Don

by Carlene Thompson

  I shouldn't have come, Warren thought abruptly. What had he been thinking? Yes, he wanted to be with Charlotte. Yes, he knew she needed his reassurance, but this meeting was not a smart move. Why had he let her talk him into it?

  He stopped as panic grew. He would go home immediately. Charlotte would be furious, but he could smooth it over somehow, make her see reason, convince her not to call the house again. But right now he had to leave-

  " Warren!"

  Charlotte was leaning over the side of the yacht. Her soprano voice seemed to shrill through the night. Warren flinched and quelled an impulse to loudly shush her. Instead he darted forward.

  "Hi, sweetheart," he said softly. "You know, I'm not sure this is-"

  "You're late!' I thought you weren't coming."

  Her volume hadn't lowered. Warren looked at her closely. Even in the bleaching light of the moon he could see her flushed cheeks. She'd been drinking. He'd never seen her take more than one glass of wine. "I'm only ten minutes late, darling," he said just above a whisper. "As I was saying, this isn't a good idea tonight. I had a grueling session with Sheriff Meredith today and-"

  "Meredith's an ass.'

  Warren winced. " Charlotte, the whole marina will hear you."

  "Get on board." She extended her hand invitingly, but there was steel in her voice. "Please."

  His heart raced. He could stand here and argue, with Charlotte getting angrier and louder by the minute, or he could board the yacht and disappear inside. He wanted to be with her. Besides, it was a little late to worry about being seen.

  Five minutes later Charlotte poured him a glass of champagne. She'd already finished half the bottle. She insisted they toast to "new beginnings." Warren 's stomach tightened. His wife of six years was dead. How could he be here with his lover toasting to the future? Because until a few weeks ago the future had stretched before him like an endless desert? Because the thought of enduring Tamara for even one more year had become unbearable?

  "You're not drinking," Charlotte said, her beautiful gold flecked eyes glittering up at him. She wore tight white slacks and a filmy blouse with no bra underneath. "This is very good champagne. Don't let it go to waste." He took a sip and she smiled. "All right, tell me about the great Nicholas Meredith's visit."

  "He's very suspicious."

  Charlotte 's pupils seemed to dilate. "Does he know about us?" she asked sharply.

  "No."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yes. He would have hit me with it if he did. But he had some questions about my alibi."

  "Which you answered to his satisfaction."

  "Yes. I think so."

  "What do you mean, you think so?"

  "I meant yes. Period." He could not tell her about Lorraine

  Glover. He'd sworn to her that he'd never had an affair before she came along. Nor could he let Charlotte find out about Tamara's pregnancy. He'd also sworn to her he hadn't slept with Tamara for a year. "Meredith had a deputy who was looking at the model of the Mercy with a lot of interest. Hysell."

  "Ted Hysell? The guy we saw at The Hearth?"

  Warren was stricken. "I didn't recognize him."

  "Don't worry. He's an idiot."

  "But he's seen us together."

  "Forget him. Listen, Warren, now is not the time to get rattled," she said calmly, "although I wish Sheriff Purdue were still in office. He was a great friend of Daddy's. He was also too lazy to do much investigating."

  "He'd have to do something in a murder case."

  "Nothing productive, I assure you." She smiled brightly. "You look so unhappy. Drink up, darling. You'll feel better."

  Two glasses of champagne later he did feel better. Charlotte opened a second bottle of champagne. When he protested, she insisted they both needed it to relax. The champagne did not seem to relax her-just the opposite. With each glass she grew more animated. This was an unfamiliar Charlotte. Warren decided nerves were responsible for the drinking. She didn't want to admit Tamara's murder worried her, so she hid the anxiety beneath alcohol. Drunk or not, she was still charming. Charming, delightful, completely irresistible.

  Warren took her oval face in his hands. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, each flushed cheek. "I love you, Charlotte," he said urgently. "God, I love you."

  She made a sound like a contented cat purring, then pulled down his head, pressing their lips together briefly. Then she pushed him farther down until his lips touched the cleft between her small, firm breasts. "You're a free man now," she breathed. "Make love to me as a free man."

  They always made love in the master stateroom on the bed Warren was sure Max Bishop meant only for his personal pleasure. Charlotte said that before his strokes, her fa ther frequently "entertained" women in the stateroom. Now that Max's right side was seventy-five percent immobilized, Charlotte had appropriated the room. Max,was stuck at home with poor faithful Muriel who'd overlooked his many affairs. The lavish stateroom belonged to Charlotte. And him.

  Mine, Warren thought in the midst of their abandoned lovemaking. This beautiful, exciting woman, this excessive but impressive yacht, this privileged life Charlotte 's money could buy. All his. That would make his father sit up and take notice. The future no longer looked endless and bleak to Warren. The future looked like a city shimmering on the horizon. The Emerald City, he thought, although he'd always hated The Wizard of Oz. Snagging Charlotte was like Dorothy reaching the Emerald City.

  They made love twice, then lay spent, Warren on his back, Charlotte on her abdomen with an arm thrown across his chest. Water lapped at the sides of the Charlotte. Warren smiled, realizing that for the first time in his life he didn't mind being on a boat. The funeral and everything else that must be done for Tamara in the next few weeks didn't seem insurmountable now. He would get through it because he had something wonderful waiting for him… over the rainbow.

  Warren burst out snickering. What was wrong with him tonight? Wizard of Oz on the brain. He must be drunk. He felt young and floating and a trifle silly. And sleepy. How tempting it was to just relax into the thick down pillows and drift off. But that would be a disaster. Imagine waking up at eight in the morning when the marina was coming to life. He couldn't stay on board for the rest of the night. He must wake up in his own bed and carry through with the day as people expected. He had to leave.

  " Charlotte," he said softly. No response. " Charlotte "

  She breathed heavily beside him. She had dozed with him before, but this was deep sleep. Too much champagne. He jiggled her. Nothing. She was all right but certainly not able to rise, dress, and go home. Oh, well, he needn't worry about Charlotte. She often spent the night on the yacht, so her family wouldn't be concerned if she wasn't home in the morning. He wasn't so lucky.

  Warren gently moved her arm. She didn't stir. He smiled. Sleep, my beautiful prize.

  He dressed by the one dim light they'd left on. Glancing in the mirror he decided he looked like hell-bloodshot eyes, dark circles, deepened lines in his forehead. Warren was usually vain about his appearance, but now he was glad he looked ragged. After all, he was supposed to be the grieving widower.

  He glanced at Charlotte one last time. She hadn't moved. Colossal headache tomorrow, he thought. Maybe that would keep her too occupied to make any more unwise phone calls to his house.

  He left the bedroom and went up to the beautifully appointed saloon. Saloon. The word had always seemed foolish to him, conjuring up images from Gunsmoke. Miss Kitty should be lurking somewhere ready to flirt with Marshal Dillon. Nevertheless, people were insistent on using the correct terms, like saloon for what would be called the living room, galley for kitchen, port and starboard for left and right. Nonsense.

  He paused. Was that a shadow passing by one of the windows looking out onto the walk-around deck? He rushed to the glass and looked out. The deck was empty. The.boat beside the Charlotte was lighter and rocked while the Charlotte remained nearly motionless. Moonlight played over the water. That's all he'd
seen-a cloud passing across the moon. He took a deep breath. He was being paranoid, thinking that Meredith had people everywhere. He had to stop jumping at shadows, literal or otherwise. The appearance of innocence was essential.

  Warren crept forward. Twenty minutes and he'd be home. He had rarely looked forward to being at home in the past. How many nights had he lain beneath one of Tamara's quilts with her rolled into a tight ball, just like her inhibited little psyche, and felt himself breaking into a sweat, the sweat of panic at the thought that this was the rest of his life? Hun dreds of times. But now that bed seemed like the safest place in the world. That was where he should be, where he wanted to be if Sheriff Meredith should come looking.

  Warren passed through the formal dining room and went up on deck. Cool air wafted over him. Some of the fuzziness left his head. Even his vision seemed clearer. In the distance a small bell clanged into the night. Nearby a board creaked.

  He whirled around with the sharp, blinding awareness that something horrible waited for him in the chill darkness. His hands shot out blindly and he felt as if he were losing control of his bowels.

  He barely made a sound as the long razor plunged into his neck, stabbing through flesh, puncturing the trachea. Warren 's heartbeat soared. Blood frothed from the wound and pain seared like lightning through his gut. As he reflexively bent double, the razor ripped a quarter of the way around his neck, destroying muscles and veins. His hand flew to the wound and he futilely tried to stanch the relentless flow of his life fluid. He could see, but all he could make out was a dark shape wavering in front of him.

  Warren stumbled forward. The figure sidestepped and he crashed onto the wooden deck, rolling onto his back. Still grasping his throat, opening his mouth only to emit noisy gurgles, he blinked. Someone hovered above him, but he couldn't make out the face. His attacker was only a dark shape against darkness mumbling words he could not understand.

  Warren felt his consciousness slipping away. The figure moved, almost faded, backward down into the yacht…

  To Charlotte.

  And in the distance the boat bell went on ringing calmly in the breeze of an oblivious night.

  9

  TUESDAY MORNING

  The sun seemed unusually bright, maybe because she hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Natalie put on her sunglasses as she drove into downtown Port Ariel. Destination: Curious Things.

  Natalie had not visited Lily's shop for three years. Last summer Lily had renovated, turning the nondescript brick building into a striking establishment that looked like something from the pages of Dickens. A huge bay window jutted over the sidewalk displaying an antique cradle, music boxes, crystal decanters, two of Tamara's lovely quilts, and pieces of jewelry. When she opened the dark green door with its paned window, a bell jingled merrily, announcing the arrival of a customer.

  Lily stood behind the counter talking to a young man. She looked past him and smiled at Natalie.

  "When I called your place this morning, your answering machine message said you'd be at the store," Natalie said. "I didn't expect you to be working today."

  "I'm only here because of a shipping snafu I had to straighten out." Lily still had mauve shadows beneath her eyes and Natalie didn't like her pallor, but she looked slightly more animated than the day before. "Natalie, I'd like for you to meet Jeff…"

  "Lindstrom," he supplied. "I'm vacationing here. Ms. Peyton told me about some of the places I should visit."

  Natalie took his extended hand. "Natalie St. John. I grew up here. I'm back for a visit."

  Jeff smiled broadly. His dark blond hair touched the collar of his denim shirt and his slightly prominent teeth were astonishingly white. Natalie guessed him to be no more than thirty.

  The bell above the door jingled. Everyone glanced up as Nick Meredith-entered. Natalie felt color creeping to her cheeks. The very thought of their last meeting at The Blue Lady made her feel like running from the store in embarrassment. Please don't let him say anything about it, Natalie thought fervently. But he barely glanced at her. His solemn attention was for Lily. "Hello, Miss Peyton. Your father told me I would find you here."

  "What's wrong?" she demanded tensely.

  "Do you know where your brother-in-law is?"

  " Warren?" Lily looked blank. "No. Why?"

  "Because I need to talk with him as soon as possible and I haven't been able to reach him."

  "Well, I'm sure he's around somewhere. Even he wouldn't have the nerve to leave town with the funeral tomorrow." Lily's eyes narrowed. "Why is it so important that you talk to him?"

  "I just have a couple of questions." Meredith's casual tone did not ring true. "I'll try him again in an hour or so. Thanks, Miss Peyton."

  The bell jingled again and a high, childish voice cried, "Daddy!"

  Heads swiveled. A little girl with long auburn hair and a sprinkling of freckles beamed at Sheriff Meredith. Behind her stood a heavyset woman with short salt-and-pepper hair and dark eyes behind black-framed glasses.

  "Paige," Sheriff Meredith said. "I didn't know you and Mrs. Collins were going shopping today."

  "I clean forgot that today is my sister's birthday," the woman explained. "Of course I wouldn't leave Paige home alone and I absolutely had to get a gift. I hope you don't mind me bringing her. I called your office to ask, but you weren't in and it's something of an emergency or I wouldn't have thought of taking her out without your permission."

  She sounded as if she'd dragged the child along on a dangerous expedition, Natalie thought. Sheriff Meredith looked faintly amused. "You don't have to get clearance for a trip to downtown Port Ariel, Mrs. Collins, unless you plan to stop in at the local bar for a sandwich and a beer at lunch."

  "Oh, no!" Mrs. Collins earnestly assured him. "We're going to McDonald's."

  Natalie realized the child was staring at her and smiled. "Hi."

  "Hi. I'm Paige Meredith. Are you Natalie St. John?"

  "I am indeed," Natalie laughed. "How did you know?"

  "My best friend is Jimmy Jenkins." Natalie raised her eyebrows questioningly. "He's twelve and has black hair like yours. He met you the day Mrs. Hunt got murdered."

  "Paige!" Meredith said sharply. He motioned toward Lily. "This is Mrs. Hunt's sister."

  Paige's sunny smile vanished. "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry."

  "It's all right," Lily murmured. "Did Jimmy describe Natalie to you?"

  "Yeah." Paige looked relieved that Lily was changing the subject. Her gaze shifted back to Natalie. "Daddy says you're a vet. Do you make house calls?"

  "House calls? Not usually. I don't even practice around here."

  "Oh." Exaggerated disappointment throbbed in Paige's voice. "I'm so worried about my cat Ripley."

  Natalie saw Nick Meredith roll his eyes. What was this all about? she wondered. "What's wrong with Ripley?"

  "He's fat," Meredith said flatly.

  "No he's not," Paige retorted. "But he scratches his ears a lot."

  "Mites," Natalie said. "Maybe an infection."

  "Infection!" Paige made it sound like plague. "Also… he limps."

  "Since when?" Meredith demanded.

  "Since… this morning."

  "Have you checked to see if there's something between his pads?" Natalie asked. "Maybe a pebble?"

  "I didn't see anything. Dr. St. John, Ripley doesn't like his usual vet, Dr. Cavanaugh. He gets all nervous and upset when he has to go see him. The last time, he scratched Dr. Cavanaugh and he yelled at Ripley. A lot. Ripley didn't eat for two days."

  "That's too. bad, but surely there's more than one vet in Port Ariel."

  "There is," Meredith said firmly. "Dr. Landers."

  "Daddy, he's ancient," Paige wailed. "He bumbles around and talks to himself and last time we were there he called me Ripley. He might give Ripley the wrong medicine and kill him. He also says every pet has the same thing- worms!"

  "Worms are fairly common, Paige." Natalie tried not to grin. The child was certainly laying it on thick-thic
k enough to win her admiration for dramatic tenacity. "However, if you're so worried about Ripley, I'd be happy to take a look at him."

  Paige beamed. Meredith scowled. "Dr. St. John, this isn't necessary," he said. "The cat is fine-"

  "Is not," Paige asserted.

  "-and I know you're here on a visit," Meredith continued. "We're not going to press you into service."

  "I don't mind, really."

  Paige didn't look at her father. "We live at 312 Elmhurst -"

  "Paige" Meredith drew a deep breath. "Dr. St. John is obliging you by seeing Ripley. You aren't going to insist she drive to our house, too."

  "Actually, it would be better if I come to your house than if you bring the cat to mine," Natalie said. "I have a new dog and I don't know how she feels about cats."

  "The dog that found Mrs. Hunt's body?" Paige's eyes- the same intense blue as her father's-flew wide and she gasped in Lily's direction. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-"

  "It's all right, honey," Lily said kindly. "My sister is dead. That's just a fact, so you don't have to worry about everything you say to me."

  Natalie could feel some of the tension leaving the room.

  Even Sheriff Meredith's stiffness dropped a few notches. "I have work to do." He looked at Lily. "If you hear from your brother-in-law, will you let me know?"

  Lily nodded. "Of course, but I think I'd be the last person he'd call."

  Meredith turned his dark blue gaze on Natalie. "Thank you for agreeing to check on Ripley. I really don't think it's necessary."

  "I'd like to ease Paige's mind."

  "Yes, I'm sure she's tied in knots over Ripley's dire condition." He shot a meaningful look at his daughter who assumed a guileless expression. "I will see you at home tonight."

  "Yes, Daddy," she said meekly. "I love you."

  Meredith left the store shaking his head. Lily smiled at Jeff Lindstrom, who was watching Meredith closely. "And that is our sheriff, Nicolas Meredith," she said.