Night Mist

by Helen R. Myers

  “Only when someone reminds me of it.”

  She didn’t bother glancing up at him. Didn’t dare. “There are reasons for the question besides a concern for your comfort, Mr. Barnes.”

  “I’d be fine if I hadn’t accidentally bumped it.”

  As the final covering fell away and she saw the angry tear of flesh across the outer edge of his palm, Rachel winced inwardly before replying, “No, you wouldn’t. In another twelve to twenty-four hours infection would have set in. What’s more, a simple bandage won’t get it. You need stitches.”

  “No stitches.”

  Neanderthal, she thought, and shot back, “All right, have it your way. I’ll do what I can with a pressure bandage and an injection of—”

  “You’re not giving me any shot, and I’m not paying for one.”

  Exasperation won ground. “Who asked you to?”

  “Don’t tell me you’d give me a freebie out of the goodness of your heart?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Uh-huh…that’s one way to stay broke.”

  There was no admiration or approval in his voice, but there wasn’t any real scorn, either. Relieved, Rachel replied dryly, “It’s been pointed out to me before.”

  She dropped the offensive rag into the plastic-lined wastebasket and examined the wound. On a small woman or child the cut would have been critical, but on a man of Jay Barnes’s tall if lanky size it was slightly less severe. Barely medium height herself, she could tuck herself comfortably under his sharp chin. Not that she had any desire to be there, she amended hastily. She’d just thought that if Joe had stood completely straight, he would be close to that height, too.

  Disturbed by her wayward thoughts, she retrieved her bag. “How’d this happen?”

  “Working.”

  “From what I’ve seen of it, Mr. Beauchamp’s establishment is a disaster waiting to happen.” Rachel felt him stiffen and glanced up. His expression, if possible, turned more wary than before. Could he suspect her of spying on him? “It’s a small town,” she said, shrugging. “And you must have figured out by now that our landlady is something of a clearinghouse for all the gossip.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Permanent frown lines bisected his straight, stark eyebrows. “So, she mentioned where I worked when she gave you the offical tour of this firetrap?”

  His smooth delivery didn’t fool her. She could feel tension radiating from him in powerful waves. It made her own overworked nerves feel like gelatin in an earthquake. “She spoke about everyone.”

  Rachel took a sample tube of antibacterial soap out of her bag. “It’s going to sting like crazy, but I need to get the grit washed out of there.” To fill the pulsating silence that followed, she said, “I understand you moved in only a short time before I did?”

  He grunted from behind compressed lips.

  “Well, that’s what Adorabella, Mrs. Levieux, told me. But I, um, I don’t quite remember where she said you were from?”

  “Here and there.”

  The response, through gritted teeth, could have been a reaction to her work, but Rachel had a hunch it was also a result of another kind of probing. “Really? I enjoy moving around myself. Ever been to Virginia?”

  He shook his head.

  “That’s where I’m from.”

  “Good for you.”

  Resemblance or no resemblance, no way he and Joe Becket could be the same man, Rachel thought, repressing a grimace at his continuing rudeness. Jay Barnes acted as though having to be near her was more painful than his hand! And the way he glared…it was a wonder her face wasn’t singed from all his searing looks. What did he think she was going to do? she brooded, tugging a few tissues from the dispenser. Stab him with the tube of soap or something?

  Who was he and what was going on?

  Listen to yourself. One minute she was thinking about the viability of ghosts and the next she was weaving her own dark mystery, all because a withdrawn and more than slightly abrupt neighbor bore a striking resemblance to someone whose blood was, then wasn’t, on her hands? Get a grip, Gentry. Your sense of reality is slipping. Fast.

  “I think that’s as dry as it’s going to get.”

  The terse observation made Rachel stop, look and almost groan. Lost in her thoughts, she’d lingered too long over dabbing away the water from the wound. Embarrassed, she tossed the tissues into the trash and dug in her bag for the ointment and the rest of the things she needed.

  All she needed was for the man to think she was coming on to him. With a build like his, he probably got more propositions than he knew what to do with, especially if he spent a lot of time walking around in nothing more than unsnapped jeans. “Sorry,” she muttered, “it’s been a long day.”

  He didn’t bother replying.

  Creep. Maybe he had the physique to turn heads, but he needed a personality transplant to be regarded as human.

  For an instant, a shameful instant, she almost wished he and Joe Becket could change places. Why was it always the good ones who got hurt the worst? But as quickly as the thought came, she was overwhelmed with self-disgust.

  “This won’t sting. In fact, it’s quite soothing.” As she spoke, she turned back to him and accidentally bumped into his rock-hard bicep. The tube went flying out of her grasp.

  Jay Barnes’s face was a granite mask as he bent to retrieve it. “Are you sure you’re a doctor?”

  “Would I be toting this thing around if I wasn’t?” she replied, gesturing to her bag.

  “Who the hell knows. In any case, you’re the clumsiest, edgiest one I’ve ever met.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve known any,” she shot back. “In fact, I’ve about come to the conclusion that you’re the type to cauterize your wounds over a flame to prove you’re tough and don’t need anyone.”

  “At least I don’t put my patients through small-talk hell.”

  “Listen to who’s criticizing—Mr. Personality.”

  After a slight pause, he replied, “I guess I don’t have any room to complain.”

  His quiet response not only surprised her, it made her uneasy. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but for a moment he almost sounded like…No, she told herself, smoothing ointment on the cut. She wouldn’t start that again. “Look, I, um, I’ve been under considerable stress lately.”

  “Did it have anything to do with the strange way you behaved when you walked home tonight?”

  Her hands shook slightly as she opened a gauze pad and secured it in place with more gauze. “I thought I saw you watching me,” she said, when she could control her voice. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to spy on other people?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Meaning?”

  Indignation made her braver, just as it made her fingers more efficient. “It’s probably residual guilt over all the people you’ve fried with your acidic tongue.”

  “Wrong. Unlike you, most people take the hint when I make it clear I want to be left alone.”

  “Take heart, Mr. Barnes,” she replied, having had enough of this foolishness. “As soon as I finish this, you can go back to your precious privacy with my wholehearted approval.”

  She worked quickly and without mishap after that, despite being acutely aware of his gaze following her every move. Only when she secured the gauze with a last piece of tape did he break the lengthy silence.

  “So, what upset you out there?”

  Although outwardly casual, something about the repeated question from a man who had no use for small talk had Rachel’s antenna going up again. She decided this time it wouldn’t be wise to meet his intense eyes. As it was, they seemed to have X-ray abilities. “Nothing much. I spook easily, that’s all.”

  “People who do don’t usually walk home from work at 2:00 a.m.”

  “They do if they don’t own a car,” she countered, hoping he’d been awake those times when Cleo had given her a ride. The less sh
e had to explain, the sooner she could change the subject.

  But he didn’t mention Cleo, or other sightings, seeming interested only in tonight. “It sounded as though the last truck that passed you on the bridge came close to hitting you. Or was there something else?”

  She was grateful they were no longer in physical contact, and focused on replacing her things in her bag. “What do you mean?”

  “Last week somebody lost a wooden pallet off a flatbed trailer and it messed up a truck’s tires before the driver saw it. There’ve been more than a few animals getting run over up there, too. The fog’s treacherous.”

  “Yes…and actually, it was me the trucker was warning. I, um, was crossing the road and thought I had more time to get out of his way.” It wasn’t totally a lie. In a way. Even so, Rachel wasn’t comfortable with having to shade the truth. She’d worked too hard to keep her life honest and simplified.

  “Better be careful,” he continued, his tone almost whimsical. “You could get knocked off that thing, fall into the creek, and no one would ever think to look for you down there until it was too late.”

  “I’ll remember that.” She didn’t know how she got the words out. There was no ignoring that his words could be construed as a slickly phrased threat. Did he have intimate knowledge of such goings-on? Her hand had a fine tremor as she took one last package from her bag. “Well…I’d say we’re through. The bandage should be changed within the next twenty-four hours, and I’ll give you these.” She tried to shove the sample envelope of painkillers into his hand without touching him. “These should take care of any further discomfort you might have.”

  “I don’t take drugs.”

  “This is very mild. The equivalent of an over-the-counter dosage.”

  “I don’t want them.”

  She’d had enough. Throwing the pills back in her bag, she zipped it closed. “Fine. If you’ll excuse me, I’m dead on my feet and ready for bed.”

  But he didn’t get out of her way. Instead, he tapped the fingers of his good hand against the doorjamb and eyed her with a mixture of doubt and indecision. “Look, I don’t mean to be ungrateful, okay? I guess I’m just not the kind of guy who deals with people well.”

  Whereas Joe Becket had seemed caring and interested. No, no…she didn’t want to think about that, about him anymore tonight and shook her head dismissively. “We all have our weaknesses.”

  “I appreciate the first aid.”

  “You’re welcome. Goodnight.”

  Go, she willed him. But he didn’t budge. Unable to avoid it any longer, she looked up and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  Something changed in his eyes—a flickering of doors inching open, guards being lowered, and wistfulness, maybe even yearning, seeping in. It was as though she was glimpsing the face of another person. It troubled her. In a way, it frightened her…every bit as much as his hard demeanor had. But it also did terrible things to her curiosity.

  Unable to resist, she blurted out, “Mr. Barnes…do you by chance have a twin?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “What?”

  Rachel told herself that maybe it was time to slow down on the amateur sleuthing. What had she been thinking to challenge him this way when she was physically and psychologically in a vulnerable position?

  As for Jay Barnes, all expression vanished from his face. “I don’t believe I know what you mean.”

  “A twin,” she said, her boldness waning. “Do you have one?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m not sure.” She’d noticed that as she grew more uneasy, a deadly calmness had entered his voice. “I suppose it’s because I keep getting this feeling we’ve met before. Do you? Have a twin, I mean?”

  “No.”

  He spun around and walked away. She couldn’t say she was disappointed; she simply didn’t breathe until she heard the sound of his door shutting. Only then did she expel the breath she’d been holding, shut her eyes and let her clamoring nerves charge through her body like a pinball machine gone haywire.

  As soon as she could be sure her legs wouldn’t buckle beneath her, she hugged her bag to her chest like a shield and hurried to her room, where she shut the door and bolted it. Only then did she allow herself a shaky sigh of relief.

  Things were getting far too complicated. What had she been thinking of to ask him that? She’d as good as told him she was onto him—pure foolishness since she didn’t have a clue as to what she was stirring up.

  “Well, you’re up to your neck in it now,” she murmured to herself. The gauntlet had been thrown, leaving her little choice but to figure out what could follow.

  Wishing for once that she hadn’t been born with a natural curious streak, Rachel placed her bag onto the cane chair beside the door and considered the state of her dubious sanctuary.

  When she’d first taken the room, she hadn’t minded that its spareness paralleled that of a convent cell, unlike the more ornate ones below. She’d explained to Adorabella that she would be working so much she only needed a place to collapse and sleep off the inevitable fatigue that would be status quo until she fulfilled her contract. Maybe she’d been too hasty.

  What was it she’d once heard or read about the simplest room containing any number of weapons? Right—the floral wallpaper could bore Jay Barnes, or whoever he was, to death if she could get him to stand around and stare at it long enough. The lamp on the single, scarred bedside table might be good for one throw. The equally abused dresser held her few toiletries, but most were contained in paper or plastic. She couldn’t even count on using the twin-size bed as a hiding place. Strange how until this moment she hadn’t noticed its smallness, when even as a child in her family’s summer home she’d had a full-size mattress. It showed how tired she really had to be.

  Strange, too, that she’d originally taken this room because she’d liked the idea of having a man across the hall—even an unsociable one. Big houses were creaky, and this one wasn’t any exception; the sounds of aging often resembled footsteps on the stairs and outside her door.

  Adorabella claimed they were the spirits of previous owners. Rachel had smiled politely at that, but had decided she would stick with more logical rationale, like settling boards or the weather. At any rate, she’d claimed Jay Barnes as her invisible, but de facto guardian, and let the knowledge of his presence insulate her confidence in her security.

  But now that confidence was shattered. Who was going to protect her from him if she had made an exceedingly poor judgment call?

  She glanced at the cane chair and, before she could talk herself out of it, moved it under the doorknob. The jiggling and scraping sounds made her wince, but once done she felt slightly better. Confident enough to slip out of her jacket and conscientiously hang it in the starkly bare closet. Then she crossed back to the bed, sprawled onto it and slipped off her shoes.

  The cross-stitched bedspread was one Adorabella Levieux had made herself, and it carried the wonderful smell of a fresh laundering. The clean scent also reminded her of the condition of her work clothes. Worried that she might have a drop of blood or street dirt on them, and not wanting to stain the painstakingly made cover, she pushed herself back off the bed. After turning off the light, Rachel stripped off her jeans, blouse and T-shirt in the privacy of near darkness. Then, relying on the faint glow from the security lamps outside, she laid her clothes over the chair and slipped into an oversize shirt.

  What now? she thought, facing the shadow-filled room. No way could she go to sleep after the last hour’s upheaval. Her nerves were stretched tighter than piano wire and her mind was racing. In fact, she doubted there would be peace for her before dawn came, and maybe not even then.

  Because it took her farthest from the door, she padded across the deliciously cool hardwood floor to the window and curled up on the low, wide ledge. Through the screen and beyond the gnarled fingers of the sentinel oaks, night lingered deathly still, as it had since the mist descended Sunday on Nooton.

>   From this perspective the bridge took on a surreal quality. It almost resembled some phantom beast out of mythical lore—colossal, yet skillfully cloaked by a vaporous veil of gray. Only a leg showing here, an ear there, a hint of spine and ominous jaw.

  Rachel shivered. Strange visions to conjure—considering she’d never been a fanciful person. And, as one who had until recently felt well-acquainted, comfortable, with the night, the changes were as depressing as they were unwelcome.

  What a mess she’d gotten herself into this time. She could imagine what her parents would say: “It’s no less than we expected, Rachel. Only you would give up all we’ve provided for you to live in some backwoods swamp town where the roaches are as big as domestic animals. Far be it for us to interfere with your right to live below the poverty line, but did it ever occur to you to once consider how embarrassing these selfish gestures are for your family?”

  And yet, if she would ask, they wouldn’t hesitate to do everything in their power to get her on a plane back to the east coast. Even if it meant calling in favors from among their Washington, D.C., contacts, including borrowing a private corporate jet. Nothing would be too good for Phyllis and Earl Gentry’s only daughter and youngest child, because Gentrys, they liked to point out, stuck together.

  Especially if there was good press involved, Rachel reflected bitterly.

  But she also knew any favor extended to her would come with a price tag. One she wouldn’t pay, regardless of her anxiety over what she might have gotten herself into. She’d worked too hard for her independence to hand it back to them, even if it looked slightly stress-fractured at the moment. Eleven years’ hard, she thought, remembering Roddie. An old, familiar pain gripped her heart. There was another reason to stand firm: if she surrendered and ran home, it would be turning her back on what her brother had died for.

  Gestures, indeed. No, she would have to see this situation through on her own. But never had she felt more unsure of herself or about what to do.

  Trying to think back to the beginning, she rested her forehead on her updrawn knees. Think about Joe…. Joe warning you about…who? Jay Barnes, who looked like him, but couldn’t be him? It didn’t make any sense! Jay Barnes was no more Joe Becket than she was Princess Whatshername. His unignorable physique versus her sexually deprived status aside, there had been no real chemistry between them.