herself that she considered herself a good judge of character. No way could she be falling in love with the man who had heartlessly stuffed her father's body into a trunk and dropped it into Flagstaff Lake.

No way.

Then what she'd thought hit her, and she leaned against the windowsill to steady herself. Falling in love? Was that what this was? This heart-wrenching, blood-thundering, weak-kneed feeling of helplessness, coupled with the adrenaline rush that came from something as simple as his smile?

Oh, fine. She'd waited all these years to fall in love again and she had to do it now—when all hell seemed to be breaking loose in her life?

She shuddered once, then turned back to the window. And as she did, she caught a brief glimpse of motion on the water. From this distance, it appeared as little more than a small, round object, and then it was gone. More than likely it was a loon, or even a piece of deadwood from the many trees surrounding the lake.

Tony murmured in his sleep. Suddenly weary and tired of being afraid, she crawled back into bed and into his arms. Within minutes, she was asleep.

 

The storm broke around three. A large clap of thunder pulled Sarah out of her sleep, leaving her momentarily disoriented. But the flash of lightning that followed told her there was a storm, and the brief illumination it shed across the room confirmed the fact that she was alone in her bed. She got up and turned on the light before looking out in the hall for Tony. There was a light on downstairs, and she remembered the bodyguards. He was probably with them.

Thinking little of it, she looked around the room for her robe, saw it on the chair and quickly put it on. Moments later she was running down the stairs, calling Tony's name as she went. Just as her foot hit the bottom step, the power went out and the house went dark. Power went off all the time during storms, so she was only mildly irritated.

“Tony! I hope you have a flashlight or some candles,” she called.

To her surprise, no one answered. No one came.

She moved toward the front door, and as she did, a gust of wind swung it inward, bringing a wash of blowing rain. She gasped and ran to close it, and as she did, she tried to imagine a reason why Tony and the bodyguards would be outside. She ran to the front windows, peering through the darkness and intermittent flashes of lightning, trying to see where they'd gone, but she saw only blowing leaves and rain.

A faint sound from somewhere behind her sent her spinning around.

“Tony! Is that you?”

Again no one answered. Again no one came.

Now her nerves were definitely on edge. Where the hell were those bodyguards who were supposed to be so great? Why wasn't one of them in here waving a flashlight in her face?

“Dunn! Farley! Where is everyone?”

She heard a board creak overhead and stifled a gasp. Someone was upstairs moving around in the dark. If it was someone who belonged here, they would have answered her calls. A second board squeaked, then a third, and she knew that whoever it was, they were coming down the hall. Suddenly she was very, very scared.

“Oh God, oh God.”

Without thinking, she started to run.

Thanks to the racket from the storm, her bare feet were soundless as she ran across the polished pine floors. Almost immediately, she remembered a small cubby of a closet beneath the stairs and bolted for it. It wasn't all that large, but there was enough space for her to hide in, and that was all she could think to do.

The doorknob turned silently beneath her grasp, and the hinges were equally silent when she pulled the door open. Quickly she moved inside and closed the door just as the intruder started down the stairs. He was moving quickly now, taking the stairs two at a time. She grasped the doorknob with both hands and held her breath, afraid to inhale for fear she would be heard. Now he was at the bottom of the steps. A cold sweat suddenly covered her body, and, instinctively, she started to pray, silently begging God to save her.

The intruder was hurrying now as he moved down the hall past where she was hiding. Just when she thought she was going to be safe, she heard the footsteps stop.

No, no, no.

Sarah was shaking so hard she could barely stand. Slowly, slowly, the sound of footsteps came closer, until she actually felt the intruder's energy on the other side of the door.

Sweet Jesus, save me. Don't let me die.

The doorknob turned slightly beneath her hands, and just when she thought it was over, the lights flickered twice and the power returned. The thin thread of light beneath the door was, to Sarah, a most welcome and beautiful sight. Following that, she felt the intruder's shock as vividly as if they'd been face-to-face.

Immediately, the pressure on the doorknob ceased, and Sarah heard a muffled curse, then running footsteps. Before it occurred to her to look and see who was running away, it was silent. She started to open the door and then stopped, wondering if she was being conned, if the intruder would be waiting for her on the other side, ready to finish her off. She waited a moment, and then took a deep breath before pushing the door wide.

The hall was empty; the only thing visible were a few wet tracks on the polished floor. She turned slowly, looking behind her, and as she turned, she noticed a darker shadow inside the closet in which she'd been hiding. She stepped back and turned, then started to scream. It was Tony, unconscious and bleeding from the head. She ran to the front door, screaming for help as she went. Within minutes the house was crawling with security, and Sarah was hustled to one side under armed guard, while the others took over.

She had blurred images of finding Dunn and Farley unconscious in their room, and the flashing lights of ambulances and sirens as both they and Tony were taken away. Sarah begged and cried to go with Tony, but the head of the security team Tony had hired wouldn't let her out of his sight. Sobbing hysterically, with nowhere to turn, she was oddly consoled by the appearance of Sheriff Gallagher and two of his men.

“Sarah! Tell me what happened?” Gallagher said, as he took her into the living room.

“I woke up when the storm hit. I couldn't find Tony or either one of the bodyguards, and then the power went off. I kept calling for them, but they never answered. Then I heard someone moving around upstairs and knew that whoever it was, they didn't belong there. If it had been Tony or the guards, they would have answered me.”

Ron nodded. He'd already heard most of this from some of the men on the security team, but he let Sarah talk because it was calming her down.

“What did you do next?” he asked.

“I heard the footsteps coming along the upstairs hall so I ran and hid in the closet beneath the stairs.” Her chin quivered, her eyes filling with tears as she looked up at Ron. “Tony was in there all that time and I didn't know.” She shuddered. “God…just like Daddy. All those years people swam and boated on that lake…they were playing while he was down there in that trunk.”

“Don't think like that,” Ron said, and pointed at one of his deputies. “Get her a drink of whiskey, neat, from the bar.”

“I don't want anything to drink,” Sarah said. “I want to see Tony. I need to know if he's going to be all right.” Then she started to sob. “This is all my fault. He got involved because of me, and if he doesn't…if he—”

“He's going to be okay,” Ron said, even though he didn't know that for a fact.

The deputy handed a shot of whiskey to Ron, who handed it to Sarah. “Drink this.”

She took it like medicine, shuddering as it went all the way down.

“Good girl,” Ron said. “Now tell me what you did after you hid.”