Moonshadows (14 page)

“How nice to hear from you. Is anything wrong, dear?”

“I was wondering if Mr. Newkirk has had any word from the private investigator looking for Etienne.”

“Well, how do you like that?” the little voice trilled. “Your calling just now. I did hear Ian on the phone a couple hours ago talking about Etienne. When he hung up he said he’d have to call you and give you the report.”

Janet’s heart began to pound. “Can I speak to him?”

“He’s not here right now. He had a purchase agreement to deliver to Jake Quillen at the marina. You know how long Jake’s been wanting to buy the Dawson property to extend his docking space, and Ian finally got the two together on a price.”

“When will he be back?”

“In a couple hours, I’d imagine. I can have him call you.”

“What if I drive up? That way I can talk to him in person.”

“That’d be fine, dear. I’m sure Ian will be glad to give you a full report. Why don’t you come for supper? I’m making a lovely clam chowder.”

Janet glanced at her watch. It was a little after five. “I’m leaving right now.”

“So we’ll see you in a little while. It’s starting to rain and the temperature’s dropping, so drive carefully, Janet.”

“Yes ma’am,” Janet mumbled and held the receiver in her hand for an anxious moment before jumping up.

She pulled on a set of heavy sweats and jerked a hooded jacket from the closet. She grabbed a pair of fur-lined boots from the shoetree and tugged them on as she went down the hallway. Snatching up her gloves and purse, she went out the door.

Rain pinged on the roof of the car as Janet drove up the deserted coastal highway. At last she passed the welcome sign and was relieved when the headlights picked up the outline of the Newkirk house. She parked beside the boat, opened the door, and stepped out into the frigid drizzle.

Phoebe Newkirk opened the door. “Come in, come in.” She shivered. “My, but it is getting colder.”

“Did Mr. Newkirk get home yet?”

“Not yet, but I expect him any minute. Take off your coat, dear, and come into the kitchen, I’m just setting the table.”

Janet followed along. The smell of fresh-baked bread and chowder filled the house and made her mouth water.

“I haven’t seen you since you were up here with that nice-looking young fellow.” She glanced at Janet over a handful of silverware. “Stephen, wasn’t it?”

Janet nodded.

“Is he—?”

The opening and closing of the front door interrupted her question. Ian Newkirk entered the kitchen.

“Janet,” he said, dusting snow from his topcoat. “I thought that was your car. I was going to ring you after supper.”

“I called earlier and Mrs. N said you had news.”

Ian Newkirk frowned at his wife who was carrying a tureen to the table.

“I hope it was okay that I told her, Ian. It never entered my mind not to.”

He shook his head.

“No, that’s fine. It’s just that there’s not much to tell. Certainly not worth the long drive up in this miserable weather.”

“But you do have something?” asked Janet and took the chair he pulled out for her.

He nodded and stepped to the sink to wash up. “Little enough,” he said, taking his own seat. “Tolliver—he’s the detective—finally located a couple of actors who shared an apartment with Etienne at one time.” He held his bowl as his wife ladled out creamy, clam-filled chowder. “Apparently he never had much success on the stage. Both men agreed that he had talent, but not the rigid discipline needed for that profession. Seems he never did anything of any importance and spent a lot of time delivering pizzas to make ends meet.” He sampled the chowder and gave his wife an appreciative smile. “I suppose that’s why he’s so difficult to find—plus, New York’s a big place.”

“Do they know what happened to him?”

Ian Newkirk shook his head.

“One of the men remembered running into him a month or so ago and said he was excited about getting a letter that seemed to be of great importance.”

Phoebe Newkirk patted Janet’s hand. “I’m sorry Ian didn’t have better news.”

Janet squeezed her fingers. “Well, at least the visit’s not a total loss.” She pointed her spoon to her half-empty bowl. “Chowder’s great.”

Mrs. Newkirk glowed at the compliment and passed the breadbasket. “Have another slice. It’ll hold you over on the drive back to town.”

“Perhaps you’d better spend the night here, Janet,” Ian Newkirk said. “When I came in, the rain had turned to snow and was beginning to stick to the roads.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Janet said, “but I’ll take it slow, and I know the mountain like the back of my hand.”

She scraped the bottom of her bowl and crammed in the last bite of bread.

Ian Newkirk helped her with her coat, and he and his wife walked her to the door. Phoebe fretted when she saw how heavy the snow was falling. Janet kissed the warm cheek and assured them both she would be fine.

Ducking her head against the onslaught, she hurried across the yard and to the little car, its windshield now covered in a layer of snow. The wipers labored to do their job as soon as she started the engine.

Janet was so intent on her driving that she was almost back to the sharp curve where the accident happened that claimed the lives of her parents before she was fully aware of the car following close behind.

Just as she drove into the deadly curve, the car tapped her bumper, causing her to nearly lose control. Tightening her grip on the steering wheel, she touched her brakes, giving the other driver plenty of leeway. As the road curved back along the edge of the cliff, the other car squeezed in against the mountainside and started to pass on the wrong side. The hulk of the car blurred as it came even with Janet’s car and she imagined for a split second that it was the Bugatti from the carriage house. The driver swerved toward the side of Janet’s car, forcing her to jerk the steering wheel to the left. The little car slid sideways across the highway toward the edge of the bluff. The front tires continued to spin as the back wheels grabbed at the shoulder of the road. The car rolled over the cliff and settled with a kind of plop as it snagged on the trunk of a fallen tree.

The wipers stopped working when the engine died and immediately the windshield became a blanket of white. Janet moved on the seat and felt the car teeter. The idea of what lay below—a shear freefall with only jagged cliffs and pounding surf to catch her—cut short her breathing. Forcing herself into slow motion, she carefully rummaged in her purse, feeling for her cell phone. She flipped it open and got nothing but a blank screen.

“What the heck do I do now,” she asked herself. But she had no answer.

She rolled down the window and looked out. The car seemed to be suspended in space. She fought against the wisdom of opening the door and trying to crawl out, as wind roared through the opened window and she could hear the crashing of the waves below.

“Hey, down there,” a voice bellowed from overhead. “Are you okay?”

The sound of another human voice gave her body permission to take a full, deep breath that left her almost giddy. “I’m not sure,” Janet stammered. “Can you help me?”

“Sit tight, little lady,” the voice boomed. “We’ll get you out.”

Before long a light tap sounded on the glass beside Janet’s head. She turned to see a heavily bearded man motioning her to roll the window down.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“Just scared,” she said. “Did you see what happened?”

“Afraid not. We just saw tire marks in the snow and figured somebody’d gone over.”

“Thank goodness you came along,” Janet said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“Well, you’re fine now,” he said, opening the door. “The car’s secured by a strong rope so it’s not going anywhere, but we need to get you out before we pull it back to the road.”

“Thank you,” Janet said, turning in the seat and allowing him to ease her out of the car. He pulled her into his arms and slung her over his shoulder.

“How you doing, Hank?” a voice called from the road. “Got ’er yet?”

“Got her fine. She’s just a mite of a thing.” He jerked on the rope anchored at his waist. “Heave to, you lazy bums.”

In a pull-rest, pull-rest fashion, Janet was towed up the side of the bluff on the wide shoulder of a man called Hank. Although the ride was a shade uncomfortable, Janet felt in no danger but tried to lie as lightly as possible upon the broad island that was his body.

At last Hank pulled her forward and allowed her toes to slide to the ground. Janet looked into the snow-covered bearded faces of three men still holding onto the rope. Although they seemed to be enjoying themselves, she could see satisfaction and relief in their eyes.

One of the men hurried to the huge four-wheel drive vehicle parked on the shoulder of the road and returned with an army blanket that he wrapped around her shoulders, then led her over and hoisted her up onto the high seat of the vehicle.

“You’ll be fine here.”

Hank looked at his buddies.

“Listen up, you lazy bums, here’s the deal—we can do one of two things. We can unhook the boat and bring the car up with the four-by-four.” His whiskers split in a wide grin. “Or we can be real men and haul ’er up hand over fist. What’s yer vote?”

The other three growled and rolled their shoulders.

“Are you sure you can?” Janet asked. “I don’t want anybody getting hurt, and the car’s not that important.”

Hank grinned. “Are you kidding? That little thing?”

Janet watched as the four men turned to the task of lugging her car back to the road. She knew they had been successful when a cheer went up and the car rolled back onto the pavement. They seemed to be having the time of their lives. She watched as one of the men eased his big frame into the front seat, and then she heard the motor turn over. He left the car running and headed back to where she sat bundled up.

“Is the car okay?” she asked.

“Got a banged-up front fender and maybe a little damage underneath’s all,” he said. “But it’ll get you off the mountain.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Janet said.

“Don’t mention it—most excitement we’ve had on this trip.”

Hank walked over to where Janet was sitting. “You still okay, little lady?” he asked.

Janet nodded. “Thanks to you.”

Hank slapped his buddy on the back. “Max, remember when we were planning this vacation? ‘Good fishing,’ you said. ‘Good hunting.’ Well, the only thing we’ve caught is a little bitty toy car and we can’t even eat that.”

Laughter exploded in their midst and wreathed their bushy heads in a white cloud. Janet looked at the halos and thought about angels. She laid the blanket on the seat beside her and dropped down to the ground from the four-wheeler.

“Whoa, there,” Hank said as he caught her. “Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t tote you up the side of the mountain just to have you faint on me. How ’bout if one of us drives you back to town?”

“I’ll be fine. Just let me get my land-legs,” she said.

They looked at each other as if taking a poll.

“Okay,” Hank said. “But we’ll follow behind to make sure you don’t slide off the highway again. If you have any trouble just pull over to the side of the road. We’ll get you home, don’t you worry about that.”

“Thank you,” Janet said and walked back to her car. Her shaking had subsided by the time she settled behind the wheel and pulled back into the right-hand lane of the highway. She drove at a good steady pace, confident that her grizzly protectors followed closely behind.

The clock on the dash said three-thirty when Janet pulled back into her parking slot. Middlebrook Arms was quiet and lay in a peaceful slumber beneath a blanket of new-fallen snow. Stephen’s Mustang was in its space and she wondered how he got home so soon.

As she hurried up the sidewalk, she looked across the courtyard to his apartment. It was dark. Janet believed that it
was
the Bugatti that ran her off the road—she knew that old car too well. And she remembered how taken Stephen had been with it and he certainly knew where the keys were kept. But he wouldn’t have had any way of knowing she was going to Briar’s Point. She didn’t know herself until she called up and found out there might be some news about Etienne. Lord, what a nightmare her simple life had become.

She was weary to the bone by the time she got into bed. She looked at the clock and hesitated a second before reaching for the phone. Punching in the numbers, she wondered just how much longer Chelsea was going to put up with the late-night calls and requests to come for breakfast.

T
he few hours Janet spent in bed did little in the way of restoring her body or her spirit. She was awake before dawn and waiting for daylight before calling Briar’s Point. Even though Sheriff Wiley was a perpetual early riser, she wanted to give him time to have his second cup of coffee.

“Sheriff’s office.” He sounded alert and official.

“Lije. It’s Janet Lancaster.”

“What’re you doing up so early? I thought you folks down there in the city slept ’til noon.”

“Afraid not,” she said. “Lije, I need you to do something.”

“Yeah? Shoot.”

“Will you go out to the house and see if my dad’s old car, the Bugatti, is still in the carriage house?”

“Might it not be?”

Janet laughed.

“Most likely it is, but will you do me this favor, anyway?”

“I’ll be glad to just as soon as you give me a reason. You know what a suspicious nature I’ve got, Janet.”

“No big mystery. I just thought I saw the car the other night, and since it’s an antique and apparently has some monetary value, I thought you could check and make sure that it’s safely tucked away.”

“Will do,” he said. “I need to make a run out there anyway. Haven’t checked the place out for a couple days. Alvie’s been laid up with this blasted flu and I’ve got a little behind in my sheriffing duties.”

“Thanks for the favor. Let me know what you find out, and I hope Alvie gets to feeling better.”

“Me, too. Lordy, me, too. I’ll be in touch soon.”

While Janet dressed the coffee dripped and the cinnamon rolls baked. Chelsea arrived at seven-thirty. Janet waited until they were seated before she dropped the bombshell.

“I know I’ve got to tell someone, so naturally you’re elected.”

Chelsea inspected the vanilla-frosted roll from all sides before taking a bite. “What?”

“Somebody tried to kill me last night.”

Chelsea laughed. “No, really. What?”

“I just told you. Someone tried to kill me last night. I was crowded off the highway up on Laurel Mountain. Right in the curve where—you know.”

“Last night was miserable. What were you doing out and about? Especially up on the Laurel?”

“I went to see Ian Newkirk. I thought he had some news about Etienne.”

“You thought! Could you not have waited until the weather cleared?”

“It wasn’t snowing when I left.”

“So you jumped in that dinky little lady-bug of a car and drove right on up there. Are you crazy?” Chelsea’s teeth snipped off an angry bite of roll. “I called, so I knew you weren’t home, but I figured you were out with Stephen.”

Janet leaned in. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I think maybe I was.”

“Was what?”

“Out with Stephen, only not in the way you mean. I think he was the one who ran me off the road. And Chelsea, I believe he was driving the Bugatti when he did it.”

“That old relic. Would it even run?”

Janet nodded and turned her cup on the saucer and studied her hands.

“I called Lije to have him check and see if the car’s where it’s supposed to be.”

“But Janet, if the car was taken out, it could be put back again with no one the wiser.”

“In that case, we couldn’t be sure, could we?” Janet said. “Still, it might not’ve been that car. The weather was really terrible and I only had a quick glimpse. And I guess it
could’ve
been an accident.”

“Accident?” Chelsea’s voice pitched several decibels. “With everything that’s happened?”

The ringing of the phone cut into Janet’s answer. She stretched to reach the receiver of the counter.

“So the little mouse is safe,” the voice growled. “You can’t do anything right, can you? You’re such a bitter disappointment.”

Then the phone crashed, as if the caller had hung up with fury.
Who was this voice from a living nightmare
?
Janet wondered.

She turned back to the table.

“My mysterious caller,” she said, nodding toward the phone. “Apparently he’s none too happy that I’m still alive.” She kneaded her temples. “I feel so helpless.”

Chelsea laid a hand on top of Janet’s clenched fist.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” she said. “You’ve got to bring in the police. This has gone too far.”

“And tell them what? That I skidded off the road—an icy road—in a sharp curve? What else is new?”

Chelsea took a deep breath. “And that you’ve been getting calls from some lunatic. They’ll listen to you, especially after Hilda. You know the file on her is still open.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance the boys in blue will connect a possible drug heist here in town to my being crowded off a narrow mountain road during a snow storm.” Janet smirked. “You know what men say about women drivers.”

“But you can make a report. They’ll have to listen to you, and besides, you’ll have a head start on anything else that might happen tomorrow or the next day—or the day after that.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You know all this is connected to Etienne?”

“And I think he and Stephen are the same person.”

“And he followed you to Briar’s Point?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how. He couldn’t have known I was going. I didn’t know myself until the last minute.”

“Was his car in his regular spot when you left?”

“Lord, Chels, I don’t know. When I left here the only thing on my mind was possible news about Etienne. But one thing I know for sure, Stephen knew about the Bugatti and that the keys were always in the ignition.” She pounded the table. “And darn it, I know that was the car that sent me over the cliff.”

“So you think Stephen Prescott’s behind everything that’s happened?”

Janet frowned. “Yeah. There’s no other reasonable—and please note, I said
reasonable
—explanation.”

“And the phone calls?”

Janet gave a wry smile. “What do you think?”

“And the rose?”

“All of it, Chelsea. I think he’s behind everything that’s happened. Last night was just the latest attempt to get me out of the way—heck, let’s not quibble with words—to bump me off by sending me over the cliff and making it look like an accident. If I turn up dead everything in the will goes to him.”

Chelsea fingered the rolled edge of her napkin. “This is all too much of a coincidence for even a numbskull, let alone two girls as practical as we are. I think you have to call the police.”

Janet sighed. “I don’t know. You know how I am when my imagination kicks into high gear; I get a little crazy sometimes. Still, it’s funny that Stephen turned up in Middlebrook right after grandmother died, and that he just
happened
to move into my condo complex.”

“If you ask me, that doesn’t show a lot of original creativity—for a writer.”

“Maybe he’s going more for convenience than originality,” Janet reasoned.

“Would Etienne know about the will?”

Janet nodded. “It’s a public document and filed for probate.”

Chelsea dabbed the corner of her mouth, a frown ribbing the usually satin skin between her eyes. “Janet, unless I’m wrong, Stephen’s the American translation for the French name Etienne.”

Janet smirked. “If it is him—and again I say
if
—it would be just like him to do something that cute, to see if I’d catch on.” She nibbled her lip. “Just like the stupid riddles. He gives me clues but I don’t know what they mean. It’s like he’s daring me to uncover his identity.”

“Are you going to say something to him? Give him a chance to explain? Anything?”

“And let him know that I’m onto him? Huh-uh, I don’t think so.”

Chelsea squinted. “Not very charitable of you to condemn a person without a hearing.”

“Oh I’ll give him a chance, all right. I’ve got a plan.”

Chelsea held out her hands. “Well, of course—Lucy has a plan. Are we going to wear costumes and do something sneaky?”

“Costumes, no. Sneaky? Definitely.” Janet leveled her gaze into the cool and reasonable eyes across the table. “There are answers to all this mad mischief, and nobody’s going to hand them over to me on a silver platter. I’ve thought it all out. I’m going to break into Stephen’s apartment. That’s the only way I’ll find out exactly who he really is and what he’s up to.”

“Janet!”

“Well, what do you expect me to do, sit here like some whimpering schoolgirl waiting for him to try to kill me again? Next time he might succeed.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

Janet wagged her head. “Huh-uh. I won’t let you.”

“Oh? You can stop me?”

“Chels, I don’t want you getting into trouble. You’re not the type to have your face plastered on a wanted poster; you’re too classy. Besides, Ethan Chandler would never understand.”

“I’m going.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What about Ethan?”

She shrugged. “He’ll just have to deal with it. Besides, he’s a good lawyer, plus he likes me. He’ll defend us in court.”

Janet smiled. “He likes you, huh? Enough to throw his body across the judge’s bench and beg mercy for two crackpots?”

Chelsea hefted her shoulders. “Whatever it takes, I’m going.”

“You’re sure?”

“Just tell me when.”

Janet nodded. “He goes out of town a lot. We’ll just sit tight and wait for our chance.”

Their eyes met and held. And their bond deepened.

On Friday the library staff sat in the lounge, the morning paper distributed among them, and waited for time to open the doors. Chelsea was reading the women’s section, Sebastian had arts and entertainment, and Janet skimmed the funnies.

Sebastian folded his section and laid it on the table.

“There’s an art exhibition of P. Buckley Moss going on this week,” he said. “Anybody up for going?”

Chelsea smiled. “You can put me in the ‘yes’ column.”

Sebastian nodded. “Janet?”

Janet looked up. “Huh?”

“How about it? Want to make it three for the Moss exhibit?”

“Sure, why not. When?”

Sebastian looked at Chelsea. “Tonight?”

Chelsea nodded.

“Janet?”

Janet shrugged. “Fine with me.”

Sebastian laughed. “Then how about showing a little enthusiasm. I must say you seem to have lost a lot of your spirit lately. Is anything wrong?”

Janet gave a guilty grin. “Sorry. I promise to do better.”

“Okay then,” he said and placed the palm of his hand on her head. “All is forgiven, my child. Go and sin no more.”

Janet laughed. “Thank you Father. I’ll remember you at my next confession.”

Sebastian glanced at Chelsea. “Now what do you think this soul of innocence would have to confess?”

“Beats me,” Chelsea said. “Maybe somebody cut her off in traffic this morning and she called them a bad name.”

“Hush, you two,” Janet said. “And about tonight, since the gallery’s on my end of town, why don’t we meet at my place and go from there?”

“I’ll drive,” Chelsea said.

Before either of them could reply, Amanda Austin stuck her head through the doorway.

“People. It’s nine o’clock.”

The day proceeded much like all other library days. Sebastian joined Janet and Chelsea in the staff lounge for lunch. They talked about art and music and recent literary releases. It was a little more than a half-hour later that they returned to work.

Miss Austin was standing behind the counter, a frown furrowing her brow and edging her marble-hard eyes closer together.

“Who moved the cash box?”

Janet and Chelsea looked at each other. Sebastian shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, it’s gone. Somebody moved it.”

Janet stepped in her direction. “I’m sure it’s there someplace. Maybe it got pushed to the back.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Amanda Austin’s voice was incredulous. “I wouldn’t ask who moved it if I hadn’t searched the shelf thoroughly. It’s simply not here. I think it’s been stolen.”

“Stolen!” Chelsea repeated. “Who would bother to steal such a piddling little amount money? Why, I bet there wasn’t even a hundred dollars in it.”

Sebastian laughed. “I guess the obvious one is me, since I’m the new kid on the block.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miss Austin snapped.

“I still think it’s here somewhere,” Janet said, sounding a note of optimism. “I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

“I should hope so,” Miss Austin said. Her marble eyes glinted at the trio. “I’d hate to have to report to the board of directors that we have a thief in our employ.”