Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  Marsha took a deep breath. She was about to ease her way into mentioning the small matter of her not having – exactly – gotten around to readying the cabin for occupancy, she was hit with a wave of jubilant energy that would have knocked her off her feet had she been standing. She looked up in time to see Paige turn on her heel and practically run from the room. Marsha stared after her in alarm. Now what?

  Gradually, she became aware that Camille was still talking, and she reluctantly turned her attention back to what she was saying.

  “I just knew you’d be pleased about this,” Camille was insisting. “I mean, you are pleased, aren’t you? You certainly should be.”

  “What? Oh. Yes. Pleased. Yes, of course I am. It’s great, Camille. Really.” Marsha smiled back grimly. Just great. Just fucking perfect, in fact. Until tomorrow, of course, when the ideal tenant called to complain about the lack of closet or shelf space. With any luck, he might not mind having a freezer full of food. She could only hope. But surely anyone who was spending six weeks in the place would want to be able to at least hang up his clothes, wouldn’t he?

  She sighed. “Ah, you know, Camille, if it turns out he has a problem with anything—”

  “Oh, I’m sure he won’t. Why should he? And why would you want to create that kind of negativity for yourself? I really would have thought someone like you would know better. Besides, he told me he was looking for secluded. And you can’t tell me it’s not that.”

  “Camille, I’m sure you’re right. But... oh, just give him my number when he calls.”

  * * *

  All the comforts of home. Sam sighed contentedly as he lay on the couch later that evening. He’d unearthed several bottles of what was turning out to be quite a nice little Merlot when he was rummaging around after dinner, and after debating with himself on the propriety of opening a bottle, he’d finally given into temptation. He’d poured himself a glass, put his feet up, put a CD in the stereo – Sarah McLachlan’s Surfacing – and should have been happily kicking back by now if it were not for the almost unbearable feeling of anticipation still welling up within him.

  It was the Goldilocks thing again. He was uncomfortably aware of the tension that gripped his lower body. He was waiting for Mama Bear to come home.

  The sensation surprised him. He was used to being alone, other than at work. In fact, he generally preferred it. There weren’t a whole lot of people whose company he enjoyed when he wanted to relax.

  It must have something to do with this place. The intimacy of living in someone else’s home – even someone he didn’t know – surrounded by her belongings and, he might as well admit it, taking full advantage of the unexpected hospitality, left him wanting someone with whom to share it. He wanted conversation and companionship. Preferably female companionship.

  Oh, hell. What was he trying to dress it up for, anyway? He wanted sex. Pure and simple. For some reason, being here was making him horny as hell.

  It was probably that damn bedroom. He wondered if he’d be able to sleep there, after all. The walls were painted a clear, peachy-beige color that stopped just short of being too pink. Mica shades on the bedside lamps bathed the room in a soft, golden glow. The bed was huge. A rustic, pine-log canopy bed that appeared even more massive than it actually was, draped in yards of gauzy yellow netting and piled high with pillows, featherbeds, and several quilted, down-filled comforters all in various shades of white and off-white, from snow to vanilla to champagne to cream.

  It was pretty damn hard to look at a bed like that without imagining a woman in it, and unfortunately, he wasn’t much interested in trying. But the realtor had told him the former owner was dead. So if she was the one he was waiting for, he was definitely SOL since neither necromancy nor necrophilia held any interest for him.

  Who she had been? The house provided a pretty good idea about her sense of taste and style, but surprisingly few clues as to her identity. He already knew who he hoped she wasn’t, however. He picked up the envelope of photos he’d peeked at earlier, and leafed through them again until he found the one he wanted. The woman in the photo had a wild, curly mane of russet-colored hair falling well below her shoulders and eyes of clear, jade green. Eyes that seemed to stare straight out of the photo at him with an expression of lively amusement. Her mouth was wide and lush, her lips curved upward in a knowing smile. It was an arresting face. Not beautiful perhaps, but so vibrant and alive that it pained him to think she might no longer be so.

  He took another sip of wine and shifted restlessly on the couch. He couldn’t imagine why she was affecting him this way. She really wasn’t at all his type.

  The women he’d always been attracted to were cool, sophisticated and preferably blonde. Tall. Long-limbed. Athletic. Slim. Once more, his eyes were drawn to the picture in his hand. This woman did not appear to be any of those things.

  She had freckles. Masses of freckles. A truly ridiculous amount of them. And there could never be anything even remotely sophisticated about that. Even from her picture he could tell that she was more likely to be warm, rather than cool, short rather than tall, with a body that was no doubt as soft as it was rounded.

  Definitely not beautiful. So then why was it that he could not stop staring at her photograph? It was hopeless. Here he was, obsessing over a photograph of a woman he didn’t know, shouldn’t be attracted to, and who – if that wasn’t already off-putting enough – was also, quite possibly dead.

  He was still pondering the absurdity of the situation when the phone rang on the end table beside him, startling him out of his reverie.

  He answered it automatically. And immediately went cold all over as a cool, dispassionate female voice addressed him by name. Not the name he had used when he’d rented the place, either, but his real name.

  “Good evening, Mr. Sterling,” the voice said briskly. “I’m glad I found you in. I was hoping you could spare me a few minutes of your time tomorrow morning.”

  And just like that, all the comfort and warmth of the last few hours dissolved, and the panic he’d been fighting for two weeks roared back to life.

  Back to Top

  * * * *

  Chapter Four

  * * * *

  Paige Delaney tossed back her scotch and congratulated herself on her brilliant investigative work. Ever since those idiots in New York had tried to stonewall her with their nonsense about Sterling being in New Jersey, she’d been seething with rage. She knew it was he she’d seen. Just as she knew there was a story behind his being in Oberon. The idea of coming so close, only to lose out once again, had been driving her crazy. She needed to find out where the man was staying, but for three days, she’d had no luck.

  Until tonight.

  She wasn’t sure why Sterling was going to such lengths to keep a low profile, but he was pretty damn good at it. Good, but not quite good enough. She settled back on her stool and took another glance around. The bar was disappointingly empty. But then, it was still early, and true to its name, things didn’t really get started at The Midnight Bell until just before the witching hour.

  She’d been coming here for more years than she cared to count. Sometimes, especially lately, that thought was almost unbearably depressing. But not tonight. Tonight she was on top of the world. Things were finally falling into place for her. Tonight she felt like celebrating. All she needed now was someone to celebrate with.

  She signaled the bartender for another drink and fumbled in her bag for the pack of cigarettes she knew was stashed in there somewhere. So what if the State of California had banned smoking in bars? It was a stupid law, and she was glad to risk the fine. Some things were worth almost any risk. She flicked her lighter repeatedly until it finally flared. The bartender, with a disapproving sigh, slid an ashtray in front of her. Paige blew a defiant cloud of smoke into the air.

  She was in the mood for taking a few risks tonight. Besides, it wasn’t that much of a risk, really. These days, there weren’t a whole lot of cops who hung out i
n here, anyway.

  * * *

  Darcy Boyle walked in through the door of The Midnight Bell and was hit by a wave of something she might have called nostalgia, if it weren’t for the fact she hated having to be here. Whatever the feeling was, it hit her even harder than the noise emanating from the band warming up on the club’s small stage. She had spent far too many evenings in here, back when she had lived in Oberon. Though most of her memories were good ones, it was always the bad memories that stood out the farthest, and stayed with her the longest.

  It was business that brought her back to Oberon. And bad business, at that. She’d be glad when she wrapped things up and got back to her new life in Los Angeles. In the meantime, she might as well make the best of being here.

  She caught sight of Paige almost immediately; sprawled seductively on a barstool, vamping one of the guitarists – a kid almost young enough to be her son. The two women had never been friends, exactly, but Oberon was not a large town. They’d both spent too many wild nights partying with the same small crowd of single, or nearly single men to pretend like they didn’t know each other. Which is probably why it had come as such a shock that it was Paige who broke the story that forced her to quit the police force and leave town. Not that betrayal was ever easy to handle – no matter whose hand dealt the blow. That was a lesson she’d learned very well.

  She allowed one small frisson of anger to sizzle across her mind, and then let it go. Being forced to leave Oberon had been the best thing that had ever happened to her. And anyway, Paige had just been doing her job. Doing your job, and keeping your feelings out of it, was another lesson Darcy Boyle had learned the hard way.

  She made her way to the bar, ignoring the admiring glances of several men, some of whom looked too vaguely familiar for comfort. Belatedly, it struck her that coming here tonight may have been something of a mistake.

  She laid a hand on Paige’s shoulder, “Hey, Paige. Long time no see.”

  Paige jumped at the touch. “Oh, shit,” she muttered, as her eyes focused on Darcy’s face. She almost stubbed out her cigarette before she remembered something important. The woman in front of her was no longer a cop. “What are you doing in here, Boyle?”

  Darcy smiled blandly as she slipped into the seat beside her. “I’m back in town for a few days. Where else would I go on a Friday night?”

  Something wasn’t right here, Paige thought vaguely. She remembered Darcy being pretty angry the last time she’d seen her. What had happened in the meantime, to make her so suddenly friendly?

  “So. How you been keeping yourself?” Darcy asked, after ordering herself a beer – a locally brewed amber ale, Paige noted with interest.

  “Didn’t you used to drink tequila?” she asked, ignoring the other woman’s question, still trying to piece things together.

  Darcy smiled. “Yeah. And I didn’t used to worry about being stopped on a DUI, either. Those were the days, huh?” her eyes fell on Paige’s cigarette. “I used to smoke, too, but I seem to have given it up. Can I bum one off you?”

  “Real big tequila drinker, in fact, as I recall.” She nodded at the pack on the bar. “Help yourself. You do know that it’s illegal, don’t you? I thought cops didn’t like to be seen flouting the law in public.”

  Darcy pulled a cigarette from the pack and flashed her a small, tight smile. “I’m not a cop anymore, either. Remember? And, as I recall, you had more than a little something to do with that.” She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, her eyes coldly assessing.

  Paige felt suddenly uneasy. “You back to settle the score?” She was only faintly reassured by the other woman’s grin.

  “Nope. This is strictly business. Just one of life’s little coincidences, Delaney. Guess we should both be used to them by now, huh?” She took a long pull from her beer, sighing a little as she put the bottle down on the bar. “So what’s new? You always had the inside track on what’s happening here in town, Paige. C’mon, catch me up.”

  Paige hesitated, but the urge to gossip was too strong. She couldn’t turn down the opportunity to show off. And, while she was at it, possibly pick up a little new information, as well. “Actually, we did have a little bit of excitement this summer.” she said, her voice deliberately musing. “Murder. Suicide. Glenn Gilchrist. You knew him, right? Big, blond guy. Lawyer. Had a houseboat in the Marina?”

  “Yeah. Sure I know Glenn,” Darcy answered, looking surprised. “We went out together a few times.”

  Paige laughed. “Yeah, no shit. You, me, and everyone else in town.” She paused for another drink.

  “So?” Darcy prompted, after a couple of moments had passed. “What happened?”

  Paige shrugged. “Dunno. Guy went postal, apparently. Killed a couple of women. Ended up shooting himself in the head. Apparently. Not that anyone seems to know any more than that. Which is pretty fuckin’ amazing, if you think about it, in a town like this. I’d almost think the cops were involved in something fishy again, the way the case was hushed up. Except that the only cop who seems to have been involved this time around was Greco.”

  She pinned the other woman with a suddenly sharp glance. “Kinda looks to me like your old partner’s hiding something. Maybe while you’re here in town you want to think about looking Nick up. You learn anything, I’d be willing to pay for the info.”

  It was Darcy’s turn to laugh. “Nick? You gotta be shitting me. Come on, Paige, about the only way he’d be covering anything like that up is if he were the one holding the gun against Gilchrist’s head when it went off.”

  She shook her head and flashed Paige a wry smile, “Anyway, last I time I looked, you two were still pretty cozy. If he’s not talking to you, my guess is he doesn’t have anything to say.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Darce. People change. Besides, if it’s his new girlfriend he’s covering up for, he probably wouldn’t tell you anything, either.”

  “Get real, Delaney,” Darcy scoffed. “Nick doesn’t take women so seriously that he’d put his job on the line for one, and we both know it.”

  “Yeah, well... he seems serious enough about this one. He’s marrying her, after all.” Paige shrugged again, playing with her drink, and pretending not to notice Darcy’s consternation.

  “Get out of town! Nick’s getting married?”

  “Yep. Wedding’s in two weeks. Seems she and Nick go way, way back. But you know, I’m sure it’s just one of those little coincidences, like you mentioned earlier—her arriving in town only days before the murders started, I mean. That’s what he said, too. Her arrival, the murders, Glenn’s suicide – they all had nothing to do with one another, according to our good buddy, Nick. Even though Gilchrist was her stepmother’s lawyer, mind you. And she was living with one of the victims. It’s all just one, huge, cosmic coincidence.” She fixed the other woman with a sardonic look. “And there was no second gunman on the grassy knoll, either.”

  “Huh!” Darcy shook her head and smoked silently for several moments. Paige downed the rest of her scotch and ordered another. The anger that had tormented her for months was flaring to life again. Damn it, that would’ve been one hell of a story. Someone ought to pay for taking it away from her.

  Goddamn, Nick. This was all his fault. The whole Greco family was nothing but a constant fucking thorn in her side. Just once she’d like to see one of them pay for something that they’d done.

  “So, uh... that’s real exciting, and all,” Darcy said, breaking into Paige’s reverie. “But what about now. You working on anything interesting at the moment?”

  Paige allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. Her anger evaporated as anticipation took its place. “Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.”

  * * *

  The bar had gotten crowded, and the band had gotten louder, and the noise level had passed uncomfortable by several decibels. Darcy nursed her second pint of Totawka Brewery’s Coastal Red. Paige had blathered on and on for several vague minutes about the big, juicy story she was working on, befor
e she’d lapsed into a long, brooding silence. About the only useful detail Darcy had been able to extract from her rambling was that she planned on meeting with her famous mystery subject during the Coastal Cleanup the following morning.

  The little picnic area behind Beach Hoppers Cafe was certainly an interesting venue for a meeting place. Not exactly what she would have picked, if it had been up to her. But to each her own.

  Paige stirred, and broke her long silence. “So. Boyle. How’s life after Oberon, anyway?”

  “Oh, I dunno. Okay, I guess,” Darcy answered warily. Paige might be drunk and slightly delirious with excitement, but she could still be dangerous. Darcy had been here before. She’d learned, to her cost, that it never paid to underestimate the woman.

  And it definitely didn’t pay to tell her too much.

  Paige nodded her head several times. “I’m leaving, too, you know?” she said at last. “Soon.”

  Darcy sipped her beer. “Is that a fact? Where d’ya think you might be going?”

  “Don’t know. Only thing I know is, I’m doing it. I am definitely getting myself outta here.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear,” Darcy muttered, really not wanting to hear any more about Paige’s plans.

  “Yeah. It is good,” she paused, and then asked suddenly, “You ever been in love, Boyle? I mean, really in love?”

  “Sure, Delaney. I guess so. A couple of times. How about you?”

  “Once,” Paige answered, sounding suddenly bleak. “Just once. Big mistake, you know? I won’t let that happen again.”

  Darcy couldn’t help smirking. “Really? And why’s that?”