Passion's Fire

by Jeanne Foguth

  “From a distance, you appear about the right size. Same type hair. Didn’t think two women would have the same name less it was Jane Smith or som'thin'.” The mangy whiskers covering his lower face drooped. “Course I always wondered why you kept your hair brown. My Jackie was always dying hers.”

  “I see.” Jacqueline chewed her lower lip. It was a trait that Link found endearing. “Why didn’t you ever approach me before? This could have been cleared up years ago, if you had.”

  “The restraining order.”

  “I don’t know what you’re referring to. Could you please explain?”

  Capolucho downed the contents of his mug. Link pretended to concentrate on cooking, but most of his attention was on the conversation. His nerves tingled, as he kept his body and mind ready to counter any hostile move.

  “Told you that I met you....” His eyes widened. “Er, my Jackie, at Kilauea.” Jacqueline nodded. “She was a mess. Said she’d been partying for a week. Looked to me like she’d been living off booze and popping pills for longer un that.”

  Jacqueline wrinkled her nose.

  “Don’t know what she was doing by that volcano. Always thought she’d had a mind to jump in, like some ancient Hawaiian sacrifice or something.”

  Link straightened. “You thought she wanted to commit suicide?”

  “Yeah. Probably.” His eyebrow wrinkled in concentration. “She was a mess. Old looking and real pitiful, sorta like a stray dog I once took in. A'course, once she was off the crap, it was like decades dropped away.”

  “You took her in, didn’t you?” Jacqueline asked softly.

  Capolucho nodded. The action sent bits of dirt drifting, forming a halo around him. Link yanked the frying pan out of danger and was about to tell him to bathe, but one look at Jacqueline’s face made him hold the thought.

  “How long did she stay with you?” Jacqueline asked.

  “About two years.”

  “And then she left?” Capolucho inclined his head. She bit her lower lip. “You lived in Hawaii all that time?”

  Again, his vigorous nodding filled the air with dust. “Had a shack near the beach. And scraped by selling my paintings.”

  Capolucho was the most unlikely looking artist Link had ever seen and if he didn’t stop agreeing so enthusiastically he’d never finish frying. The coffee began perking, adding it’s rich aroma to the building scent of blueberry muffin-cake.

  “Why did you leave?” Jacqueline asked.

  “It burnt.”

  The topic stopped conversation long enough for the bacon to finish cooking. Link distributed it onto three dishes, then threw the potato slices into the grease and checked the coffee. “Coffee’s ready. Want a refill?” Jacqueline shook her head, while Capolucho enthusiastically thrust his forward.

  “The fire was when my Jackie and I split. I was angry at her cause she told the coppers that I’d torched my place. I didn’t do that. I would never have done somt'hin' like that.”

  “Of course you didn’t.”

  Capolucho thrust out his hand, palm upward, upon which was a crazy-quilt of scars. “I tried to save my paintings and stuff.”

  “Were you able to?” Jacqueline asked.

  “No,” Capolucho said. “The fire bankrupted me.”

  “Fires are terrible things,” Jacqueline agreed. Link added the potatoes to the plates while Jacqueline added big chucks of blueberry-muffin-cake.

  Link handed a loaded plate to Capolucho. For a moment, he thought the man was going to lap the food off the blue enamel like a dog, then Capolucho’s disfigured fingers wrapped clumsily around the fork, and he began stuffing food into his mouth as if his life depended on it. Link exchanged a look with Jacqueline and saw sympathy in her eyes. Judging by her compassionate expression, she was buying the guy’s story hook, line and sinker.

  Link wondered how much of it could be corroborated. One thing was certain, the moment he got his hands on a phone, he was going to give Windy a call and have her check it out. Two people by the name of Jacqueline Cardew were unlikely. Furthermore, it seemed unbelievable that a man could stalk the wrong person for a week, let alone years. Something was definitely rancid about the guy, and it went way beyond his stench.

  Link picked at his breakfast.

  Jacqueline’s appetite seemed to have failed her, too.

  When Capolucho stuffed the last slice of muffin-cake into his mouth, Link made his decision. “If you’d like to get your gear while we strike camp, you’re welcome to join us. The more company, the merrier.” And the easier it would be to keep on eye on him.

  Capolucho nodded eagerly, got to his feet and purposefully hiked upstream. When he was out of earshot, Jacqueline turned to Link. “Never in my life have I met someone that had so much go wrong.”

  “Sure took the edge off my appetite.”

  “What happened to him has so many similarities to— ”

  “I don’t buy his story,” Link said.

  “It does seem unbelievable, but the way Envirohab bur— ”

  “If he torched it, he cou— ”

  “You think he killed Adam?”

  “What do you think?” Link demanded.

  “He seemed so sincere.”

  “The best con men do.”

  “Why would he lie? He’s discovered I’m not who he thought. What’s his motive?”

  “I’m not a mind reader.” Link glared at the receding figure and shook his head. “His story just doesn’t add up.”

  She frowned at Capolucho’s stooped form. “Link, do you believe me about how Adam died?” He nodded. “The situations are similar.”

  “Maybe a little too similar … Do you think that could be because he based his story on the lab?” White dominated her eyes. Link cleared his throat. “My mother always told me that ‘people figure they’ll find the devil lying in the sewer with the other drunks. Not so. His work is done there. You’ll find him sitting in the front row of church, where he has lots of misinformation to spread and doubt to cast’.”

  “What does that have to do with this problem?”

  “Distraction is a good way to calm a person.”

  She gently touched his hand. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Helping me. I don’t think I’d have managed to get through that meeting if it hadn’t been for you…When I saw his hands.” She crossed her arms over her stomach and shook her head. “It was terrible, I wanted to throw up. Then it was like you knew exactly what I was going through and you helped me get past it.”

  To his surprise, she leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. Pleasure, hot and strong, surged through Link’s veins. He wanted to take her into his arms and give her a real kiss. But now was neither the right time nor place. Fearing he might give into his body’s demands, Link got to his feet. Reaching down, he lightly patted her hair. “Anytime. Right now, we need to start packing.”

  She nodded. “I’ll do the tent. You do the food. OK?”

  “Sure.” Whenever she suggested chores, she switched them every other day. It made him feel like they were equal partners. Link liked that.

  Jacqueline cast another look upstream as Capolucho disappeared behind an accumulation of boulders and driftwood.

  “I wonder why he hasn’t bathed,” Link said.

  “I’ve been wondering how long it’s been. If it’s just been recent, I figure that maybe he hates icy water, or he didn’t pack soap. Not everyone has the nerve to wash with glacier melt.” Jacqueline turned to Link. “What do you think?”

  Link rubbed his chin. “I hope it’s lack of soap and if I offer to share mine, he’ll take me up on it.”

  “We should have offered before breakfast.” Jacqueline shivered. “I can still smell him. I wonder if he’s got lice or anything else nasty buried in all that hair.”

  “I don’t think we want to know.”

  Jacqueline’s mouth flattened. “Every time he moved, a shower of crud flew out of his hair and went into my food
. Who’d have thought dirt had such good aim?” She grimaced. “Between trying to eat around that and the smell...” She crossed her eyes. “It was the best breakfast you’ve made, but it was a wonder I managed to swallow anything.”

  “Poor baby.” Link hugged her. Once she was in his arms, it felt right. Too right. “The muffin-cake was especially good. And the second pot of coffee tasted first-rate. I can’t thank you enough for tipping the first one.” His arms tightened for a moment.

  She caressed his spine. “We’d better get things done before he gets back.”

  Link didn’t want to let go, but knew he had to. As he packed the food chest for transport, he wondered what the rest of the day would bring. He’d just finished loading the canoe when Calpolucho’s kayak drifted into sight.

  “Ready?” Link asked.

  Jacqueline climbed into the bow. “Whenever you are.” She gripped her paddle as if preparing to bludgeon someone with it. Perhaps she distrusted Capolucho’s story, too.

  23

  As the campsite receded, Jacqueline wondered if the shaky sensation in her stomach was anxiety or relief. She’d felt an odd kinship to Capolucho when he was sitting there, looking so pathetic, but then Link had voiced his doubts about how the man’s story was just a little too close to her own for comfort. Worse, she hadn't been able to get past the worry that he could be correct.

  Worse, the more she thought about it, the more holes she noticed. Link was right, there were just too many parallels.

  Capolucho could have burned his hands while murdering Adam. But why would he have done that? What sort of a relationship had he had with her husband?

  What if the messages had originally been for Adam and not for her?

  “Jacqueline,” Link murmured. She turned. He placed his paddle across his lap. “I know you like the guy, but I don’t trust him.” He glanced back at the kayak, which was still out of hearing distance. “Have you noticed the way he avoids answering questions?”

  Jacqueline nodded. “Like that restraining order. He brought it up twice, but never explained it. I think that’s very fishy.”

  “What about his claim of two Jacquelines? Cardew isn’t that common of a name. Now that you’ve seen him, do you recognize him?”

  “I’m having a hard time looking at him.” Jacqueline rubbed warmth into her arms. “I thought that once I met my stalker, everything would fall into place and I’d understand why he’s been pestering me. Now, I’m wondering what gave me that stupid idea.” She gripped her paddle tighter and wished she could dig into the water or do anything which required physical movements so she could shake off the eerie sensations hovering over her.

  “None of this is logical.”

  She nodded in agreement. “I can’t figure out how he could have known another person well enough to live with her for two years, then not recognize the difference right off.”

  Link’s gesture indicated that he’d noticed that, too.

  “But the thing that really worries me is what man in his right mind would make up such a story.”

  “It is improbable.”

  She placed her paddle across her lap, then pressed her aching temples. “On one hand, it’s so off the wall that I figure it has to be true; but on the other, it sounds like the worst fiction I’ve ever heard.” She rubbed her temples. “I’ve never been to Hawaii, not that I wouldn’t like to go, but there’s never been time.” Or money.

  “Same here,” Link said. “Do you know anyone who lived the high life or vacationed there?”

  “Hawaii? No. High life? Yes,” Jacqueline said. “My freshman roommate, Nora, lives for laughs and fun. After she dropped out, she started living a jet set life in Europe. And no, I don’t think it could be her. Wrong ocean for one thing, plus she never stays anywhere for two months, let alone two years. She still sends me occasional postcards.”

  “But never from Hawaii?”

  She shook her head. “A state would be too passé for her. She lives in exotic places like Turkey, Paris and Greece. Last I heard from her was a postcard from Nicosia, Cypress. Her husband owns some sort of shipping line and they travel a lot, but it’s almost always around the Mediterranean and I don’t recall her ever mentioning Hawaii.”

  Link looked like he was going to ask something, but wind gusted from upstream and ruffled his hair. His nose quivered. A moment later the stench reached her. Link turned and studied the approaching vessel. “Capolucho, you lead the way.” Capolucho gave a short nod and the kayak skimmed past.

  Jacqueline didn’t know she’d been holding her breath until she exhaled.

  “Ever wish you could trade lives with her?”

  “Who? Nora?”

  He nodded.

  “Not since I realized how empty and superficial her life seemed. But when I got her first letter from Morocco, where she’d found some great copper pots in the Market, and I was still stuck in college, studying for finals, yeah, back then I would have traded.”

  Link smiled and her heart did a flip.

  Eventually, she’d find an isolated cottage and settle into a nice comfortable existence. She’d make it a cozy home with good security and wouldn’t worry about finding strange notes. Alaska would be nice. Hawaii would be, too. Anywhere there was water. Until this trip, she hadn’t realized how much she missed the simple joy of canoeing and listening to the soothing murmur of a stream.

  This would have been a wonderful vacation, if it hadn’t been for her stalker and Tempest. She studied Capolucho’s back. It felt good to have him where she could keep an eye on him. But before she could plan her future, she needed to figure out why he’d picked her. She rubbed her temples. Had he followed her thousands of miles, and then made up the ridiculous story to cover up the fact that he’d murdered Adam and was still after her because he thought she had whatever he’d wanted or could his story possibly be true?

  Before he paddled out of sight, Jacqueline dipped her paddle in the water and helped Link align their canoe in the current far enough behind so they’d have breathable air. Her initial impression of Capolucho had been of a man who acted like a rabbit ready to flee from a fox. She’d tried to give him the impression she believed him so he’d quit treating her like she was a predator. In all her fantasy outcomes, she’d never visualized confronting a cowardly man. Could his fear be an act to make them feel secure? But what would he gain? A canoe, tent and food chest? Those seemed like small recompense for such an elaborate hoax. Of course, a lunatic would think his plan was intelligent, while it looked absurd to everyone else.

  Jacqueline scrutinized grimy plaid flannel covering her stalker’s back. Unreasonable as it seemed, his story could be true. He might be just as cowardly as he appeared. A timid person could conceivably have chosen odd poetry and silly origami creatures as a means to contact her – or Adam. Her fingers tightened around her paddle.

  What if he was insane and had concocted the outrageously false scenario as part of some mind game he was playing?

  Regardless of the reasons for his story, the man probably needed psychiatric counseling. Jacqueline grimaced. If she kept thinking in circles, she’d need a session or two herself.

  In mid-afternoon, Link maneuvered their canoe so close to the kayak that Jacqueline nearly gagged. Gesturing with his paddle, Link indicated a rocky beach. “That looks like a good spot to camp.”

  Capolucho eagerly nodded.

  Jacqueline would have preferred postponing the inevitable, since being near the man’s disgusting odor during breakfast and lunch had been bad enough. She couldn’t imagine spending an entire evening with the stink. Jacqueline glanced back at Link, whose expression radiated geniality. She tried to match his demeanor and fervently hoped her nose didn’t permanently wrinkle. “I need time to scrounge for fruits and veggies before we start dinner,” she said.

  “And I need to catch something.”

  As they tied the vessels to a rock, Capolucho asked, “How come you always camp on sandbars? Aren’t you worried there’ll be
a flood?”

  “This is the dry time of year,” Link said. “Next spring, during breakup, the floods will wash away any sign that we were here.”

  “That way we don’t leave anything behind,” Jacqueline said.

  “Sure we do,” Link teased. “Footprints and bits of charcoal from the fire, but those are natural and won’t have an environmental impact.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Jacqueline grabbed the tent. “It’s my turn to set up.” She left them as quickly as she could, knowing that if she’d stayed one more minute she would shove Capolucho into the water and dump detergent on him.

  Link strolled up to her and deposited their duffel bags. “I’m going to catch dinner.” He gave her an intense look, then raised his voice adding, “After I clean the fish, I’ll wash up.”

  Silently, he pointed to his shirt and made a scrubbing motion. She frowned, as she tried to grasp his meaning. “You want me to wash your clothes?”

  Link grinned. “Well, yeah, if you want. I’d appreciate it.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink, then turned to call over his shoulder, “How about you, Capolucho? It’s Jacqueline’s turn to do laundry. Want her to wash your things?” Her hands closed into fists. Since when did she wash Link’s clothes? She pulled her elbow back and aimed a punch at his stomach. Then it dawned on her. This was Link’s solution to the stench problem. Her hand opened and she patted Link’s bicep in appreciation.

  When she looked at Capolucho, he refused to meet her eyes. She thought she detected a faint flush beneath his hairy facade, but she couldn’t be certain. “I don’t mind,” she said. “I have to do both of ours. One more person’s stuff won’t make a difference.” It seemed to take forever for him to respond. She bit her lip and hoped God would forgive her for her impatience.

  “I better not. I ran out of repellent.” Capolucho’s expression seemed sheepish.

  “We have plenty of bug repellent,” Link assured him.