Absolutely, Positively

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Harry turned the proposal document around so that she could see one of the diagrams more clearly. “Take a look at his design for the gearing mechanism that he planned to use on his crazy brain wave gadget.”

  Molly studied the drawing of an elaborate machine composed of myriad wires and an electronic panel mounted on a movable platform. “So?”

  “Phony, pseudoscientific aspects of the project aside, the design is inelegant, unoriginal, and uninspired. Exactly like the designs of the fake gun and the goblin contraptions. The whole device has a jury-rigged look, just as those machines did. And this gear assembly,” he pointed to a small section of the drawing, “is our smoking gun. Kendall’s our man, all right.”

  “I’m amazed that you remembered such small details, Harry. This was one of the first proposals I showed you and, as I recall, you glanced at it for all of ten seconds.”

  “That was nine seconds more than it deserved.” Harry’s mouth quirked wryly. “But that was early on in our association, and I was still trying to play the polite consultant. I hadn’t yet realized that you and I were going to go toe-to-toe over each and every off-the-wall grant proposal the foundation received.”

  “You mean, before I realized how stubborn and picky you were going to be?”

  “Something like that.” Harry lounged back in his chair and surveyed her with a thoughtful expression. “The question now is, what do we do about Kendall? I don’t have any hard evidence here. Certainly not enough to take to the police.”

  Molly searched his face curiously. “Are we talking about a conclusion reached on the basis of your famous intuition?”

  “We are talking about one of my insights, which, in turn, was produced by years of experience and trained observation,” Harry said coolly.

  “Have you ever noticed that you get downright snappish whenever there’s a reference to intuition or psychic stuff?”

  “I have no patience with that kind of nonsense.”

  Molly smiled. “You have patience for just about everything else.”

  “Every man has his limits.”

  “I see. Well, even if you did have convincing proof that Kendall had pulled those stunts, we’re not dealing with attempted murder or even real mayhem here. I doubt that the cops could do much except issue a warning.”

  “Something I can do myself,” Harry said very softly.

  Molly was instantly alarmed. “Now, Harry—”

  He picked up the drawing and examined it intently. “I wonder if Kendall is still at this address. I don’t recognize the name of the town.”

  “I don’t like that look in your eye.”

  Harry’s head came up so swiftly that Molly was startled into taking a step back.

  He pinned her with a fierce gaze. “What look?”

  “Take it easy.” Molly spread her hands. “It was just an expression.”

  “Sorry.” Harry was silent for a moment. “My ex-fiancée used to make similar comments about my expressions. She said I made her nervous.”

  “Do I look nervous?”

  Harry studied her closely. “No.”

  “Bear in mind at all times, Harry, that I am not your ex-fiancée.”

  He blinked slowly and then he smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t ever confuse you with Olivia.”

  This time the amber in his eyes was so warm Molly could almost feel the heat. She cleared her throat and pulled her attention back to the matter at hand. “Now, then, what I meant to say was, I am not sure I approve of your plans to confront Wharton Kendall. What, exactly, do you intend to do?”

  “Pay a personal call on him to discuss the little matter of nasty pranks.”

  Molly pursed her lips. “He’ll probably deny everything.”

  “I don’t plan to give him the chance to deny anything. I’m going to convince him that I have proof that he’s the one behind the pranks and that if he tries anything else, I’ll go to the cops.”

  “In other words, you’re going to try to put a scare into him?”

  “Yes.”

  Molly contemplated that. “Think you can do it?”

  Harry looked up from the drawing. All of the warmth had drained out of his gaze. “Yes.”

  Molly was suddenly aware of a distinct chill in the room. Instinctively she raised a hand to pull the lapels of her robe more closely together. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you will not.” Harry went back to studying the drawing.

  Molly stopped clutching her robe. She planted her hands on the desk and narrowed her eyes. “You are not a lone crusader, Dr. Trevelyan. You are working for the Abberwick Foundation. That means you take orders from me. I will accompany you when you visit Wharton Kendall. Is that clearly understood?”

  Harry glanced up once more from Kendall’s drawing. He gave her a long, thorough assessment, and then his mouth twitched at the corner. “Understood.”

  “Good.” Molly straightened.

  “There’s just one small problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Finding Kendall may take some time.” Harry indicated the cover page of the proposal. “There’s no phone number. He gives his address as a post office box in a place called Icy Crest.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “I don’t know. First we have to find the town, and then we have to find Kendall. It’s going to take at least a full day to track him down and talk to him once we’ve located him. You probably don’t want to be out of town on a work day. I know how important your business is to you.”

  “Oh, no,” Molly said swiftly. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I can arrange to leave Tessa in charge for a day.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely, positively certain, Dr. Trevelyan.”

  “Have I ever told you that I don’t like to be called Dr. Trevelyan?” Harry asked conversationally.

  “No.” Molly grinned. “I figured out weeks ago that it irritates the heck out of you.”

  Icy Crest proved to be little more than a blip on the map. It was located deep in the Cascade Mountains, at the end of a narrow, twisting, two-lane road. It was several miles from Interstate 90, which linked eastern and western Washington.

  Molly studied the scruffy little town through the windshield of Harry’s sleek car and wondered why she was suddenly consumed by a deep sense of unease.

  The tiny mountain hamlet possessed the usual accoutrements of small rural villages everywhere, namely a single gas station, a dreary-looking grocery called Pete’s, a café, and a tavern. A small sign in the dirty window of the grocery store declared that the post office was located inside.

  A handful of men clad in worn denims, boots, and billed caps lounged in front of the store. Molly noticed that all of the caps bore the colorful logos of various farm equipment manufacturing companies. Malevolent eyes watched as Harry parked the car and switched off the ignition.

  “Something tells me this may not be as simple as it sounded,” Molly said.

  Harry surveyed the men hanging around in front of the store. “What gives you that impression?”

  “I’m not sure. I think it’s the hats.” Molly nibbled on her lower lip. “I don’t know, Harry. I don’t like this.”

  “It’s a little late for second thoughts. You were the one who insisted on coming along.”

  “I’m aware of that. Usually I enjoy small towns. But there’s something about this one—” She broke off, unable to put her qualms into words.

  “What about it?”

  She slanted him a quick, sidelong glance. “What would you say if I told you that I had an unpleasant feeling about this place?”

  “I’d say that’s an eminently reasonable feeling to have under the circumstances. We’re here to see a man who’s been trying to scare you to death, remember. Why would you feel enthusiastic about com
ing face-to-face with him?” Harry opened the door and got out.

  Molly followed quickly. Harry was right. Given the situation, there was nothing odd about her troubled mood. She smiled tentatively at the cluster of men watching her. None of them smiled back.

  Harry looked straight at the small crowd gathered in front of the store and inclined his head slightly. To Molly’s surprise, one or two of the men gave him a stiff response. The others shifted their booted feet and found something else besides Molly to engage their attention.

  Harry took Molly’s hand and walked into the grocery store.

  Molly took in the shelves of dusty canned goods, packages of toilet paper, and assorted household necessities. Neon beer signs hung in the windows. A soft drink machine hummed to itself in the corner.

  Harry released Molly’s hand, slipped some change out of his pocket, and crossed the room to the pop machine. He dropped the coins into the slot and punched his selections. Machinery whirred. Cans clanked.

  A massive figure appeared in the doorway behind the front counter. Molly caught a glimpse of a vast, hairy stomach draped over the waistband of a pair of old, sagging jeans. She quickly averted her eyes from the sight.

  “Can I help ya?” The voice was unexpectedly high and nasal for such a large man. There was a distinct lack of welcome in it.

  Harry picked up the soft drink cans that had rolled into the tray. “Are you Pete?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m Harry. This is Molly.”

  Pete squinted at Molly. She smiled brightly. He gave her a grudging nod and snapped his gum. Then he turned back to Harry. “Somethin’ you wanted, Harry?”

  “We’re looking for a man named Wharton Kendall. We understand he lives here in Icy Crest.”

  Pete chewed gum and squinted in thought. “Used to.” There was an air of challenge in the statement, as if he dared Harry to ask for more details.

  Molly was acutely aware of the tension in the air. It was probably nothing more than the natural reluctance of a small town resident to provide information to a stranger, but it was uncomfortable.

  Harry seemed oblivious to the atmosphere. He popped the top on one of the cans and took a long swallow. Then he looked at the big man behind the counter. “How long has Kendall been gone?”

  “Not long. Coupla days.”

  “Did he live nearby?”

  Pete’s broad face set in lines of mulish resistance. It was apparent that he did not intend to answer any further questions.

  Harry just looked at him for a long time. The silence thickened. Molly had an urge to run out of the store. She stood her ground only because she could not leave Harry alone.

  The strain of the extended silence finally broke Pete’s resolve to say nothing further on the subject of Wharton Kendall.

  “Rented a cabin from Shorty for a while.” Pete went back to work on his chewing gum.

  Harry took another swallow of his soft drink and continued to study the big man with cold, unblinking eyes. “Any idea where Kendall went?”

  Pete stirred restlessly beneath Harry’s gaze. His obvious discomfort reminded Molly of the reactions of the men out in front of the store.

  “Shorty told me the crazy son-of-a-bitch was headed for California. No loss. Guy was weird, y’know? Kendall a friend of yours?”

  “No.” Harry did not elaborate. “Who’s Shorty?”

  “Runs the tavern next door.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure. Right.” Pete scratched the large portion of his stomach that was not covered by his shirt.

  Harry handed the unopened soft drink can to Molly. “Let’s go see Shorty.”

  “I can’t believe you pulled that off,” Molly said half an hour later as Harry halted the Sneath in the drive of an aging cabin.

  “Pulled what off?” Harry rested his arms on the wheel and examined the cabin with close attention.

  “The way you convinced Pete and Shorty to give us the information we wanted. You have an interesting effect on people, Harry. Have you ever noticed?”

  He glanced at her in mild surprise. “What makes you think Pete and Shorty weren’t happy to give us the information about Kendall?”

  “Hah. Don’t give me that. You know perfectly well you somehow intimidated Pete, and you bamboozled Shorty.” She held up the key in her hand and dangled it in front of him. “So we’re interested in renting a cabin, are we?”

  “It was as good a line as any.” Harry opened his door and got out.

  “You’re as smooth as silk when you want to be, Harry.” Molly scrambled out of the car and walked around the front of it to join him. “Do they teach the fine art of concocting outrageous stories in graduate school?”

  “As it happens, I got that talent from the Trevelyan side of the family.”

  “You do know what Shorty thinks, don’t you?”

  “I can take a wild guess.” Harry took the key from her fingers and started toward the front door of the cabin.

  “I’ll just bet you can, since you’re the one who put the idea into his head.” Molly hurried after him. “He thinks we’re looking for a secluded cabin far from the city in order to conduct an illicit weekend affair.”

  “Yes.”

  “Somehow,” Molly said very deliberately, “Shorty got the impression that one or both of us is married.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be an illicit affair if we were both free, now, would it?” Harry fitted the key into the lock of the cabin door.

  “I’m not sure I like having my reputation trashed just for the sake of a peek inside Wharton Kendall’s cabin.”

  “Relax.” Harry pushed open the cabin door. “If Shorty ever sobers up long enough to talk to Pete, he’ll realize that we were more interested in checking out Kendall than we were in using this place as a love nest.”

  “That should confuse him no end.”

  “It won’t matter,” Harry said. “By then, we’ll be long gone.”

  “I know, but—” Molly stopped talking abruptly, her attention captured by the interior of the cabin. “Good grief. I’d say what a dump, but I think someone else has already used that line.”

  From the eroded rug in front of the hearth to the layered stains on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, the cabin was a disaster. The smell of old cooking grease and rotting garbage permeated the air.

  Harry surveyed the scene. “Looks like Kendall cleared out quickly.”

  “This,” Molly declared, “is not just evidence of a hasty departure. A mess like this is weeks, even months in the making. This is the work of a born slob.”

  Harry smiled briefly. “I told you Kendall was a sloppy thinker.”

  “It shows.” Molly walked cautiously through the clutter. “I wonder where he did his work?”

  “Must have been right here in the living room. Unless he converted the bedroom into a workshop. I’ll take a look.” Harry crossed to the short hall and glanced around the corner of the bedroom door.

  “See anything in there?” Molly called.

  “Just a broken-down bed that only a truly desperate couple forced to conduct their illicit love affair here in Icy Crest would find romantic.”

  “That lets us out.” Molly went to peer over his shoulder. “We’re not desperate, and we’re not illicit.”

  The bedroom was no cleaner than the living room and kitchen. Tattered curtains hung limply over the single grimy window. The mattress had the uniform gray patina and unpleasant stains that only long years of hard use could provide. The closet doors stood open. The interior was empty except for a broken shoelace and a sock on the floor.

  “He’s definitely gone,” Harry said. “I wonder why?”

  Molly shrugged. “Shorty said that Kendall told him he was going back to California. Maybe that was the simple truth.”

  “Maybe.” Har
ry looked unconvinced. “Or maybe he’s back in Seattle planning another prank.”

  “Maybe he’d had enough of revenge,” Molly suggested, feeling quite optimistic now that it was obvious Kendall was gone.

  “Possible.” Harry moved into the center of the room. He went down on one knee to look under the bed. “Or maybe he realized he’d pushed his luck a little too far. Any way you cut it, there are a lot of maybes.”

  Molly watched as Harry rose and went into the bathroom. “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “It looks like Kendall took all of his possessions.”

  “Yes.” Harry walked out of the bathroom and headed for the front room. “But he packed in a hurry. And he was sloppy, remember?”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s possible he overlooked something in his haste to get out of Icy Crest.” Harry began systematically to open and close the kitchen cupboard doors.

  “Such as?”

  “An address. The phone number of someone he knows in California. Whatever. Anything that will give me a lead.”

  Molly’s uneasy mood had begun to lift, but Harry’s words sent it plunging once more. “But he’s gone. It’s over. He can’t continue his stupid revenge scheme from California.”

  “Something tells me it would be good policy to know exactly where he is. I don’t like the idea that he’s drifting around out there in the ether. I want to get a handle on him.”

  “I think you’re being overly cautious here,” Molly said.

  “It’s my nature. I do things methodically and logically, remember?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Molly gingerly raised a couch cushion to see what evil lurked underneath it. When she discovered the decomposing remains of several crushed potato chips, she eased the cushion back into place. She cautiously continued the search, but all she discovered was further evidence that Wharton Kendall had subsisted on junk food.

  In an effort to demonstrate that she, too, could be systematic and orderly, she knelt on the couch and peered down into the darkness behind it. She was surprised to see a notebook wedged between the wall and the back of the couch.