True Lies
Page 4
Bruce underlined a word in his notebook. “Three years? That’s when Emma bought the property here.”
“Uh-huh. She was a real society princess until she shortened her name and dropped out of sight after the funeral. Still heads an investment group and has a place on the board of directors at a half dozen companies, but she’s managed to shun publicity.”
Bruce jotted down Xavier’s revelations. A society princess? Dressed in an old plaid jacket, lounging in a canoe with her booted feet resting on the gunnel? Right now he would deal with the facts. He’d think about what it all meant later. “Was a fine imposed along with Duprey’s prison sentence?”
“A hefty one. He declared bankruptcy, but he managed to shield a large chunk of the family fortune in trust funds for his children. His daughter stepped in to take over what was left of the finances while he was in prison. From what I could dig up, she was even more successful than Lewis. There were plenty of rumors that she was as crooked as the old man, but if she was doing anything illegal, she was smart enough not to get caught.”
“She must have been just a kid.”
“Eighteen when Lewis was convicted.”
“How many other children?”
“There’s one brother, Simon, five years younger. He was in and out of trouble as a juvenile.”
“What about the mother?”
“In and out of substance abuse clinics until she overdosed on sleeping pills several years ago.”
Another image of Emma flashed through his mind. Smiling, carefree, with the endless sky reflected in her aviator sunglasses. She’d said she loved to fly. She’d said it made her feel free.
“Hey, you still there, Bruce?”
“Yeah. How did her father die?”
“Hunting accident.”
“You mentioned suspicious circumstances.”
“The inquest concluded alcohol was involved. There were no witnesses. I could find out more by tomorrow.” The snick-snick tap of a computer keyboard sounded in the background. “I've got to hand it to you, Bruce. I thought you were on a wild-goose chase when you started this, but it looks as if you've stumbled onto something.”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly? Come on. Do you think it’s only coincidence that someone with Emmaline Duprey’s record pops up in the middle of an investigation like this? I'm going to arrange backup—”
“Hold off on that, okay?”
“Why?”
“It’s a small town. Too many strangers will spook the locals. Give me a few more days to feel things out.”
“We could contact the Bethel Corners sheriff.”
“Hold off on that, too. If Emma’s involved in this, she couldn’t be doing it alone. We don’t know how far the network reaches.”
“If she’s involved? I thought you were already convinced.”
He lifted his glasses to rub his eyes, then swung his gaze to the glossy photograph that he’d propped against the lamp. Delicate chin, innocent freckles, sparkling eyes peering warily from beneath a wide hat brim. “I've already established a solid contact with her. I can work from there and see what else I can learn. Give me a few more days,” he repeated.
“It’s going to take that long to coordinate our operation with the coast guard and the Mounties. I think you're on the right track, though. Emmaline Duprey is smart. And she’s one tough woman.”
“She’d have to be, if she took over the care of her brother and the family finances when she was a teenager.”
“Yeah, well she’s no angel. Don’t you want to know why her fingerprints were on record?”
Startled, Bruce realized he hadn’t even asked. “Why?”
The noise of shuffling papers came through the line. “Shortly before she made herself disappear to that cabin in Maine, Emmaline Duprey was arrested.”
“I thought you said she didn’t get caught like her father.”
“She had some high-priced legal help hushing things up and settling out of court, but this had nothing to do with fraud or white-collar stuff. She was arrested for assault.”
“Give me the details.”
“I can’t. Like I said, someone hushed it up. I'll keep digging.” There was a brief silence. “I don’t need to tell you to be careful, do I?”
Bruce continued to study the stark black and white of Emma’s image, his mind filling in what wasn’t captured on the film. The athlete’s stride, the deadly, purposeful way she held her hunting bow...the haunting beauty of her smile. She was full of contrasts. She was a puzzle he longed to solve, a woman he longed to know.
A muscle twitched in his cheek as the pencil he held snapped in two. “No, you don’t have to remind me,” he said quietly. “I've already decided the woman is dangerous.”
Chapter 3
The orange rays of sunset gilded the tops of the trees on the opposite shore of the lake. Emma stood alone at the end of the empty dock, watching the ripples slowly flatten to a dark mirror in the dying breeze. Simon had managed to talk her into lending him the plane, but he appeared to understand that this would be the last time. Her earlier firmness must have made an impression on him. He’d seemed sincere when he’d assured her that he would be logging his flying miles and topping off the fuel tanks before he brought the plane back in the morning. He’d sounded pleased and excited, full of the youthful enthusiasm that had always managed to make her smile. His prospecting must be working out well.
Tiredly, she ran her fingers through her hair. How long would she be keeping this up? She was not Simon’s mother. Or his father. She had done her best, even when she hadn’t been much more than a child herself. It wasn’t fair that she’d had to bail him out of one scrape after another, or that she’d had to relinquish her own hopes and dreams in order to hold what was left of the family together. When was it going to be her turn? Perhaps happiness was too much to hope for, but didn’t she deserve a tiny bit of peace?
Peace. That’s what she had sought when she’d turned her back on the lifestyle she had been raised in. She’d never regretted her decision. With the modem hooked up to the computer on her desk, she had been able to run the family business from here just as well as she’d managed it from the glass-and-steel tower where she used to have her office. She didn’t miss the parties or all that phony posturing, or the constant need to weigh the significance of every phrase and gesture. She was glad to be rid of the vicious gossip and the lies and the superficial relationships. She seldom dwelled on the loneliness that arose on calm evenings like this when there was no one to share a sunset with.
A loon called, its solitary cry like an echo of her state of mind. She thought about the odd friendship she had begun with the intriguing Bruce Prendergast. They’d had a pleasant afternoon yesterday. Once he’d given up the pretense of fishing, he’d relaxed and their conversation became easy and entertaining. He had a dry sense of humor, a quick wit, and an inquisitive mind. All in all, the shy, awkward man was a genuinely nice guy. And she was already becoming fond of him.
Fond? Fascinated better described her feelings about the man.
Cool, damp air swirled over the water as the sun sank below the horizon. Emma wrapped her arms around herself for warmth and looked over the empty lake. Bruce had called this morning to invite her to have dinner with him tonight. She had accepted readily. Why? It wasn’t because she felt sorry for him, and it wasn’t because of the pleasant conversation they’d had the day before. It was because she was becoming, well, attracted to him.
It was almost laughable, considering all the successful, perfectly groomed, suavely handsome men who had pursued her when she’d still been part of society. They’d had the slick moves and the slick lines, but none of them had sparked that sense of instant connection like the one that had whispered through her body when Bruce had first touched her.
He hadn’t touched her since. After that first and only handshake, he’d seemed to have gone out of his way to make sure they didn’t come into contact with each other again.
She shook her head. As intriguing as this was, nothing could come of it, anyway. She had seen what devotion to one man had done to her mother, and she had experienced the pain of rejection herself. Okay, she did find something inexplicably compelling about Bruce, but she had no intention of complicating her life by having a romantic fling with a passing stranger. Turning her back on the twilit lake, she climbed the hill to her truck.
Darkness had fallen completely by the time she reached town. She left her truck in the parking lot beside the hardware store and walked the half block to the Stardust Café. It was one of the two restaurants in Bethel Corners, the fancier one. The tables boasted white tablecloths and candles in green glass jars, and on weekends a trio of local musicians provided entertainment. This was Thursday, though, so the music came from the jukebox. Emma paused inside the door and waved when she spotted Bruce.
He beamed her that endearingly awkward smile and half rose from his chair. His elbow caught the edge of the table and he made a dive for his wobbling water glass before it could tip over.
This was the first time she had seen him without his hat, Emma realized as she walked past the handful of other diners. Because of that beat-up baseball cap he usually pulled down over his forehead, his hair had always been hidden. Now she saw that it was a beautiful, warm, sun-streaked blond, several shades lighter than his scruffy beard. Cut on the long side, it curled boyishly over the tops of his ears and skimmed his collar. In the subdued lighting of the Stardust Café, his hair looked...attractive.
Emma’s step faltered. It wasn’t only his hair. This was her first unobstructed view of his face. The scruffy beard still camouflaged his jaw, but not the high cheekbones or the strong bone structure. Was it the lighting, or was he really...handsome?
“Hi,” he said. Her scrutiny of his features was interrupted as he leaned sideways to reach under the table and pull out a white plastic bag. “I got you another coffee thermos. Hugh didn’t have anything exactly the same as the one I broke, but it’s pretty close.”
She took the bag and glanced inside. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do this.”
Smiling timidly, he sank back into his chair as she sat across from him. “I needed some excuse to invite you to dinner, didn’t I? Oh, I don’t mean that I’d need an excuse to have dinner with someone as pretty as you, I meant that you’d probably have plenty of other invitations and wouldn’t want...I mean, thanks for coming.”
He wore a white shirt and an incredibly ugly brown tie that was half-hidden by his baggy beige cardigan. It was as if he were deliberately trying to appear unattractive.
She focused on his face more carefully. The more she looked, the more she realized that above the beard his features were in fact strikingly masculine. He tilted his head and scratched his ear, once more drawing her attention with his awkwardness. Emma’s gaze strayed back to his hair as a waitress brought their menus.
“The food here is really good, Emma,” he said, patting his protruding stomach, almost as if he were trying to distract her. “I should know. Too bad I didn’t get enough fish for a meal yesterday. The waitress said they could have fixed it up for me.”
Beneath the table she wiped her palm on her skirt. His smile was shy and awkward, but his teeth were perfect, straight and white. His mouth was partly concealed by his beard, but from what she could see, his lips were beautifully formed. She wished she could see what he looked like without the beard. And she had the craziest urge to reach out and test the texture of his tempting hair and wrap one of his golden curls around her finger.
Pulling herself back to the conversation, Emma asked, “How did your photographs turn out? Did you get those rolls developed yet?”
“Yes, there are some fascinating images that I managed to capture. It’s so nice around here. Is your family from Bethel Corners?”
“No, I was born in New York. I moved to the cabin about three years ago.” She found herself staring at his eyes. He still didn’t like to meet her gaze, but without his hat, he was unable to hide his bold eyebrows or long lashes. The color was all wrong, though. His plain brown eyes didn’t seem to belong with the strong bone structure of the rest of his face.... Where had that thought come from? “I like the privacy out by the lake, and the freedom to do what I want,” she continued.
“You mean like flying your plane?”
“Don’t get me started on talking about flying again.”
Bruce ducked his head as he opened the menu. Talking about flying was exactly what he wanted her to do. Or talking about anything, as long as it distracted him from her appearance.
The moment she had walked into the restaurant he’d known his objectivity was in trouble. Gone were the heavy boots and plaid jacket he had last seen her wear. Tonight she wore a pale green dress that fitted subtly to her generous breasts and nipped in snugly at her narrow waist. The delicate color brought out the auburn highlights in her hair and lent a tinge of aquamarine to the pure blue of her eyes.
His response to her beauty had been immediate and completely unprofessional. He had to remind himself that he was here in order to use her, that the cunningly simple dress he found so enticing was probably part of an expensive designer wardrobe paid for by the shady wealth of the Duprey family, or possibly by Emma’s own criminal ventures.
Sure, he could tell his brain to be cautious, but he had no control over the chemistry that was going on elsewhere in his body. He shouldn’t have stayed up half the night staring at her picture and thinking about what Xavier had told him. He should be concentrating on solving the puzzle of this case, not the puzzle of the woman.
“Okay, we won’t talk about flying, and I won’t talk about my job, since I'm supposed to be on vacation,” he said when he decided he had command over his voice once more. “What about books?”
“That’s something we have in common.”
“Have you read Clive Cussler’s new novel?”
“Do you mean the one where Dirk Pitt saves the world from total economic collapse and environmental disaster?”
“You'll have to be more specific. He did that in the last three books.”
She laughed and leaned her chin on her hand. “I love those stories. It’s great to immerse yourself in another reality that way.”
Time to steer the conversation to something useful, Bruce decided. “I know what you mean. Books always kept me company. I was kind of lonely growing up, being an only child. Have you got any brothers or sisters?”
“One brother. Simon’s five years younger than me.”
“It must have been nice to have someone to play with when you were a kid.”
“I was more of a mother figure than a playmate,” she said, her expression turning serious. “When he was a teenager our parents weren’t around, so the responsibility of raising him fell on me.”
Bruce felt pleased that she hadn’t lied about anything so far. He’d chosen the right persona to slip under her guard. He could see that she was relaxing, so he decided to probe a little further. “Do you see him often?”
“No, he was going to college when I moved to Bethel Corners. He visits from time to time, but he moves around quite a bit these days. At the moment he’s prospecting for copper in the area northwest of here.”
“Prospecting? Do people really do that anymore? Like with a burro and a pickax?”
“I think that particular style went out with the wild west, Bruce, but there are still plenty of exploration geologists and independent prospectors around. Buying and selling mining claims is a big business in Canada.”
“I didn’t know there was any mining in Maine.”
“Oh, there’s an old copper and zinc mine in Hancock County south of here, and plenty of activity across the border in Quebec. I know it’s a long shot, but the north woods have always been popular wi
th amateur rock hounds, so there’s a chance Simon might find something.”
“So your brother’s a geologist?”
“Well, not really. He took some courses in that at college, along with plenty of other things. He’s still trying to figure out what he wants to do, though. I hope this works out for him.” She picked up the menu and ran her fingertips over the cover. “I'm glad you invited me to dinner tonight. If I’d stayed home alone, I probably would have done nothing but worry about Simon.”
“You sound like a mother.”
“I do, don’t I?” She glanced up and smiled wryly. “Maybe I should be more worried about my plane than about my brother.”
He was distracted by the way the dimple in her cheek appeared with her smile. For a moment he almost missed what she had said. “Your plane?”
“He talked me into loaning it to him again. This is the last time, though. I think I'm too much of a pushover. Maybe it’s a good thing that I never had kids of my own or they’d run me ragged.”
Bruce felt the distinctive clutch in his gut that meant something had fallen into place. The brother, the one who had a record as a juvenile and “moved around quite a bit” had access to Emma’s plane. Could it be possible? “But it’s dark now. Does he fly at night?”
“No, he set up a camp where he’s working. He stays overnight quite often.”
The clutch in his gut intensified, and with it came a sense of satisfaction. His instinct about Emma might have been right after all. If it was Simon Duprey who was making those midnight flights, then there was a possibility that Emma could be innocent, despite her background.
The waitress returned and asked them if they were ready to order yet. Bruce knew that he would have had trouble eating anything while he kept the gauze pads in his cheeks, so he had taken the risk and left them out tonight. He was glad he had, since for the first time in days he felt hungry.
There was a strong irony about their conversation throughout their meal. Although Emma didn’t go so far as to reveal her true name or her family background, she was completely honest about the facts that she did mention. So was Bruce. Like the subtle props he used with his disguises, he kept the lies necessary for his cover to a minimum. Even in the disguise of the wimpy Bruce Prendergast, he was able to be honest when the topic turned to his favorite books, his love of jazz, and his childhood in a middle-class suburb of Chicago.