by Laurel Pace
"I need to go now." Dani smiled, looking down at his hands clutching the door as she cranked the ignition.
Ken stepped back from the van. "Good luck tonight." He saw her mouth the same words as she rolled up the window and pulled away from the curb.
DANI'S PERSONAL ACCOUNT of their harrowing experience aboard the Bandeira Branca would have given Derek a broader perspective on the incident, Ken lamented as he drove to Derek Cannaday's Meeting Street residence that evening. Dani had been aware of the intruder's activity while Ken himself had lain helpless and unconscious in the corridor of the hold. She had also had more direct contact with Stephen Lawes, both immediately after the murder and later at the theater. As Ken wedged his compact rental car into a parking space, however, he admitted the most compelling reason he wished she were with him: he missed her when she wasn't.
Ken tried to remind himself that this was no time to get sidetracked by an infatuation—only to run up against the undeniable truth that his relationship with Dani had long since passed the point where it could be written off as a trivial crush. Dramatic events had a way of heightening emotions, Ken knew; surviving the near-fatal episode at sea would have created a bond between a far-less-likely couple than they. But Ken realized that something more powerful than a shared adventure now linked them, something that made him feel more confident and secure when they were together, almost incomplete when they were apart.
In the cool, covering darkness, he felt his face warm at the memory of how he had opened up to her. He never talked about his awful childhood, never expected anyone to understand, never wanted to revive the old ache that, left alone, was content to lie dormant most of the time. He was still only dimly aware of the impulses that had prompted him to spill his heart's pain in front of her. He had felt spent afterward, but strangely eased, too, like someone whose fever has broken after a long illness. The recollection of her soothing embrace calmed him now, gave Ken a sense of not being entirely alone as he approached Derek Cannaday's home.
The three-story house was a fine example of the Charleston "single-house," a term, Ken recalled with a pang, first introduced to him by Richardson Whyte. Characterized by a frontage that was only one room wide, the single-house usually compensated for its narrow breadth by rising two or three stories high and extending several rooms deep. As with most homes of the type, the front door of Derek's house was positioned to one side and actually led to an open piazza.
Through the latticework fence, the piazza lights cut a lacy pattern on the sidewalk. Outside the closed door, Ken could hear voices coming from the piazza. He was about to knock when the precise yet drawling intonation of one of the speakers brought him up short. Ken took a cautious peek through the fence and confirmed that Theo Boynton had just risen from one of the piazza's wicker chairs. Derek's unexpected company forced Ken to do some quick thinking. Theo, of course, knew him only as a bartender, a guise that he and Dani might want to use again in the future. Then, too, Theo looked as if he was getting ready to leave. Ken decided to take a walk around the block and give Derek a chance to see Boynton off before his next visitor put in an appearance.
Ken had no intention of eavesdropping, but as he walked past the lattice barrier, he couldn't help but overhear a snatch of Theo's conversation. "We can't afford a scandal, I tell you. My family can't and I can't!" The young attorney sounded agitated. "Voters don't forget this kind of thing, Derek."
Instantly on alert, Ken crouched next to the fence. A freshet of adrenaline coursed through him as he strained to catch Derek's response.
"This will all be laid to rest soon," Derek was saying. "I spoke with the police—"
"Damn the police!" Theo cut in with a violence Ken hadn't suspected he possessed. "If this goes too far, Derek, I swear..." He swallowed his unspoken threat.
To his credit, Derek was at least managing to sound unruffled. "We've all been under a terrible strain, Theo. You especially, having to deal with Powell's illness. Go home and get some rest. Everything will be all right. I'm certain."
The men's footsteps resounded hollowly off the wooden floor of the piazza. Ken sprang up and dashed around the corner just before the front door opened.
A scandal! Theo's prediction rang in his ears, echoing with a dire resonance. He had to be talking about Richardson's illegitimate child! No wonder Boynton had gotten so stiff and testy when Dani had mentioned Richardson's lack of direct heirs that morning! Ken realized he was walking at almost a jog, and he hastened to slow his pace to a less-conspicuous speed. He took a deep breath, bridling his excitement as Derek's house once more drew into sight. He waited outside the door for a few seconds, making sure Theo had departed before ringing the bell.
"Ken! I was just having a sherry on the piazza. It's such a lovely, mild evening. Would you care for something to drink?" Derek ushered Ken onto the piazza.
"Sherry would be fine." Ken seated himself in one of the white wicker chairs and waited while Derek went into the house to fetch his drink.
"After what you've been through, I imagine you need this." Derek smiled as he handed the glass to Ken. The uneven light of the hurricane lamps softened the drawn lines of his face, making him look a little less harried than usual.
Ken took a sip of the fruit-and-nut-scented liquid. "I went with Dani Blake to talk with Theo and the insurance guy this morning. Everyone still thinks I'm the bartender, of course. Theo seemed to take it all in stride, as much as he could be expected to." Ken paused, giving Derek a chance to segue into a discussion of Theo's concerns about a scandal.
"Theo is an ambitious young man, but basically decent" was Derek's only comment.
Cannaday was a friend of the Whyte family, Ken reminded himself. He might be unwilling to discuss an issue that Richardson's kin would regard as personal dirt to be swept out of sight under the carpet. Hadn't Richardson opted to handle the extortion note through private channels, without involving the police? The sobering thought of how badly awry that attempt at guarding family privacy had gone prompted Ken to take a more direct approach with Derek.
"I learned something that I believe has critical bearing on this case," Ken began. "Did Richardson Whyte ever intimate that he might have had an illegitimate child?"
Derek's fingers tapped the rim of the sherry glass for a long moment before answering. "I imagine there are a lot of people who wish they could lay claim to Richardson's estate, but no, he never said anything of the sort to me. Why do you ask?"
Ken recounted Dani's conversation with Ned Poole, along with Stephen Lawes's suspicious behavior that Dani had witnessed. "I know we don't have any real hard evidence against Lawes," he concluded, anticipating Derek's objections. "But you've got to admit, he keeps cropping up in this mess with amazing regularity. He was at Richardson's house the night of the murder, and he eavesdropped on Dani the day before we traced the yacht-club pin. And now we know his mother was in love with Richardson."
Derek cleared his throat before speaking. "The police have any number of suspects, Ken. You know, you're not alone in this investigation." Ken tried not to let the brief smile Derek inserted irritate him. "We have to be careful making unsupported accusations, however. Let's look carefully at the case against Lawes. What do we have really? The gossip of a fisherman and a housekeeper. A few remarks and dark looks to which Miss Blake took exception. But nothing that any prosecutor would ever dream of introducing before a jury."
Ken resented Derek's dismissal of Dani's role in the investigation, but he forced himself to stay cool. He should have realized that no one close to the appearance-conscious Whyte family would welcome with unqualified enthusiasm a scenario involving an illegitimate child. The fact that Derek had made no mention of Theo's visit only underscored his suspicion. He sensed that Derek would be furious if he knew that Ken had overheard part of the conversation, however inadvertently.
"Look, I know none of Richardson's family would want something like this splattered all over the newspaper, especially if it turned out to have no
connection with the murder. The public will remember a scandal long after they've forgotten the proof that it wasn't true after all. But we can't let a murderer go scot-free just to save face." He paused, giving his words time to soak in. "What if I brought you some hard evidence?"
Derek studied the play of the lamp light on the sparkling sherry glasses. "Then I'd go straight to the police." The admission seemed to require a great effort from him. "Exactly what do you have in mind?"
"I'm going to have a look in Richardson's private office and see if I can find anything in his personal papers."
Derek shook his head and chuckled softly. "Ken, I can guarantee you that Sapphira Whyte would never hear of such a thing."
"Sapphira Whyte won't know, Derek. No one will. I still have the house key Richardson gave me when he hired me." Ken regarded Derek steadily, waiting for him either to ask for the key back or to relent.
A serious expression settled over Derek's gaunt features. "Sapphira would still consider it trespassing." He stared into the dark garden, not looking at Ken. "When do you plan to carry out this... operation?"
His plan had been conceived so quickly, Ken had not actually had time to consider the logistics of its execution. Now that Derek was warming to the idea, however, he couldn't afford to waffle. "Tomorrow night."
Still avoiding Ken's gaze, Derek nodded. He lifted the empty sherry glass and examined the flowers etched in the crystal. "Then I suppose you must. But let me remind you, everyone has taken a benevolent view of your escapade on the yacht with Miss Blake. Rest assured, however, that they won't be as quick to forgive this. If you're caught, you will be on your own." He replaced the glass on the table and turned to face Ken. "I like you, Ken, and I admire your guts. But I don't want my name associated with anything il- legal. As far as I'm concerned, we never had this conversation. Do you understand?"
Ken met the opaque gray eyes without blinking. "I understand."
DEREK SAT WITHOUT MOVING, watching the oil lamp's wick gutter inside its crystal cage. An enervating heaviness had descended on him, pinioning him to the chair. The weight of so many mistakes, he thought, mistakes that will outlive those who made them. A bitter laugh welled up in him and died unvoiced.
When the lamp expired, he finally roused himself, taking strength from the unbroken darkness. Inside the house, he walked to his desk. Without bothering to turn on the desk lamp, he reached for the phone. He listened to the monotonous ringing, counseled himself to be patient, to wait. The servants would have long since retired, but she never slept. In time, she would answer.
"Good evening, Sapphira."
"Good evening, Derek." Her voice had an eerily calm quality to it, as if she had been expecting him to call and knew what he would say.
"The secret isn't safe anymore." Derek fell silent, knowing that, for Sapphira, the simple, ungarnished statement would suffice.
She was quiet for what seemed a very long time. Derek thought he detected the faint murmur of her breath, surging and receding beneath the silence on the wire. When she at last spoke, her voice was flat, all the more forbidding for its lack of expression.
"I cannot allow anyone to know. I simply cannot."
Chapter Eleven
The stout salt breeze gusting off the harbor lifted Dani's hair, whipping a few fine strands free of the barrette binding them. Turning her back to the wind, she rested her elbows on the barricade rising above the breakwater.
"Just how do you plan to get into the house?" She posed the question matter-of-factly, as if she were asking him what he wanted for lunch or which television program he preferred. "Even with a key, you could trip a burglar alarm and have the whole city police force down on you in minutes."
From the embankment, Ken could just make out the white-columned piazza through the urban forest of Battery Park. "When Richardson first hired me, I did a thorough security check of his house. The place has no alarm system. Charleston has a very low crime rate, so I suppose no one ever saw the need to fortify the house. Anyway, I should be able to unlatch the courtyard gate and let myself in through those French doors in less than five minutes. All in all, I'm confident if 11 be a piece of cake." Despite his bravado, Ken frowned, squinting into the midmorning haze. For all his eagerness to inspect Whyte's office, he was having trouble adjusting to the role of housebreaker.
Dani was, too, apparently. lines of consternation pleated her brow as she shifted to face him. "It sounds workable enough. And you're sure Derek couldn't persuade Sap- phira to give him access to the house. She wouldn't have to know you were going to accompany him." Dani's less-than-hopeful tone suggested that she knew Ken had already explored this idea and discarded it.
He shook his head. "To be honest with you, Dani, I think Derek is a little intimidated by the Whyte family's concern for privacy. He never even mentioned his conversation with Theo before I arrived last night."
"And you didn't bring it up?"
"What could I have said? 'By the way, I pressed my ear to the fence and overheard you and Theo talking about a scandal'?" Ken laughed briefly. "There's no way I'm going to get an invitation into that house," he concluded.
Dani sighed as she glanced toward the park. "We have a new moon tonight, so it will be dark as pitch. If we wear black clothes, that will give us some cover, too."
"We?" He should have seen it coming, Ken knew. A spunky woman like Dani was not going to want to miss out on this critical stage of the investigation.
Dani's fine eyebrows rose in surprise. "Well, of course. You don't think I'm going to let you pull off a stunt like this by yourself, do you?"
"It's too risky, Dani," Ken protested.
"Since when? You just said it would be a 'piece of cake.' You'd better make up your mind." Her tight little smile needled him—and he could tell she knew it.
Ken heaved an exasperated sigh. "Okay, I made this thing sound easier than I really expect it to be," he confessed. Before he could go on, Dani jumped to make her point.
"And that's why there should be two of us. I can keep watch while you're getting into the house and actually searching the office. We could have a signal that I would give if anyone showed up unexpectedly."
Ken knew he needed to move fast before he succumbed to her tempting—and very logical—argument. "Dani, please listen to me. I fully expect my plan to come off without a hitch. But I have to consider the possibility that something will go wrong. If there is a mess-up, Derek isn't going to stand behind me. As far as the Whytes are concerned, I'll be a common prowler, caught in the act." He took her by the shoulders, holding her firmly but gently. "I can't let you risk everything on this scheme. Look at all you have to lose— your business, your position in the community, everything."
"And you have nothing to lose?" Dani lifted her head, thrusting out her chin in a challenge.
His hands flexed uncertainly on her shoulders. Ken swallowed, looking out across the harbor's billowing silver-gray waves. There had been a time in the not-too-distant past when he would have defiantly shot back "Yes"; at a time when the premium he placed on each day of his life had seemed hardly worth reckoning. Yet now, he was struck by how sharply his perspective had changed, how greedy he was for life now that Dani was a part of it. That something could happen that would irrevocably separate them sobered him more than any danger he had ever faced.
"Please, Dani. Try to understand." He looked into the hazel eyes that today seemed to reflect the frothing water of the harbor. Surely she must know a little of what he felt, why he was pleading with her, how much he really cared about her.
"Please promise you'll call me as soon as you get home." It was the closest she could bring herself to relenting, Ken knew. Her voice dropped, its defiance displaced by undisguised concern. "And take care of yourself."
"I will." He pulled her forward, letting his lips graze her forehead lightly. "I promise."
TO HAVE ALLOWED DANI to come with him would have been an act of utter irresponsibility. Ken remained convinced that he had m
ade the only possible decision under the circumstances, even as he approached the forbiddingly dark house that night. At the same time, he wasn't ashamed to admit how much he had come to depend on her clear thinking, her calm manner and, most of all, her simply being there.
But this was one time he must act alone, Ken reminded himself. He took a last, quick survey of the deserted street before slipping into the unrelieved shadows of the alley. He hugged the brick wall, cloaking himself in its penumbra until he reached the wrought-iron gate. His gloved hand looked sinister, as if it should belong to someone else, as it worked its way between the black iron curlicues. The latch lifted easily, without a sound.
Ken tested the gate. His face contorted at the painful squeak he provoked from the hinges. He eased the gate open, taking a deep breath as if he could somehow absorb the grating sound within himself. The courtyard was even darker than the alley. Ken closed the gate and then paused, giving his eyes a chance to adjust to the ill-defined shapes surrounding him. He listened, mistrustful of the silence pervading the humid night air.
It's now or never, McCabe. Ken prodded himself into action. The moss-covered bricks muffled his footsteps as he walked to the curtained French doors. He crouched beside the lock, carefully inserted the key and turned it. The lock snapped open with a modest little click.
Now that his invasion of the house was underway, Ken didn't intend to waste a second. Stopping only long enough to pull the doors closed behind him, he fished the flashlight out of his pocket and made his way quickly through the big receiving room. The last time he had seen this room, it had been bright with sparkling chandeliers and gaily dressed revelers. Tonight, the ghosts of that evening's tragic conclusion seemed to hover in the unlighted corners, among the sheet-draped furniture, behind the shrouded mirrors.
