From the canoe, she admired the nicely trimmed yard and weed-free flowerbeds. Huge azaleas in shades of pink, purple, peach and white bloomed amid the white dogwoods, crape myrtles, tulip poplars and tall pines. Purple and yellow pansies blossomed profusely in the large, green clay pot on the end of the dock. Unkempt yards meant no one was home, so Sam had arranged with Tom’s Tidy Lawn & Lake Service to take care of all yard maintenance after Jack died. She smiled at the weather-beaten redwood sign still attached to the boathouse: “The House That Jack Built.” The sign had been repainted several times over the years. An identical sign hanging from the rail fence welcomed guests who came up the driveway.
Her father had divided the remainder of the tract into restricted five-acre lots and, as property values jumped, he sold one or two lots every couple of years. Eventually, his architectural firm grew as people in the area recognized his extraordinary talent and integrity—two qualities respected in the building industry. Aurora looked at the other homes. She was glad her parents had kept 21 acres as a buffer.
Not only had the acreage given the family plenty of privacy, it provided space for a three-stall barn with a tack room, two small paddocks, and a nine-acre pasture. She remembered the Christmas when she was ten years old, the year her family moved to the lake. That glorious Christmas morning she ran into the living room and discovered the end of a red ribbon pinned to her Christmas stocking. As her parents watched, she followed the ribbon out the front door and up to the barn. The other end of the ribbon was tied to a stall door latch. When she opened the door she saw the most gorgeous pony in the world—at least Aurora thought so. Red ribbons were woven through the pony’s mane and tail. The small mare nickered softly and nuzzled Aurora with her soft-as-velvet muzzle. Because she was a dapple-gray, Aurora named her Frosty. She had loved going on trail rides with Frosty and showing her at the local shows, especially the annual New London show. Frosty died a natural death at age 22, the year Aurora left for college.
Smiling at the memory, Aurora looked up at the blue sky dotted with billowing cumulus clouds. She thought of her dad and how he would have pointed at the deep blue sky and say, “See those clouds? They’re the kind N.C. Wyeth painted.” Then he would have told anyone who would listen about his favorite artist/illustrator.
She pulled her camera from its case and snapped a picture of the cloud-filled sky. “This one’s for you, Dad.”
Since her dad’s death, Aurora had been unable to recall his face unless she looked at his photograph. Now, three months later, she could picture his twinkling blue eyes, thin gray-blonde hair, and the deep laugh lines etched in the corners of his eyes. Why, she wondered, could she see him so clearly now? Was it because she finally had accepted his drowning, had forgiven him for being careless, had let go of her anger? Soothed by the water lapping against the canoe, she put down her camera, leaned back in the canoe, and closed her eyes. I loved you so much, Dad. And I always will.
King’s deep growl startled Aurora. Paddling back to the dock, she climbed the ladder and tied up the canoe. Less than ten yards away sat a middle-aged couple in a black fishing boat.
The heavyset man wore khaki shorts, a red knit shirt, brown leather boat shoes (no socks), sunglasses, and a tan fishing cap with “Born to Fish” scrawled across it. Hmm. Looks like a yuppie or a cleaned-up redneck to me.
Sprigs of bottle-blonde hair escaped from under the woman’s wide-brimmed straw hat tied under her chin by a pink and green striped scarf. Aurora noted the pale pink halter-top under the unbuttoned long-sleeved green linen shirt, the liberally applied makeup, the blue sandals and fuchsia shorts. Bet she was a knockout twenty years ago.
In the boat, two rods rigged for striper fishing rested in holders beside an empty live well for holding their catch. Aurora could hear the bait shad flitting around in the minnow bucket.
“Hey there,” drawled the woman as she adjusted her tortoise shell sunglasses. “That sure is a pretty Lab.”
“Thanks,” said Aurora. King continued to growl.
“What’s his name?”
“King.”
“May I pet him?” asked the woman, stretching out a well-manicured hand heavy with rings.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. He’s very protective of me.”
“That big head of his is just gorgeous. He’s absolute perfection.”
Aurora beamed, friendlier now after hearing praise for her beloved dog. “Thanks.” King continued to growl.
“Is King registered? I own a registered female Lab myself.”
“Yes, he is. He’s descended from an old Canadian line of champion Labradors.” Aurora scratched behind King’s ears.
“I’ve been dying to breed my dog, and when I saw King standing over here on your dock, I just had to come get a better look at him. He’s the nicest I’ve seen in a long time. Would you consider breeding him with my female? You could have your pick of the litter.”
Aurora chuckled. “Won’t work. His registered name is The King of Hearts, but he won’t be breaking the hearts of any female dogs. We aren’t in the dog breeding business, so we had him neutered when he was a year old. However, King’s sire and dam are owned by friends of ours. I could give you their name and phone number, if you wish.”
“Thanks, I just might take you up on that. Will you be here all next week?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, maybe I’ll see you around.”
“How’s the fishin’? Anybody catching anything?” asked the man.
“I’ve only been here a couple of days. Haven’t seen anybody catch anything, although I’ve seen some boats out on the water. Some at night, too.”
The woman looked at her companion. “Don’t reckon we’ll catch a fish if we don’t get moving, honey.” She said to Aurora, “Nice talking to you.”
Aurora nodded.
CHAPTER FIVE
Monday, April 19
Jill Hathaway, J. Melton Lampwerth IV’s executive secretary, was peeved and a little worried. It was Monday, 9:00 a.m., and no sign of Mr. Lampwerth. A workaholic, he never arrived later than 6:45. Never. He couldn’t be stuck in traffic—he lived in the penthouse in the same building as Lampwerth International. He’d left no message, either. She frowned, leaned over her desk, and pressed the intercom button.
“Nan, have you located Mr. Lampwerth yet?” she asked her secretary.
“No, Ms. Hathaway, but I’m calling his penthouse right now. I’ll let you know as soon as I learn something.”
Ten minutes later Nan buzzed Jill. “I finally reached Mr. Lampwerth’s housekeeper. She just came back from the dry cleaners and the grocery store. Seems that on Thursday night Mr. Lampwerth insisted she take the whole weekend off starting Friday. He told her not to come back until this morning. She took advantage of the long weekend, left the penthouse at eight o’clock Friday morning, dropped Russell off at the groomer’s at nine, and drove to Baltimore to visit her sister. Said her sister’s hip was still bothering her from the operation she had a month ago, and that—”
“Nan, get to the point.”
“What? Sorry, sometimes I ramble. Anyhow, Lucille returned to the penthouse at eight this morning and figured Mr. Lampwerth had already gone to his office.”
“Did he leave her a note or tell her his plans for the weekend?”
“I didn’t ask, Ms. Hathaway.”
“Well, call her back and ask. And ask her if Russell is there.”
Jill stood up and paced the floor until Nan came in the office a few minutes later.
“Lucille said Mr. Lampwerth didn’t leave a note and Russell isn’t there.”
“Get Executive Pet Grooming on the phone, Nan. Never mind, I’ll call them myself,” Jill said, reaching across her desk for her Rolodex. Jill quickly punched in the number. The receptionist answered on the first ring.
“Yes, Ms. Hathaway, Mr. Lampwerth picked Russell up mid-afternoon on Friday. No, he didn’t say anything about taking a trip. Let me connect you with Danny
, Russell’s groomer,” said the receptionist.
“Hello, Ms. Hathaway. You’ve lost Mr. Lampwerth, I hear.” Danny paused, his little attempt at humor lost on Jill. “Mr. Lampwerth deviated a little from his usual routine. Small things, but noticeable to me. After all, I’ve been grooming Russell for four years.”
“Yes, Danny, I know.” Jill struggled to keep her voice calm. “Danny, I know you’re an observant person, and I would certainly like to hear what you noticed. What can you tell me?”
“Well, like I said, it’s small things I noticed. Usually Mr. Lampwerth holds out his arms and Russell jumps right into them and licks him all over his face.” Jill grimaced at the thought of anything kissing Lampwerth’s pompous, heavily jowled face. “And, you know, I just realized there’s another thing he usually does but didn’t do Friday,” Danny added.
“Please go on, Danny.” Jill frowned and drummed her perfectly manicured dark red fingernails on her mahogany Chippendale desk.
“Mr. Lampwerth is so careful with Russell that after every grooming, and even though he’s often commented on what a meticulous job I do….”
Jill wanted to scream “Enough!” Instead, she said, “Yes, Danny. Please get to the point.”
“Well, he always insists on sticking two fingers under Russell’s collar before he takes him home. After seeing Mr. Lampwerth do this a few times, I asked why, and he said he wanted to make sure if the collar ever gets caught on anything there’s enough slack for Russell to yank his head out. Mr. Lampwerth didn’t do that on Friday. But you can bet I checked it before I took Russell out to him. I always do.”
Jill thanked Danny and hung up. If only Robert were here instead of cruising somewhere in the South Pacific. She felt a twinge of envy for the female who had surely accompanied Lampwerth International’s V.P. So I’m jealous. I admit it. Now get over it.
She buzzed Nan and said, “Call Mr. Reeves’ secretary. Tell her to locate him and have him call me immediately. Tell her it’s urgent. Then call all the hospitals in D.C., and have someone else check the dog pounds and veterinary hospitals.”
Jill sipped her coffee. Then she phoned the police.
CHAPTER SIX
On the far side of Spawning Run, Jimmy Ray and Clyde faced their angry boss.
“You fools! What in the hell were you thinking?” He shut off the speedboat’s engine.
“Boss, we didn’t have no choice. First thing we heared wuz his car horn, then he wuz unlockin’ the front door. Didn’t mean to kill ‘im, though. Just wuz gonna knock ‘im out, tie ‘im up, and wait fer you. His head weren’t very hard.” Jimmy Ray grinned.
“Jimmy Ray’s right,” said Clyde. “He had to kill the dog, too.”
“What dog? You didn’t say anything about a dog.” The boss scowled.
“The dude had a mean little dog with ‘im. Tried to bite us. Chased ‘im ‘round the yard for maybe ten minutes. Then when Clyde here finally got a holt of his collar, the damn fool dog slipped his head clean out of it. Had to shoot ‘im then.” Jimmy Ray spit a wad of tobacco into the water and grinned. “Almost hit Clyde instead of the dog.”
“Where’d you bury him? And the man’s body, where is it?” He flicked a dragonfly off the boat’s gunwale.
“We didn’t find the dog, but he’s dead all right. Jimmy Ray shoots real good, and we heard the dog holler,” said Clyde as he pulled a beer from the cooler.
Jimmy Ray snickered. “And that fancy-dressin’ city slicker’s taken care of good. We dumped his body in the deep end of the cove. Used ski rope to tie a coupla cinderblocks to ‘im, pushed ‘im off the side of the boat into the water, and kersplash, he was gone.” Jimmy Ray reached for a beer.
The boss grabbed Jimmy Ray’s wrist. “Where’s the man’s car?”
“We drove it way in the woods, piled brush on it. Ain’t nobody gonna find it,” said Jimmy Ray. And in a coupla weeks or a month when there ain’t nobody lookin’ for that car, I’ll slip back in them woods and git it. Strip it for parts, or sell the whole thing to a dealer I know who won’t ask no questions. He rubbed his wrist when the boss released his grip.
“We got us another problem. Some woman’s staying at that house over there.” Clyde pointed to 210 Spawning Run Road.
“The woman, is she a good looking, classy blonde?”
“Yeah. And she’s got a big black dog with her,” said Jimmy Ray.
“Ah, must be the old man’s daughter. I don’t think she’ll be here long, but find out. We can’t have any more delays.” He put his hand on the ignition.
“There’s more, though. She’s got the necklace.”
“The one you idiots dropped in the lake?”
“If you mean the necklace Snake lost, yeah.” Clyde didn’t appreciate being called an idiot. After all, he’d warned the boss not to hire a crazy boozer like Snake who couldn’t be trusted. When on a drinking binge, Snake would blab everything he knew. Just plain couldn’t hold his liquor.
“How do you know she has the necklace?”
“Boss, we wuz watching her through the glasses. We saw her wearing it,” said Jimmy Ray. “She looked mighty hot in her bathin’ suit with all them jewels hangin’ ‘round her purty little neck.” He gulped his beer. “Woulda paid her a nice little gitting-to-know-you visit, but she had that big dog with her.”
“We won’t know for sure it’s our necklace until we see it up close, though,” Clyde cautioned.
“Well now, guess we’ve got some work to do,” said their boss. “And Jimmy Ray, stay away from the woman.”
When Jimmy Ray frowned, the boss said, “Hey, you better leave her alone! For the time being, anyhow. Chances are the two of you will get much better acquainted before this is all over.” He turned the key and the boat’s engine roared to life.
Jimmy Ray grinned and blew a kiss across the cove.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jill Hathaway lit a Salem cigarette, took two stress-relieving puffs, then ground it out in the ashtray. The two cops sitting across the desk from her looked at each other and grinned. They were no help.
“So how long has this J. Melton Lampwerth IV been missing?” asked one of the cops.
“He was last seen Friday afternoon,” answered Jill. She pulled another cigarette from the pack and lit it.
“Is he married? Have any family?” asked the other cop.
“No, he’s divorced, lives alone in the penthouse on the top floor of this building.” She put out her cigarette.
“You say his dog, a Jack Russell terrier I believe you said, is missing, too?”
“Yes. Both were last seen Friday afternoon at Executive Pet Grooming.”
“You want to know how I see it, Ms. Hathaway? Mr. Lampwerth is an adult, rich, owns his own company. He can do anything he damn well pleases so long as it’s legal. There’s no evidence of a crime here. My guess is that he’s with some sexy woman and has lost track of time. I bet he’ll soon return a much happier and relaxed man.” He winked at the other cop. “But we’ll file a missing person’s report just in case.” He jotted something in his notebook, and said, “I’ll let you know if we hear anything.” Then the two men left the office.
Jill fumed. The cops had talked to her in a patronizing, you’re-just-an-hysterical-woman type of voice. She didn’t like them. She despised their uncaring attitude and lack of professionalism, but she hoped they were right. As irritating as Lampwerth was, the company needed him. Jill reached for another cigarette, then drew back her hand. Why did you pick now to disappear, Mr. Lampwerth, just when I’ve gained the courage to quit smoking again?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tuesday, April 20
The phone rang. Aurora leaped out of the queen-size bed, grabbed the receiver, and plopped back down on the bed. On the nightstand, the old wind-up clock with its comforting tick-tick read 6:45.
“Hello.”
“Aurora, I’m so glad I caught you!”
“Carole, is that you?” Aurora sat back up.
“It is.
”
“How are you?”
“I’m just fine. I figured you’d be at the lake when I saw Wednesday’s newspaper. So sorry about your mother, and sorry I couldn’t get to the funeral. I would’ve gone if the service had been at a church here at the lake instead of in Forest, but I was meeting a client, and there just wasn’t enough time. I loved Margaret too, you know. She was a true Southern lady. There aren’t many left like her.” She paused, then said, “Sorry you lost the baby, too. And your dad.”
“I know. And thank you.” Aurora picked a loose thread from the bedspread, dropped it in the wastebasket.
The two women chatted for a few minutes and caught up on each other’s lives. Carole and Aurora, friends who had attended elementary and high school together, lost touch when they went off to college, but renewed their friendship after graduation. In fact, Carole was one of the six bridesmaids in Aurora and Sam’s wedding. Even though they didn’t see each other often, they still remained close friends.
Aurora smiled. She thought she knew the reason for this phone call. “Have you and Fred set a date yet, Carole?”
“Promise me, Aurora, that after this one conversation about Fred, you’ll never mention his name to me again.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Promise?”
“Yes, I promise. But what happened? Weren’t you two engaged?”
“We were. I’d been dating him, loving him, thinking of him for over a year and a half. Had a gorgeous engagement ring, a one-carat diamond encircled with emeralds.” Carole continued in a softer voice, “It was all a lie. Everything he told me was a lie. He’s married, Aurora! Can you believe that?”
“How did you find out?”
Secrets at Spawning Run Page 4
