Linda Lovely - Marley Clark 02 - No Wake Zone

by Linda Lovely

  Chubby raindrops plopped on my head as we scurried up creaky wooden stairs to the cottage’s wide wraparound porch. The porch screen boasted more holes than mesh, and flies swarmed in platoon strength.

  “Ouch!” I swatted a portly one feasting on my calf. “Forget about fish biting before a storm. It’s the Iowa flies that become ravenous.”

  “Maybe they won’t be so vicious inside.” Duncan opened a door fashioned of eighteen-inch wood planks. Filtered through decades-old windows, the outside light lent a greenish tint to the musty interior, which seemed several degrees colder than the air-conditioned manor.

  Duncan and I weren’t the only recent visitors. The broom leaning against the doorjamb was gift-wrapped in cobwebs. It appeared the floor had been swept, though no one tried to air the place. Dust motes danced in smog-like layers. A kerosene lantern and matches sat atop a cockeyed table missing one leg, and a burned match rested in a tin ashtray. Was that the light I’d seen last night?

  “Don’t think I’ll ask for the decorator’s name.” Duncan’s gaze swept over the parlor’s furniture. Rusty iron springs in a fifties-era glider poked through ripped plastic slipcovers. Orange flowers bloomed on a chartreuse field. “I sort of doubt these pieces are original.” He chuckled. “Even Ross would have a hard time finding redeeming artistic value.”

  In the kitchen, the tattered remains of café curtains clung stubbornly to a rod above the stained porcelain sink.

  “That’s funny.” I pointed at water puddled in the sink. “Given the rust on those faucets, it’s hard to imagine the hook-up working.”

  Duncan attempted to turn a faucet. It might as well have been set in concrete. We both glanced at the ceiling. Dry as a bone.

  “Maybe someone brought in a bucket of water to wash up,” he speculated.

  “Possible. Or a gardener could have used the sink to mix pesticides.” I pointed to a pair of thin disposable gloves sitting a yard from the sink.

  While my fellow explorer left to check the two bedrooms, I opened cupboards. The upper reaches held a few chipped cups and saucers in the same Currier & Ives pattern Mom secured with Green Stamps when I was a toddler.

  The front door banged loudly, and I jumped. Take it easy, just the wind. When the hairs on the back of my neck refused to return to parade rest, I turned.

  Eric loomed in the doorway. The smell of liquor preceded him. Out of habit, I’d tossed my handbag over my shoulder as we left the house. I groped inside for my cell phone-stun gun. Never hurts to be prepared.

  “You’re trespassing.” He staggered forward. “Get the hell out, or I’ll throw you out.”

  I eased the stun gun into my palm and held it up like a talisman to ward off evil. I was about to warn Eric that it was, indeed, a stunner, when the kid rushed me.

  “You’re not going to call anyone,” Eric growled. His charge ended as quickly as it began. He collapsed and commenced a horizontal jitterbug. Then he stilled and his face went slack.

  “Shit. Shit. And triple shit.” I knelt and felt for a pulse. Fast but steady. He’d fainted. Probably the alcohol-shock combo.

  I hadn’t meant to zap him. In fact, I was fairly confident Eric buzzed himself during our tussle. Still, my mock Ma Bell indisputably had Eric down for the count.

  I looked up and saw Duncan, arms folded, leaning in the doorway. His lips twitched. He thought it was funny. “I ran to your rescue when I heard Eric bellowing. I presume you simply decked the brat and he remains among the living? Of course, if it comes to it, I could testify it was self-defense.”

  “It’s a stun gun.” I held up my make-believe cell. “He should revive quickly.”

  Duncan surveyed the spilled contents of my purse. “Any other surprises?”

  The litter on the floor included my faux perfume atomizer. Thank heavens my bag had been too small to accommodate the gas mask and night-vision goggles. Duncan probably thought I had Rambo aspirations.

  “Given what I know about your cell phone, I have to ask—perfume or…”

  “Pepper spray,” I answered sheepishly. “I don’t usually carry this stuff. I’m just testing these for a friend.”

  He chuckled. “Even more interesting.”

  Eric moaned.

  “Why don’t you head to the house,” Duncan suggested. “Might be better if you’re gone when he comes around. I’ll explain I saw everything. He has only himself to blame. Only his pride’s been hurt.”

  A bolt of lightning lit the room like a camera strobe. An almost instantaneous bang shook the cottage’s foundation. I didn’t need a second invitation to skedaddle. Outside, a wall of water marched across West Okoboji. I ran, knowing the sporadic drops were about to become a torrent. I gained the threshold of the main house just ahead of the deluge.

  “Well, you made it under the wire,” Julie welcomed me. “Where’s Duncan?”

  “He’ll be along in a minute.” I hoped I was right. Surely Eric wouldn’t feel peppy enough to threaten anyone else.

  I looked around. “Where’s Darlene?”

  “Mom asked me to apologize. She developed a whopper of a migraine. I urged her to go to bed.”

  I nodded. “I’d have a migraine, too, if I’d had your mother’s day. I’m so glad you’re here, Julie. I’ll check in tomorrow. Your mom knows how to reach me if there’s anything I can do.”

  I glanced at my watch. Five-thirty. Amazing how time flies when you’re decking asswipes.

  “Looks like I’ll be able to meet my family for dinner. That’ll please Aunt May. Now all I have to do is coax a taxi to brave the storm and pick me up.”

  “Don’t even think about a cab. I’ll give you a ride.” Duncan had slipped in the French doors unnoticed and dripping. “Besides you might get into more mischief without a chaperone.”

  Julie looked a question at Duncan, who laughed. “Marley didn’t mention she just KO’d Eric with a stun gun.”

  Julie whooped with delight. “I can see why Mom likes you so much.”

  The explanation that my knockout was accidental didn’t lessen Julie’s pleasure.

  Duncan took a squishy step on the tiled sun porch. “Stay put,” Julie said. “I’ll get towels. You look like a drowned rat.”

  Before she could fulfill her promise, Harvey arrived with a stack of fluffy towels. Duncan took one and vigorously buffed his head and arms. Then, he slipped off his loafers and removed his dripping socks.

  “We keep some clothes upstairs for house guests,” Harvey offered. “Try the closet in the second bedroom on the right.”

  Duncan shook his head. “Nah. I’m not sugar. Won’t melt. Besides I’ve offered Marley a ride and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

  “I can call a cab.” Duncan’s look told me a taxi wasn’t in the cards. I smiled. “I don’t mind waiting while you change. It may give the storm a chance to blow by. There’s no sense trying to drive for a few minutes. Visibility is zip.”

  “Go ahead, Duncan,” Julie urged. “Don’t ruin the leather seats in your cute convertible. Besides, Marley and I haven’t had much of a chance to chat.”

  With two women weighed against him, the attorney conceded. Once he disappeared, I asked Julie about her Jolbiogen research. While I’d have posed the same innocuous questions without a nudge from the FBI, I felt a niggling of guilt about pumping my friend’s daughter for intel.

  Julie told me she’d earned her doctorate in biochemistry from Iowa State. After Jake read her doctoral thesis, he offered a post-doc at Jolbiogen and assured her it was strictly on merit. The opportunity thrilled her.

  “My lab head Kendra Jacobs is great. I love my work. We’re on the cutting edge. There’s only one fly in the ointment. Kendra reports to Dr. Glaston, who tries to micromanage. Unfortunately he’s not smart enough to carry Kendra’s test tubes.”

  Julie bit her lip. “He keeps looking for some flaw in my work—any excuse to can me. That goes double since his demotion. Dr. Glaston used to report directly to Jake. Now he’s slipped two ru
ngs down the executive ladder. That didn’t improve his disposition.”

  I heard a cough and turned. “I’m ready, if you don’t mind being seen with me.” Duncan gestured toward his bare legs. Borrowed khaki shorts left his alabaster limbs naked. He padded down the stairs barefoot, carrying his soggy loafers in one hand and bagged wet clothes in the other.

  He looked adorable. I know, I know—most men would punch someone for calling them that. But they’d be more receptive if they realized how far a lost puppy-dog look could go toward getting them laid. Women are suckers for cute.

  “Couldn’t find any long pants that fit.” He slipped on his wet loafers. “I could pass as Casper’s cousin. Guess I should get more sun. Marley, if you’re ready, I’ll pull the car around front. Harvey lent me a big umbrella so I won’t get soaked again.”

  The curtain had come down on the lightning and thunder theatrics. The rain fell gently. I hoped it wasn’t just intermission.

  Julie waited with me until Duncan’s BMW convertible pulled up to the front door. Harvey materialized like magic and covered me with another umbrella as I dashed to the car. I slid into the passenger seat dry as toast.

  EIGHT

  “Am I taking you to May’s condo?” Duncan asked.

  “No, I’m meeting the family at the Outrigger. Hope that’s not out of your way.”

  “Perfect. My condo’s right around the corner by Brooks Golf Club. Have a boat slip, the fourth tee out my back door, and not a lick of yard work. What more could a man want?”

  I considered a comeback—“Hot sex?” But not knowing the gentleman’s sexual proclivities, let alone his sense of humor, I bit my tongue. Instead, I asked, “Anything exciting happen after Eric rejoined the conscious world?”

  “Nope, amazing how a few thousand volts of electricity will settle a fellow down. I doubt he’ll mention the incident to Gina or his stepfather. I helped him realize he’d come out the villain if he spread the story.”

  “How well do you know Eric?”

  “Only by reputation, one he lived up to today. Jake described him as a hothead and doper. His granddad felt sorry for him growing up with an alcoholic mother and a weasel of a stepfather. Jake hoped he’d outgrow both drugs and his belligerence. I wouldn’t bet the farm on it.”

  I decided to pry into Duncan’s past. “I understand you moved here from Ames. Did you know Darlene or her husband there?”

  He kept his eyes on the road, nary a glance my way. The reply wasn’t immediate. Did his jaw muscles twitch?

  “Mutual acquaintances introduced us, but we weren’t friends. I got to know Darlene once I joined Jake on the museum board. Jake and I golfed and fished—guy stuff. And I got an occasional party invite when they needed a spare male.”

  I didn’t doubt the handsome divorcé was in demand for parties. If I threw a shindig, he’d get my invite. Yet my cynical side warned some disgusting personality trait lurked beneath his charming façade or he already had a significant other he failed to advertise.

  Though tempted to pepper him with more questions, I suspended my interrogation. I’ve been told curiosity is not my most endearing trait.

  He swung his convertible into an empty parking spot at the Outrigger and turned toward me as he switched off the ignition. “How often do you hear you’re a Sigourney Weaver look-alike?”

  I groaned. “Those stupid ‘Alien’ movies. In the Army, my lieutenants sent off for posters with a bald Sigourney holding a big-ass gun. They drew little balloons over her head filled with supposed quotes from yours truly. Things like ‘Colonel Clark eats aliens for breakfast.’”

  Duncan laughed. “I wasn’t thinking ‘Alien.’ Sigourney played glamorous roles, too—with hair. She’s beautiful, and so are you. I’m a sucker for curly hair and big brown eyes.”

  My breath caught. “Thank you.” Exercising great restraint, I let the comment lie. My husband crabbed about my inability to accept a compliment without making a flattery-nullifying comeback. “Just let people pay you a compliment,” he urged. “Would it kill you?”

  My answer: “Maybe.”

  I felt tongue-tied. It appeared traffic on Attraction Street might be moving in both directions. The realization floored me and complicated my innocent fantasies. A mere two months had passed since my surprise romp with a younger man. It had ended with smiles, not tears. We’d sworn to remain friends—maybe friends with benefits whenever our long-distance paths crossed. Yet there were no commitments. So why did my attraction to Duncan bring on a frisson of guilt?

  “You have a devilish smile,” he added. “It seems beyond your control. When your humor gets the upper hand, the edges of your mouth curve up, your eyes twinkle, and, wham-o, you’re smiling. Like now.”

  I laughed. “It’s your fault. Now I know why you’re a lawyer—your silver tongue—or is it a forked one?” I grabbed the door handle and prepared to bolt. Though I enjoyed his company, I didn’t want to trap Duncan in a Good Samaritan role that required door opening or other gentlemanly gestures. “Thanks. I really appreciate the ride.”

  “Not so fast. I’ll walk you in. It’s drizzling and Harvey insisted I keep an umbrella. Besides, if I don’t pay my respects to Miss May, I’ll get my comeuppance next time we meet.”

  My family always sat at the same circular corner booth so I had no difficulty locating them. May, Ross and Eunice chatted as they looked over the specials. Good, I hadn’t delayed the proceedings.

  Aunt May glanced up. “Glad you could make it.” She caught sight of Duncan and her smile brightened. “And look who you brought as a dinner companion. My, my, your taste is improving, Marley.”

  “You’re too kind, May,” Duncan said. “But I’m merely a chauffeur. I only dropped in to say hi. Wouldn’t dream of horning in on a family dinner.”

  Those words sank Duncan’s chance of flight. He’d had a slim window of opportunity to claim he was en route to an important meeting. That escape hatch had slammed shut. May’s eyes twinkled. Oh God, she’d entered matchmaker mode.

  “Horn in?” my aunt purred. “Did you hear that? Ross, tell your friend he must join us.” She patted the bench seat. “For heaven’s sake, sit down. Don’t make an ass of yourself.”

  Ross and I looked at each other. “Better sit,” we agreed in stereo.

  May’s “don’t make an ass of yourself” line had been honed into a multi-purpose weapon. It always threw unsuspecting opponents—and, sometimes, alert ones—off balance. Every time Mom and May argued over a restaurant check, my aunt trotted it out. In turn, Mom harrumphed, “I don’t know why I’m the ass, when you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

  The repartee had become family folklore. Duncan, however, was unprepared, and May triumphed easily. He slid into the booth beside me. Our bare legs briefly brushed. The glancing touch ignited my overactive imagination.

  After my husband died, I’d not so much as kissed another man for twenty months. Then, a handsome detective took me by storm. The affair, though brief, had reprogrammed my libido. Now my naughty neurons could fire with machinegun speed. My alert mental-health censor warned my id was up to no good. Didn’t help. My breath caught as I pictured us together.

  I felt my face flush and hoped no one noticed I’d colored from my erotic daydream. Everyone seemed focused on their menus—except Duncan. His frank, approving appraisal caused more warmth to rush in multiple directions. Crimey.

  Impervious to the heat being banked in side-by-side human furnaces, May, Ross and Eunice nattered on about wine selections and cholesterol counts.

  After our drinks arrived, Duncan shared the good news with Ross, spelling out Jake’s bequest of the cottage and the creation of a trust for the museum.

  Ross rubbed his hands together. “Wowzer. I never dreamed Jake would be that generous. Now I really can schmooze with those antique boat owners next weekend.”

  Duncan held up a hand. “Don’t start spending money—even mentally—until the will goes through probate. One or more heirs may c
ontest. However, if all the lawyers act in their clients’ best interests, they’ll advise against a fight. Contesting ties up everyone’s money, escalates expenses, and shrinks the proverbial pot of gold.”

  “So who’s unhappy enough to duke it out?” May piped up.

  I wanted to know, too, but felt it indelicate to ask. There are definite perks to being eighty and not caring a whit about people’s opinions.

  Duncan smiled and waggled a finger at May. “I can’t disclose other beneficiaries or the terms of the will. But I can tell you that Iowa probate law lets any surviving spouse elect to ‘take against the will.’ That option grants the widow or widower one-third of the estate, even if the survivor isn’t mentioned in the will. So, no matter what, Darlene’s guaranteed one-third of Jake’s estate. The fact the marriage lasted seven days is moot.”

  Ross exercised his fingers doing a bit of math. “If Jake’s worth a billion, Darlene’ll inherit—oh, my God—three-hundred-thirty million and change.”

  Not too shabby for someone who used to sling hash with me at Spirit Resort.

  Duncan squirmed. “Let’s change the subject. I really can’t say more.”

  Eunice took pity on our dinner guest. “I saw you last week at that Minnetonka auction but had to leave early. Did you buy the musket you were eying?”

  “No. Too pricey, and it had defects.”

  The chitchat revealed my dinner companions were passionate antiquers. Duncan, a hunter, favored antique weapons. Ross scouted for marine memorabilia. May and Eunice waxed eloquent about furniture finds. Me? Unable to tell aged schlock from treasure, I kept quiet.

  Realizing I had nothing to contribute, my aunt called a halt. “Marley, tell Duncan what you did before you retired.” She patted my arm. “My niece was a colonel in military intelligence no less, and she speaks Polish and Russian.”

  She turned toward Duncan. “Were you in the Army, too?”

  “Yep, two years between college and law school. I lucked out with a posting in Germany—Bad Kreusnach.”