The Wedding Necklace

by Adrianne Lee

  Stacey was Wayne's daughter and the only person Craig had contacted. “Have you?”

  “A little.”

  With a mixture of trepidation and hope, Craig asked, “Have they found the woman?”

  “Nope, but after seeing what she managed to do to you, I'd say she’s one clever customer.”

  Craig disliked the hint of a smile in the depths of his friend's sky-blue eyes. He scowled at him, but received a huge grin in return. “Dammit, David. I don’t find it a bit funny.” He dropped his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his rumpled slacks, hating the limp feeling of the unpressed lightweight wool against his freshly showered skin. “I’ve spent eight hours in this miserable place with my head pounding like a thumped melon and you show up making jokes. Hand me that shirt.”

  “Excuse me. I didn’t know you’d lost your sense of humor.” David caught up the wrinkled item of clothing and shucked it at Craig.

  Craig grimaced, thoroughly chagrined. “All right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take my frustration out on you.”

  David cocked his head. “Apology accepted. Are you sure you should be going home?”

  “The doctor doesn’t like it, but none of his arguments convinced me to stay put.” Craig spent his lingering agitation on the shirt, ramming his arms into the disheveled silk sleeves and working the buttons with haste. It wasn’t David’s teasing that had irked him, but the infernal worry for a woman he didn’t even know--a woman with round, intense sea green eyes whose image he couldn’t get out of his mind.

  “Ever since the police told me there really was someone trying to kill that woman--” He brushed at the smudges on his shirtfront. “I just want her found before it’s too late.” His fingers moved gingerly to his tender forehead. “Considering the hell she went through, I feel like a damned fool resenting her for this. Haven’t they turned up any trace of her?”

  David shook his head. “As I understand it, the minute Dr. Jones identified you, the police officers raced back to Windance, but the woman was gone.”

  “That’s old news.” Standing, Craig stuffed the unkempt shirttail into the equally untidy slacks and yanked the zipper shut. Lyssa Carlyle had caused him enough pain and anxiety to last a lifetime. Hell, he didn’t even know what she looked like--wouldn't recognize her if she walked into this room. He owed her nothing. Why couldn’t he shake the worry--no, the fear--he felt for the blasted woman? As quickly as he wondered, Craig realized he knew part of the answer. First his father, then Wayne. He couldn’t bear to have his conscience insinuated by a third tragic death associated with Windance. “Are you sure the police don’t have anything new to report?”

  David gaped at him. “I haven't checked in the last hour. I’ve had a few other items on my plate, such as helping to arrange the funeral--which takes place at eleven tomorrow morning, in case that bump you took knocked that fact from your brain--and worrying about my friend who’s in the hospital with a concussion. The police’s progress, or lack of it, is right near the bottom of my priority list. I know what you probably know--like I said, the lady was not at your house when the two officers returned. Her clothes--including her shoes--were in your dryer. It’s like she vanished into thin air. Frankly, I think whoever was after her came back and dragged her off somewhere.”

  “You’ve got a devious mind for someone who specializes in business law.” But Craig’s pulse surged unpleasantly. What David suggested had occurred to him with sickening regularity the past few hours. Granted he wasn’t thinking as clearly as usual yet, but surely if her pursuer had come after the Carlyle woman at Windance there would have been some evidence of it. He slid his feet into his shoes, but kept his eyes on his friend. “You’re wrong. Dunn and Kaslow told me the house was locked when they got back. They had to use my key to get in. They didn't find any signs of a break in or a struggle.”

  “I know.” David sighed loudly. “But why would the woman leave without her clothes?”

  Craig couldn’t answer that. He had a few other questions he couldn’t answer, either. “What was she doing at Windance in the first place?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Well, I’ll feel better when I get home and check a few things out.” Scooping up a comb, shave cream and shaver furnished by the hospital, Craig headed into the cubicle bathroom.

  David followed and angled his shoulder against the jamb. A tolerant grin tweaked his full mouth. “Same old Craig. Never take anything at face value.”

  Ignoring the gibe, Craig spread lather over his whiskers and studied the purple bruise above his left brow. Unbidden, Lyssa’s image flooded his mind, presenting a surprisingly less disgusting picture now that he knew the terror she must have experienced prior to their encounter. What did she look like beneath the grit and grime? Except for her unforgettable sea green eyes, he hadn't a clue, and standing here all day wouldn't give him any. He scraped the razor under his chin. “Have you ever heard of this Lyssa Carlyle?”

  David’s soft blue eyes met Craig’s black-brown ones in the mirror. “As a matter of fact, I have. She’s a jewelry designer. Has a unique signature line, and specializes in replicas of antique pieces. Real popular in several of Seattle’s trendier shops. I’ve seen some it. She’s pretty good.”

  Craig watched shaving cream drip from his chin as this new information sank in. “She makes replicas of antique jewelry?”

  “So? That’s hardly a threat to Rival Gems.”

  “David, think about it. What would someone like Lyssa Carlyle want with a company that buys and sells antique and estate jewelry?”

  The lawyer straightened. “You think this has something to do with ‘The Collection’?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “You think she wants to copy it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  David shook his head. “How would she get access to do that?”

  Craig grew thoughtful. “Last night she told the police she was a business associate of Wayne’s.” He turned back to the mirror and attacked his angular face with the disposable shaver. Seconds later, he rinsed off the razor, discarded it in the wastebasket, and regarded David over his shoulder. “Are you certain Wayne never mentioned her?”

  “Positive.” David crooked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking Wayne would let her copy ‘The Collection’ pieces? Why would he do that?”

  Craig knew David was right. Wayne wouldn’t have allowed that. He dampened a wash cloth and wiped the last of the lather from his smooth cheeks, wishing he could dispense his thoughts of Lyssa Carlyle as easily. But he couldn’t. He raked the comb through his thick black hair with a vengeance, then slipped it into his pocket and wedged past David for a quick check of the room. The rapid movement made his head spin. “Well, if Wayne didn’t tell her I was expected home today, who did? Dammit, two and two keep adding up to five.”

  David’s reddish-white brows lifted slightly and the delighted smirk was back. “She really got under your skin, didn’t she, pal?”

  An orderly pushing an empty wheelchair entered the room, saving Craig the necessity of denying the accusation. Lyssa Carlyle had certainly done more to him than knock him silly with a vase, but he didn't totally understand what. And the last thing he wanted right now was to dissect his jumbled feelings about the woman.

  Satisfied he hadn’t left anything behind, Craig sank into the wheelchair. “Let’s go.”

  Outside, rain clouds huddled overhead like restless black sheep, and the air bristled with the smell of a coming storm. As they headed across the parking lot, a patrol car pulled up beside them. Officer Dunn emerged and approached Craig, with an outstretched hand. “We found your rental car abandoned at the public boat launch.” He handed Craig his jacket and his wallet. “It looks like the only thing missing is cash. Would you please confirm?”

  Craig snatched the wallet from Dunn and immediately inspected the contents. Just as the policeman had said, the five hundred cash he’d been carrying was gone. The stolen money w
as to be expected, but seeing his driver’s license askew, and realizing a stranger had pawed through this private corner of his life filled Craig with impotent rage. He wanted to put his fist through something solid, preferably the jerk’s face.

  He told Dunn about the missing money and asked about Lyssa Carlyle. Learning there was no sign of her, Craig insisted he be informed the minute there was, thanked the officer, and settled himself in the passenger seat of David’s Porsche.

  David took his place behind the wheel, fastened his seatbelt and started the engine. “I have some business in Olympia, but I’ll be back to drive you to Seattle at around four.”

  Craig faced David. Did he really have business in Olympia? Or was he making himself scarce for a few hours because he knew Craig needed some time alone at Windance?

  David drove out of the parking lot. “I’ve scheduled the reading of Wayne’s will for seven Monday evening.”

  “Sure.”

  “In case, Wayne didn’t tell you, he was delighted that you made him a full partner. He was really excited about it.”

  Craig leaned back in the seat and sighed. “I never understood granddad’s logic. Wayne might not have been his natural son, but that was no reason to keep him from owning a share of the business. Wayne proved his worth.”

  “Too bad it was only for a week.”

  Craig grimaced, agreeing with David one hundred percent. He should have done it the minute he’d had the authority, but he'd been so grief stricken at the time all he could think about was getting as far away from Washington as possible. Even then, it hadn’t occurred to him until recently, and he deeply regretted the thoughtlessness of that. “Does anyone know what Wayne was doing at Windance the night he died?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. I just assumed your imminent return was the reason for his visit.” The corners of David's mouth tipped upward slightly. “He liked to pull random inspections, said he was keeping the caretaker honest.”

  A simple, logical explanation for Wayne’s presence at Windance. He felt ashamed of doubting his uncle’s character, even for a moment. He should have known it would be something like this. Should have known he could trust Wayne implicitly.

  As they turned onto the North Shore Road, Craig re-examined his violated wallet, lastly scanning the photo section. Halfway through, his hand stayed. One of the cellophane frames was empty. A sinking feeling tugged at his gut, sucked at his heart. His voice came out hoarse with frustration. “Something else is missing. A picture of Dad, Wayne and me.”

  David turned incredulous eyes to him. “Are you sure the picture was there?”

  “Yes. It’s the only one of Dad I took with me to Europe.”

  Disquiet spattered inside his brain as jarring as the first drops of rain hitting the windshield. Why would someone bent on murdering young women bother with a snapshot of three men they didn’t even know?

  Raindrops beat against the metal roof, jarring Lyssa from a fretful sleep. Momentarily disoriented, she raised her achy body to a sitting position on the musty divan. Of course…the Burley’s cabin. It looked more like a dump. She couldn’t imagine anyone using this run down rat trap as a pleasure retreat, but then, she wasn’t here for pleasure either. The reason she’d sought refuge here came back in a rush, speeding her heart rate. Evidently, she’d covered her forced entry well enough to fool her pursuer, but she’d best make certain.

  Lyssa hastened to the living room window, inched aside a dusty green drape and peered out.

  Overhead, sinister black clouds pressed low, looking ready to explode into a full blown thunderstorm. Rain slewed against the murky glass and dribbled in grimy streaks down the pane. The tide was low. Just how long had she been asleep? Instinctively, she glanced at her wrist, but the watch had been left behind. She had to get out of here. The Burley’s had no telephone, and by now, Mom would be wondering what had happened to her.

  The beach was deserted. Her gaze darted to the Rival house across the way. Was her pursuer lying in wait at Windance? The thought chilled her, but she had no choice. It was Friday, around noon, she guessed. Surely, the police would notify Craig Rival of last night’s break in as soon as possible after his plane landed. If he decided to investigate, he could show up at Wayne’s almost any time now.

  Stifling a sneeze, Lyssa tugged on the oversized sneakers she’d grabbed from Wayne’s closet and caught hold of her purse with the back door key to Windance tucked inside. Within minutes, she was on the beach, slogging across the sand as fast as she could manage. Wind and rain pelted her cheeks, tousled her long hair and dampened her rumpled sweatsuit. Lyssa didn’t notice. She was running through her mental list. First, she’d use Wayne’s phone to call her mother. Second, she’d find the necklace. Third, she’d contact the police and answer their questions. Fourth, she’d make arrangements for the rental car and secure another. And fifth, she’d head home.

  She crept across the deck and surveyed the driveway. Good. There were no cars either inside or outside the fence. Obviously the tow truck had come, taken the Cadillac and gone.

  With her internal sensors on red alert, she let herself in, then stood immobile with her hand on the knob for one whole minute, straining for unwanted sounds in the house. Finally convinced she was alone, Lyssa made for the telephone and dialed her mother’s home number in Mesa.

  Roxanne DeHaviland answered on the first ring as though she’d been sitting beside the telephone willing this call. “Lyssa! Well, it’s about time you got back. I’ve left half a dozen messages on your machine.”

  The worry in her mother's voice alarmed Lyssa. “Is Grandy worse?”

  “No. The same--still critical. I think she’s holding on to see the Purity, but who knows how long that will sustain her. Have you got it?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I'm still in Washington.”

  “What? Is that rat Rival giving you a hard time about Grandy's wedding necklace?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what's wrong?”

  What was right? “It’s a long story, too long for now.”

  “I have all the time in the world. Start talking.” When she used this tone, Lyssa knew her mother’s patience was thin.

  Her own patience was dissipating rapidly. “Well, time is one luxury I don’t have.”

  A sigh blew through the wire. “Then hit the highlights.”

  The roof of her mouth felt woolly. “Wayne Rival had a fatal heart attack Monday night shortly after I left for the airport.”

  “Whoa. No wonder you couldn’t reach him.” The clank of an earring against the receiver heralded Roxanne’s next question. “What about the faux? Were you able to get it?”

  “Not yet. But I will…within the hour.” She wished she felt as confident as she sounded.

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. Lyssa could almost see her mother’s intent expression, see her crook a hank of fading blond hair around her left ear as she considered what she’d just been told. Then her mellow voice drifted through the line. “Nearly sixteen hours to track down the whereabouts of one necklace? What’s taking so long?”

  The memory of her pursuer sprang into her mind, and shivers burned across her flesh. There was no way she would broach this subject over the phone. “Let's save the gory details ‘til I get home.”

  “Which will be…?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “I have the distinct impression that what you’re holding back is more important than what you’ve told.” The impatience in Roxanne’s tone had been replaced by concern.

  The woman was too shrewd for Lyssa’s purposes at the moment. If she related her encounter with the maniac, her mother would have a stroke. And if her mother found out she had no idea where the wedding necklace was after telling Grandy she was bringing it to her, Lyssa would be the one needing a doctor. Thinking of her grandmother sparked shards of worry through her. She said again, “I’ll be there as soon as I c
an.”

  “The sooner, the better. Lordy, I pray this stunt of yours works.”

  “It will.” If I can find the necklace, that is.

  “Are you at that number in Belmont?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “If Grandy takes a change for the worse, I'll call.”

  “No. I’ll only be here a short while.” Please hang on, Grandy. “I’ll call you as soon as my plane touches Arizona soil.”

  “If I’m not here, I’ll be at the hospital. Hurry home.”

  Lyssa dropped the receiver in its cradle, then stared at the telephone for ten seconds. Home. It was amazing how much one word could mean. She found her clothes in the dryer and changed. Heartened by the feel and fit of the familiar garments, she gladly dumped Wayne’s into the hamper.

  In the master bedroom, she found the bed had been stripped again, and the chair was again standing upright in its corner. The only sign that it had been violently forced from under the door knob was a thin scratch in the oak veneer back and an almost invisible nick in one leg.

  Her wristwatch was no longer on the bedside table. Nor anywhere else. A fresh chill crossed her flesh. Someone had gone to great lengths to remove all evidence of her presence here. Why? The past few days had been like living through a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. She urged aside this upsetting thought and started searching the room. God only knew how much time she had before Craig Rival arrived.

  Her noisy search through drawers and in closets and cupboards was drowned by the crescendo of raindrops hitting the roof and the thunder rattling the plate glass windows. The disconcerting orchestration hastened her hunt as effectively as the occasional flashbulb of lightning behind the window shades suspended her heartbeat.