Sinister Summer

by Colleen Gleason

  Iva Bergstrom reached over and patted his hand with her soft one. “It was quite a shock to all of us. She seemed so healthy and vibrant. We miss her something awful.”

  “She went in her sleep,” said Orbra in that matter-of-fact way she had. Though she was a tall, sturdy Dutch woman and loomed over her companions—along with most other people—she had a practical manner that was neither too soft nor too overbearing. “That’d be the way I want to go, truth be told.”

  They all murmured agreement, which gave Ethan a moment to scarf down some of the most excellent soup. Then Mirabella came over to deliver his sandwich and take their orders—which became a web of arguments, alterations, and demands. Mostly from Maxine Took.

  “You coming on Tuesday?” she demanded as soon as Mirabella made her escape.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ethan replied. Because if he didn’t attend her annual birthday party, she’d never let him live it down. And even though he was only able to live in Wicks Hollow for less than six months out of the year, that was six months of hell he didn’t want to experience.

  “Good.” She smacked her lips in satisfaction, then spun her attention back to Iva. “Is that man of yours coming too?”

  “Man?” Ethan lifted his brows and looked at Iva, who was blushing prettily. “I don’t know anything about this.”

  Cherry Wilder, who owned the yoga studio and reminded him of a slightly older but still very hot Sharon Stone, spoke up. “She met him a few months ago—when was it? In April? And, come to think of it, I haven’t seen Iva at a hatha class since. I think she’s trying out all the yoga asanas at home. With Hollis. Aren’t you, Iva?”

  “A lady never kisses and tells,” Iva replied, fluttering her eyelashes.

  “You once were snow white,” teased Cherry. “And then you drifted.”

  “Now that sounds more like you. A long time ago,” retorted her friend primly.

  “If the shoe fits,” Cherry agreed, laughing, and the others joined her.

  “Oh, look! It’s Diana!” Maxine lumbered to her feet, cane clattering and table jolting.

  But Ethan, who’d been facing the door, had already seen her come in.

  Damn it. Why wasn’t she and her companion—a handsome, well-dressed man with thinning hair and presumably the Jonathan she’d been on the phone with the other day—at Trib’s? That place seemed much more their style.

  In fact, Ethan was honest enough to acknowledge he’d chosen the Grille tonight because he assumed they’d be at the trendiest restaurant in town. Not at this off-the-beaten-path place.

  Good thing he’d eaten most of his meal before the couple showed up and put off his appetite.

  Maxine waved her arm vigorously, its loose skin flapping with the effort. “Diana! Over here!”

  Because he was watching, Ethan saw the range of reaction as it swept her expression: surprise, exasperation, then reluctance. But she spoke to her companion, and they both came over wearing warm, genuine smiles. He gave her credit for that.

  “Meet the Tuesday Ladies,” she said, sweeping her arm to encompass the group around the table. “All friends of my Aunt Jean. Cherry, Iva, Juanita, Orbra and Maxine. Ladies, this is my—this is Jonathan Wertinger.”

  “The Tuesday Ladies?” asked Wertinger as he greeted each one in turn with a charming smile and a personal comment. “I’m sure there’s a story about that.”

  Ethan, not being a member of the ladies club, had heretofore been ignored. And thus the flurry of introductions and greetings, interspersed with demands and directions from Maxine, had allowed him the luxury of observing unnoticed.

  As he took in Diana’s figure with an impersonal gaze, Ethan decided—oh so objectively—that dark purple was a great color for her. The rich fabric next to her creamy skin made it look almost luminescent, while pushing the color of her thick, curling hair closer to black, and her blue eyes nearly to violet. The not too-tight cut of the dress didn’t hurt either, he thought, allowing his attention to wander idly over her curves while she was involved in greeting the ladies. Her slender arms were toned and unadorned except for a wide silver bangle at a narrow wrist. And best of all, Diana’s long neck was slender and elegant, bared by the short tousle of inky hair—making her exposed nape look like the perfect spot to place a kiss.

  When Ethan finished his leisurely perusal and turned his gaze to her companion, his eyes locked with those of Diana’s boyfriend.

  Oops. He smiled as if he didn’t see the chill in the man’s eyes and offered a hand from his relaxed seat in the chair. “I’m Ethan Murphy—obviously not a member of the Tuesday Ladies. Glad to meet you.”

  “Doctor Jonathan Wertinger,” the man replied coolly, shaking his hand with a firm grip. Because Ethan hadn’t bothered to stand and remained lounging in his chair, the man was required to step closer to him.

  Wertinger had sharp, intelligent eyes and enough bravado to eye his imagined rival with frosty interest. Ethan could have silently signaled that he had no designs—definitely not—on his girlfriend, but since he didn’t like the man on sight, he decided it would be far more entertaining to let him wonder.

  Ethan lifted his beer, sipping as he smiled to himself. That was exactly the type of thing his sister Fiona would do: delicately, gently stir the pot. Just for the hell of it.

  Maybe they weren’t so different after all.

  Because of this, Ethan was warmer and more charming than he felt when he stood to greet her. “Hello, Diana. You look nice tonight.”

  “Ethan,” she said in a studiously neutral voice. “Thank you. Did you meet Jonathan?”

  Tension radiated from her, and he sensed it wasn’t directed at him—which was a mild surprise, considering the harsh words they’d exchanged yesterday. Curious, and suddenly even more relaxed, Ethan snagged a chair from the table next to them and brought it over next to his. “I did meet your Dr. Wertinger. Here’s a chair—aren’t you going to join us?”

  As he’d intended, Maxine took up the idea and began to shove chairs and tables around with surprising strength to make room for the two of them, leaving Ethan to watch in amusement as Diana realized she’d completely lost control of the situation.

  She noticed and cut him an Arctic stare, then she angled away in a blatant dismissal of Ethan and returned her attention to the ladies.

  As Diana sat, Ethan was unwillingly captivated as she absently tucked her hair behind an ear, revealing a large pearl stud earring. The tip of her tamed curl peeked out from beneath the earlobe, just brushing the pearl. Even in the dim light of the restaurant, the luminescence of the jewel and the shiny embrace of her hair struck him as a combination of classic beauty and elegance. The rest of it, rising in soft waves from her forehead and brushing her bare nape, was tousled and full—messy, a little wild, and very sensual. All he could think was: sex hair.

  That souring thought had him glancing at Wertinger, then Maxine’s accusatory shriek snagged his attention.

  “You aren’t going to sell Genevieve’s house are you?”

  “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with the house yet. I have a lot of paperwork to go through before I can make a final decision anyway.” Diana smoothed the skirt of her aubergine-colored shift, relieved when she felt the weight of Ethan’s gaze move away.

  She was incredulous that he would just sit there, as calmly and innocently as if nothing had transpired between them and she hadn’t uncovered his ulterior motives. Didn’t the man have any sense of shame?

  Before Maxine, Iva, or any of the others could comment on her vague response, Jonathan came to her rescue. “It’s only been a few weeks since Genevieve passed,” he said in his calm, even voice. “I’m certain Diana will make the right decision once she’s had the chance to think things over.”

  Diana smiled gratefully at him, but when Jonathan leaned closer to her so his shoulder pushed companionably against hers, she suddenly and inexplicably felt claustrophobic. As she shifted slightly away from her fiancé, she f
elt Ethan’s attention return to her—an amused smile twitching his mouth. It seemed as though he was enjoying some joke at her expense, and she couldn’t help but bristle at his arrogant, patronizing look.

  If she weren’t so tactful—and fully aware of the ramifications of slander—she’d bring the whole subject up again, right here, about his questionable relationship with Aunt Jean. Then she’d see if he still looked so benevolent and charming.

  And who could know, perhaps he’d been working on one of the other old ladies. Why else would he be having dinner with a group of them on a Saturday night?

  At that moment, Ethan stood, taking Maxine Took’s hand in his. “It’s always a pleasure to see you ladies. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

  He bid each of the others farewell, and when he finally turned that smile and those warm, crinkling eyes toward Diana, for a moment she, too, was almost disarmed by them.

  “It was nice to see you again,” she told him, ignoring the fact that his grip was firm and warm and made her uncomfortably aware of the heat of his touch.

  “Enjoy your evening,” he said.

  Diana expected to feel more relaxed after he left, but she wasn’t. Instead, she focused on getting through the meal without being cross-examined by Aunt Jean’s friends. That was impossible, but at least she was able to turn the conversation back around more often than not.

  “I’ll see you Tuesday night,” Maxine said when Diana and Jonathan finally rose to leave.

  “Tuesday?” Jonathan asked as they left the Grille. “What’s Tuesday?”

  “Maxine’s birthday party. It’s a big deal here—”

  “I thought you’d be back in Chicago by then. In fact, I expected you’d go back with me tomorrow.”

  She looked across the roof of her car at him as she opened the door. “I don’t know why you thought that, Jonathan.”

  He frowned, then climbed in. She’d insisted on driving, and being denied that bit of control had put him in an irritated mood from the beginning.

  With a start, Diana realized she didn’t care in the least, and the fact almost made her smile.

  “How long are you planning to stay here?” he asked as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Surely you can’t be away from work that long anyway. Won’t McNillan have a problem with that?”

  “McNillan told me to take some time before the AXT case gets going. So I am.” Diana purposely declined to answer his first question—partly because she didn’t know the answer.

  Jonathan murmured something under his breath, then he reached over and touched her arm. “Diana, I—er—made some plans for tonight. For us.”

  “Plans?”

  He smiled a little bashfully. “I booked us a room at that fancy boutique hotel south of town—The Worthington Inn.”

  “Tonight? Why? What’s wrong with Aunt Jean’s house?” She braked at the stop sign and turned to look at him.

  “Nothing. I just thought it would be nice to stay somewhere fancy, where we would be treated like guests. There’s a claw-footed hot tub in the room, and they promised breakfast in bed, and—” He sighed. “All right, I’ll be honest. I also thought it would be a little strange staying in the house where she died. That’s all. She did die there, right? Didn’t you tell me that?”

  “She did. And I haven’t found it strange at all,” Diana said.

  But that was a cold, hard lie.

  For, early this morning, she’d awakened from another terrible nightmare. She remembered how difficult it had been to battle herself awake this time, to claw her way out of the dream where heavy darkness suffocated her.

  A sob jerked from deep inside her chest as she’d struggled to bring herself back from the nightmare. Her hair was plastered to cheeks damp with sweat, her skin clammy with fear, and her breath catching and rasping in the dead silence.

  Though the dream ebbed at last, the fear, the visions, and the sense of terror did not. And at last, as she stared into the darkest part of the night, Diana finally realized what the awful sensation she’d been dreaming about was: the heavy, claustrophobic sense of being smothered, of heavy softness pressing down, over and into her nose and mouth as her arms and legs fought helplessly, unable to pull it away, unable to free herself from the dull, hot staleness of stunted air.

  But what had stayed with her—all day—was the instant before she fully shook herself from the nightmare’s grip. A remnant of the dream had crystallized in her mind with clarity so perfect, so sudden and perfect, it was as though she was looking at a film before her eyes.

  Only it had been in her head, not on any screen anywhere.

  It was Aunt Jean on the screen.

  No, she was Jean—she, Diana, was Jean: struggling against a heavy force that pressed against her face, filled her nostrils, silenced her gaping, gasping mouth…then she slowed, weakened, succumbing to the inevitable end…then sagged into stillness. Darkness. Death.

  When she realized this in those early, dark hours of the morning, Diana’s whole world stopped. Her mind and body had gone deathly, silently still.

  Even the murmur of her heart, the shallowness of her breathing, the trembling of her nerves paused, and an incredible certainty flooded her. She knew.

  She knew.

  “Diana? Are you going to drive or are we going to sit here all night?” Jonathan’s voice jolted her back to the moment. She shoved away the dark memories and the horrifying realization that had somehow settled in her mind.

  “Sorry. I thought I saw—I thought that was a deer over there,” she replied.

  “Well, you’ve been sitting here for long enough for the deer to cross—if there even was one. Let’s go. I’m tired. It’s been a long week.”

  It was the memory of the ugly dream that quashed the last bit of her reluctance to drive them to the Worthington Inn. She did not want to be sleeping next to Jonathan and be awakened by that sort of horrible nightmare—and have to explain to him.

  She was still trying to fully comprehend it herself.

  “I wasn’t completely honest with you,” Jonathan said once they were alone in the small, elegant suite he’d booked for them. It was beautifully decorated with gleaming antiques—glossy mahogany and maple furnishings, including a huge four-poster bed swathed in vintage lace. A large silver bucket held a chilling bottle of champagne next to a massive vase spilling with fresh flowers and two glass flutes, ready for the bubbly.

  Jonathan’s serious tone pulled Diana from her private thoughts, making her insides squish nervously. “What do you mean? Honest about what?” Was he about to confess more indiscretions?

  “About why I wanted to stay here tonight.” He had an almost bashful look on his face, which made her even more nervous.

  “Well, tell me,” she said, her apprehension making her tone sharp.

  Jonathan looked at her with a wounded expression, then smoothed it into a smile. “I wanted tonight to be special, because…I thought it was time we made it official. Time that you had a ring.”

  That was when she noticed the dark blue velvet box he held.

  “Jonathan,” she said, both horrified and shocked. “I—I’m not sure…”

  “Diana, you know I love you.” He opened the box to reveal a glittering diamond sitting proudly in its tall, platinum setting. “You’re the only woman I love and want.”

  “What about Valerie?” She couldn’t stop herself. Though the ring was gorgeous—Jonathan did have impeccable taste—she couldn’t bring herself to touch the square cut diamond. She felt almost repelled by it.

  “Dammit,” he said, his voice tight. “When are you going to stop bringing that up? It’s over, it’s done, it’s—”

  “It’s been less than a month,” she said calmly. “I saw you together. That’s not the sort of thing that one forgets easily.”

  He seemed to need a moment to decide how to react, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet and soft. “Let’s not talk about that tonight. Let’s not fight…I haven’t seen you all week.�
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  Taking her hand, he tugged her to him. “I’ve missed you, darling,” he murmured into her hair. “So much.”

  Diana slid her arms around his waist and dropped her head onto his shoulder, willing herself to stay in the moment, to be with him. To let it go.

  But she couldn’t relax, she couldn’t give in to the affection and emotion she’d once had.

  She felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  Bitter tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back, furious once again with him for breaking her trust, and with herself for this empty, bland feeling toward him.

  And grief over the loss.

  He dropped a kiss into her hair, then tilted his head back to kiss her on the mouth. Closed lips, warm and dry, the kiss was a formality, a prelude to what would follow—or what he clearly hoped would follow.

  Diana had never been a particularly eager lover. Sex could be messy, and she worried about how she looked naked, along with a variety of other things—but now she felt a complete absence of interest. She felt nothing. Not even aversion.

  Just…nothing.

  “Why don’t you come to bed now,” he suggested in her ear, his mouth slipping to kiss a tender spot on her neck. “I’d like to see you wearing the ring…and nothing else.”

  Diana wanted to want to go with him. She wanted things to be all right. She didn’t want this blank feeling rising between them, this sense of loss and confusion and grief.

  “I…” She pulled away, looking down at the boxed ring he’d set on the table. “Not tonight, Jonathan.”

  “What do you mean, not tonight?” He sounded shocked and irritated. “I just asked you to marry me, Diana! There’s champagne. And I came all the way up here to see you. I have to go back tomorrow.”

  “I’m still trying to deal with what happened. You have to understand it’s not as simple as giving me a diamond ring and that means everything’s over with and forgotten. Plus, I’m still grieving for Aunt Jean. You’re going to have to give me some time.”