A Question of Honor

by Mary Anne Wilson

  When Adam left a half hour later, he felt settled and focused. Until he got back in the truck. It wasn’t obsessive to want some information about Faith. It was what he did. And he was like his mother and was not a quitter. He turned the motor on, got the heater blowing warm air, then sat back and took out his cell phone. He put in a call to his partner in Dallas, and when Connors picked up, he said, “Hey, it’s Adam and I need you to do me a favor.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FAITH STOOD, EXAMINING the sundries at the general store. She had a jumble of thoughts going through her mind, things that confused her and things that made her heart ache. It had been hours since she’d gotten up and started hunting through the files. But now her stomach grumbled.

  It was midmorning and she’d finished the last of her supplies—the granola bars, crackers and candy that she kept in her room along with packets of instant coffee. The coffee she brewed on a hot plate on her dresser.

  As soon as she’d ducked inside the general store, she spotted the old man who seemed to own the place. Oscar Ortega, a balding man in his early seventies, was intently polishing a display of snow globes on a glass case near the window. He looked up as soon as the door opened.

  “Well, good morning, missy. It’s a great day,” he said, the same greeting he’d used every time she’d visited.

  ”Good morning,” Faith had replied and picked up an empty shopping basket, walking back to the grocery area.

  “Got some of that fancy creamer in, if you want to try some,” he called after her.

  “Thanks,” she said and ducked into the dry-goods aisle, where she reached for the packets of instant coffee. After debating with herself whether to buy both cookies and chips, she decided she had all that she needed and went to pay. As she passed the newspaper stand, she glanced at the news and stopped abruptly.

  A copy of a national newspaper had slipped off the stack, and its sections had separated and splayed on the floor. The headline of the business section reflected her worst nightmare. She crouched, pulling that section free with a shaky hand, then stood and stared at six photographs lined up neatly, head and shoulder shots.

  Raymond Sizemore was dead center, his partners on either side and the top financial officers from the company filling in the last squares. Above the pictures were the words Grand Jury Indictments? and below, a blurb about testimony starting today in the case against... Faith didn’t know if she should drop the paper and run, or stand there and cry.

  Aware that Oscar was watching her from the cash register, she reached down for the rest of the newspaper sections and pushed the financial one out of sight between them. She put the paper on the counter and almost forgot the basket sitting on the floor by her feet. She didn’t even remember putting it down. Quickly, she grabbed it, pushed the newspaper on top of the food and drinks, then looked at Oscar.

  “Hungry, huh?” he said conversationally as he scanned the contents of her basket.

  “A bit,” she murmured. “What do I owe you?”

  He gave her a total and she paid cash. Then she reached for the two bags he’d stacked her things in, thanked him and headed for the door.

  “Oh, missy,” Oscar called after her.

  She turned. “Yes?”

  He was smiling at her and holding out something for her. “Here, take these. Try them, and when you come back in, you might want a few to make that instant coffee drinkable.”

  Reluctantly, she hurried over to him and he dropped the small creamers in the nearest bag she was holding.

  At the inn, she felt sick as she dumped her bags on the bed in her room and dug out the newspaper. Spreading the financial section on the still-unmade bed, she read quickly about the possible indictment, other grand-jury witnesses that she had never heard of and the fact that the prosecutor was saying the process could be lengthy.

  She followed the story to an inside page and breathed a huge sigh of relief when she found no photos attached to that section. There was also no mention of her at all. Was that planned, or was that because she had been dropped from the possible-witnesses list?

  She closed the paper, folded it several times and placed it in the trash can by the bed. She dropped down on the bed by the bags and reached to pick up her cell phone. She turned it on for the first time since she’d called her dad the night of the dance and put in Dent’s number. The phone rang several times before going to an answering machine. She hung up.

  She decided to walk over to Dent’s and find out about her car. The piece in the paper had really affected her—all she could think of was getting on the move and not stopping for days. Her forced stay in Wolf Lake had not done her any favors. She grabbed her jacket and slipped it on.

  She was getting tangled up with these people, good people, kind people, from Mallory to Oscar to Willie G. to Adam. But they were finding out too much about her, and if there had been a picture with that article... She picked up her wallet and stepped out into the hallway. She paused and listened, then looked over the banister. The people by the fire were gone, and no one was by the desk.

  She hurried down, got almost to the front door when she heard, “Hey, Faith!” and turned to see Mallory coming through the swinging door.

  Her friend was all smiles, just as she had been since the party. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” she said, almost singing the words as she came around the desk.

  Not really, Faith thought. But she wouldn’t say that. She looked at Mallory, at the flush in her cheeks and the softening of her features. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the doctor’s regular visits to the inn ever since the dance were probably responsible for the glow. “Yes, it’s nice out. Cold, but nice.”

  Mallory grinned and straightened the registration book. “Where you off to?”

  “Dent’s. To find out about my car.”

  “Good luck,” she said, then cocked her head to one side. “I was talking to Willie G. last night, and you know what he told me?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but supplied it herself. “He told me that you were dancing at the party. So tell me about it.”

  No, she wouldn’t. “It was just a dance,” Faith said, feeling tension in her neck. “One dance.” Then she turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Mallory said, stopping Faith before she’d taken another step. “I need your advice.”

  More advice? Another reason she shouldn’t have allowed herself to get familiar with the people here. “What about?”

  “Moses. He asked me out to dinner, but I’m not sure. I mean, I’d love to go, but I’m not sure I should.”

  Faith cocked her head to one side to study Mallory for a moment. “And why not? He’s been around here all the time since the dance.”

  Mallory’s cheeks reddened. “It feels odd, like, really strange. I kind of thought that I could...” She finally met Faith’s gaze. “Would you go, if you were me?”

  Faith was having trouble with her own life and her choices and wasn’t in any position to be handing out advice to others. And if Mallory knew about the mess, she wouldn’t be asking her for the time of day. “I’m not you and I’ve never been married or even engaged. But if you want to go, go. If you’re too uncomfortable about it, suggest that you go on a double date or something. That would make it less intense, I’d think.”

  Mallory was silent, and then she nodded slowly. “Yes, go out with others or maybe go to some place that’s crowded and not so intimate. Yes, I think that might work. It makes sense.”

  Faith cut in before Mallory could go on. “I need to get over to Dent’s.”

  Mallory smiled. “Oh, of course, I’m sorry. Sure, go ahead, but don’t think I’ll forget that I owe you for this.”

  “Don’t even think about it.” Faith reached for the door latch but didn’t make it outside.

  Mallory asked, “Who did you dance with at the party?”


  She thought of lying, but didn’t. “Someone named Adam.”

  “Adam?” Mallory repeated. “Adam.” She glanced at Faith, and then she looked shocked. “Not Adam Carson?”

  Faith shook her head. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  “Did he have that Carson look?”

  “What Carson look?”

  “Tall, gorgeous, dark eyes, a sort of look that could be Native or cowboy? And sexy.”

  That about described the Adam she knew. “I guess that’s him.”

  “Oh, my goodness!” Mallory exclaimed. “Adam Carson. Wow!”

  The knot in Faith’s stomach and the tension in her neck were growing by the second. “Glad that’s a good thing.”

  “Glad? Well, I’m sure happy for you. Adam Carson is the middle Carson boy. Never married, totally eligible and back home for the holidays. How great is that? Are you going to go out or anything?”

  Horror gripped Faith. “No, no, of course not. It was one dance, and that was that.” Then she lied like crazy. “No sparks, no flame, no nothing. Just a dance.”

  Mallory actually looked disappointed, and at any other time, Faith would have laughed at the expression on her face. But she didn’t laugh as Mallory dropped a bomb on her. “Probably just as well. He’s a wanderer and a cop. What a combination, huh?”

  Faith stared at the woman, shocked. “A cop?”

  “Yes, in Dallas. He was one here for a short time, then he left, got on somewhere else, then after a few more changes, he ended up in Dallas. The man isn’t built to stay in one place too long or for making any sort of commitment, I guess.” She frowned. “Sorry, it’s just he’s never been married, not even close from what I heard.”

  Faith hated the way her heart was assaulting her ribs, beating so hard she was certain Mallory could tell. “I really need to go,” she said in a surprisingly even voice. “See you later.” Faith pulled the door open and closed and this time didn’t even feel the cold.

  The walk to the garage only took fifteen minutes, and those fifteen minutes gave her time to absorb the fact that Adam was a policeman. She had been so close to...to what? She didn’t even know. Adam Carson. Obviously part of the wealth she’d only glimpsed at the party. A founding family of some sort, she thought. Three sons. Adam was the second one. A sexy cop. She chuckled wryly at that. Of course he was sexy, but that didn’t matter to her. What was devastating was that he was a cop.

  She spied Dent working on her car and learned that he finally thought he knew what the problem was. But he’d have to redo another part of the electrical to know if he’d figured it out for sure. Give him another day or two. She didn’t have a choice but to agree and head back toward the inn.

  Even on her way there, amid her disappointment that she was stuck in Wolf Lake, Adam Carson surfaced in her thoughts. Avoid him. That was simple. Stay at the inn, in her room, except for food runs. That was all she could do. She got back to her room without seeing anyone. She locked the door and started to strip off her jacket and kick off her boots, and still she fought the image of Adam with his dark eyes. Cop’s eyes. If he ever knew who was in his little town...She shook her head sharply, a pain radiating down into her shoulders. She rubbed the back of her neck. He’d never know. She’d be long gone soon, and she was nothing to him, nothing he’d remember.

  She took a seat in the chair in front of the computer, slowly rotating her head until the pain was fading. She went online, did a search for her father’s name and the company name, linking both with the words federal investigations, grand jury and indictments. She was gratified to see that the first explosion of articles and reports were from a few weeks ago. They diminished to updates until two days ago when the indictments had become more than a possibility. Nothing new from that, either.

  The only pictures of her were old and almost unrecognizable to her. They featured a slim woman, dark hair worn slicked back from a face with sleek makeup. Perfectly tailored suits and heels made her look sophisticated and businesslike. She got up and went to the mirror in the bathroom. She faced the new Faith Sizemore and knew that this woman was nothing like the original.

  Her face was pale, her hair a wild riot of curls, no lipstick, definite shadows at her cheeks and eyes, and shapeless clothes. Nothing like she’d been and, she knew, she’d ever be again. She just had to keep as low a profile as possible. No more making friends. No more giving anyone advice. And no more dancing with a cop.

  She crossed back to the computer and switched from the internet to another file. She was searching for any more mentions of A. Z. Mason with Kenner or the related companies. This had to be her focus. Not Adam. Not the dance. Not the feeling of him when he’d held her. Not him being a police officer. Her father’s problems had to have her full attention. Not someone who was nothing to her other than a man she found attractive and who, under other circumstances, she would have wanted to get to know better.

  She shook her head, as if that could clear it of thoughts of Adam. She reviewed only one page before she found references to an R. Sizemore deal authorized by Z. Mason. The man was listed as the main contact for another company with two subsidiaries. More and more things piled up against her father, and more and more she couldn’t dismiss them.

  She knew that none of the subsidiaries of Kenner Associates were legitimate. Running computer checks on them would be a waste of time.

  The name A. Z. Mason stood out like a sore thumb, although whoever A. Z. Mason was, he or she had kept any images off the internet. It smelled fishy to her, and she had no doubt that it would smell fishy to anyone else who knew about the investment world. Obviously, her father had fallen for his line completely.

  She sat back, feeling sick at the conclusions she was coming up with. However, she realized her queasiness was also due to something else. She felt terrible, lethargic and she just wanted to lie down.

  When she finally did so, stretching out on the bed, she noticed her hands were trembling. Her vision began to blur, and suddenly she knew what was happening to her.

  She’d had horrible migraines in college after cramming for exams, and she recognized the signs of one starting now. She had to do something to stop this before it gained any more force.

  Faith got up, closed the drapes, turned off the lights and computer, and took some over-the-counter pain medicine. Breathing calmly, she hoped the migraine would just go away.

  Instead, a few minutes later, the first fingers of pain started invading her head and neck, and she willed herself to relax.

  She’d never expected this to happen, but it was happening, right down to the tingling in her hands and feet. She exhaled and thought of a beach, the sun and sand. Thankfully, sleep soon claimed her.

  But when she awoke, the pain was enough to make her stomach sick. She pried her eyes open and saw the numbers of the digital clock formed 7:15. Either she’d slept all night and it was morning, or she’d been asleep for a couple of hours. No light showed around the crack in the drapes and there were muffled sounds below. Probably the evening.

  Pain grew when she tried to move and she lay back. Despite the sleep, she felt exhausted and weak. She needed something else for the pain, something stronger. She forced herself to make the effort to sit and ease on her boots. Finally standing, she put on her jacket and left the room.

  Her progress was ridiculously slow, but she made it down the stairs in one piece. With the door in sight and no one behind the desk, she started across the rug, but stopped when Mallory appeared from the sitting area.

  Mallory came toward her, and her ever-present smile faded. “What’s wrong?” she asked, clearly concerned.

  “A headache,” she breathed. “I need to go get something for it.”

  “Just wait here. I’ve got something you can take.”

  “No, please, it’s a migraine. I already took some over-the-counter pil
ls.” She grimaced. “I’ll go down to the pharmacy and get something there.”

  “Nothing they sell there is going to help. You need a doctor. The only place open is the E.R. at the hospital.”

  Faith needed something that would work, and she needed it right away. She was going to have to put her fear of being discovered aside, at least temporarily. “How close is the hospital?”

  “Too far to walk, but I can drive you,” she said, then immediately shook her head. “Oh, shoot, I can’t, not right now. I’ve got a late arrival, a couple from Boston who are going to be here over Christmas and New Year’s. If you’re okay to drive, you can take my truck.”

  Faith whispered, “Thank you.” She was truly grateful for Mallory’s friendship at that moment.

  “Sure,” she said, hurrying to the desk and returning with her keys. “I’ll call Moses and let him know that you’re coming. He’s on call tonight.” She passed the keys to her. “Are you sure you can drive okay?”

  “I’ll manage,” Faith said. After getting directions to the hospital from Mallory, she stepped out onto the porch and felt the cold like a vice around her head. The pain almost exploded behind her eyes, and she wanted to run to the old truck. Knowing that wasn’t wise, she went slowly and cautiously, opened the driver’s door and eased in behind the wheel. When she put the key in the ignition and turned it, the old truck chugged to life, the cab shaking like a blender as the motor tried to find some rhythm.

  She knew she couldn’t do this, that she couldn’t take the pain without being sick. Driving all the way to the hospital would be too much for her. She cut the engine and breathed a sigh of relief to have the movement stop. Taking a deep breath, she tried to visualize a place warm and soothing. But that wasn’t about to happen while shivering in this freezing truck.

  She got out, carefully slipping down onto the gravel walkway. A cab. She could call a cab. Or maybe Willie G. could wait at the inn for the new guests, and Mallory could give her a lift. She felt dizzy and grabbed the truck’s fender to steady herself.