Whirlwind (27 page)

He found a broom and got a wheelbarrow from the garden shed to clean up the remains of Liza's expansion project. He'd carried a couple of loads out onto a burn pile behind the lodge when he heard a car engine in the driveway again.

It wasn't Liza, a sixth sense told him. Her car sounded different. Cliff edged his way to the door and looked out in time to see Joe Santori climb out of his truck. Cliff hesitated. Usually, he stayed out of sight when someone came calling at the lodge. He didn't like talking with people.

But Joe wasn't just people, Cliff reasoned. With the broom in hand, he pushed out through the door and greeted Joe on the veranda.

“'Morning,” Joe called cheerily, striding up the porch steps. “You two live through the storm last night?”

“Barely,” Cliff said.

Joe laughed. “It was a real downpour, wasn't it? Say, I thought I saw your truck down by the highway. Have some trouble with it?”

“Dead battery,” Cliff supplied, relieved that he could come up with an explanation for having left the truck so he could make love to Liza.

Joe peeled off his cap and nodded, leaning comfortably against the porch railing as if ready for a long, pleasant conversation. “That'll happen now and then,” he said. “Specially in wet weather. I'll run you down later and give you a jump start. I've got a set of jumper cables under the front seat.”

“Thanks.”

Joe seemed not to notice that Cliff couldn't manage more than a word or two at a time. Taking a pack of chewing gum out of his shirt pocket, he offered Cliff a stick. When he declined, Joe took one for himself and launched into a rambling story about an old truck he'd once owned but could never trust. The thing only started about half the time, and he couldn't keep the tires inflated. Finally he'd sold the truck to an old man, who painted it bright red and used the vehicle for years to collect trash in the neighboring countryside. Cliff didn't follow the thread of the story, but he must have smiled bleakly at the appropriate moments, because Joe laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Just goes to show,” Joe added. “You can't judge a truck by its color.”

“Uh-uh,” said Cliff.

“Where's Liza?” Joe asked suddenly.

“Liza?”

“She still in bed?” Joe asked with a grin and a suggestive wink. “The rain keep her awake last night?”

“No,” said Cliff. “She's gone.”

“Gone where? Into town?”

Cliff realized he couldn't guess where Liza might have gone. Perhaps to Tyler to see her mother. Or maybe back to Chicago. For all he knew, she might have decided to hightail it to California by now. She was likely to make that kind of snap decision about life. She was reckless and wild. And his heart ached, knowing she was gone.

Watching Cliff's face, Joe sobered and said, “Well, I thought I'd come out and see if she still wanted to go through with the improvements we talked about yesterday. After digging up that body by the lake, I wondered.... Discoveries like that have a way of changing things. You have any idea what her plans are now?”

Cliff shook his head. “I can't imagine.”

“Well,” Joe said, looking at Cliff strangely, “you tell her that I'm still interested, okay? I'd like to try my hand
at fixing this place up. I'd hate to see it fall apart. There's a lot of history in a lodge like this.”

“Yes,” said Cliff.

“A lot of people around town used to say this place was haunted. I don't go for that nonsense, of course, but there used to be some pretty great parties up here, and some of the finest families in the state visited Timberlake. We ought to preserve it, don't you think?”

“Yes.”

Joe laughed. “You're not the talkative type, but I like you, Forrester! A man of few words.” He stood up and clapped his hat back on his head. “Well, how about it? Let's go start your truck.”

Cliff hesitated. He didn't want to get into Joe's pickup and drive down to the highway. He didn't want to have to make conversation or struggle to appear normal for Joe's benefit.

But you
are
normal!
shouted the voice in his head.
You don't have to pretend. Joe doesn't care if you're a little quiet. Just go get the truck, for crying out loud! See if you can leave the lodge with somebody besides Liza.

“What do you say?” Joe prodded.

If you've learned anything from Liza, it's that you're not as crazy as you thought. Go with Joe. I dare you.

“Come on.”

“Okay,” Cliff said, almost giddy with adrenaline. “Okay, let's go.”

It wasn't until he was standing beside Joe's pickup that he realized he was gripping the broom handle as if it were a life buoy. He left it propped against a tree and got into Joe's truck without a word. Joe started the engine and gabbed about nothing special as they drove down the drive through the trees.

When they reached the highway, Cliff realized he hadn't driven on that stretch of road with anyone but Liza in the ten years he'd lived at Timberlake. He concentrated on
breathing evenly as Joe made the left turn and headed toward town.

Cliff didn't want to break down. He didn't want to go crazy in Joe's truck. He didn't want to hurt Joe.

Joe can take care of himself,
said his inner voice.
Liza took care of herself and showed you you had more control over yourself than you thought you did.

“You know,” Joe said as he rolled down his window and let a blast of morning air rush into the cab, “I used to think you were a little weird, Forrester.”

Cliff's throat was too tight to answer.

“But you're okay,” Joe went on comfortably. “Not exactly a barrel of laughs, if you know what I mean, but you're a good egg. From what I hear about Liza Baron, you're probably the best thing that ever happened to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know.” Joe shrugged amiably. “A girl like that needs an anchor. She's got wild ways, but she can't get anything done until somebody gets a bridle on her. She needs gentling down from a guy like you.”

“Gentling down,” Cliff repeated, amused by Joe's choice of words. “You don't know how funny that is.”

“Why? You're about as gentle as they come, right? No offense,” Joe added quickly. “Some women really go for that teddy bear stuff, right? Treat 'em quiet and they're as sweet as pie. Get rough, and they leave you flat.”

Had he been too rough on Liza? The remarks about her father's suicide had been meant to drive her away, all right. Cliff shouldn't have used such a painful weapon on her. Liza's feelings about her father's death were still very raw indeed. He had poured salt in her wounds by suggesting she was trying to change the past by working on him.

“It's not like I've had the best luck with women,” Joe continued. “I'm still looking for the right one, mind you. But I'd say you're using the right technique with Liza. Give
her room to be creative, but keep her within the bounds of reason. She's probably eating out of your pocket, right?”

“Not exactly,” said Cliff.

“What's the matter?” Joe asked. “You don't go for her?”

“Sure,” he said. “I go for her, all right.”

“She's a beauty.” Joe sighed. “And sexy enough to fry eggs on—well, she's sexy, that's all. I hope you don't mind my saying so.”

“I don't mind,” Cliff said. “I appreciate any help you can give me.”

“Was Liza upset about the body we dug up?”

“Yes,” Cliff replied. “She's afraid it's going to stir up trouble.”

“It's already stirred up some excitement,” Joe said, driving the truck along an open stretch of highway. “The whole town's been talking about it.”

Cliff couldn't imagine Judson or Alyssa spreading the story around Tyler. He said, “I'm sure the family won't be happy to hear that.”

Joe nodded. “I know what you mean. Chief Schmidt has a big mouth. I hope his gossip doesn't upset Liza and Alyssa too much.”

Me, too,
Cliff thought.

He listened awhile longer, as Joe talked about his philosophy of the fairer sex. They reached the stranded pickup truck shortly, however, and Joe grabbed a coil of jumper cables out from under the seat. Together, they worked at getting the pickup started, and when the old engine caught and roared at last, Joe gave Cliff a jaunty wave.

“Good luck with that pretty lady of yours!”

When Joe drove off, Cliff sat behind the wheel of the idling pickup for several minutes, trying to decide what to do next. The need to see Liza again pulled at him like a magnet. He wanted to hold her in his arms and feel her
weight against his body. The scent of her hair seemed to float on the breeze.

And he could almost hear her soft whisper as she bit gently into his earlobe and told him how much she loved the way he touched her. His insides tightened at the memory of her smooth flesh and lithe limbs.

But he couldn't turn the truck toward Tyler and seek her out. It was too risky. Already he had ventured too far beyond his self-imposed safety point. And he needed time to think of the right words to say to her.

He reached Timberlake in a few minutes and retrieved the broom from the tree where he'd left it. Back inside the lodge, he began to finish cleaning up the mess when he noticed a puddle of water on the floor beside the stairs.

“Where did that come from?”

A quick glance upward told Cliff that Liza's tampering with the lodge's inner structure must have changed things they couldn't see. Clearly, the roof no longer leaked just into the attic, but also into the lower floors. The puddle at Cliff's feet must have come as a result of last night's rain.

He dropped the broom and headed for Margaret's room and the secret staircase to the attic. To make sure the leak hadn't caused any permanent damage, he found his way up the stairs and into the gloomy storage room that was piled high with Margaret Ingalls's belongings. It felt odd to be among those things without Liza—as if he were intruding on the privacy of a living woman. But he brushed aside the sensation and went looking for a leak in the roof.

The floorboards creaked under his feet as Cliff edged along in the attic's half-light.

“I should have brought a flashlight,” he muttered. “Or brought Joe up here. I don't know what I'm looking for.”

He whacked his head against a wooden truss and cursed loudly. Then he laughed.

“Serves you right, Forrester,” he told himself. “Somebody has to knock some sense into you. Oh, hell!”

The groaning floorboards gave way, and Cliff's foot plunged through the rotten wood.

“I guess I found the place that leaks,” he said, trying to pull his shoe free. “Where am I? Probably right over the wall Liza tore out single-handedly. She'd probably laugh her heart out to see me stranded up here in the dark.”

But he wasn't stranded much longer. Cliff heard a loud, tearing groan of weakening wood, and then the whole world shifted around him. He lunged for a solid handhold, but his leg lurched deeper into the hole in the floorboards. He gave a strangled yell, and then everything gave way. In a huge rush of choking dust and screaming timbers, the roof caved in and the floor swallowed him up.

The last thing Cliff remembered was hurtling through darkness, the weight of the lodge roof crashing down on his head.

* * *

L
IZA WENT LOOKING
for her grandfather at his office at the Ingalls plant and at Marge's Diner. No one had seen him all day, she was told. And by the expression on Marge's face, Liza gathered that Judson Ingalls had never before missed a breakfast at the diner. “Where is your grandfather?” Marge asked. “I heard he was awfully upset about the body found up at the lake.”

“We're all upset,” Liza replied before leaving the diner.

Fearing the worst, Liza searched the town for her grandfather. But Judson seemed to have disappeared. Where could he have gone? She thought of asking Alyssa where he might have gone to find some privacy, but decided against pressuring her mother. Things seemed to be falling apart for the whole family.

Liza found herself turning the convertible toward the lodge and Cliff Forrester.

“He'll know what to do,” she told herself, knowing she wasn't thinking clearly anymore. A terrible sense of
fore-boding had begun to fill Liza's mind. “At least, Cliff will calm my active imagination!”

Liza whipped the T-bird up the long driveway to the lodge and frantically tried to think of what she was going to say to Cliff. Should she apologize for going off halfcocked this morning? Should she demand an apology from him, perhaps? After all, he had a lot of gall talking about her family that way! But Liza couldn't think of the right words, the right combination of syllables that could communicate her complex feelings. She just wanted to see him, to feel his embrace. Then everything would be all right.

But it wasn't.

She rushed into the lodge and found the hallway looking like the site of a bomb blast.

“Oh, God!” Liza rocked to a stop at the sight. “Cliff!”

Rubble was piled at least eight feet in the air, and she could see daylight where the roof had once been. Stunned, Liza scrambled over the initial mess of fallen beams and cried, “Cliff! Cliff, are you in here?”

No sound. The mess of plaster and wood moved as if shaken by an earthquake beneath, and Liza grabbed the staircase banister to keep herself upright. The thought of Cliff being trapped underneath all that lumber was unbearable.

“Oh, my God, don't let him be stuck in here. Cliff!”

She began tearing away the splintered wood, her hands shaking with fear, her voice cracking with panic. “
Cliff!
You'd better answer me, you—Cliff! My God, this is blood!”

The sticky red stain on her hands was blood, indeed, Liza realized, staring in horror at the unmistakable evidence that her lover had been hurt.