Yesterday's Shadow: A Lacey Summers Mystery

by Curry, Edna

  But Kate’s nervousness made Lacey uneasy. Hanging up, she went back upstairs to her bedroom, checked the top drawer of her bedside stand for her small pistol, and breathed a sigh of relief that it was there, as usual. Henry had bought it for her when she first came, and had insisted she keep it loaded and handy when she stayed here. Too bad he hadn’t been able to use one to protect himself.

  She slid under the covers and turned out the light. Exhausted from the day’s efforts, she was soon fast asleep with Scamp on the rug beside her bed.

  ***

  Hours later, a low growl and a nudge from Scamp’s wet, cold nose woke her.

  In the pale moonlight coming through her bedroom window, she saw that Scamp was on his feet, hair standing up on the back of his neck, and facing the door. She could hear the rasping sound of a file on metal coming from downstairs. Someone was trying to get in.

  Unfortunately the only phone was also down in the living room. The intruder must know she was here, her car was outside. That could only mean he didn’t care or was prepared to deal with her, perhaps like he’d dealt with Henry. She had to see who it was before Scamp scared him away.

  She eased quietly out of bed, grabbing Scamp’s collar to silence him and keep him with her. She slipped on her robe, then silently opened the dresser drawer to reach her pistol.

  With Scamp, she went quietly down the staircase, hugging the shadows along the wall. She slipped through the door into the living room, gun raised.

  Chapter 4

  She could see a shadow at the window, and for a second dark eyes stared at her through holes in a dark ski mask.

  Scamp strained against her hand. She released him, and he ran to the window, barking furiously.

  The eyes and the shadow disappeared, though she saw now that the window was partly open. She had been just in time.

  Staying along the wall to be in shadow, she went to the window and looked out. Someone was running down the path to the lake.

  Anger surging beyond reason, she fired her pistol over his head, more to send him on his way than to try to hit him. Scamp barked beside her, then ran to the door, whining to be let out to pursue him. But caution and common sense overcame her anger and she refused.

  “No, Scamp, you stay here with me. He might hurt you, and then who would I have to protect me? You did your job by waking me up.”

  She turned on all the lights and then went to the phone to call the sheriff’s office, but the phone was dead. Whoever it was had probably cut the telephone line outside the first thing.

  Frustration surged within her. Too wide awake and upset now to go back to bed, she decided to make a cup of hot cocoa. Her watch read four-ten.

  She sat down to drink the cocoa and think. What could the person possibly have wanted? What was worth so much risk? She glanced around the small cabin, full of memories and simple things. Henry had some antiques here, of course, but nothing special.

  Suddenly Scamp stood up, wagged his tail and whined.

  Lacey nearly dropped her cup as a loud insistent knock sounded at the door.

  Her pulse pounding wildly and her pistol in her hand, Lacey went to stand beside the door. Scamp’s wagging tail assured her he knew who was out there, but she did not, and she was not taking chances tonight.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Mark Lantro, Lacey. Let me in.”

  Still not believing her ears, she opened the door. It was indeed Mark.

  “Are you okay?” He searched her face anxiously, then he stepped into the cabin and reached down to pat Scamp who welcomed him with joyful barks.

  He was fully dressed, in a light beige buckskin jacket and blue jeans, although his jacket was open and so were some of the buttons of his soft blue plaid flannel shirt, as though he’d thrown his clothes on hurriedly.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What’s going on? I heard a shot. Hey, put that down.”

  Lacey followed his surprised stare to the gun in her hand.

  Her pulse slowing in relief, she closed the door and laid the gun on the coffee table.

  “Someone tried to get in.” She pointed to the window. “I just fired over his head as he ran off. Don’t worry, I didn’t hit him.”

  “How do you know you didn’t?”

  “I didn’t aim at him.”

  Mark stared at her incredulously, then walked over to examine the damaged window, and pull it closed as far as possible.

  “Should you be touching it? I mean, fingerprints, and all that?”

  Mark laughed. “I’m sure watching TV has taught all criminals to wear gloves. And it’s too cold in here to leave it open. Did you call Ben?”

  “Phone’s out.”

  “It figures. Well, nothing much he could do now anyway. I’ll call him from my place, but he’ll probably wait for daylight.”

  His place. Ben, instead of the sheriff. And he knew I was here. He called me by name before I opened the door.

  “You live around here?”

  The surprise must have shown in her voice. For once, he looked doubtful. “Right next door. I rent the Anderson cabin. Moved in two weekends ago. I’m just using it for weekends and vacations. Didn’t Henry tell you?”

  She shook her head.

  His eyes narrowed. “I told you last night that I was Henry’s neighbor.”

  “I didn’t think you meant it literally. Henry wasn’t one to write much. I haven’t been out for a few weeks. The weather was so awful, and...” her voice broke. Now she wished that she had taken the time to come. Now it was too late.

  Mark put his arm around her and she wept into his shoulder. The sharp, warm smell of his deerskin jacket filled her nostrils, and his strong arms around her felt so safe and comforting. She could stay in them forever.

  But she barely knew this man.

  Embarrassed, she pulled away, groping in the pocket of her bathrobe for a tissue to wipe her eyes.

  “You always seem to be rescuing me.” She laughed shakily.

  “I know,” he said, softly, watching her. “I don’t mind. Your eyes are lovely.” His eyes darkened, and desire sparked between them like a living, surging flame.

  She knew he was about to kiss her, but for the life of her she couldn’t move. She closed her eyes and let him enfold her in his arms again. His kiss was warm and sent ripples of desire washing down her body.

  His arms tightened and she sensed his response strengthen. She must stop this. She knew nothing about this man, and here she was, responding to him wildly. She was all alone with him in the middle of the night, for heaven’s sake. Where was her common sense?

  She pulled away, and trying to change the atmosphere, asked abruptly, “Would you like some cocoa?”

  “Sure.” He sighed, accepting her limits and moving to the fireplace. “I’ll revive the fire while you’re getting it.”

  When she returned in a few minutes, the fire was blazing nicely and Mark was sitting in Henry’s chair with Scamp on the floor beside him.

  “You didn’t say anything last night about coming out here this weekend,” she remarked as she placed the tray on the small table between them.

  “I wasn’t planning to. Ben called.”

  “Oh.”

  “You know about Henry?” his voice was cautious, tender, and she realized he dreaded he might have to be the bearer of the bad news.

  “Yes. I stopped in town.”

  He nodded, relieved. “Ben called me this afternoon. I knew you didn’t have a phone yet, and were planning on coming out today anyway. I’m sorry. I know you and Henry were close, he talked about you often and showed all our card group your picture.”

  She nodded. “He helped me through a rough time in my life, after my divorce.”

  “I see.” There was a deep sincerity in his voice.

  “Scamp seems to know you well,” she remarked searching for a change of topic. The implied question hung in the air between them.

  He looked at her speculatively over his cup. �
��I came here often with Henry’s Sheephead group long before I moved next door. Scamp and I get along. Henry will be sorely missed by those guys. They all thought the world of him,” he added quietly.

  “Thank you. I’m sure he felt the same about them. He really looked forward to their meetings. I used to fix them sandwiches and bake gingersnap cookies for them when it was Uncle Henry’s turn to be host. That was a couple of years ago,” she hastened to add.

  “I know. The guys mentioned it. I did apologize for thinking you set up the meeting at the library.”

  Seeing his frown, she added gently, “I accept. It’s just that I resent being thought of as devious and conniving. If Henry had wanted me to meet you and told me so, he would have merely introduced us. He wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of setting up a silly thing like ‘accidentally’ running into you at the library.”

  “I should have realized that. Henry wasn’t usually devious and I might have known you wouldn’t be either. But my ex-wife was always pulling things like that, and I’m afraid I still think of most women in those terms.”

  She realized that his voice was once again stiff and formal. Was this the man who had warmly kissed her a few minutes ago? Come to think about it, if he objected to the thought of Henry arranging a meeting with her, why had he kissed her like that?

  Lacey drew a deep breath and tried once again to bring the conversation back to a safe topic. His stony face made it plain his ex-wife was not a good subject. She could certainly sympathize with that. Her own short-term marriage was still an off-limits subject with almost everyone.

  He solved the problem for her.

  “Where did you get the gun?” He glanced to where she had laid it on the coffee table, eyeing the small weapon with distaste.

  “Henry gave it to me a couple of years ago. For protection when I stayed here alone on a weekend when he was off somewhere on one of his buying trips.”

  “He taught you to use it, I trust?”

  “Certainly not.” Her voice was indignant. “I learned to shoot from my father when I was about ten, like every other country child.”

  “I see.” He stared at her as strangely as though she had told him she believed the moon was made of green cheese. “Then you didn’t just miss whoever it was?”

  “I didn’t shoot to hit him, merely scare him away.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  His voice was cautious, guarded. She could read nothing in his blank expression. “No.”

  “But it was a man? You keep using the masculine gender.”

  “That was my impression. Fairly tall and slim, wearing a dark jacket and ski mask. Just his dark eyes staring at me through it.” She shuddered remembering.

  “Anything else? Could you tell what color his eyes or eyebrows were?”

  “No. It was too dark. What could he have wanted?” She looked beseechingly at Mark, wrapping her arms around herself as she huddled in her chair.

  “Perhaps it was only a burglar,” he said lightly, studying her face.

  “No,” she returned stubbornly. “He knew I was here. My car is sitting in the driveway. And why else cut the phone wire?”

  “Then why run? Why not stay and deal with you?”

  “Perhaps he didn’t know about Scamp. Maybe I surprised him. Scamp woke me, but didn’t bark. I took the gun and we both went down to the living room without turning on any lights, so he probably didn’t know we were up. Maybe he was counting on getting in, taking whatever he wanted from downstairs and getting back out again before I knew he was here, and I surprised him by having both Scamp and a gun.”

  “Mm. That was a dumb thing for you to do. What if he’d seen you first and had a gun too? He might have shot you.”

  “Well, what should I have done?” she asked furiously. “Just lain there and waited for him to come in and hit me like Henry? It seems to me that would have been a dumber thing to do.”

  “I suppose you’re right, at that,” he conceded. “You think it might have been the same person who killed Henry?”

  “It might have been, don’t you think? It would be quite a coincidence otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily. This is a small town. A murder is sensational news. I’m sure it was all around town within minutes of Old Buster’s discovery. Someone else might have just thought it a good time to relieve Henry’s cabin of a few valuables that his relatives would never miss.”

  “Then why do it while I was here?”

  Mark nodded, a frown creasing his forehead. “You’re right again. A casual burglar would much prefer an empty house. It had to have been someone willing to take risks. Keep your door locked.” He looked at the window, then sighed. “On second thought, Scamp, you’d better stand guard ’til I can fix that latch in the morning.”

  He stood, stretching his long arms above his head.

  “Better try to get a little sleep before morning.” She stood up too, and he reached over and kissed her again, just lightly this time, then immediately released her.

  He looked at the broken-latched window again, and then went over and slid the tall china cupboard over in front of it.

  She watched with rapt attention as the muscles rippled under his shirt as he strained against it. A warm flutter slid through her midriff at the sight.

  “That’ll make getting in a lot harder and noisier,” he explained. “I’ll call Ben as soon as I get home. I’m sure he’ll be out first thing in the morning. In the meantime, please, put that gun away. Goodnight.”

  Smiling, she thanked him, closed the door after him and locked it.

  Lying in bed with Scamp on the rug beside her once again, she relished once again the warm thrill of being in his arms.

  It was a long time since she’d enjoyed being in any man’s arms. In fact, usually she shied away at the mere hint that they wanted to hold her. She knew that some of the men she had dated since her divorce thought her cold.

  But the last thing she wanted or needed right now was a man. Especially one she couldn’t figure out.

  Doubts sprang into her mind as she lay in the darkness, listening to the birds making their predawn feeding calls, unable to sleep.

  Mark had known she was going to Henry’s cabin today. She had told him so herself just last night.

  Once again she pictured in her mind the dark form running down the path through the evergreen trees.

  A tall, slim form, running easily down the path.

  A horrible suspicion crept into her thoughts.

  A form like Mark’s. Could that form really have been Mark? Could he have then changed his tactics, changed clothes, and circled back to knock on her door?

  If he had, why?

  What was in the cabin that someone wanted? She had left him alone while she made the cocoa. Was that something small enough for him to have taken it then? Or was she merely getting crazy ideas from all the horrible things that had happened to her lately?

  When Lacey awoke, she heard the harsh rush of heavy rain and wind against her bedroom window. Dismay trickled down inside her like the rivulets of water on her window.

  Of all the luck. She had been so anxious to hear what the sheriff could find out when he arrived this morning. If the intruder had left any evidence, like a footprint, it was probably washed away by now.

  She quickly showered, then slipped into a comfortable old pair of jeans and a red knitted top from the supply of clothes in her dresser, and brushed her short, soft brown hair until it shone. The action relieved some of her anger at the rain. That was, after all, the breaks, and it did no good to work herself into a lather about it.

  No one had yet been able to change the weather to suit himself. And if anyone ever learned how, he would probably cause more problems than he solved.

  She loved her room at the cabin. It was in the loft, overlooking the lake, with an open staircase going down along one wall of the living room.

  It had some antique furniture, like the lovely oval mirror over the dresser,
yet most of the furnishings were her own mix of treasures from her parents’ home and her own short-lived one. A walnut chest with a dozen drawers held lots of small items. A large glass-fronted bookcase that had been a Christmas gift from her father when she turned sixteen held everything from her childhood picture books to her college textbooks, with a generous assortment of her favorite romance novels.

  Thank goodness she had always kept some weekend clothes here, since she had brought only a few things with her.

  She had barely finished eating her breakfast when the sheriff and his deputy drove in.

  She told Ben her story while his young partner used his fingerprint kit on the outside of the window.

  “He’ll check for prints, just in case,” Ben told her. “But I don’t expect to find any. I’m more interested in your ideas of what he might have been after, Lacey.”

  “I can’t imagine. There’s nothing all that valuable here. We chose most of these things because they were our personal favorites, not for their monetary value.”

  “Perhaps something we think is ordinary really has a lot of value to someone else, like a collector. Henry used to tell me about some real finds that some collectors made. He could have found one, too.”

  “I suppose,” she agreed doubtfully. “But if so, I have no idea what it could have been. As far as I know there’s certainly nothing here worth killing for.”

  “People kill for many reasons. Might not have been for money.”

  “Than for what?”

  “Revenge. Power. Love. Hate. Hell, Lacey, I don’t know. You knew Henry better than anyone. Think.” He frowned at her, rubbing the side of his nose as he awaited her answer.

  “Ben, that’s crazy. Henry never had an enemy in the world. He was a quiet, easygoing man. He never gave anyone a reason to hate him or want revenge for anything. And he certainly wasn’t anyone’s lover.”

  “People aren’t always what they seem. He always said his favorite way to go would be to be shot by a jealous husband at ninety-eight,” Ben reminded her, watching her face carefully through narrowed eyes.

  Lacey stared at him incredulously. “That was just one of Henry’s ‘shock-em good’ jokes, and you know it as well as I do.”